THE SAD TALE OF DR GLOOM & ‘THE LOTTERY WIN’

DR GLOOM 

“Crikey Dr Gloom you’ve got a face like a dropped pie matey” 

“No need to get personal Landlord…you should be grateful I even bother to frequent this pig sty of a boozer what with the duff beer you serve up akin, I might add, to maiden’s water diluted with Adam’s ale” 

“Touché you miserable old sod…anyhow what’s up with you today then?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business but as it happens I was reminded of bleak times from my distant past whilst having a jolly good rummage in the attic this morning” 

“How so Dr Gloom?” 

“Back copies of the press coverage of my tragic lottery win” 

“Here’s your beer Gloomo…good health…anyway tell me more. How on earth can a lottery win be ‘tragic’…was it a big win?” 

“£37 million I won…all downhill after that…drop the ‘Gloomo’ if you would” 

“Do what £37 million! That’s more than just life changing, bloody hell mate what are you doing living in that hovel of yours round the corner, you don’t even own a motor?” 

“Long story Landlord” 

“Spit it out, I’m all ears” 

“Well as something of a preamble it is important to understand I have actually won the lottery twice. First time my usual numbers came up when the prize pool was a mere £15 million but my old cat Molly the Mog ate the bloody ticket and the powers that be refused to pay me out…I hung about her litter tray for days yet not a sausage” 

“Bastards” 

“Don’t I know it. Anyway that isn’t the main thrust of this tale of woe for the very next week I struck gold yet again using a Lucky Dip ticket and that’s when I won the £37 million. How elated I was that day I remember it so very, very well yet as ever with me the pleasure was short lived. Everything went to worms when the press got news of my good fortune” 

“I thought you could tell them you wanted no publicity Dr Gloom?” 

“I did indeed…well I thought I had. You see the bit of paper I had to sign before accepting the money posed the question, ‘DO YOU NOT, NOT, NOT, NOT WANT ANY PUBLICITY?’ A little confused I answered ‘no’ and that’s when the papers announced to the world and his brother that I scooped the bloody jackpot” 

“Still you won though Gloomo it can’t have been all bad” 

“Don’t call me Gloomo, Twatto… but oh dear it was so astonishingly bad.  Those damn newspapers had published my address and then the begging letters arrived in sackfuls…every sodding morning the Post Office sent a JCB round to my gaff to drop the post off on that postage stamp of a front garden of mine. Couldn’t even open the bloody front door to get out each day so stuffed my exit passage was.  I had to use a fishing rod, line and hook from the bedroom window to collect the letters…took me hours day after day after bloody day.  Then when I got to open them they were all taking the piss” 

“Really, you surprise me” 

“Surprise you! Just you imagine getting letters from money grabbers claiming they need a grand here, ten grand there for ingrowing nose hair treatments, Botox enhanced penis enlargements, hypnosis for a depressed budgerigar, prosthetic limbs for the able who were worried a leg might drop off sometime henceforth…you name it I received it” 

“You still had the money to enjoy though…I’ll lay a wager you were popular with the ladies?” 

“Trust me Landlord not just the ladies of all ages, shapes and sizes I might add but also a veritable host of those of sexual orientations hitherto unknown to me all claiming that my new found wealth would not impinge upon their true love for me…made my skin creep I can tell you” 

“Couldn’t you just pick and choose whatever took your fancy?”   

“No hope, you see on the very day of my win I was diagnosed with permanent erectile dysfunction leaving me as about as much use as an ejector seat in a helicopter on the getting me end away front. And there was me thinking for once in my gloom ridden life the world was going to be my carnal oyster! How wrong I was” 

“Terrible luck Dr Gloom…just terrible” 

“Tell me about it” 

“Still I go back to my earlier point…you still had shed loads of money…you must still have shed loads even today; you couldn’t spend that amount in several lifetimes…no one could” 

“Never spent a penny of it as it happens, not a single measly penny. You see, not trusting the thieving bastard banks I had them give me the prize in cash…insisted on it. Kept it all under the bed, large denomination notes, they only just fitted yet fit they did. I was lying in said bed one morning about a week after my win and thought to myself, ‘Today Dr Cedric Gloom you are going to treat yourself to something special’. I was all in a dither what with the excitement of it all…first stop a Lamborghini, then off to the property agents to buy myself a villa in the Caribbean…you know that sort of thing” 

“Good on you Gloomo… I’m guessing here something went wrong though?” 

“Fuck me, stop calling me Gloomo!  And yes something did go wrong” 

“What?” 

