A Bigger Splash

(A Bigger Splash is a large pop art painting by British artist David Hockney)

I

Carlos turned at the French doors and looked Karlheinz square in the eye - Carlos's eyes looked like cubes, like dice, especially when he rolled them. It was one of the many charms which had contributed to his being a regular feature in the Most Eligible Bachelor Between the Ages of 58 and 62 end-of-year lists in the glossy, dental flossy magazines. One year Carlos had even been in the running to be 'The Face of Dental Floss' as voted for by dental receptionists and divorcées called Marjorie but, alas, he lost out to a toothsome divorcée (called Marjorie). Karlheinz observed that the dish of butterscotch Angel Delight that Carlos held, as delicately as if it were a starling with a broken wing which he was nursing back to robust health, was liquefying in the hot sun.

   "What if David Hockney hadn't succeeded as an artist?" Carlos asked. "What if he had become a delivery driver for Jack Fulton's?"

   Karlheinz looked back at Carlos blankly. "David Who?" he thought. And as for Jack Fulton's... Karlheinz was a Farmfoods man, through and through.

II

The inside of D-Hock's cab was hot and sticky. Furthermore, it stank of synthetic watermelon, due to the new air freshener Big D had suspended from the rear-view. The cold air blowers blew all right, but it wasn't cold air. David puffed on a hand-rolled cigarette while his eyes rolled over the all too familiar checklist - potato waffles, chicken goujons, Funny Feet lollies, Fruits of the Forest of Dean Gaffney cheesecakes, hardcore prawn rings - what a load of complete and utter garbage. Well, this particular consignment of frozen flimflam would not be sitting heavy in the tummies of suburban Yorkshire families. David had made his decision. He was resolved to his fate, and there was no crisp-crumb coating it.

   Big Dave reversed out of the lorry park into the significant but not quite main road, taking out a brace of pheasants and a bald-headed Lycra-clad cyclepath. Enveloped by the descending red mist, he hit the gas hard, harder, hardest... heading towards the cliff edge. The road curved round and down into some seaside village of sissy bistros - none of your prawns in polystyrene pots here, no siree - but Dave ploughed straight on regardless, off the road, through the black and white chevron signs, the Armco Rolled crash barrier and into the chilly North Sea.

III

Nearby, a man resembling a Mediterranean Catweazle was hurling sacks of unwanted, asthmatic beagles into the briny waves. Seemingly wary of falling in, he was stood well back, propelling his beagle bags with an impressive amount of force for such an old man, evidently concerned that they drop into the water rather than fall short and bounce off the jagged rocks below.

   Plop! went the beagles.

   But Dave's truck made a bigger splash.

B.R.

Written in Shipley and Leeds, June 2021.

Picture taken by B.R. in woods in Eccleshill (Bradford) near where D-Hock grew up