Mark Watson the Comedian

The second half of yesterday’s narrative poem surprise-gift. Merry Christmas (again)!

Deep down Rob feels that something must go wrong;
It’s not this easy to fulfil ambitions –
But probably that’s just his superstition.
He doesn’t ponder it for very long.

Their lives, indeed, are now transformed quite drastically.
Each day they seek the guidance of the man,
And execute his winning masterplan
Which never fails to do the trick fantastically.

They visit different bookies every race
So no-one can be sure that there’s a pattern;
They bet huge sums and watch the cash-pot fatten –
They’re growing richer at a shocking pace.

Of course, the inclination to be flash
Accounts for many purchases they make;
For Dean though, there’s a little more at stake
Now that he’s got his hands on lots of cash.

He sees his riches as a kind of bait
To capture the affections of his kid;
And so he makes his life into a bid
To make the boy think that his dad is great.

He does things that his ex-wife can’t afford,
Taking the lad on holiday to France:
He doesn’t dare to miss this one last chance
To make sure he is worshipped and adored.

And sure enough the little boy’s delighted
By all the gifts in which he’s being showered;
Dean’s ex-wife feels her mood turn pretty sour
When Daddy’s visits get her son excited.

It’s a familiar ‘broken family’ story:
The mother gets the tough and thankless tasks,
The aggro when he won’t do as she asks –
The wealthy father meanwhile steals the glory.

Dean thinks the love he’s bought will last forever,
And he and Rob keep winning every time,
The old man’s always there, come rain or shine,
And do his forecasts let them down? No, never.

One day, when they’ve ‘earned’ winnings of three grand,
The two are dining in some private club –
They’ve left behind the days of crappy pubs,
They now have silver spoons clasped in both hands.

Dean unexpectedly becomes quite sober
And says: “Now, Rob mon, let’s look to the future:
I know that bein’ poor again won’t suit yer –
But all this winning, it could soon be over.”

Rob says, alarmed, “What do yer mean by that?”
Dean says: “Well, look at it like this, me friend:
We only win because we can depend
On that guy sitting where he’s always sat.

But what if one day, an’ it’s gotta come,
We turn up and there’s no sign of the guy?
If nothing else, he’s old enough to die,
Or just go somewhere else to have his fun.”

“Aye,” Rob says, “true, but what do you suggest?”
“Well, here’s what I’ve been thinkin’,” Dean proposes.
“Considering the guy’s as old as Moses
I’ve come ter think that what might work out best

Would be if he would let us read that book.
I mean, whatever’s in there is unique: it
Could become the world’s most famous secret!
We’ve gotta find a way to get a look.

Imagine if we had the secret code!
We wouldn’t need to give him five percent:
Think of the hundreds we’ve already spent!
Those small commissions add up to a load.”

But Rob objects: “Maybe it isn’t fair
To try and get the secret of his magic.
Just think – the guy’s life would be pretty tragic
If his one source of income wasn’t there!”

Dean, irritated, says “I’m not expecting
The guy to do owt you would call ‘unfair’:
I just think, like, he really oughter share
This secret he’s so jealously protecting!”

Rob feels this argument contains a flaw,
But knows he’d come off worse in a dispute;
Say what he likes, Dean just won’t give a hoot –
Besides, Rob is afraid of being poor:

Now, for the first time, he is slowly tasting
Amorous favours from the other sex,
Where charm has failed, these days he can try cheques;
This is a chance he doesn’t dare risk wasting.

And so next time they go to meet the man,
Instead of merely asking for their tip,
Dean (as he puts it) “shoots straight from the hip”
Because he’s now committed to a plan.

“Listen, old friend,” he says, all very smarmy,
“We’ve been your partners for a good while now;
We know you always get it right, but how?”
The old man looks at him as if he’s barmy

And says “I’ve got to keep that information
Close to my chest, I’m sure you understand:
Or it would spread like fire throughout the land –
I’d lose my hobby, and my occupation!”

Dean slyly says: “But don’t you ever dream
Of publishing yer findings? Folk’d buy it!
Yer’d be like Atkins, who made up that diet!
A book – now that’s a money-makin’ scheme.”

The man says: “I’m not doing this for fame,
I do it ‘cause I like to beat the system;
I like to meet new people and assist ‘em.
I don’t want lots of folks to know my name.”

“OK,” says Dean, abandoning Plan A,
“But just for us two – what about a peek
Inside your book?” “You’ve got a fair old cheek!”
Is all he can persuade the guy to say.

And so for now they have to be content
With winning but not knowing how it’s worked,
Quite a relief for Rob, who would have shirked
The task if Dean had not been so intent.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Rob ventures brightly.
“We probably should stick with what we’ve got.”
Dean’s face implies they “probably” should not.
He has a greedy look that’s quite unsightly.

