11/9/09


This Story, Lola's Progress, Is of Free Copyright


Lola's Progress
Chapter 2

"Welcome to the first Santander Bank, Pyre downhill skateboard race!
I'm your TV presenter on the ground, Alan Whicker, and in the air is a rejuvenated and totally hysterical Mr Clement Freud! Say hello, Clement!"
Clement after a long pause, spoke in an outrageous monotone: Hello. (Another pause) Welcome, one and all.
Alan: So, on with the race preparations. We are here...at the top of the French and Spanish Pyrenees Mountain range, with quite a few international political and group interests, who have fielded teams of youths, to compete together, on this beautiful and warm Summer day. Let's have a look at the teams on show right now. I can see several military interests, and some corporate, but also, less well known teams. First honour of course, to the presence of a couple of Basque teams. However, I've been told...that there are representatives of two American political families here, and if we are lucky, we'll get a look at some.

Alan takes his camera crew through the large numbers of children, carrying their protective pads and helmets. Their boards were being held by the competition adjudicators until the start.
Alan: We'd better not get too close, we have promised to let them get on with it all, but over there...if Eric can get a shot, yes, there is the Kennedy family entry, most teams are of five, by the way. Clement, can you read up the names they have given themselves?
Clement: Certainly Alan. They are, Leucotomy, Lobotomy, Headless, Perfection and Lancelot. Actually, not so far from appearance, they don't look so jolly...to be honest.
Alan: Not far from them should be the Bush contingent. Here, Eric, shoot them; Clement, is that picture good?
Clement: Yes Alan, it's the Bush family entry, called Murder, Drugs, Prostitution, Intelligence and Saladin.
Clement: Before we criticise their appearance, Alan...if they were pretty...hunks...
Alan: Certainly, Clement, your inference is well placed. So, on with the other crews. We see Team Lola, led by daughter of BBC Radio disc jockey, Sara Cox, and I hear they have a surprise member of their team. Any idea who that might be, Clement?
Clement: One of their group is blind, Alan.
Alan: Well that's going to make an interesting experience for someone. Just a moment, one of the children wants a word. Hullo, yes, that's right. Team Lola. Which group are you with, may I ask? Thanks. He says he skates for the Church of England, Clement.
Clement: That's very good then. I wanted to be a vicar...as a youth, Alan.
Alan: I wasn't aware of that, why did you not join?
Clement: The pay, Alan.
Alan: I don't imagine that an Anglican vicar would earn a great amount of money, Clement. Perhaps you made the better choice of career.
Clement: I meant the divine...retribution, I would earn by...fornicating with choirboys, Alan.
Alan fails to laugh.
Alan: Right, on with the tour. We pass British Tank crew, US Marine Corps, and the Russian Navy have a team here! I see one of the Kennedy boys is talking to the officer looking after the Marines. Oh oh! Here comes old man Bush! He's got one of the Bush boys by the arm, and leading him straight to the Tank crew!
Clement: The others are joining them. Both groups of kids are heading for the military of some kind, including the Russian Navy!
Alan: We should leave them to their destiny, I think, Clement.

Meanwhile, at Maxine's, in Poland, the three gentlemen sit at the plush café in discourse. Their seating is firm but quite comfortable, a well polished table with a small grey cloth bore a pot of unusual coffee for the gents.
Jesus Turbo: Where to go next, good buddies?!
Biffo: I'm free. What about you, Topol?
Topol: I've been called to Moscow.
Jesus Turbo: Moscow indeed. And why would the Kremlin wish to speak to your handsome self?
Biffo: They want to see him down the street a bit.
Jesus: Lubyanka? The bobba. What does bobba bobba the bobbing bobba want a bobba? Any idea?
Biffo and Topol look at JT.
Biffo: They normally ask to attend if they want some adjustment, sometimes in someone's favour.
Jesus Turbo: Why should that be our problem? We work for Putin, since we're piggies, and Medvedev trusts us implicitly. Frankly that puts us out of anyone's reach!
Topol: I heard that more western interests are asking for some...
Jesus Turbo: The bobba! Bobbing bobba the bobbing bobba bobba! Bobba. Bobbing bobba!
Biffo: It is often this way, Turbo. Lubyanka get into a tryst, and ask Topol or someone to deal with it. When we succeed, he gets sent off to the Kremlin to be promoted or awarded some honour.
Topol: Then I show up, but some bobba gets the promotion!
Turbo and Biffo look at Topol in some concern...
Turbo: There's no need to use profane language though, Topol.

