Gonk Power -Weird Musselburgh Tales

‘In the end we’re all alone...all alone...’

 The thoughts of a man not entirely happy with his lot..

 ‘Jack of no trades, and master of none either...’

Muttering to himself had been a way of life to him since he was a child. Solitary.  Alone.  Only his inner-self for company. Chiding himself.  Gee-ing himself up. Never seeming to serve himself well. Gee-ing himself into situations that he’d later chide himself for entering into in the first place.

‘Trade Union rep? Can’t handle confrontations, no strategic nous. Payroll Administrator? I don’t even look at my own payslips...’

Thus, he mumbles while striding along the seafront looking to all the world like some troubled madman. And, towards what? The CAB office where he’s a trainee advisor.

What would he encounter today, being out of his depth, or would he come through relatively unscathed? Whichever outcome would be the difference between a decent sleep and being awake again at four in the morning.

In this mood Donald turned up at the CAB office in Musselburgh to do his session, to see his two random clients, maybe three depending on what their queries were – help with filling in a form, phoning up British Gas, raising a grievance with an employer. Whatever it was it would be down to him to sort out.

 

On an everyday Scottish high street, with its fruit and veg shops and its Oxfam’s there was one tiny little shop which stood out. It stood out as a thing of antiquity amidst the brashness of modern shop frontage. ‘Gillian’s Gonks and Assorted Toys’ was Musselburgh’s ‘Old Curiosity Shop’. It stood, or ‘crouched’ between the CAB and the ‘Pound Emporium’ smack in the middle of the High Street.

The volunteers in the CAB had been talking for weeks about the strange noises and ‘emanations’ coming through the walls from the shop beside them. What these were could only be described as whooshing noises and a feeling like someone had painted liquid chocolate onto your face and was licking it off with a furry tongue.

Donald had been attracted to the gonk shop long before he worked at the CAB office. He had shared a joke with his dad when they had found themselves living in Kilmarnock by mistake. The place could be so dull and ‘Presbyterian’ especially on a Sunday that either one of them saying ‘Fancy a walk to the gonk shop?’ became a source of frustrated hilarity between them and had remained so long after they had left that town.

The gonk shop in Kilmarnock was situated down by the Old Kirk off John Finnie Street and they would reach this destination, look at the gonks in the window display then return home chuckling away to themselves. From then, in Donalds mind gonks held what he called chuckle-ability, a pleasing quality which elicited a smile. So, finding himself working next to this little gonk shop gave him pleasurable memories of laughs with his father and gave him a faint sense that there was something in the nature of destiny about the situation. He had a growing sense that he had arrived here for a purpose.

 

The strange thing about the gonk shop was that it seemed to appear to everyone but Donald as an ordinary toy shop with bikes and aeroplanes, and dolls and streamers. Yes, there appeared the odd gonk, but this was a very different visage to the one viewed by Donald – for all Donald could see was gonks. Gonks of every colour shape and size filled the display window of the little shop. Tartan gonks, purple and yellow gonks, Gonks with ‘I Love Musselburgh’ emblazoned on a sash, Gonks with Tam O’shanters. Even lady-gonks that wore skirts and lip-stick (one of these in particular was a gonk with long golden fur which had the name ‘Sunshine Girl’ written on its little sexy halter top. Donald had the impression that this gonk was staring at him seductively and fluttering its golden eyelashes – this impression caused him to shuffle off hurriedly blushing as he went )

Donald kept mentioning these gonks to his colleagues at CAB and wondered why he received such strange looks. They must have thought Donald was gonk-mad, or maybe just plain mad.

Another thing that Donald hadn’t realised was that slowly and gradually he had become influenced by the gonks and the gonk shop in a very singular and special way. So much was its subtle power gaining control over him that he had an uncontrollable urge to finally open the door of the little gonk shop and go inside.

 

Meanwhile, in a warehouse In Pumpherston – a location ‘Gonk Control’ had chosen for their headquarters for no better treason than the name made them laugh ( Gonks were like this by nature, they were attracted primarily to what amused them. This was why they contrived that all their many departments and organisations had rude acronyms like Gonk Intelligent Mindfulness Programme (G.I.M.P.) and Future Analysis and Retail Trade (F.A.R.T)). Gonks were fun-loving creatures and were easily tickled by the absurd and ridiculous. It is said that if you listen to a gonk giggling for too long you’ll end up dying of the giggles yourself.

