Remember when we believed in things? Do you recall Doveman? You know, the baker. His predictions about the future were full of joy.

“One day, one very fine day,” he would say, gazing out across the industrial estate. “One day we will have umbrellas that keep our legs dry.”

He bought lottery tickets by the dozen, but the odds were poorly stacked. His sister was called Arch Your Foot at a Stranger. He rented, never bought. Shopped once a week, unless he ran out of food. More than anything, he wanted to be on the Visibox.

“One day, I’ll be one of those famous faces. You know, like the ones you see on the Visibox?”

Then came his day, out of nowhere (like most things of great significance). Melinda the Demon happened to be riding by and, as usual, she had that big mouth with her.

“Oi, Doveman!”

He leaned out of his second-floor window. He was still wearing his great aunt’s favourite wedding hat. You know, one of those tiny ones.

“How’s the hip, Melinda, love?”

“The hip? I sold it on the E Bay.”

“Good on you. I never could figure out the E Bay.”

There was an awkward pause. It was one of sexual tension mixed with an intense sugar crash.

“Can I come up and try on your great aunt’s wedding hat?” Said Melinda the Demon. She wasn’t exactly a femme fatale, but word had got around that she was a demon in the sack.

Doveman had been here before. He knew what that request meant and what it would lead to, but he wasn’t sure he was in the mood today.

“Well, can I? Do you always keep a midday fling waiting?” Said Melinda the Demon.

He itched his beard and dislodged a fly.

“You can come and touch the hat, but then you have to leave.”

“Fine.”

A few hours later, Doveman finally got his wish. It was time for his closeup. He was on the Visibox, being carried out of his house in a body bag. Some journo shoved a microphone in the face of a bystander. They shrugged. They didn’t know much about Doveman other than the fact that one of his legs was slightly shorter than the other. Melinda the Demon was nowhere to be seen. A few years later, I thought I might have spotted her in Gran Canaria riding a pony. If I’m not mistaken, she was wearing a wedding hat and singing a happy tune that went something along the lines of:

“Yah

Yay

To be a Finnish wrestler

Yah

Yay

To be a Finnish Wrestler

A Fin in a hat

What a life

Like Noam Chomsky in a Ferrari”

But I’m not sure, I was eating a fajita at the time and my memory often deceives me when I’m eating a fajita.