Rock 'n' Soul
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Sometimes explanations aren't necessary when old friends meet.
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Pon knew what he wanted to do with his life from an early age, although hanging about with his best mate, Pink, it was always going to be touch and go.
Between them, they were into everything as teenagers, well, almost everything, Pon stopped short at getting involved with the ladies.
They stole apples from back gardens, broke windows, dragged abandoned deck chairs along the beach during the holidays for the refund, smoked, cigarettes at first then pot when it became available, drank beer and cider, swore like troopers and caroused to the pop songs of the day.
Pink took to the ladies much the same as they took to him, but Pon denied himself the pleasures of the flesh, his calling was to the priesthood and the celibacy it demanded.
An altar boy since the age of seven, the Catholic faith was drummed into him by his parents, the priests and his teachers at school, moulding and shaping his future, putting the fear of God into him. This seemed to galvanise his beliefs and make him ever more determined to follow his chosen career path.
Other acquaintances took the piss, called him any number of crude names, but with Pink by his side for support he managed to ride out the storm.
They more or less lost touch when Pon left for his training, three long years of prayer and ceremony, more prayers and Latin, more prayers, hymns and book after book, then the bible of course.
In the early days he was allowed home every two months or so and would hook up with his friend. Pink was by now heavily into the more underground bands and Pon would listen along with him, usually under the influence of some choice hash which heightened the listening sensation. He remained true to his calling despite these temptations however and his home visits became less frequent, until they ceased altogether.
Two years in darkest Africa, closely followed by one and a half years in various South American rain forests, Pon was ready for a posting closer to home.
A year in the hustle and bustle of London weighed heavier on him than his time in the jungles. Drug addicts, scrotes stealing from the church to feed their habits and with kids having abortions or abandoning their new born babies found him wishing for the quieter life of a missionary. So much so, he was about to consider applying for another overseas posting when a parish not far from his home town became available. Not necessarily to him but up for grabs all the same.
He pulled out all the stops, put himself in the shop window and somehow secured the position as second in command to the outgoing priest.
He had every intention of looking his old friend up, but first had to acquaint himself with the new parishioners and the ways of the old priest so as not to step on anyone's toes, sort of learning the ropes.
Two weeks into the job he was sent to his home town to pick up some altar wine. Hopping off the bus, he crossed the road while the traffic was stopped at the lights. Halfway across a loud car horn sounded, frightening the life out of him. The driver was laughing his head off at him and he soon realised it was Pink, he was sitting at the wheel of a Range Rover.
Pon jumped in beside him, accompanied him on his work errands and let him front up for a huge breakfast although it was easily lunchtime. They swapped addresses and arranged to meet up soon before Pink dropped him off at his original destination.
He threw himself into his work, taking more and more duties on as he became more familiar with the terrain. One day, he was in the vicinity of Pink's flat after administering the last rites to a hospital patient who was on his last legs. Not his favourite part of being a priest, so he knocked on Pink's door in the hope he was at home.
Seconds later he heard his friend on the stairs.
"Got a spare beer and a joint for an old mate?" he asked as Pink opened the door.
Pink was strangely formal as he led the way upstairs to the inside door.
"Come in Father, do have a seat please."
Pon played along, Pink was prone to strange behaviour.
He placed his bag of tricks on the coffee table and settled into the easy chair with a sigh.
"You look tired mate, had a rough day?"
"You could say that, I'm sick to the back teeth of hymns and fucking prayers, what I need is a good old dose of rock.....and soul, have you got any soul Pink?"
"Yeah, think so," he handed Pon a bottle of cider, "here, get that down your neck and I'll root some out."
"Rock 'n' soul Pink, a bottle of cider, a fucking big spliff and some rock 'n' soul. That'll do the trick, I can forget about work for an hour and relax."
Pink's cat came over for a look at him, then settled down to stare at a blank wall. Well, he was Pink's cat, no explanation necessary.
They caught up for a couple of hours to where it felt to Pon he had never been away. He knew where to go now for a break from the routine and felt a whole lot happier for that. He left with a tape in his pocket. Scribbled on it in Pink's best stoned handwriting were the words ‘Rock 'n' Soul’.
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Sometimes explanations aren't necessary when old friends meet.
_____________________________________________________________________
Pon knew what he wanted to do with his life from an early age, although hanging about with his best mate, Pink, it was always going to be touch and go.
