Ballbag Papers

July 1967

Three days ago I went mad. Well I think I went mad. I mean ... if howling like a dog - at the dead of night, and in a quarry - means that you're mad, then I'm a fuckin' loony! And that's just what I did do. I howled at the moon. I was stark naked and I howled, loud and proud - like a fuckin' werewolf. Except it wasn't a full moon - and I aint a fuckin' werewolf! But at the end of it I felt a lot better and I suppose it stopped me from topping myself. When I was done I went back to me clothes and me mate Germit Singh. I aint known him long - just six days. Funny that - I never thought I make a friend of an Indian.

Six days ago I woke up in an alternative universe. (Well I think that's what I did - cos if I didn't - then I really am a fuckin' loony.)

I woke up with the worse hangover I've ever had. And when I opened my eyes and looked around I was in a strange and dirty, smelly shitty room. On the floor beside me - cos I weren't sleeping in a bed - were two pools of puke. I was nearly naked. I had an unbuttoned shirt on but no trousers. They were on the floor covered in puke. When I stood up I realised that I'd shat myself. I was in a sorry state. My first thought was, 'Where am I?' And me second was, 'What a cunt I am!'

So I went to the bathroom. It was a shit-hole - literally. And though I'd never seen this shit-hole before, I sort of knew where things were. I washed me arse, legs, bollocks, face - and then had a piss. And that was when I noticed the tattoo on me tadger. It was like a horrible blue bruise and when I stretched me nob out I saw that it spelt 'STROOD ROCKET'.

To say that I was shocked is an understatement. The last time I looked I definitely had no penile artwork. But that weren't the only one. My body was covered in 'em! Loads 'n loads of tattoos. Hands, arms, chest, legs ... Anchors, wankers, cartoons, daggers, snakes, naked women... I was a walking art gallery! And the thing is - the last time I looked - I never even had one. Cos the thing is - I hate tattoos. And so you can imagine how I felt.

But things got worse.

Looking in the mirror, looking at me face, I saw what a wreck I was. It was my face all right, but it looked battered. It looked older, rougher, and to be quite frank, it was fuckin' scary. That was cos it 'ad a fuckin' great scar on it! An' also cos of the mop of blonde frizzy curly hair that been allowed to grow. A least it answered a question. I now knew what me hair would be like if I did let it grow!

But while I was thinking all this, and while I was wondering the fuckin' hell was happening to me, I heard the front door open and somebody walked in.

"You in there Boncy!" It was a woman's voice. It was loud and crude. She went silent for a few seconds then ...

"Jesus Fuck Boncy! What 'ave you been doing!"

It was my sister's voice.

"You fuckin' animal! You shat on the floor!"

I remember feeling very scared. More scared than I ever had.

"Where are you!" She shouted.

And she clattered quickly over the wooden floor, opening doors, looking for me. She entered the bathroom. I quickly pulled a towel around me waist.

She stared at me. I stared back.

"Look at the fuckin' state a you!" she said, with hands on hips.

I didn't know what to say. Not least cos this woman who was shouting at me, this woman who had my sisters voice, was a fright! She was my sister all right, I could see that, but what a difference a parallel universe makes!

My sister, as I knew her, was a coiffured, hoity-toity, lady of pretensions. This woman was a bleached blonde tart! She wore an arse-tight pink mini skirt, and a top that was so low, and so tight, that her tits were nearly falling out. Great on a young bird, but my sister's nearly forty. Though I must say, in this universe, her figure weren't that bad!

Then she let me 'ave it!

"You fuckin' cunt!"

Boff! She whacked me round the head! I put me hands up to defend me self and me towel dropped to the floor. More whacks around the head. Then I had to guard me nuts from a vicious kick.

"Look at the fuckin' state a you." she shouted! "You're a fuckin' pig Boncy! You said you'd look after Denzil... But I can't leave 'im with you like that!"

Whack! Another backhander to the head.

"You knew this interview was important for me! Look at the fuckin' state of you! How am I going to impress them with a kid in tow!"

She stood back and stopped her assault and looked at me with utter contempt.

"Don't know why I even fuckin' bother!"

And then she walked out.

It took me about an hour to get over it. Well I never actually got over it, I'm not over it now. But six days ago, when I first discovered my new persona ,and was discovering the new persona of my sister, I was pretty much shaken up. I really didn't know what was going on. (Still don't) I found some clothes and got dressed. I looked around the flat, which stunk of shit and puke, and saw that if the shit and puke wasn't there, that it would still probably stink. The bloke who lived here - me - was a fuckin' pig.

When I got dressed I opened the front door. It gave onto a rusty cast-iron gantry. The gantry spanned the length of a grim and grimy Victorian tenement. I was on the top [fourth] floor. At the other end of the gantry was a rusty and neglected - but quite magnificent - cast-iron staircase. Looking around I saw similar buildings, all close together, grim and grimy. I walked along the gantry and saw opposite, cos there was gap between the buildings, a view of the river Medway. I knew then that I was in Stood - my home town - cos over the river was Rochester castle.

But it took a bit of time to work that out. Cos the castle that I was looking at was not the same castle that I was used to. And it was only cos I'd seen pictures of Rochester castle before it had been bombed that I recognised it at all. And I must say, the un-bombed version is definitely better. And looking over I could also see Rochester bridge. It was painted green! Another anomaly!

It was then that the idea occurred to me that I was in an alternative universe. And as the idea occurred, I suddenly remembered what it was, I was doing the night before. And I remembered the conversation with the man who said he was a professor. And I remembered the drinking and Nicaraguan cigars. And the whisky... And the professor's theory... And I went very cold... And I remembered...

Transcribed form the diarys of Boncy Ballbag by Mogass Date and Barry Hutchings

The Ballbag Papers: Report #2 to follow soon.

29th April 2009

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