 In Pumpherston at Gonk HQ (Scotland East) a board meeting was in place to discuss the case of Donald and the gonk shop in Musselburgh.

It was a big deal that they’d found a human, or ‘mardy arse’  (gonks called them this due to the perception that they didn’t giggle cutely or anywhere near often enough), that was attuned to their gonkish sensibilities and were open to the true spiritual nature of gonkishness as the gonks themselves termed it. The chain of command coming from right at the very top at the World Affiliation of Novelty-Toys and Gonks (W.A.N.G.) had ordained that contact be made with ‘the mardy-arse from Musselburgh’ with a view to ‘strengthening existing Gonko-Mardy-arse bonds’.

The last time they had attempted to do this with turned out not so-much to have empathy for gonks and their world but possessed what can only be described as ‘unnatural lusts and proclivities’ as it was worded in the final report. Indeed, many gonks at the Govan Emporium Retail and Sales (G.E.R.S) had to undertake radical counselling involving heavy sedatives before being allowed to continue as Gonk Underworld Field Force (G.U.F.F.) operatives.

It was imperative therefore that they had identified this new mardy-arse correctly.

To do this, Donald had been observed by Field Force agents for some months. They had done this by drawing him to the window of the gonk shop in Musselburgh  and taking high-definition photographs of his eyeballs to discern levels of honesty, goodness and integrity. Thus, when Donald had stumbled home convinced that he had just been winked at by gonks he was in fact having his picture taken. One of the gonks favourite motto’s was ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul, and they never lie’. Mind you, another of their favourite motto’s was ‘a bee will never sting you if you sing it a song’ a credo which had failed to ring-true so many times that gonks were now banned from saying it and all had been supplied with Bee Emulient Lotion Cream and Healing-agent (B.E.L.C.H.).

His eyeballs also told them he was an unhappy, a tortured-soul – and gonks couldn’t give up on a tortured soul.

They also needed him to put them in touch the leader of the mardy-arses, an individual they had identified wrongly to be Archie Campbell, a bus driver for Lothian Buses. The reason for this mis-identification will become clear, or not, in due course

 

Donald (who’s second name was Felch, a fact that the gonks of the east were unaware of but would later nearly end themselves laughing at) was walking home after his latest stint at CAB.  He was feeling very distraught and wondered if maybe he needed to make an appointment with a doctor. Was he losing his mind? He was sure he’d seen at least four, maybe five of those gonks winking at him. How would he explain that to his doctor? He’d already visited his local surgery maybe more than anyone else on their books. About his sinus trouble, various ‘lumps’ one of which he’d detected in his testicles but which kept ‘disappearing’ when he’d got to the doctor’s surgery, and more recently for pills for his depression which he kept changing his mind about. His doctor was a very kindly and patient lady, but now, if he went to her speaking of gonks winking at him, she may well have him sectioned, or at least strike him from the books.

Still, he knew that very soon, maybe the very next day, he must enter the gonk shop. He had no other option.

The gonks knew this too and were preparing themselves. The leader of Gonk Control was a well-built Bear-Gonk named Struan. Struan possessed a calm authority which made him a natural leader. He was also a practising homosexual (‘practise makes perfect’ he was fond of saying) who had a crush on Alex Salmond, the nationalist First Minister of Scotland. He kept photographs of the chubby patriot on the walls of his Gonk Nest, even his drinking mug had his face emblazoned on it.

As leader, Struan had many female gonk admirers (gonks mated in what they thought was the standard way, both parties ate some jelly tots and spat them at each other until one of them stuck. The resultant dramatic decrease in population was currently under discussion at the Gonk Reproduction and Offspring Gathering (G.R.O.G.) ), but he had found that only diminutive Scottish Nationalists lit his candle. He had dreams of Scotland being run by an SNP/Gonk alliance and for alliances of a less political sort taking place in their share love-nest at Holyrood.

He called the meeting to order. The vast space was filled with as many as a hundred gonks from all the shops from around Scotland. Although the subject at issue was occurring on the east coast of Scotland, it was considered important enough for representatives of the west coast to be invited for any input they may have. The west coast gonks were known to be a good sight rowdier than their eastern comrades, and thought little of starting skirmishes and sticking their tounges out in a provocative manner. They wielded Sherbet Fountain tubes when in the throes of  sugar-binges.