At the race, the teams kick off. The Kennedy team allows the Bushes first, who begin down the newly 'Tarmaced' hill. The Marines follow, but team Lola push and sprint their way to the start, before British Tank, and scoot enthusiastically after the Bushes, Kennedys and others! Much later to start, the Mormons had hanged back until the Church of England took off. But as they commenced, the Anglicans drew a young man from his wheelchair, and held the shaky and weak chap on his skateboard, carefully holding him as he tried the slope. The Mormon Youngers followed the group on foot, some walked ahead and some behind, gesturing to other riders to prevent them colliding with the Anglican group. Blithe to this, Gothpunk skaters flew by, followed by Team Intel, Texas State Prison, Krispy Kreme, Shanghai Kung Fu Lion Dragon Dance, and others.
At the head of the race, Headless Kennedy tailed Leucotomy, but Murder and Saladin were on a closely parallel course. The air passed through the skaters' hair, they acquired speed, and rolled swiftly but smoothly toward less steep hill road, some distance yonder. The firm but very springy plastic compound of the skateboard wheels gave a most consistent and quiet friction rumble, as the lasses and lads leant to turn, and leant the other way, skilfully and seriously engaging the ophidian twists in the road, standing side on, knees bent against the rushing wind on their lithe bodies, tee shirts flapping, jeans and kneepads, colourful headgear, gloves and elbow pads. Lola, expertly controlling her team, by command and gesture, looked forth and back frequently and swiftly. She, often regarding to blind Rocky, while his other compatriots spoke to him, also watching ahead, during quick motion. She saw him nodding to Frankenfurter, who gave her a thumbs up gesture, so she raised her hand. A call was given, the Kennedys and Bushes glanced back, and Team Luftwaffe, who had soared close to the lead, gave way, and Lola saw a course to the front of the race. Boards following clear and steady courses, she called and threw her hand low, and her team crouched on their boards. The reduced drag allowed the team forward; soon Lola, Frankenfurter, Rocky, Nell, and Rifraf were ahead, and able to rise a little on their boards. Then, during ardent discussion, Rocky took the lead! Slightly crouching, his head tilted toward the direction of travel, but facing sideways, and a muffler pad over his ear, Rocky heard above the wheel roll sounds and the air blowing on his head, his acute neural filtering enabled him to feel the course of the road, assessing the surface clues, and hearing the aircourse between the flat road and the fencing before the stones at either side. The Sun cast its bliss directly on the skaters, and reflected from the road surface, and awareness of this was all dancing as a very abstract calculus within Rocky's mind. With guidance from Lola and Frankenfurter, he led the contest capably.
At the tail of the race, the lad with the Church team was returned to his chair, which had been brought along by a race official, and the Anglicans and Mormons began to race in earnest. Having a clear and unobstructed continuum ahead, both teams rapidly sped toward the body of the race! In his helicopter, Clement commented to Alan: God...gives grace!
Alan replied: He clearly does.

