“People are strange- when you’re a stranger,
Faces look ugly when you’re alone
Women seem wicked, when you’re unwanted
Streets are uneven, when you’re down.”
- People are strange, The Doors
Studio setting, 2 revolving chairs on a small dais separated
by a small glass topped coffee table. A small man dressed like a Parkinson
impersonator enters. Somehow, he has the voice right- but there is a toothless
gap in his smile and his smartly coiffed grey hair looks as though its not
permanently attached.
“Welcome, welcome…ooh- you’re too kind, yes…all right,
settle down there you! Ha! Thank you very much. Lets get on with it shall we…”
The man fans one delicate hand
at the unseen crowd, and takes a seat, crossing his immaculately suited pantlegs.
“Tonight my guest is someone who may not be known to many of
you, but who is almost completely unknown to himself, and intimately well known
to me- his Parkinson shaped shard of fractured psyche…That’s right, he’s you,
he’s me, he’s a wee bit mental, and he’s here tonight…come on out Iakopo.”
Parkinson’s reflection shambles onto stage in worn rubber jandles,
fading board shorts and a pilling cotton singlet. His hair looks like he cut it
himself without a mirror- and his dentistry looks like it was done by a visually
impaired miner. His skin is probably brown, but under the studio lights appears the shade of orange most often associated with game-show hosts and
oompa-loompa’s. There are purple smudges under his eyes, and he looks sideways
at where the camera should be, as though it may not…
They embrace briefly, and Parkinson whispers something at
which they both chuckle before sitting down.
“Soooo…” begins Parkinson. “You’ve been busy…in, ah, Samoa , I hear?” Parko’s voice ends on a high note-
leaving the question.
“You hear wrong Parko” drawls the guest.
“I’ve been about as busy as a one-armed primary school
teacher who’s first semester lesson plan is ‘How to count to 5’…
There are broken buzzy bees that are busier than I am…
If I was any busier, I could be diagnosed with narcolepsy…”
“Haha” Parkinson chuckles, without sincerity… “Well you must
be doing something?”
“I walk a lot Parko…I walk to work, I walk home…sometimes I
take a day off…”
“I see- and what do you do when you get your nose from the
grindstone, eh? When you finally get a rest from all of that stuff you
mentioned?”
“…and walk...” finishes the guest
“I see. I’ve heard about this…” encourages Parkinson,
nodding. “You really love to walk, right! I mean, you’re marching up and down a
mountain every day? I hear you’re introduced to people as ‘that bloke who walks
a lot’…is that right, yeah?”
“Ah, yeah. It’s hardly a claim to fame Parko. Frankly I’d
rather my epitaph didn't read- 'Here lies Jake, he could really get good value out of a pair of sneakers...' Not much of a legacy that Parko.
I'd much rather be known as that bloke who came up with a smashing idea about how to break the endless circle of misappropriated aid money; so that it might instead be used feed, educate and clothe those people who can’t afford to do it for themselves; and who for some reason are further disadvantaged by the very process designed to help them- often just because some fat, western educated, local git decided that the too much he already has, still isn’t quite enough, and stretches himself to fill out a couple of bureaucratic forms - designed specifically as one further hurdle for people who are struggling to find a place to learn how to read- and thereby manages to get a fully funded overseas professional to come and work for absolutely f-all within an underwhelming and financially suspect organisation, which is completely failing to fulfill the purpose for which it was established, but somehow is allowed to make a 'profit'....Walking? Nah- I wouldn’t say I love it”
I'd much rather be known as that bloke who came up with a smashing idea about how to break the endless circle of misappropriated aid money; so that it might instead be used feed, educate and clothe those people who can’t afford to do it for themselves; and who for some reason are further disadvantaged by the very process designed to help them- often just because some fat, western educated, local git decided that the too much he already has, still isn’t quite enough, and stretches himself to fill out a couple of bureaucratic forms - designed specifically as one further hurdle for people who are struggling to find a place to learn how to read- and thereby manages to get a fully funded overseas professional to come and work for absolutely f-all within an underwhelming and financially suspect organisation, which is completely failing to fulfill the purpose for which it was established, but somehow is allowed to make a 'profit'....Walking? Nah- I wouldn’t say I love it”
“Oh? So why do you do it?”
“Walk?…well, seems useful…comparatively..”
“Useful? Can you explain useful to me?”
“Well…I like the sun- and I get to watch it set, and rise…I
walk to work, and do something, and then I walk home- and do something else…”
the guest pauses, then adds “I guess it stops me going mental…”
“Not really!” laughs Parkinson, winking at the crowd.
