The crowd patiently paid absolutely no attention what so ever to the short line of people winding their way across the stage. To say they looked oddly out of place would be an un-necessarily re-iteration of the obvious. Every one was out of place in this place, and these four were no exception.
Of the tall and slightly built dark haired man at the front of the line the kindest thing you could say was that his nose was striking. If you were un-kind, as most people turned out to be, you might point out that it resembled the beak of a large bird, possible an ostrich or a turkey. His hair was also striking, being the closest thing to a black pile of spray painted straw most people would hope to encounter.
The plain white T-shirt that he wore, as well as the jeans they were tucked into, contained several small rips, tears, and dirt smudges. Not artistically placed ones designed to enhance an artificial image of handsome ruggedness, but the good honest wear experienced by a good honest hard working shirt worn by a good honest hard working man, who just may have happened to have fallen down a cliff fairly recently.
His boots too bore unmistakable signs of hard use; Scuffs and scrapes, and the rounding of the heels that mark boots well used; yet they were also well polished and carefully cared for. Instead of a coat he was wearing a button-less vest of grey leather. At odds with the basic normality of the rest of his clothing were the short black leather bracers he wore around each wrist. These were decorated with small, silver coloured conical studs, a theme that was continued on his belt, as well as on the thin choker collar he wore around his thin neck.
He could not have been said to be leading the group, even though he was at the head of the line; it was more like he had wandered into the spotlight and of the rest of the group had followed out of nervous curiosity.
The girl that followed most closely behind him was clothed inappropriately in a short pink dress, with soft boots of an impractical flower pedal design on her feet. A small pink conical cap with a flopped over tip covered the top of her head. Her outfit suggested that someone had been trying to capture the look of a full sized version of Tinker Bell, but had gotten cold feet at the last moment about the position of the hemline and just how much thigh would be showing. Dirt smudges and small tears whispered that, here too, was a person who walked too close to cliff edges. She also wore a black leather choker with silver studs that matched the one on the dark haired man, although you could just barely make it out under the long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Her pretty face had the high cheek bones and long nose reminiscent of the American Apache Indian, although the effect was spoiled somewhat by the green colouration of her skin.
The furtive way she followed suggested that, although she absolutely did not mistake the two of them for a couple, she wasn’t about to let the man with dark hair get too far out in front.
The third member of the little group was close to a direct opposite of the dark haired man. To say he was a bit chubby would be like calling the ocean a bit damp. His girth truly looked to exceed his 5 foot 3 inch stature, and he not so much as walked as he wobbled back and forth, gradually moving forward. He was dressed in loud slacks of polyester, with a matching sports jacket whose colour scheme was reminiscent of neon signage. As if the plot needed more stereotyping his face wore the warm wide grin of a man who was constantly jolly. One who had, if not a new joke every day, at least an old one with a great punch line. And if it wasn’t a great punch line he would tell it like it was anyway. Here was the man your uncle Buck was trying to be every Christmas. You knew instinctively that this was a man on who you could count to liven up a cocktail party, who would be guaranteed to cheer you up, and from whom you would never, ever buy anything with the word pre-owned in the title.
The fourth member of the group was a burly gentleman dressed in canvas trousers and beige cable-knit sweater. The broad jaw and piercing blue eyes whispered of a Scandinavian heritage. The woolen toque covering his head said that if any of the group was to call themselves a sailor, this would be the one. The frayed rope belt echoed the sentiment. The man carried himself with a confidence that spoke loudly ‘If you’re organizing a side for rugby, here’s your first pick.’. The salt stains on his boots told of recent sea fairing experience. The duffle bag slung casually over the shoulder fairly shouted ‘We’re still keeping with the sailor theme here’!
You began to wonder if he was actually allowed to say any words for himself
At center stage the burly blond dropped his carry bag and grinned at the crowd as the others clustered around. “Now” his voice boomed, “We Sing!”
At this he grabbed the closest mike and began at the top of his voice…
Once we had a company
‘Til we all began to Disagree
Then John sued Paul, Paul sued Bob, and Bob us three,
It’s getting so confused, I think I just sued me!
Oh, I’ve been served with a yellow subpoena!
A yellow subpoena, a yellow subpoena…
Realizing that nobody else had joined in, he trailed off as he looked around at the astonished blank stares from the rest of the group.
“What?” he demanded.
“That’s not the way it goes” complained the fat man.
“You speak from reading words. Sven now, Sven speaks from experience!”
The dark haired man spoke up “Sven speaks from reading back issues of Heavy Metal.”
For a moment, the big Scandinavian glowered at him, then broke into a grin “OK Mark, you got me. I just happen to like Kierkegaard’s lyrics better McCartney’s.
The woman broke in with “Can we just get this over with? I’ve got a date with a warm bath and I’m way overdue.”
“Shall we try this again?” queried the man addressed as Mark
The fat man spoke up “First let me tell you about the two Irish guys who were in this pub.”
“That’s not a song.” Countered the woman
“Not at the start, no, but later after they get a few drinks on…”
We’re supposed to sing Yellow Submarine.
“Which one? The one from ‘Revolver’ or the one off the B side of Elanor Rigby?”
“Does it matter?” asked the woman in an exasperated tone.
“Not at all. They’re both the same.”
“Then why did you bring it up?”
“Cause I know a great revolver joke. Seems this guy finds a magic bottle on the beach…”
Can’t we just sing already?” the woman interrupted, rolling her eyes. She turned and said aside to Mark “Next time I have to pull you from the brink of certain death, can we leave Fred at home?”
“Hey” retorted Mark “It wasn’t my idea to bring him along.” After a pause he continued “Come to think of it, it never is!”
“I know,” the woman said, “It just makes me feel better to say it.”
Not to be deterred, the fat man spoke up again “So this Irish guy walks out of a bar!”
At the collective groan he looked around at the faces of his companions. “What? It could happen!”
Sven grinned at his companions again, then raised the mike once more.
In the town where I was born
Lived a man who sailed to sea
And he told us of his life
In the land of submarines
So we sailed up to the sun
Till we found a sea of green
And we lived beneath the waves
in our yellow submarine
The rest joined in the chorus:
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
Mark:
And our friends are all aboard
Many more of them live next door
And the band begins to play
All:
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
Fred (speaking into his hand to give a hollow echo like effect)
The captain says you can do it, Mr Boatswain, you can do it
Oh, Sgt. Of course I love you
But for god’s sake take your hand off the intercom button.
Mark:
What?
Fred:
As we live a life of ease
Every one of us has all we need
Sky of blue and a pint of green
In our yellow submarine
All
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine, yellow submarine
They ended the performance to a smattering of applause.
“Thank You, Thank you” Fred bowed at the audience, “Hey, have you heard the one about the two nuns, the peanuts, and the cocktail dress?”
It seemed that this time the sparkling lights moved faster than usual.
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