Still at Maxine's, Warsaw, Jesus Turbo reclines in his chair as he often does, and sips at a cup of unsweetened beetroot and roast rye grain coffee.
Jesus says: You have a good ranking anyway, Topol. There is no reason nor incentive for you to attend!
Topol: That's correct. Furthermore, as I default invitations, excepting on very serious matters, the draw improves!
Biffo: By the way, Turbo, congratulations on your appointment with the US Cavalry.
Topol echoes Biffo's gesture.
Jesus: Thanks. I have some news on that.
Biffo looks at Turbo in his calm, watchful way, Topol blinks.
Jesus Turbo: The Pentagon didn't give me an Air Cav commission.
Biffo, nearly realising, quickly looks to Topol, whom, scarcely able to consider the imminent words, speaks: Then, whom?
Jesus: Tank.
Topol: Tank?!
Biffo: Tanks? You bobba! What's wrong with helicopter combat? It's because your choppers kept getting shot up, isn't it?!
Topol: That's why Moscow wants to see me. They need to adjust. It must be.
Jesus Turbo waits a moment to allow some release of steam from Biffo's head, while he tries to handle the implications of his friend's acquisition by a strategic military group...
Topol, with an allusion to cheery laughter in his smile: Lubyanka will be delighted to hear the good news, Turbo!
Biffo: Since he associates with you and I so openly.
Topol: They’ll bobba!
Biffo: Exactly.
Topol: The Kremlin aren’t going to know what to do.
Turbo, bearing a carefree countenance to his perplexed caderie: Well a solution is easily worth a ranking...which you already have, Topol.
After pausing to think and behold eachother, Topol and Turbo unhurriedly and thoughtfully turn their heads to direct their attention and interest toward Biffo, who looks with foreboding and horror upon their considered, genteel and encouraging gaze!
Biffo: You can bobba off. You both can! Bobba your bobbing bobbas until you bobbing burst!

Travelling quickly down the winding hill, the skaters poured toward around some turns, very sensibly deferring and allowing leaders to pass ahead, losses of life due to falls over the sides of the road, onto the rocks below, were at a minimum, in fact, zero, since there were secondary and tertiary fences, to allow falls away from the other skaters onto cushioning. The actual contest was of a relaxed form, in skateboard convention. Few were in a great hurry to win, nor were any teams trying to dominate the race. Excepting, without remark, the Bushes and the Kennedys, who hitherto, had eyed eachothers’ teams obsessively! Team Lola’s Rocky had greatly distracted them, as he flew ahead, riding low, gesturing slightly to his team, by raising his hand and lowering at the wrist. Once he began to test the air with his other hand, the two political family teams were considering kicking out of the race altogether! But for the hypnotic charm of the Lola team, as they spoke and signalled eachother by fairly clever hand semiotics. Lola most diplomatically noticed the Kennedys and Bushes begin to cleave together, and form narrowing lines behind her team, and realised they had seen enough. She called to Rocky, then she and her team quickly made an identical gesture, to cross their flat hands, palms facing down, then make a wide lateral spreading gesture, as they stood higher to slow, and allow, while checking carefully behind themselves and around, other teams ahead.

Closing fast upon the pack, The Mormons and the Anglicans were skating quite smartly.
Passing Intel and Krispy Kreme, but carefully waiting back for opportunities by use of deft zig zags and small wheel tictacs, where raising and lowering the front wheels to either side gave a slowing effect, they were soon well within the body of the race. But up ahead, a small problem was developing.
Democratic Kampuchea and the Vietnamese Falun Gong were standing a little high, looking to eachother and disputing, with words and dismissive gesture. Behind the two church groups, the Shanghai Lion Dancers had noticed and become agitated, looking about themselves. But the Mormon Youngers were quick to see the danger, and with little admonition, a skater each from they and the C of E, ducked in, and got ahead, and as they did so, the Cambodians and the Vietnamese spread, and began some fairly clumsy and jerky stops, skidding for a while, then falling over! The Asians rolled, slid and rolled across the road. But there was some road space between they and the church teams.
Clement Freud, above them, radioed to Mr Whicker, watching on a monitor: A situation is developing, Alan. The road is closing up.
Alan: I can see that, but here come the saints...it looks like they are going to...that’s slam! The Youngers and friends have put their boards into emergency lateral slides! Look at that incredible control! All eight are braking directly sideways! Leaning well back, hardly a hair between them! Their boards are jumping a bit...they keep control...amazing! They’re slowing...the South East Asians coming up...they are still!
Clement: Those behind them are doing the same, Alan. It looks like an emergency has been averted.
Alan: Here are the Shanghai, they don’t look pleased.
Clement: Who’s that arriving now, Alan?
Alan: That’s the Bambaata Posse, Clement, they have their boards under control too.
Clement, consistently using his renowned and morose, monotonous speech: Alan, I surely haven’t seen anything so exciting since...the Thunderbirds TV episode...with the big blue aircraft, landing without engines.
Alan: Neither have I, Clement, I remember I weed my shorts when I saw that.
Clement: I put my baby pot...over my head, Alan. To protect myself...in event that the aircraft crashed out of the TV screen...into my living room.
Alan: You did the right thing, Clement.