Between them, they were into everything as teenagers, well, almost everything, Pon stopped short at getting involved with the ladies.
They stole apples from back gardens, broke windows, dragged abandoned deck chairs along the beach during the holidays for the refund, smoked, cigarettes at first then pot when it became available, drank beer and cider, swore like troopers and caroused to the pop songs of the day.
Pink took to the ladies much the same as they took to him, but Pon denied himself the pleasures of the flesh, his calling was to the priesthood and the celibacy it demanded.
An altar boy since the age of seven, the Catholic faith was drummed into him by his parents, the priests and his teachers at school, moulding and shaping his future, putting the fear of God into him. This seemed to galvanise his beliefs and make him ever more determined to follow his chosen career path.
Other acquaintances took the piss, called him any number of crude names, but with Pink by his side for support he managed to ride out the storm.
They more or less lost touch when Pon left for his training, three long years of prayer and ceremony, more prayers and Latin, more prayers, hymns and book after book, then the bible of course.
In the early days he was allowed home every two months or so and would hook up with his friend. Pink was by now heavily into the more underground bands and Pon would listen along with him, usually under the influence of some choice hash which heightened the listening sensation. He remained true to his calling despite these temptations however and his home visits became less frequent, until they ceased altogether.
Two years in darkest Africa, closely followed by one and a half years in various South American rain forests, Pon was ready for a posting closer to home.
A year in the hustle and bustle of London weighed heavier on him than his time in the jungles. Drug addicts, scrotes stealing from the church to feed their habits and with kids having abortions or abandoning their new born babies found him wishing for the quieter life of a missionary. So much so, he was about to consider applying for another overseas posting when a parish not far from his home town became available. Not necessarily to him but up for grabs all the same.
He pulled out all the stops, put himself in the shop window and somehow secured the position as second in command to the outgoing priest.
He had every intention of looking his old friend up, but first had to acquaint himself with the new parishioners and the ways of the old priest so as not to step on anyone's toes, sort of learning the ropes.
Two weeks into the job he was sent to his home town to pick up some altar wine. Hopping off the bus, he crossed the road while the traffic was stopped at the lights. Halfway across a loud car horn sounded, frightening the life out of him. The driver was laughing his head off at him and he soon realised it was Pink, he was sitting at the wheel of a Range Rover.
Pon jumped in beside him, accompanied him on his work errands and let him front up for a huge breakfast although it was easily lunchtime. They swapped addresses and arranged to meet up soon before Pink dropped him off at his original destination.
He threw himself into his work, taking more and more duties on as he became more familiar with the terrain. One day, he was in the vicinity of Pink's flat after administering the last rites to a hospital patient who was on his last legs. Not his favourite part of being a priest, so he knocked on Pink's door in the hope he was at home.
Seconds later he heard his friend on the stairs.
"Got a spare beer and a joint for an old mate?" he asked as Pink opened the door.
Pink was strangely formal as he led the way upstairs to the inside door.
"Come in Father, do have a seat please."
Pon played along, Pink was prone to strange behaviour.
He placed his bag of tricks on the coffee table and settled into the easy chair with a sigh.
"You look tired mate, had a rough day?"
"You could say that, I'm sick to the back teeth of hymns and fucking prayers, what I need is a good old dose of rock.....and soul, have you got any soul Pink?"
"Yeah, think so," he handed Pon a bottle of cider, "here, get that down your neck and I'll root some out."
"Rock 'n' soul Pink, a bottle of cider, a fucking big spliff and some rock 'n' soul. That'll do the trick, I can forget about work for an hour and relax."
Pink's cat came over for a look at him, then settled down to stare at a blank wall. Well, he was Pink's cat, no explanation necessary.
They caught up for a couple of hours to where it felt to Pon he had never been away. He knew where to go now for a break from the routine and felt a whole lot happier for that. He left with a tape in his pocket. Scribbled on it in Pink's best stoned handwriting were the words ‘Rock 'n' Soul’.
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in his 50s, an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in sunny Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing. He is inspired by the Ayrshire coast and likes what he calls "real music". He also enjoys pool, snooker and is a big fan of rugby league side, Wigan Warriors. He has written several novels and one poetry collection and says that writing gives him "endless pleasure". His two ebooks can be viewed by clicking on the images below.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.
Angus tells us that all his stories on McStorytellers have been inspired by the titles of songs written by Paul Kelly, who is often described as the poet laureate of Australia.