30 November 2016

arnold 3

Terry the Hippy


Every so often Arnold's parents would go for an evening out. Usually to have a break from Arnold's weird and wonderful world,  and his persistent nagging. Terry was their next door neighbour, and was always willing to help out when needed. Terry was a hippy, and he didn't work, so the money came in useful! Money helped him to 'keep up' his hippy ways! Whatever they were. He was in his seventies but the age of the hippy had never deserted him. Terry has long scraggly hear, always wore flared trousers, and beads around his neck. He also played in a pub band called the Parsley Sprigs Progressive Movement. Prog rocks forgotten band! 

"Ok Arnold, Terry is coming to look after you tonight, so be a good boy. Alright?"

"Yes Mum," Arnold replied, anxiety across his face. Arnold thought that whenever Terry babysat, he was always going to turn him into a hippy. Their conversations centred around progressive rock music and other hippy centred themes! Arnold just wanted to talk about cars and trains and other things a five year old would talk about.

The doorbell rang and Arnold, dodging Mr P. took cover behind the sofa. Mr P. stooped his way to the front door and opened it.

"Evening Mr P." Terry said as the door opened, Fingers displaying the peace sign. 
"Thanks Terry, come on in. We'll be back by eleven. If you need anything it all in the kitchen."
"Yeah, peace and love," Terry replied. Mr and Mrs P. hurried out of the door. Arnold was left in the hands of a hippy!

"Right little fella. Where are you? Ready to talk music?" He exclaimed as he threw his plastic bag of old vinyl records on the sofa. "I'll tell you something Arnold. CD's suck. No life in them. LP's are where its at. Rock your socks off boy, yeah, cool."

Arnold had tentatively emerged from behind the sofa. Sitting bravely on the sofa's edge. 

"Now this is an interesting one," Terry stated pulling an old record from the bag. "Emerson, Lake and Palmer, now that's prog!" Arnold sat totally dis-interested. He preferred One Direction. He wanted to talk about his new Thunderbirds toy, but before he could open his mouth Terry was up and in search of the record player. 

"Now kiddo, this is our bands new song. It's only 23 minutes long! Great lyrics man, written by me. "Into the bubble of love / Take the orange sparkling sun to the centre of my heart and kiss the shores of love." Song's called Tales from the Topographic Orange Sun, that lyrics in Part 4 called Shore of Love." Terry said. 

"It's rubbish." Arnold said. 
"Let me explain." Terry continued. And for the next five minutes he read the lyrics. Arnold desperately trying to butt in! 
"You play in a pub band don't you?" He finally managed to say. 
"Pub band it may be Arnold, but we're going places."
"What like the old peoples home." Arnold replied with a chuckle. 
"Yeah well, lets have a listen. Absorb yourself in the sounds of the ocean and that mystical drum beat." 

Suddenly the record kicked in and this awful sound came out of the speakers. Arnold put his fingers to his ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds. Terry was already dancing around the room, doing strange things with his hands and legs. 

Hours seemed to pass by. Arnold sat on the sofa, fingers still in his ears. He wanted to watch TV. 
"Keep it real Arnold." Terry said. ''The bubble of purple love, transcends the barriers to our hearts."' He sang. 'How does it sound?'
"Rubbish," Arnold replied once more. He decided to hide back behind the sofa. Seemed a safer place than in full view of a dancing hippy! 

After the fourth listen, Arnold suddenly started to smell something very strange. It was a unfamiliar smell and as he took a few deep breaths he suddenly felt a little light headed. He peered around the sofa and could see Terry, who was in some kind of trance like state, lying on the floor laughing. Clearly something was wrong. He started to laugh little himself, his head was spinning a little and he started to sing One Direction songs! He laughed and laughed as he sang. Terry sat up at this development and sat watching a 5 year old dancing around the room and singing and laughing at the top of his voice. Terry panicked. He looked at his digital watch. It was nearly 11pm. Mr and Mrs P. would be back soon! What was he thinking. Cursing himself, he tried to stand up, but started laughing and rolled around on the floor. Unbeknown to him Mr and Mrs P. had already returned and as they entered the living room were greeted by a dancing, prancing boy and a rolling hippy in hysterics. 

"Wow Mum, you're groovy." Arnold slurred when he spotted them. 
"ARNOLD!" she screamed.
"Have you heard Terry's latest record. It's rubbish," Arnold said laughing. "Records are the future, yeah cool, man. Hey Dad, you're the funk master!"
'Heavens above, he's turned into Terry!' was all Mr P. could say. 

Arnold was still laughing as he was dragged upstairs to his room. Terry was last seen kneeling, pleading his innocence. Although that seemed to be falling on death ears!

"Terry get out of my house before I ram those records where the sun doesn't shine." Mrs P. shouted as she came down the stairs. Terry, knowing better than to argue, swaggered his way out of the living room and the front door, desperately trying not to chuckle as he did so. 

Arnold on the other hand was asleep, dreaming of dancing hippies and orange gates!? 


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