Two or three weeks go past, till it is nearly
The time when we remember Jesus’ birth –
Or, for most people on this godless earth,
A piss-up which we all indulge in yearly!

Dean has it in his head that he will make
This Christmas one his young son will remember:
He buys a new gift each day of December –
He’s now as slimy as a rattlesnake!

(“Well, actually…” the Agent butted in –
It was annoying that he never tired
Of winning other storytellers’ ire –
“A snake’s smooth, if you ever feel its skin.”

“Oh, Christ!”: the Shopkeeper had stirred awake,
Although he still had quite a dazed appearance,
In time to hear the Agent’s interference.
“How much of this guy are we going to take?”

“Now, gentlemen,” the Pilot said, “last warning:
The next time someone interrupts, they’re banned
From listening – do you two understand?
The Shopkeeper agreed: he was still yawning,

The Agent nodded in half-baked assent.)
“Well, anyway,” the Guru says. “This Dean
Is spending money like you’ve never seen –
I’m sure you can imagine where it went.

His life has turned into a crazy mission
To win his son’s complete love and affection
And so he’s bought this quite obscene selection
Of presents, in the Christmas-time tradition.

And, crazy as it sounds with all their ‘earnings’,
He’s spent so much, he finds out to his sorrow,
That (with his own bills, too) he’ll have to borrow
To make good all the debts caused by his yearnings.

Though gambling should have made him rich enough,
Since with the old man’s help they’ve won a packet,
There’s one more thing you need, and these guys lack it:
It’s common sense, can’t do without that stuff!

Well, Dean at least. Rob may be slightly wiser,
But what is missing in this chap is guts
To challenge Dean, to raise the ifs and buts;
He follows Dean as Nazis did the Kaiser.

This tendency is something he’s aware of
And one dark day he gets the chance to change,
When Dean says: “I’ve a little plan arranged
To get that book: the whole thing’s taken care of.”

Rob knows this could be mad, at best it’s risky;
But something in Dean’s eyes says ‘fall in line’:
And so he does just that, though all the time
He wishes for the courage to resist; he

Tails well behind his mate in trepidation;
It’s a cold day, December 21,
The old man waves as usual as they come
But Dean does not return his salutation.

He says, with an abruptness rather chilling,
“Yer mus’ be bloody freezin’ I should think!
Why don’t yer join us for a quiet drink:
A Christmas gift from us, if you are willing.”

“That’s kind,” the man says, all apologetically,
“But honestly, I’d rather stay outdoors:
I feel quite frail – my lungs aren’t strong like yours:
I’m best off with fresh air,” – he coughs pathetically.

This isn’t quite the answer Dean required.
His lust for cash has grown into a need:
His son, his habits – everything breeds greed
And greed alone, I think, could have inspired

His next move, though some say it was the Devil –
Religious folk who think Dean’s soul had fled
When he’d allowed his heart to be misled:
I see no need to take things to that level.

But add all this to what Dean has been drinking
And you might understand why he discards
All subtlety, and grabs the book, pulls hard:
To steal it from the guy, that is his thinking.

He seems to think the old man will release
The book without a struggle – well, he’s wrong!
Turns out the guy’s astonishingly strong
And clings on bravely, shouting: “Help! Police!”

Dean yells at Rob: “Don’t fuckin’ stand there! Help!”
Rob’s terrified to join the tug-of-war;
He doesn’t want to know Dean any more –
Then suddenly the man lets out a yelp

And starts to choke, left hand clutched to his chest,
Still with the book held snugly in the right.
He’s doubled over, finished by the fight.
Dean starts to panic, thinking of arrest

As gradually the man slumps to the floor
And someone comes to see if he can do
Something to help, or get a better view;
Dean sees all kinds of trouble are in store

And shouts to Rob it’s time to get away:
Rob doesn’t need a second invitation
To flee from this appalling situation –
Long as he lives he won’t forget this day.

The two try to escape discreetly, which
Is easy as the crowds do what they can
To get assistance for the ailing man –
The panic on the scene’s at fever pitch.

When their escape’s complete, the men don’t talk:
The consequences of the steps they’ve taken
Have left both of them feeling sick and shaken.
In dreadful silence, on and on they walk.

Their glory days are over now, of course;
Whether God ends them to avenge the mystic
Or if they simply fall prey to statistics,
They never pick another winning horse.

Dean buys a share in one, his last big spend;
It’s called A Gift Horse, which of course reminds him
Of the great legacy of guilt which binds him
But also of the powers of their old ‘friend’.

Whatever that guy had, this horse ain’t got.
And when Dean takes his son to watch it race,
At the first face it trips, falls on its face,
And later on is taken to be shot.