But at Maxine’s Café, conversation is about to dive to some great depth!
Turbo: Biffo would probably sign up, but all he is offered doesn’t appeal.
Topol: So what is it to be?
Turbo: We want him controlling a group of Akula submarines.
Topol: You mean your...
Turbo: Gay friends, yes.
Topol: I know his problem, he applies, but whenever, they try to put him somewhere else.
He tried for the submarine corps, but the Tsarists in nuclear weaponry wanted him in missile subs. Probably because I am close to some of the missile staff.
Turbo: Nuclear missile submarines aren’t any use to the three of us. I was always aware that once I got an American commission, he would sooner or later find himself at a desk near a submarine base.
Topol: Quite quickly, I should think.
Biffo: You can imagine why either side would like me to control Akulas, Topol, can’t you?
Topol: To shoot down our own missile submarines, among other things.
Topol turns to Turbo: It has always been a problem with missile submarines, that the boat crew can wander off with the missiles. When we go to the beginning of what some called the Cold War, many of us were horrified that the Kremlin were considering to describe a fleet of nuclear missile submarines. They could in no way trust their ranking officers with the fleets, except, for some mad reason, by regular beheadings!
Biffo: I heard from some, that the Western fleets were similar.
Turbo: Place the blame with NATO. Weapons under NATO control don’t do much. Of course, they deploy very well, but after that, it was a great deal of posturing and expense, that left people such as ourselves in the Cold. Hence the term.

Turbo: Mr Andropov did well to survive President Kruschev’s staff culls, taking over from him after he popped his trolley...
Biffo, making a camp inflection as he turned his head a little further to face Turbo:
Mr Andropov had the USSR flourishing like a milk farm, until you killed him.
Turbo, quick to counter dead serious discussion, yet poisoned in its effect by Biffo’s timely application of a little high camp, lets his head tip aside a touch, and with an eyebrow, but a little insouciance and blankness in him: Sorry about that. I felt at the time that it was a little...
Biffo raises his eyebrows and moves his head laterally again: It was a lot!
Turbo pauses and looks, head still slightly leant, eyes still blankly, at the table.
He notices the gents watching him, and realises that he admired himself, as ever.
So, grasping the opportunity to multiply his debt and risk, says to Biffo while looking at him, with his mouth turning down a smidgeon: The Krumbling knew what to do, though. President Chernenko had himself photographed with a little girl, to say, “Touch me, and she dies horribly!” As he finishes speaking, Turbo bats his eyebrows too!
Biffo’s eyes turn, and languidly, he looks to Topol: He didn’t last long after that.
Shocked and displeased at the chaps’ gay bantering on such a dangerous and serious subject matter, Topol: Can you boys stop talking like that, do you mind?
There is some momentary quiet; however, trained to sense blood over a long distance, like a pair of wolves, Biffo and Jesus dive upon to feast!
Biffo: Mr Putin got his hands on a boy, the media filmed him.
Turbo: Putin’s sex film? He should have slapped that little brat stupid! And given him a kick in the pants!
Biffo, who guffawed: Then bobba’d him in public!
Turbo began to laugh wildly: Then he should have shot the bobba!
Topol looks on in shock and disgust at the two nasty wits, laughing at eachother’s horrible jokes, and tells them to cool it.
After a pause, Topol: But then, the equation of sacrifice, as we close on the wall, the harder we fight.
Biffo: I am reminded of the samurai ethic, the resolute acceptance of death.
The chaps can see Turbo is quietly contemplating.
Biffo: Mr Putin won’t hear talk about staff sacrificing themselves for the state, though.
He learned that from President Gorbachov.
Jesus Turbo, who was looking and listening attentively to both men: Death is a chameleon. What seems crucially important on the day, can change to a softer hue of dilemma after some thought.
Topol moves his hand point five metre across the table, to place it on Turbo’s: The party is grateful for your understanding and respect, Turbo.
Biffo smiles gently and nods his head, approving.
Turbo: Thankyou. Thankyou both.