When not on view in shops, Gonks dressed very casually and stylishly. In fact, they dressed very much like golfers from the human world of the 1970s with their skipped caps, farrah slacks and Pringle knit-wear. Some even carried little golf clubs and shouted ‘fore’ and ‘tally-ho’ and hadn’t a clue why.

The world of the mardy-arse’ had left its impression on the Gonk world.

Gonks had only become ‘self-aware’ of their existence on planet earth on a Thursday night in the summer of 1974. Before that they had been what nearly every human still thinks they are; inanimate fluffy toys, just gonks. A re-alignment of galaxies in the deep cosmos combined with an accident with a hoover and a can of Fanta had brought them to life all across Scotland.

The first sound any of them heard was the summer hit by Carl Douglas ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ this became the very first gonk anthem. Everytime it was played, usually at state occasions like Gonkling Day the gonks would perform elaborate dance routines in emulation of their hero Mr Douglas and lady-gonks would cavort in simulation of a Pan’s People routine performed slightly out of synch (the first animated gonks were ‘brought alive’ in a toy shop in Carnoustie which was placed directly opposite a RedifusionTelevision retailers which had two sets on in the window simultaneously, one showed Karl Douglas performing his hit song on the show ‘Supersonic’ while the others showed Pan’s People dancing to Limmie and the Family Cooking singing ‘You can Do Magic’ which was at a slightly faster tempo).

Struan waited until the noise and kerfuffle had died down (gonks were notoriously excitable and acted just like human children if you didn’t give them a stern talking to).

‘Brother and Sister gonks of Scotland’ the assembled gonks looked up at Struan expectantly.

‘We have become aware of a likely mardy-arse to help us with our mission’ the gonks mumbled and shuffled excitedly (it didn’t take an awful lot to excite a gonk, and they could be easily dazzled by a toffee crisp wrapper).

“We all know of our failures in the past (whispers among the congregation about the ‘Govan experience’), but we think we have found a mardy-arse we can trust wholeheartedly. He has passed all our tests for kindness, empathy, and he has an excellent sense of humour and fun. The last of these qualities he doesn’t even know himself how much of it he possesses. He is (Struan pauses, knowing full well the impact the next two words is going to make) “ .....a tortured soul”  At this, all assembled let out a synchronised ‘Aaaaaahhhhhh...’ in condolence for this condition.

Originating in the summer of 1974, gonks first impression of the world was encapsulated in a particularly gushy episode of ‘Butterflies’ starring Wendy Craig. Watching this from week to week, the Carnoustie gonks had formed the impression that the human world comprised of thwarted romantic ambitions and disaffected souls always looking for something more than they had. Humans they concluded were ‘disappointed’ and to the gonks, who cherished every minute of every day, humans couldn’t see the beauty and wonder all around them. This was the reason they called them ‘mardy-arses’, a phrase they’d learnt from an episode of ‘Open All Hours’ when Granville referred to his uncle in this manner. It was also why many of them talked in a cod-Yorkshire accent and stuttered. The motto on the Flag of all Gonks was ‘O d..dear G..g..granville! Fetch a cloth...!’

 

As Struan was giving his description, an enlarged image zoomed up on the screen behind Struan showing a very puzzled and worried looking Donald Felch staring intently into what he perceives as the winking eye of a comely female drone-gonk called Patricia.

One gonk, Hamish of Banff, called out from the back of the room ‘Can he be trusted not to freak-out or scream like that one in Stornaway..?

The ‘Stornaway Incident’ had gone down in gonk folk-lore when a gonk had started singing ‘Dancing On A Saturday Night’, the old Barry Blue hit to a chap on Stornaway High Street while dancing in a particularly cute and suggestive manner. The chap, an unemployed alcoholic merely searching for a cheap gift for his niece, went to his doctor’s complaining of performing gonks and was put on a high dosage of tranquilizers and told to ‘look away’ any time he was passing the gonk shop. There was also the incident in Peebles when the church warden walked in on some gonks practising Karl Douglas’ karate moves while adjusting their glasses in an imitation of the prophet Ronnie Corbett who they believed lived nearby.

(To be continued, or not..)