comic verse composed in irregular rhythm.
verse or words that are badly written or expressed:the last stanza deteriorates into doggerel
When I came upon this term ‘doggerel’ and it’s meaning, I had to write something for the chaotically comic character Wolfgang. However, as it isn’t strictly neccessary and works quite well as a passage all by itself, I have removed it from the novel, and rehomed it here for you, like an unwanted mongrel. Now I’m making myself sad for it! This is the trouble with having to be brutal. I’ll still have to use the title ‘Doggerel’, somewhere in the novel, as it’s utterly apt.
I sifted through the dog eared pages of papers in my room. There was virtually only paper in my room, some was stacked up in piles of A4, so that I could sit on it (sunk in bottom shapes at the top, moulded from getting damp and then dry again). There was also a paper table, splattered in a painterly manner with stains from coffee, tea, beer and red wine.
Among these piles I suspected there wasn’t too much literary genius, but I couldn’t be sure, I wrote on all the paper I accumulated. I even had a selection of monetary notes with my self-important scrawl on (as I’d not had anything else to write on at the time). Some of them were already out of date to be used as currency, some were foreign, even from places that I’d never been to.
My situation was problematic, I remembered writing something quite brilliant on a yellow sticky note a few months before, that was now more relevant. I tried to find it, stuck to a wall or another bit of paper, or a dirty tea cup, but no such luck. I instead got distracted by other bits of writing, giggling and guffawing to myself for no particular reason. I might consider myself a genius of chaos, but a genius of chaos is pretty fucking useless at the end of the day for he cannot harness his powers.
There was a knock-knock at the door.
“Well it’s certainly not opportunity. Opportunity never knocks twice” I quipped to myself, as I answered the door. It is fair to say that answering the door, while talking to oneself (and giggling), is a good way to appear to be a nutter.
A lady was stood on the door step, she had a clipboard and very clacky tall heels that must’ve been rubbing her feet awfully –
“Ah…hello Sir” she said hesitantly “sorry to bother you, my name is Nadine, I’m calling from N Power” she reached out as though to shake my hand, but subtly recoiled at the sight of my fingernails (I assume it was my fingernails, which had recently started to resemble yellow talons, I hadn’t a pair of scissors to rectify this), she hesitated –
“Are you the bill payer here?” she asked, doubtfully.
“I suppose so…” I hadn’t paid Bill anything in a while, but then he hadn’t supplied me very much fish recently, I’d been beginning to think maybe he’d died or moved away “Is this about fish?” I asked.
“No, I’m from N Power” she emphasized loudly “we supply electricity and gas”
“Ah, so the ‘N’ in N Power stands for Nadine then does it? It’s a beautiful name if you don’t mind me saying…”
“No, that’s the name of the company I work for, it’s nothing to do with me being called Nadine” she shifted her weight between her tubby ankles, and tugged her suit jacket downwards.
“Is it Moroccan?” I asked.
“Is what Moroccan?” she asked.
“Your name. I mean, you don’t look Moroccan, you’re probably from Rotherham or some such…not that there’s anything wrong with Rotherham, lovely bus station…”
“I’m from Barnsley, actually, I don’t think the name Nadine is Moroccan, me mam just knew a nice lady wi’ that name, when I were born” she’d drifted idly out of Received Pronunciation – she’d given up the sale already. I was starting to like her, she was a down-to-earth, no-nonsense type of lady. I feared she wouldn’t appreciate my nonsense though.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked “…rest your feet?”
“May I ask if you own or rent this place?” she asked, looking for a way out.
“Oh, neither, just squatting to be honest, we don’t have gas or electricity, we have to get by on candlelight and cuddles”
“Well that’s a bogger for you” she said, unsurprised “Thanks for the offer’uv tea, but I best be off”
“Ok, thanks Nadine, bye!” I said pleasantly, she click-clacked back down the path and exited the gate, with an idle shake of the head.
I shut the door and retreated back into my paper room, pausing to stroke my beard and observe the clutter with weariness. Chronic chaos, some might say…having a long lasting illness or bad habit in terms of the space I occupied, the junk I ingested and the Homo-Sapiens I sought the company of.
* * * * * * *