“Yeah- good one Parko. Haha” from the guests laugh, it
appears that the lack-of-sincerity contest is escalating. “Oh, and I get to talk to some people…”
“Like who- who do you talk to?”
“Security guards, people on the street, gardeners…people”
“I see, I see…and what do you talk about?”
“About?...”
“Yes, yes, what kind of conversations do you have?”
“I normally say something like ‘Malo’- which just means ‘Hi’.”
“Yes, mmmmm, and what do they say?”
“Well…they normally say ‘Malo’ too…”
“And?”
“um...well, sometimes they say stuff like ‘e fia savali oe, uh?’’’
“Really! How interesting…and what does that mean?”
“well, roughly- it means… ‘you must really like to walk, eh?’…”
“Ah…haha, yes, very good.” Parkinson is laughing again, but his
guest isn’t sure why. He smiles benignly at where the crown should be, behind
the lights. "Well at least it must keep you fit, then?"
"Fit? Fit? Ha!...mate, I'm not even close to fit...I'm so thin I could be the plot of the next Fast and Furious film....I'm a double breast augmentation away from being on the next series of 'Survivor'...I mean, my ankles are in stunning condition from the sheer abuse of Samoan hillside pedestrianism, but I'm otherwise about as fit as an imitation Stradivarius made out of nothing but struck matches...proverbially speaking my friend, I am not a fiddle..."
“Sooo…let me ask you this…um, I’ve heard that there can be a bit of a scene up there- if you know what I mean…and why not, eh? What with the beaches, sunsets, cocktails…eh? And those infamously amorous islanders?”
“Not really…”
“So you’re not out every night partying? Not out dancing on
tables with bikini clad tourists? Not doing the old Volunteer 2-step and trying
to get youself into one of those medical statistics they briefed you about?”
“’breifed’!- haha- good one Parko”
Parkinson looks bemused, but remains silent.
“…uh, nope,” adds the guest, finally.
Parkinson leans over and whispers something to the guest. You
can vaguely hear his voice through his shrouded mic muttering in a thick welsh
accent “you’d better give me something soldier…you’re about as interesting as
the fart I had after lunch”
"...Seriously ? I can't keep up with waking up- without contemplating that sort of carry on. There's a bunch of Aussie volunteers who are looser than the wheelnuts on a south auckland BMW...as well as a number of Kiwis who eminate health and wellbeing the way a white t-shirt emits WTF under a black light...A local social calendar with enough charity events to embarrass Princes Harry, William and the one who sang Purple Rain combined...but, frankly, I'd rather hang about home, wash my sheets and have a cup of tea...or a bottle of wine...or beer or six...and cook the kind of curry that makes you careful to brush your teeth left handed."
The guest pauses, while Parkinson nods at him.
"...Seriously ? I can't keep up with waking up- without contemplating that sort of carry on. There's a bunch of Aussie volunteers who are looser than the wheelnuts on a south auckland BMW...as well as a number of Kiwis who eminate health and wellbeing the way a white t-shirt emits WTF under a black light...A local social calendar with enough charity events to embarrass Princes Harry, William and the one who sang Purple Rain combined...but, frankly, I'd rather hang about home, wash my sheets and have a cup of tea...or a bottle of wine...or beer or six...and cook the kind of curry that makes you careful to brush your teeth left handed."
The guest pauses, while Parkinson nods at him.
“I s'pose occasionally a few
volies…um, that’s volunteers…get together for a gin or something” the guest
offers.
“Ah…go on…” Parkinson leers, good naturedly.
“Well- I just tend to drink…um as a bit of a preventative
really…you know..”
“Against what? Dengue? Chikungunya?”
“Sobriety, mostly” grins the guest.
"Well, it's an inspiring story!" Parkinson starts to wind up.
"Inspiring? I'm so unispired- I feel like a Kanye West and Beyonce Knowles album collaboration which critics are calling "their best work yet"... I've got nothing mate...I've got so little to go on, that I'm surprised I haven't been offered a half hour current affairs show on New Zealand television...I am, my friend, bereft of inspiration and purpose...
"Well, it's an inspiring story!" Parkinson starts to wind up.
"Inspiring? I'm so unispired- I feel like a Kanye West and Beyonce Knowles album collaboration which critics are calling "their best work yet"... I've got nothing mate...I've got so little to go on, that I'm surprised I haven't been offered a half hour current affairs show on New Zealand television...I am, my friend, bereft of inspiration and purpose...
Somewhere a bell tinkles…
“Alright, thanks for your time, a pleasure, a real pleasure
as always!” smiles a clearly relieved Parkinson, rising to embrace his guest
again… “We’ll be back in a minute, don’t go away…”
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