Thursday, 1 November 2012

The Leg End that is Craggy Ampule Ponce


Here is a very sketchy first rough for another idea permeating in the old brain box. It features the unpleasant character of Craggy Ampule Ponce. A lowlife confidence trickster who uses people in the way normal folk would toilet paper. It is a comedy but one with some bite….

The summer sun beat down upon the head of Craggy Ampule Ponce. It made him feel rather good about himself but then again feeling good about himself was de rigeur as far as Craggy was concerned. After all, he thought, I care bugger all about anyone else.

As the sun shone it glanced idly off the glass of Portuguese plonk that stood on the cafĂ© table. The sun made the wine look all the more red, almost incandescent crimson. Craggy pulled a face then sipped on his drink of choice. It was a visage used to inform anyone observing him that he knew a thing or two about wine. The fact he didn’t was immaterial. Life was a game of impressions and Craggy was used to impressing all the right people for all the wrong reasons.

Annie had been a mistake. He could see that now. Starting a relationship with someone with learning difficulties had not given him a second thought, after all her father was a junior member of parliament so proved very useful in the scheme of things. Hampton, Annie’s father, had been a darn good sport. He had taken his little angel’s boyfriend out to some of the swankiest restaurants in London. He then introduced him to a lifestyle Craggy had hitherto been unfamiliar with but soon grew to like.

Annie’s weight problem hadn’t overly bothered Craggy. True he liked his women petite with rather prominent features. Annie certainly had that. Her arse was, as Craggy once commented to a friend, a place you could park your trailer van in and forget about it for the weekend. She was pretty though, pretty and plump. Her edges were all rounded, her chins multiple, her breasts seemed sentient with an independant intelligence that enabled them to move around, or so it seemed to Craggy, without any help from Annie.
Their romance, for want of a better word for duplicity, was a whirl-wind affair. Craggy spotted an opportunity then pounced.

The air of monetary C'est la vie had also impressed the boy from Wanstead. Having grown up in a council house with a stunted father whose idea of parental guidance was the leather belt he wore about his waist and a mother who knew her place, the idea of spending money as though it were tap water impressed him. So did the attention he gained from young females seeing him in the company of such a well-known individual. Craggy was, at the stage in his life, a man of champagne tastes with an H2O bank balance. That, he promised himself, was about to change.

Nonetheless, he and Annie were as compatible as sewage and sauvignon blanc. The sex had been unremarkable but he couldn’t complain about that, it was more to do with the conversation that cantered around a sort of verbal two step featuring Winnie-the-Pooh and an inebriated Don Quixote. To say it was painfully puerile was understating the obvious. Still, the silver cufflinks and the Mont Blanc fountain pen had come in rather handy.

Craggy knew precisely when the affair has turned sour. It was after the visit to Hever Castle. He hadn’t minded going round that ruddy water maze but Annie’s insistence she soak him to the bone had proven a tad too much. Of course that had only been the start of it. What really brought matters  to the boil as it were occurred when Hampton received his little angel’s credit card bill. At first Hampton couldn’t quite understand why his daughter had bought another Rolex but girls being girls he let it pass. The suit from Gieves and Hawkes costing three thousand pound, a man’s suit at that, was a different matter. Hampton felt himself unravel at the seams.

The meeting at the Ritz hadn’t gone as Craggy had wished. Calling Hampton a dry wank was not received in the ironic manner it had been said. Sharp words were uttered. Hampton made it perfectly clear what Craggy should do with himself but not being adequately flexible or double jointed proved physically impossible.

There wasn’t a tearful goodbye from one heartbroken lover to another, no Romeo and Juliet. Craggy did what Craggy does best; he scarpered leaving Annie to weep alone. As Annie cried so Hampton contemplated his options as he polished his twelve bore. The activity was purely therapeutic but the notion did have appeal even if Wormwood Scrubs didn’t.

Craggy decided a career in catering might be the order of the day 

.
.
.
all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy.To view my books on Amazon/Kindle go here: https://www.amazon.com/author/russellduffy -- For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

2 comments:

masterymistery said...

Cool. Enjoyed it a lot.

Russell 'C.J.' Duffy said...

Thank you sir, nice of you to say so!