Norman’s Walk: The Novel
Norman’s Walk is in a little bit of a crisis since most of the comments I got from the last time traveling chapter, were something like:
‘What drugs are you taking?’
‘That’s gone a bit surreal.’
And the worst one:
‘Poor Diane.’
So I thought I’d ask you a few questions, to sort things out in my mind. Be brutal I can take it.
Here’s what we have so far:
Wazzokyernumpty held onto a tree to stop himself swaying.
‘Oh my god, you turned up,’ I say.
‘Yesh.’ He’s not Sean Connery, he’s just disorientated, he was like this last time, in fact a lot worse last time.
‘And did those umbrella hats finally become cool?’
I have Norman on the lead and I’m still grumpy with him for trying to talk to me when I know he can’t talk. I pass Edvard Munch’s tree.
And it seems a little unsettled. I always feel a tiny breeze through the trees when I’m passing, and a noise that some would say is a quiet scream, but not me, because that’s nonsense, and I’m a down-to-earth no-nonsense type of guy who doesn’t imagine stupid noises in trees.
If you’ve never been attacked by a man with a blank face pulling a trolley full of rotten fruit, then let me tell you this:
It’s upsetting.
I hurry along the full length of the rugby pitch and check behind to see him still struggling up the steps from the wood. I take a left into the country park and down towards the gate. No matter what emotional state I’m in, I always find time to be confused by this sign as we go through the gate.
This is The Blank-Faced Man.
You’ll have to make do with the sketch, I haven’t got a photo, because I didn’t say:
‘Hey mate, you look strange, let’s selfie.’
As I approach, I notice his eyes look like mine one hour after saying ‘shall we finish off that bottle of Jack Daniels?’ His pupils are rattling around dazed, deep inside his cavernous sockets. The rest of his face seems frozen in place.
He thinks licking my face while I bend down to tie my laces is going to speed things up, but here’s the thing Norman – it won’t. I grab his lead, wipe the saliva out of my eyeball and we’re off out the door.
If I could be bothered to draw him properly and you could see inside his soul, this is what Norman looks like: