Harry Says Chapter 39: La Manga

I kinda lost touch with most people.  Most of the guys I knew lived in London and I now lived in La Manga.  I didn’t really mind that much.  It’s weird to say but since the new bod I didn’t want to be around people too much.  I had my own routine.  Walking on the beach, sitting in the Pink Flamingo, going to a few other clubs.  So I didn’t bother with many people from the old days.  And most of the X-pets were gone.  The Corgi brothers – dead.  Bloodbath Henry – dead. Will the Pit – in a dangerous animals pen for life. Freddy the Frog: au revoir mon ami.  What happened to Foxy I don’t know.  Mouse Martin had gone underground since the GMA Act went through. No one knew where Porky was except his PA, his lawyers and his accountants.  And since I wrote, starred in and directed my own scenario in the woods, Big Cheese was gone too.  The only X-Pet left that I knew was big Westie.  Westie never changed.  He always led a quiet life.  One day I got a call from him.  It was great to hear that big deep advert voice again.  He said he wanted to come to visit me in La Manga.  He just had to see the new bod in real life and he wanted to visit La Manga.  He could do with a bit of sun.  You don’t get much sun in Westbury.  The owner of the Garden House Hotel was doing a driving holiday in Spain so she could leave Westie off in La Manga and pick him up a couple of weeks later.  They would arrive in about ten days.  Better get the Mucker’s Knuckle in I joked.

Ten days later they arrived.  The car rolled up and Westie and Mrs Jones got out.  Westie had never been a fast mover but now the big dog was movin’ real slow.  Maybe it was because he had got even bigger.  Mrs Jones opened the side door and Westie eased himself out on to the pavement.  I was standing there wearing orange flip flops, Timmy Schweinsteiger shorts, my favourite naked ladies Hawaiian shirt and of course my Rayblokkers, the monster size that I needed now.  It felt strange to see Westie.  It was the first time I’d seen an X-Pet since the bodification.  I felt a bit nervous like as if I was going to perform on stage.  It was odd to be looking down on Westie, the giant Westie; remember those big tree trunk legs?  Westie looked up at me and said, “Harry, long time no see.  Love the new bod.”  I hunkered down where it didn’t feel so weird and said, “Welcome to Villa Harry mate and the pleasures of La Manga.”

We ambled over to the house.  Mrs Jones left immediately.  I showed Westie around the house and he said, “Nice pad.”  We sat out back and chilled.  Westie made himself comfortable and I got a huge bowl of beer for him.  I sat on a chair for a while but it just felt too weird.  I had to lie down on the ground.  That felt good.  We chatted about the old days.  The fox hunt, Foxy, fame and fortune, the hunnie bunnies, the junglefrenzies, the guys from GUYnacology, The Night at Porky’s.  I kept waiting for him to mention Big Cheese.  If he did I was just going to say dunno what happened to him.  He might have wandered into the woods and got rubbed out like Bloodbath Henry.  Real Call of the Wild stuff.  But Westie didn’t mention Big Cheese.  I was glad about that.  I didn’t want to talk about Big Cheese, not after the trouble he’d put me to.  I’d had to put a lot of work into creating the scenario in the woods, then running around the woods like an animal, the place full of psychos, having to lug the stash back to my place in the middle of the night.  Not to mention being attacked by an owl.  Lucky I had my Schmouser.  So best to just forget about Cheese.  That cat wouldn’t be bouncing back.

We had a great couple of weeks, me and Westie.  We took it easy, sat by the pool, walked on the beach, sat in the Pink Flamingo and had a few beers.  One man and his dog.  Westie said we should be on that TV show, the one where the guy and the dog round up sheep.  The guy stands there whistling and shouting instructions while the dog runs around and gets the sheep into a pen.  I’d seen it a couple of times.  It was one of the things that Cheese liked to watch.  I could just see us.  I’d be standing there in the field in my naked ladies Hawaiian shirt and Timmy Schweinsteiger shorts.  I take my Rayblokkers out of the breast pocket and put them on.  Just a touch of makeup – not too much – we need the natural look for this one.  A kind of weather-beaten and at one with nature look.  Not in nature – a part of nature.  The makeup people should be familiar with the concept.  I’d stand in the field as if I’d just sprouted from the earth, just like Westie all those years ago.  I’d be a guy doing something good and natural.  Westie would be twenty yards away, hunkered down and ready for action.  Cameras! Action! I’d give a whistle and Westie would throw off the years, jump up and round up. Whistle, left, shout, right, come on big dog, get those sheep in the pen!  This isn’t a rehearsal!  Close-up of the last sheep going in.  Westie bounds up to me, kind of.  Good dog.  Give that dog a beer, then cut.  No – one final shot of me, silhouetted against the sky, Westie by my side.  I reach up and take my Rayblokkers off.  I put them back in the breast pocket of my Hawaiian shirt as the camera pans back to left front.  Close-up of me looking into the middle distance.  Then cut, music, titles.  Harry was back.  A new bod, but the same old Harry.

I’ll say one thing about Westie, the guy was still a tottie magnet and that was ok with me. We went over to the Caba de Palos market one Sunday and Westie had them swarming around him like flies.  A lot of really hot babes too.  All good things have to come to an end and after a couple of weeks Mrs Jones came to take Westie back.  I said I’d see him again soon.  He said yes Harry it’s been great let’s do it again sometime again soon.  Westie got back into the car and they drove off.  I watched the car disappear down the road and when I couldn’t see it anymore I headed down to the Pink Flamingo. 

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