“Molly the Mog spontaneously combusted under the bed. You see she had taken a liking to kipping on the cash. Set fire to the whole lot…I called the Fire Brigade out but it was too late, I’d lost the lot” 

“I suppose there is no point in me asking if you were insured?” 

“Piss off”

 

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47 thoughts on “THE SAD TALE OF DR GLOOM & ‘THE LOTTERY WIN’

      1. Tell me, if I wrote in an English regional (very strong) accent would an American understand it do you think? I only ask because I’ve just written a piece set in Yorkshire where many of the words used would be alien to an American. Shirl tells me not to go the whole hog on the dialogue as readers will glaze over bored. I am thus in a quandary!

      2. Well, there are so many bits of the dialect we don’t understand, so it would depend on your audience. But I would guess that you all don’t understand a great deal of what we American writers say. Context counts for so much, right.
        Try it and offer free translation services, 😉 or ask us to interpret it. Could be a hoot.

      3. The thing with American dialect is that over here we were/are brought up with US TV so basically we can understand Deep South from Bronx etc. Also American English is English by any other name and thus universal to any English speakers anywhere. However, in this tiny island we have regional dialects that are almost pre-English. I need to ponder upon what you say…it is most useful and appreciated…I shall go off for a coffee and a jolly good think. My thanks again.

      4. I’ll bet it would be fascinating to read something written in one of those regional dialects. The evolution of language and the preservation of the local dialects are fascinating.
        In spite of having lived all over the US, I still have a very strong Texas twang to my speech and I find myself using phrases unique to the rural area in which I was raised. At a family reunion a distant relative who lived in Oregon followed me around all day to hear me talk. Annoying, really.

      5. I remember back in the day a young Indian lad joined our school and we all followed him about because of his accent…one we’d never heard before. Must have been awful for the poor chap looking back. As for the thing I’m penning presently I’ve gone for a mix of local dialect yet held back on the words no one else on the planet would have a clue what they meant! Did you know in Devon where Shirl heralds from all women are called ‘maid’! I got very confused during the time we lived there. Shirl herself was referred to locally as, ‘The maid Blamey that was’ – which is their way of saying she was now a married woman…funny old world really!

      6. Oh the old English they still speak in Devon does serve to amuse. Another (last one I promise as I don’t wish to bore you) was the tale of a rather smelly old lady who used to frequent the local grocer. The day finally arrived when the grocer really had to do something about the pong in his shop. It was thus he told the old dear, ‘You’ll have to vacate my premises maid for you are distressing my patrons’!

      7. Oh wow! That’s excellent and actually rather tactful. I don’t think I could be bored with any tales from your corner of the world.
        Here’s a similar tale, although less couth. My dad was a grocer and there was a woman who frequently shoplifted, stuffing steaks and other goods into her large panties. Well, Daddy caught her time and again and in frustration one day told my mom that he’d secretly named this old woman “Gertie Dirty Rotten Crotch.”
        I was perhaps five at the time, and sure enough, I ran up to an elderly lady in the produce aisle of my dad’s store one day and politely inquired if she was Gertie Dirty Rotten Crotch. She was taken aback, to say the least, and mom told daddy he’d better watch his language around me from that time on. I’m pleased to say he did not.

      8. Kids do say the very best things you know…the sheer beauty of innocence is a fine thing indeed. I still remember my one and only visit to the Sunday School at the local church (about 6 years of age I guess) where they asked me if I was going to join the boy cubs (part of the Boy Scouts in the UK). They were taken aback when I replied, ‘No, my mum says she doesn’t like the kind of men who run the cubs’…it must have been 15 years on when one day I realised the enormity of what I’d said and what my mum meant about ‘the kind of men who run it’. Happy innocent days I say.

      1. Down the pub years ago – in the days I went down the pub – the locals called me Dr Gloom as it happens. You see I used to have to drive 2 hours home from work and it was thus entering the pub I looked as miserable as sin itself!

  1. Dear Dr. Gloom,
    Have you tried flipping the mattress juuust in case, there’s a teeny tiny chance any of it is left?Getting tired of this commute of mine, you know. And no decent pubs ’round here to toast to my gloomy state.
    Love,
    Mrs. Doom

    1. Dear Mrs Doom,
      As it happens I did turn the mattress over yet in doing so put my back out and was in traction for 3 years…plainly there was no cash under said mattress.
      As to your ‘commute’ all I can say from my experience is that things will only get worse before they get worse on that front.
      Regards,
      Dr Gloom

    1. A good point Lori…I actually had a cat called Molly when I was a kid…on the beach one summer I selected a favourite peddle…had it for several years until the day she ate it. Like Gloomo I watched and waited to no avail!

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