At the downhill race, Kampuchea and Vietnam disputed, yet despite vociferous argument, no blows fell. The Viets stood attempting to disregard the Khmer, who seemed appalled at their unwillingness to listen to very sensible arguments! Then a lad and a girl from the Bambaata Posse interceded. In moments the black couple began to break dance, most indulgently watching eachother, as the boy expertly defined himself robotically, with clever and fleeting rigidity, and pauses, as he sensed the interest of his audience, until he allowed the girl, after a minute, to display her dancing talent. The young lady surprised with very original movements, among which, at times leaning to her side, and giving gravity, or seeming to direct clouds about with her hands, and raising and lowering her knees. Vietnam and Cambodia had stopped all traffic, to find themselves demanding to be shown robotics, breaking and other dance!

The gentlemen discuss visiting Russia. Topol then calls to arrange a flight for himself.
Topol: It’s Razamataz. He wants to bring the Lear Jet.
Biffo: Do you need it?
Topol: Just a moment.
Topol speaks to his compatriot.
Topol: What do you suggest?
Turbo: Why not take the helicopter from Frankfurt? It often goes to town.
Topol discusses with his friend, and they agree on a helicopter flight.

Turbo: Biffo and I can take the train. We can meet at Frankfurt Airport in three days, you take off, then we travel by sleeper train to Moscow.
Topol: Friends, if we all appear at the Kremlin together, it may get a little stuffy there. If we are to put Biffo in charge of four or five Akulas, we need to be very discreet.
Biffo: Why don’t we head over to St Peters? Mr Putin usually has a few people there.
Jesus Turbo looks at Biffo thoughtfully.
Biffo: We can go to the Pathenon.
Turbo: Good idea.
Topol: The racing car driver, Lola, and her mother want to see us there.
Turbo: They are training?
Topol: Of course. Miss Metlova has Lola learning Russian ballet.
Biffo: We should put a stop to that immediately.
Turbo: I should say. She needs to be kicking people in the face! God knows why we bother, though!
Biffo laughs.
Topol: The nunchaku class want you to conduct a lesson, Turbo.
Turbo: Oh, okay. Can you take the karate grades, then Biffo. Tell the coloured belts to play with their bobbas while you show a kata or something to Sara and the grades.
Biffo: Did she get her black belt?
Turbo: I don’t think so.
Topol: She’s been training a lot though, she says she’d like to take her 1st dan.
Biffo: So she’s not planning to award herself her next grade, like Turbo does every year!
Turbo’s belly tightens slightly forth and back as he looks, humoured and incredulous upon Biffo.
Topol: Yes Biffo, but he is quick to equally degrade himself, out of honesty, when facing a fight!
Biffo, Topol and Turbo laugh raucously aloud!

Team Lola, the Kennedys, Bushes and others see the end of the race ahead. In their thoughts, they collect last images and impressions of their adventure, and look about to see how many are among them all. The tank crew, the Luftwaffe, some marines and their friends soared along the road, and as the two political families crouched to catch the flag, so did their competitors.
At an early evening near the end of a sloping Pyrenean road, young people riding skateboards passed fairly nonchalantly, a video camera and plenty of very excited fans and friends, waving flags, rags and bags! However, the outcome of the race was hard to tell, and but also, two senior representatives of the Kennedy and Bush families quickly found their way into the judges room, where the judges were referencing the computer hard drive to test the result. An almost instantaneous argument burst explosively, and few exclamations discernable, other than, "You aren't going to see the result!" and, "There is no result, thankyou!" were uttered before the computer equipment was decidedly trashed. To add sin upon sinful damage to computing equipment, both representatives of the families exited the hut, to make very similar instructions to their fortunately, few men attending, "Tear up that video cable!"


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