7. Brian Wilson
Here in the Salisbury on a quiet but damp Bank Holiday weekend we meet Brian Wilson. (This one is nicknamed 'Guru' and not to be confused with the other Brian Wilson). He is sitting in his regular booth with his usual entourage of attractive, fawning young ladies. Brian is wise. Brian is a polymath. Brian has no time for the fat bloke on the quiz machine.
At six feet in height and slender, he is rumoured to be 85 years old but is handsome and could easily pass for thirty something. In a certain light he looks a little like Jim Morrison. (The one out of Carter USM, not the other one).
The Nick Cave lookalike barman glowers as he takes a towel to polish his glassware. Around Brian it is all lipstick, perfect teeth, nails and bushy bushy blonde hairdos. These will scare away all the cute Goth ladies that Nick likes so much. 'They wouldn't be tolerated back home in Transylvania' he mutters. Occasional peals of laughter from their direction punctuate the quiet bits between jukebox songs.
One of the entourage, in impossible red heels, totters over to the bar, feet clacking on the floor tiles. Nick Cave anticipates the request, pulling the pump marked 'Old Scrattler' and siphoning off the brown nectar. 'The usual for Mister Guru?' he affects a sarcastic air of enthusiasm.
'Oh! How did you know?' replies Barbie. 'You are all so clever in here, it is like you are all side-kick' she giggles. 'I bet you can tell what I'm thinking about right now can't you?'
'I'd say there was nothing in your vacuous little head sweetie.' his voice oozed sickly-sweet.
'No silly, I never vacuum the bed.' she giggles again as she proffers a note, collects the drink and delivers it to her teacher. Nick Cave is visibly irritated.
Alfie Hoole has been sat at his usual spot at the end of the bar throughout. He glances at Nick Cave and his eyes turn to follow Barbie's behind as she returns to the table. He looks back at Nick Cave and goes as if to say something very 1970s and inappropriate but the look of indifference on the barman's face pulls him crashing back into the real world.
Alfie had been trying his best to get to know one of Brian's entourage for some time now. Not any one in particular, any one of them at all really. Face it, he is not fussy. Thus far all of his advances have been politely rebuffed, or worse, completely ignored. All his best jokes, one-liners and every single opening gambit from that book he bought from jockdude.com* had fallen flat. Perhaps it is the way he tells 'em. Or perhaps it is the aftershave he wears; 'Desperation by Hugo Bell'.
This time he will go for the intellectual angle, that's it, that's the caper. Lock mental horns with the Guru. That might work.
He smoothes over to the table. 'Hey dude' (yes he really said that), 'would you say this song is heavy rock or would you say it's metal, Guru?'
'It's Ride a White Swan and if I had a pound for every time I've heard that tonight I'd have about three quid. Sit down.' he indicated a spot across the table.
Excitedly, Alfie squeezed into the spot that the entourage made for him. He plonks his glass down, spilling a bit on the table. Mopping it up with a beer mat he becomes intoxicated by the various expensive perfumes worn by the young ladies; Black Opium, Paris, Tweed by Lentheric, you know, that kind of thing. The closest he had been to this was when he drank a bottle of Hai Karate on that works Rugby day out. Looking back that didn't end too well.
'Alfie isn't it?' said Guru, 'You've come over here for something, what's it all about Alfie?'
'Yeah mate, just wanted your idea on something that has been in me head, something that Steven Hawkins bloke was on about. You know, him in the wheelchair. The one that sounds a bit like a dalek or something. Hard to believe he was a pop star innit?'
'You mean Stephen Hawking, Professor Stephen Hawking. The great Professor Stephen Hawking (may he rest in peace)?' Guru decided to avoid Alfie's confusion between popular scientists.
'Yeah, that's the bloke. Well he said that we might all be living in one of them multiverse things. That's really exciting innit?'
'How so?' Guru questioned.
Alfie jabbered on, he was confident now, this was going well, better than he expected. 'Well, it means that all possibilities can happen, all possibilities are happening right now. In some universe far, far away there is a me that isn't having an intellectual discussion with you, there is one where I'm the King of England and everything!'
'What excites you about that Alfie?'
'Well you see, whatever choice I make it is always going to be the best one innit? There are all these other universes where I can get it all wrong and because anything is possible then infinity says that I ought to get it right sometimes. And you see, this is the only one I know about so all the loser Alfies must be in them other universes right?'
'I'm not sure that follows Alfie. I find the notion of an infinite multiverse rather depressing to be perfectly honest.' said Guru looking momentarily downcast. 'Tell me Alfie. Does it matter to you to make the right choices in life?'
'Erm... Yeah course it does, we all want the best don't we? Don't we?' He wrinkled his brow.
'OK, Alfie, it is like this' said Guru. 'if there are an infinite number of universes and every possible outcome exists then why bother making the 'right' choice? There are an infinite number of you making the right choice out there. And making the wrong choice for that matter. Why bother making any choice at all? The notion of a multiverse would render choice and therefore life meaningless. Life would merely resemble some futile Sisyphean drudge'
'Close your mouth Alfie, that is not a good look.'
Alfie closes his mouth.
'Look Alfie. Look up Nystrom and the philosophy of futility. He goes on to talk about retail therapy' Guru smiles benevolently.
'Retail Therapy!' The gaggle exclaim excitedly. 'Harvey Nichols' they clamour as jackets are thrown on and handbags grasped.
