Merv Moorman was basking in the shine again. It was a grand shine. One of those shines that made a two-legged such as he seriously mull over the big picture.

“God! It ain’t half basking down on me. I guess I earned it. I guess I earned this tan,” he muttered with a certain conviction that wasn’t easy to put your finger on. Similarly, you could never accuse him of resembling an athlete.

For many hours he lay prostrate in the shine, wondering. He had been toeing the finest of lines; between golden beauty and being toasted to a crispy lobster. Naturally, life was never easy for a man of ambition. Naturally, he was mainly wondering one thing – will they notice my tan when I limp into the Old Spanky Dump? (That was the place where nothing much went on, but which also seemed like the centre of it all).

“God!”

All out of nowt, he yelled at the sun. You couldn’t exactly call him a Stollen. And yet, he was neither cake nor bread.

Then, he yelled it again.

“God!”

He was howling at the shine.

He took a bite of his Dutch Croquette, nervous that his fasting had been all in vain. An optimal fasting duration had always eluded him, and the stress of it made him eat.

“God! Will they salivate at my tan? I wonder.” He was just getting going and people in the park were starting to stare. He was, after all, a man shouting “God” at the shine. It was suspicious and unnerving, but soon, they were all joining in.

That evening, Merv Moorman limped proudly into the Old Spanky Dump. All of his Masonic friends were there, and they looked in his direction as he threw open the heavy doors with some damn arresting clang and emerged through the doorway. Advancing with solemn step, Bald Budgie approached first.

“Mervin. Howard the Waffle died this morning.”

“You’re shitting me.” Replied Merv, with remarkable enunciation.

“I’d never shit you. I’d never shit a man of your tenderness.”

Mervin bowed his head. He was overstimulated by vogue emotions. He was like that – a bit annoying.

“No one’s going to want to talk about my tan now, are they?” He said, all sodden.

“I was thinking the same thing about mine,” Bald Budgie whinnied. In another life, he could have been a horse.

Merv was despondent and facing the very real prospect of a left-field bowel movement. “It never ends, does it?” He grumbled.

Bald Budgie scowled at Merv.

“Now you’re just being silly.”