Pushing the Envelope

Billy Scuggins' head hung in his hands. The holding cell tiles tried their best to comfort him with their coolness, but soon gave up: they knew a bad bet by its echo and this lad was all tears and self-pity. This time yesterday Billy was a happily disgruntled Socialist Worker; a proud Union man in the Royal Mail Post Office, now reduced to a prisoner of conscience in a Yorkshire police station.

"Right-oh, Scuggins." The heavy metal Victorian door swung open on to a modern fluorescent lit corridor, where the Sergeant stood mocking his pain. "You can pick your shoelaces up at the main desk - the little lady won't be pursuing the matter - although I told her she had a very good case..."

He muttered a non-committal response and grunted as disdainfully as his embarrassment would allow before shuffling back into freedom.

"Free the Huddersfield One!" His mother hit him around the head with her handbag. How did she always manage to find out when he was in trouble? He mused, as she berated him about the shame he caused, all the way home on the bus. He was in his twenties, for Pete's sake.

The bus route took them past his placard waving brethren of the Huddersfield Socialist Committee. He tried to avoid their eye contact and failed miserably. His heart sank as Big Dave threw up a roar of righteous anger and pointed him out to the comrades.

"Scab!" Big Dave yelled.

"Not technically, brother." Irish Dave interrupted, as the bus waited in amusement, clogging traffic around pedestrians and protesters. "You see, we would have to be picketing a place of employment where the Union had set up an official strike action, and those poor disillusioned souls breaking the picket lines, and their mother's hearts, would be "Scabs". Technically, brother Scuggins is just a wanker."

"Wanker!" Big Dave yelled, and soon the air was blue with communal shouting.

"Wan-ker! Wan-ker! Wan-ker!".

Thankfully, the bus moved on and soon the only verbal abuse came from the mother who bore him. "And I said to Rene 'My William was brought up to respect the sacred flower of womanhood', and she said 'Well, why's he sent an envelope full of S-H-I-T through Our Gracie's letterbox for Valentines?'. So, I said 'My William would never tamper with the Royal Mail, never mind do something so un-biblical as shove shite in a girl's box!'..."

Billy tried to tune out his mother's voice and was quite successful. The horrified stares of the people on the bus were a little more difficult to ignore as his mother continued.

"So, why are the do-good brigade after your bacon. I can understand little Gracie giving you the heave-ho - and you're lucky she isn't pressing charges - but what on earth did you do to them? Send a jiffy bag of vomit? Honestly, William. If your father were alive he'd die of shame."

"I didn't send them anything," he tried to whisper, "they were angry because I posted the wrong Valentine cards: Gracie got the one for the Capitalist Bastard Fat Cat Council Committee."

His mother drew herself up to her full seated height. "Are you telling me you were sending an envelope full of human waste to the Council? What do you think Rene would say to that at the next meeting of the Women's Institute? Ooh, I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Well, they didn't get that envelope, did they? They got the one for Gracie, with the Valentine card, and the message of undying loyalty and love."

His mother's face appeared transformed in matronly rapture as this news sunk in. "Oh, William! You mean the one on the local telly this morning? The one that lovely woman from the BBC read out? Oh, the Mayor said it was a vote of confidence to have such public support - it was very thoughtful of you. Ooh, I don't know what I did to deserve you."

There wasn't a lot of arguing left inside of Billy Scuggins. He let his mother bask in the false glow of his good citizenry and thought back on the good times he had with Gracie, the HSC, and working in the Sorting Office. One day on, and lifetime away, Billy felt the lonely connection only he, and other freed political prisoners, felt. And it felt shit.

(755 words)

http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/newsnight/2007/08/thursday_16_august_2007.html