On that note Brian takes his leave. An eye of calm in a whirlwind of excited babble.
*Any resemblance to websites alive or dead is purely coincidental
At six feet in height and slender, he is rumoured to be 85 years old but is handsome and could easily pass for thirty something. In a certain light he looks a little like Jim Morrison. (The one out of Carter USM, not the other one).
The Nick Cave lookalike barman glowers as he takes a towel to polish his glassware. Around Brian it is all lipstick, perfect teeth, nails and bushy bushy blonde hairdos. These will scare away all the cute Goth ladies that Nick likes so much. 'They wouldn't be tolerated back home in Transylvania' he mutters. Occasional peals of laughter from their direction punctuate the quiet bits between jukebox songs.
One of the entourage, in impossible red heels, totters over to the bar, feet clacking on the floor tiles. Nick Cave anticipates the request, pulling the pump marked 'Old Scrattler' and siphoning off the brown nectar. 'The usual for Mister Guru?' he affects a sarcastic air of enthusiasm.
'Oh! How did you know?' replies Barbie. 'You are all so clever in here, it is like you are all side-kick' she giggles. 'I bet you can tell what I'm thinking about right now can't you?'
'I'd say there was nothing in your vacuous little head sweetie.' his voice oozed sickly-sweet.
'No silly, I never vacuum the bed.' she giggles again as she proffers a note, collects the drink and delivers it to her teacher. Nick Cave is visibly irritated.
Alfie Hoole has been sat at his usual spot at the end of the bar throughout. He glances at Nick Cave and his eyes turn to follow Barbie's behind as she returns to the table. He looks back at Nick Cave and goes as if to say something very 1970s and inappropriate but the look of indifference on the barman's face pulls him crashing back into the real world.
Alfie had been trying his best to get to know one of Brian's entourage for some time now. Not any one in particular, any one of them at all really. Face it, he is not fussy. Thus far all of his advances have been politely rebuffed, or worse, completely ignored. All his best jokes, one-liners and every single opening gambit from that book he bought from jockdude.com* had fallen flat. Perhaps it is the way he tells 'em. Or perhaps it is the aftershave he wears; 'Desperation by Hugo Bell'.
This time he will go for the intellectual angle, that's it, that's the caper. Lock mental horns with the Guru. That might work.
He smoothes over to the table. 'Hey dude' (yes he really said that), 'would you say this song is heavy rock or would you say it's metal, Guru?'
'It's Ride a White Swan and if I had a pound for every time I've heard that tonight I'd have about three quid. Sit down.' he indicated a spot across the table.
Excitedly, Alfie squeezed into the spot that the entourage made for him. He plonks his glass down, spilling a bit on the table. Mopping it up with a beer mat he becomes intoxicated by the various expensive perfumes worn by the young ladies; Black Opium, Paris, Tweed by Lentheric, you know, that kind of thing. The closest he had been to this was when he drank a bottle of Hai Karate on that works Rugby day out. Looking back that didn't end too well.
'Alfie isn't it?' said Guru, 'You've come over here for something, what's it all about Alfie?'
'Yeah mate, just wanted your idea on something that has been in me head, something that Steven Hawkins bloke was on about. You know, him in the wheelchair. The one that sounds a bit like a dalek or something. Hard to believe he was a pop star innit?'
'You mean Stephen Hawking, Professor Stephen Hawking. The great Professor Stephen Hawking (may he rest in peace)?' Guru decided to avoid Alfie's confusion between popular scientists.
'Yeah, that's the bloke. Well he said that we might all be living in one of them multiverse things. That's really exciting innit?'
'How so?' Guru questioned.
Alfie jabbered on, he was confident now, this was going well, better than he expected. 'Well, it means that all possibilities can happen, all possibilities are happening right now. In some universe far, far away there is a me that isn't having an intellectual discussion with you, there is one where I'm the King of England and everything!'
'What excites you about that Alfie?'
'Well you see, whatever choice I make it is always going to be the best one innit? There are all these other universes where I can get it all wrong and because anything is possible then infinity says that I ought to get it right sometimes. And you see, this is the only one I know about so all the loser Alfies must be in them other universes right?'
'I'm not sure that follows Alfie. I find the notion of an infinite multiverse rather depressing to be perfectly honest.' said Guru looking momentarily downcast. 'Tell me Alfie. Does it matter to you to make the right choices in life?'
'Erm... Yeah course it does, we all want the best don't we? Don't we?' He wrinkled his brow.
'OK, Alfie, it is like this' said Guru. 'if there are an infinite number of universes and every possible outcome exists then why bother making the 'right' choice? There are an infinite number of you making the right choice out there. And making the wrong choice for that matter. Why bother making any choice at all? The notion of a multiverse would render choice and therefore life meaningless. Life would merely resemble some futile Sisyphean drudge'
'Close your mouth Alfie, that is not a good look.'
Alfie closes his mouth.
'Look Alfie. Look up Nystrom and the philosophy of futility. He goes on to talk about retail therapy' Guru smiles benevolently.
'Retail Therapy!' The gaggle exclaim excitedly. 'Harvey Nichols' they clamour as jackets are thrown on and handbags grasped.
On that note Brian takes his leave. An eye of calm in a whirlwind of excited babble.
*Any resemblance to websites alive or dead is purely coincidental
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