Who Is Andrew Beattie?

To whom this may concern, and the rest of you,

Here’s Andrew, and he’s back at the laptop in his room, listening to a little music, and doing a little dance, as he prepares to write something or other about this or that. Spurious indeed but then it is Sunday and well, there that is, after all. On we go with today’s feature presentation.

As this is my 19^th little effort at writing something for my soon to be no longer website I thought I would take this little story back to the beginning and strip the whole thing down to the fleshy bastard point – who is Andrew Beattie? I’m not prepared to go back into the depths of time for fear of what I might turn up from the vault of my mind. Who knows what painful memories I have decided to lock away to burden my weary soul. I mean I can’t remember murdering a hooker but then again if I’d decided to forget it?

Right, so who is this Andrew Beattie character that I keep rambling on about incessantly and without remorse? Well good folk of the world, you are most certainly in luck today as I have him here with me, right next to me, and so let’s ask him shall we in the form of probing questions that shall cut to the very core of him.

Me: Hello Andrew. How are you today?

Andrew Beattie: Fine thanks, a little cold but fine. I may have to dash off at any point to visit the loo so you’ll have to bear with me.

Me: Erm, ok. So who is Andrew Beattie?

Andrew Beattie: Well I’m just me, Andrew Beattie. I’ll not hang around long with questions of this quality.

Me: Ok, clever dick. What have you been up to recently?

Andrew Beattie: Well I’ve worked and then as it’s the weekend I’ve been at home relaxing with the family, eating, drinking rum, read, listened to music etc etc.

Me: Have you not been out and about? It is the weekend after all and a time for recreation and catching up with friends.

Andrew Beattie: Well no I haven’t, I don’t usually get out and about at the weekend if I’m honest, just usually hang about the house and erm, hang about the house.

Me: So, when was the last time you, say, left the house at the weekend?

Andrew Beattie: Yesterday actually, for work. Where are you going with this?

Me: I’ll ask the questions, you just fucking answer alright? I’ll ask this another way shall I, when did you last leave the house at the weekend for anything other than work, to visit friends for example?

Andrew Beattie: I can’t remember, I haven’t seen my friends for a while, 6 months say.

Me: 6 months since you last saw your friends or 6 months since you last left the house of a weekend?

Andrew Beattie: Both probably.

Me: 6 months hey, very interesting, hmmm. How does that make you feel?

Andrew Beattie: How does what make me feel you little prat? You’re not much of a fucking interviewer are you, in your shorts and T-Shirt? What do you think this is, fucking amateur hour at the, at the, amateur interviewer fest at the erm, beach?

Me: Sorry if I caused any offence but you’re avoiding the subject and that last question didn’t make any sense at all.

Andrew Beattie: Ah, now that’s interesting, very interesting. Do you say sorry a lot?

Me: Yes, I do actually.

Andrew Beattie: Why, are you scared of causing offence by voicing your own opinion and have to say sorry first?

Me: Oh how the tables have turned Andrew, how the table have turned.

Andrew Beattie: Answer the fucking question.  

Me: I’m not sure sorry. At a guess, probably twice a day, maybe even thrice.

Andrew Beattie: You did it again, said sorry for no apparent reason. I’m going to have a wild guess here Me, and call me brash if you like, but you don’t voice your opinion a great deal do you?

Me: No I don’t and I don’t like where this is going.

Andrew Beattie: Well I do and so, why? Why don’t you voice your opinion?

Me: I don’t know, I guess I just don’t get asked a lot and I don’t give it freely. Can you move on please?

Andrew Beattie: Coward.

Me: You’re a coward.

Andrew Beattie: No I’m fucking well not, and if you’re not a coward then why did you let me turn into the interviewer so freely.

Me: Because I don’t like confrontation and you seemed as if you where enjoying yourself so I just let you continue.

Andrew Beattie: You truly are a strange, strange little man. So ok, I don’t like to go out of a weekend and haven’t seen my friends for a while and you’re a coward who doesn’t voice his own opinion and says sorry a lot, but here’s the question, are you happy?

Me: Yes, I fucking well am happy and I’m happy despite the fact that on Thursday the following happened.

It all began with my waking late after sleeping through my alarm. I did the usual waking late for work thing and jumped straight up, all my senses suddenly alerted, and headed straight out into the garden for a cigarette to wake me up some more. If you are going to be late for work, an extra 10 minutes really isn’t going to make a whole load of difference despite what they may say. I fucking well hate they. Anyway, I’m in the garden smoking and hear a rustling sound behind me coming from the overflowing bin at the side of our house. I immediately creep up on the bin to find out what the hell is happening with my rubbish and before I reach the bin a fucking big ginger cat crawls out of the bin and jumps to the floor staring at me the whole time as if to say: “what the fuck are you looking at hey, never seen a cat sleep in a bin?”. We stared at one another for at least 5 minutes and then he turned and paced away. I’m not sure there is any significance to this event or not but I can’t help but think that this little ginger cat was a messenger of some sort, a little ginger bin cat messenger. It’s troubled me ever since and there are literally a hundred and one possibilities as to what the message was he was bringing but I mean cats don’t just crawl out of your bin every day do they, particularly not big ginger ones. I wonder if he’s my Joe Black? Christ, I hope not but I’ll kick him to death next time I see him to make sure.

So what can be taken from this week’s rambling? Well, I’m going to visit my friends over the next week for a start. I will also speak openly about my feelings regarding changing water temperatures in the local duck pond and if I see that little ginger bin cat again I’ll shake him till he tells me what the fuck he wants with me, or his head falls off.

See you around.

Andrew