Charlton Heston

The week was proving to be a long one.

It had started out well, with a jaunt up the hilly north of Scotland and much walking, singing and night-wine. But that had ended when the Good Lady received a call about her mother, who was terribly ill and had been taken into hospital.

We blazed our way to the bitter Eastern side of Scotland. The side where even the dogs refuse to walk the streets alone.

Thus, I now found myself standing patiently outside a hospital ward whilst the Good Lady's family conversed within.

I spied a pile of those cardboard bowls that old people pee in nearby and tried one on my head like a jaunty hat only stopping when a nurse gave me an odd look as she wheeled something that looked like an old leathery uterus past me in a wheelchair.

She kept calling it Emily and occasionally it made farting noises in reply. Vaguely I wondered if I had stumbled into Scotland's version of Area 51

I tried for the millionth time to get a phone signal but this was the East of Scotland, they were still recording songs from the radio onto cassettes.
_{^{Bizarrely, I swear I had this exact one. It was shit, but everything was shit back then.}}

Hold up buddy. You take this arm, I will take the other. It's like a wee dance, eh?

I turned, was someone asking me to dance? How quaint. I hoped they didn't expect an erection also, I have never been best at summoning them up in hospital.

Alas, the dance was not for me. Two male nurses were standing nearby, One was old, bald and fat and the other was much younger and looked like a cheese string with hair at one end.

They appeared to be in charge of Emily now and looked like they were trying to manoeuvre her into a different wheelchair.

Which really shouldn't have been hard because she looked like a dried-up spindle of donner kebab meat.

Finally, with much to'ing and fro'ing, they got her in it.

You did a grand job there youngster, you were like Charlton Heston!

Danny De-Vito said to Cheese-String.

Charlton Heston? I don't even know who that is?

Cheese-String looked baffled by his old counterpart's absolutely shitty wit.

Whit do you mean, you don't know who Charlton Heston is? Everybody knows Charlton Heston?!

Danny De-Vito raised his voice in indignation as if he were a plastic bag listening to Katy Perry's Firework for the very first time.

Haw, you, you know who Charlton Heston is don't you?

His eyes had alighted on me lurking nearby.

I nodded so as not to look too keen to become involved.

See, everybody knows. I mean fuck sake. I AM SPARTACUS! Does that not ring any bells?

Danny De-Vito punched the air on the yell of SPARTACUS.

No, no. Hang on mate. That's not right. It was that Scottish guy, somethin' Butler, wasn't it? THIS IS SPARTA!

Cheese-String did his own punching the air yell to emphasise his point.

No, that's a different movie mate. The 300.

I chipped into their conversation which was approaching the kind of ludicrousness only usually seen on Blurt

Danny De-Vito turned on me.

The 300? Charlton Heston wasn't in that. It was Spartacus?!

He huffed and grabbed the wheelchair containing the now comatose Emily and started wheeling it away.

This is SPARTA!

Cheese-String helpfully threw in whilst kicking a trolley full of laundry like it was the Persian Messenger from the movie before following his idiot colleague.

It was Kirk Douglas that was in Spartacus!

I yelled after them.

Private conversation mate, butt out.

Danny De-Vito called out in annoyance over his shoulder whilst flipping me the finger.

I watched the pricks go then sighed.

Oh well, back to being bored.