Random reminder

Press, 27 December 1986, Page 9

Random reminder

MIDNIGHT MATINEE He was a man who, sometimes, was described as of mature years. And he was on holiday, at a beach resport, at the bach of his son. When the time came he retired with his wife to a room which ostensibly slept four. He was intrigued with the bedding arrangements. There were two bunks, each carrying a pair of passengers, and it seemed to him that they were exhibits from the colonial room at the museum. They were iron immensities, which responded to the touch very readily. A sufferer from vertigo, he chose the lower bunk. His wife was in the lower bunk opposite. About 10 p.m., when he was at the drowsy stage, a third ticket-bearing passenger arrived. He was the six-foot 16-year-old grandson, who vaulted into his top bunk nimbly. Then, to the senior citizen in the nether position, all hell broke loose. The structure swayed alarmingly and it seemed to him that his chances of survival were less than those watching the walls of Jericho tumbling down.

Every pitch and toss above was accompanied by terrifying creaks and groans and it took an hour to satisfy him that the whole edifice was not about to disintegrate.

But his panic was appeased by another problem. The young man above snored. And as a snorer, he was worthy of firstclass honours. It was tremendous; and this was accompanied by a more dulcet tone coming from his wife across the room.

Throughout the night, he amused himself by winning a moment’s respite by making violent movements to the bed above, and tossing various impedimenta across to his wife’s bed. It seemed, for a wild moment, that he was William Southgate conducting the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra in a version of the “Trumpet Voluntary” — the strident brass from above, the wood winds from his wife.

The other two accused him, next morning, of snoring. That must be, he said, between 6 a.m. and 7 a.m.