2023: a trilogy (Justified Ancients of Mu Mu)

by The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ boasted Drummond. ‘I had to lay out five bodies in one shift.’

  ‘Yeah, and I had to stack ’em up on the floor here without Matron seeing. With the way things are going today, I won’t be surprised if we beat that record. Just hope it is cold enough tonight to keep the corpses from stinking the place out.’

  So while they were wallowing in nostalgia for the good old days, I was thinking that if this is the case, and he has to leave the morgue door to the garden open, that could be my escape route. I just need to get these last four chapters done, and I will make my bid for freedom.

  Yours,

  Roberta X

  4: PHONE A FRIEND

  Dear Reader,

  I hate it when the voice of the author somehow makes itself known in a novel. For me it is as bad as when a sloppy filmmaker allows the fourth wall to be broken – always a cheap and lazy stunt. But since rereading the first two parts of this trilogy and deciding I need to get this third part done before midnight and making my escape, I have been really struggling to keep my voice out of the text. Maybe this is because they have included my ‘Dear Diary’ sections within the book that Francis Riley-Smith and his friends have put together. Or maybe it is because I am a different person to the one who wrote the previous two parts of it nine months ago. Or maybe it is because I am writing this in longhand and not on my Empire Aristocrat typewriter. Or maybe it is because of the medication they have me on. Or maybe it is because I am shit scared and life is short and I don’t really know who I am or where I am really going with any of this. Maybe it is because I want a friend and you, Dear Reader, are the closest I have to a friend right now. I am desperate and I feel if I do not get all this done by midnight, I may not live long enough to get anything else written.

  If you don’t like the style – and I would hate it – then there is little I can do about it. Maybe just stop reading now. Or I invite you to rewrite the rest of this novel in a style you find more to your and my taste.

  Yours sincerely,

  Roberta

  Not much happens in this chapter. It exists for us all to have a bit of a breather before Chapters 5 and 6 of Book Three.

  I will use it to describe what has happened to the world over these past nine months. A bit of an overview. A bit of an underview. And some close-ups. And after that, if I have time, we will eavesdrop on some telephone conversations that are happening between some individuals you have already met.

  For a start, the world is not fucked – but I suspect you guessed that already. But on the subject of ‘fucked’, the big new genre in music is FUUK. Its roots are varied and diverse. Since all music that existed in the digital era has completely disappeared, the young and the eager have had to start making music with whatever they could find in attics and basements – like old, broken and abandoned analogue machines and records. This is mainly being done by the Post-Digital Underground kids, the ones in their early twenties. It is soon given the name ‘Atik & Base’, or ‘A&B’, by whoever it is that names genres of music as they pass through the cultural landscape.

  But then there is this newer, younger generation, those who had never even got into fetishising everything that was analogue. It is as if they have only come of age in these past nine months. As if they have never known anything else. Or that they have blocked out any memories of the world before the Fall of the Internet Age. They are just getting on with it all.

  There is this lad down in Brixton who turned sixteen on the day it all came to an end. He was the first to come up with the real new music and have it pressed on 12" slates* and play them on a sound system in a dancehall just by Max Roach Park. He is using some old gear his uncle used to make tracks on back in the late 1980s.

  His name is Tony Thorpe. It is his music that first got the name FUUK. He was named after his Uncle Tony. It is why the FUUK Kids are called the FUUK Kids, ’cause they are all into FUUK. And it is what they play at FUUKs. They are the first new youth movement for what seems like decades. They make the whole hipster thing seem so stale and static and stuck in their Post-Digital Underground aspirations, with their distressed coffee shops and slow-mo’ skinny lattes.

  The FUUK Kids just break into some old disused Ministry of War building, or whatever, and set up a sound system and have a FUUK. I guess they must be using some sort of uppers. But they seem to be having a good time. And none of them gives a fuck. None of them has to worry about selfies and Shares and Likes and Followers. It is all about now. And they have no problem with playing old music: anything they find on any format they can get to play they will use – just anything. They even like Extreme Noise Terror, but I don’t think Extreme Noise Terror are aware of this.

  This is how things start.

  You need things to fall apart for new things to grow.

  Things need to be out of control.

  So that is me focusing right in on one particular example of what is happening in the world over these past few months.

  If I pull out and look at the world as a whole, I see a different picture. I have already described how the United Kingdom and England have realigned themselves. The same sort of thing has happened across the world. Not always as peacefully as it has on our islands off the West Coast of mainland Europe.

  Just across the North Sea, in what we once called the Benelux countries, it has all seemingly sunk into scores of pitched battles. Tens of thousands of young men, who should be going to FUUKs and dancing all night, have been very literally turning ploughshares into swords. The urge to go to war was never sated, just repressed. Like religion, war gives life meaning. Obviously, if you can make a cocktail of both religion and war, it gives life even more meaning.

  What these lads over in the Low Countries are fighting about is simple enough. The Flemish-speaking ones who live in what was once part of North Belgium want to be part of Holland (note: not the Netherlands), and those who speak French in the Walloon part of what was once South Belgium want to be part of France.

  The fields of Flanders are awash with blood once again and none of this can be blamed on the final dying throes of those old European empires. This is just young men wanting to do it because they can. It is sort of like the Mods and Rockers on Margate beach over the Whitsun bank holiday of 1964, but multiplied several thousand times.

  The one upside to this is that none of these young men has access to the sort of weapons that could kill any more than one person at a time, let alone access to weapons of mass destruction. This is because all military hardware across the world was successfully decommissioned by 2018, which I understand to mean destroyed. It is all hand-to-hand stuff. Nobody gets killed without looking directly into the eyes of the person who is killing them, and vice versa.

  Maybe I have overstated the Fields of Flanders analogy – there is no way that as many young men are being killed today, but all the same …

  And Winnie was right. No one in London has any real idea about what is going on over there. Okay, maybe there are individuals who know about it, but there is no coverage of it on the BBC.

  Yes, the BBC is back. Hence there is a Queen’s Speech and a Christmas Top of the Pops. But it is a ramshackle affair. They have been able to bring some of those huge cameras out of their History of Broadcasting museum. With a bit of an oiling of the hinges and tightening of the wing nuts, they had them working again.

  But there is only the one channel, not even ITV as a rival. At least they got the colour working. The news is all local, as in from these islands. After the Ten O’Clock News they close down for the night, but not before they play ‘God Save the Queen’. They have revived lots of the old programmes we all used to watch. They still have Strictly and the Great British Bake Off. And they are making new episodes of Doctor Who – with the Daleks again. And David Tennant is back as the Doctor.

  Then, of course, there is England’s Got Talent. Maybe Scotland has the same but I am not too sure. Which is weird because they still call it the BBC, as in the British Broa
dcasting Corporation, even though Britain no longer exists as a political entity.

  The viewing figures for nearly every programme are in the tens of millions. Even for Gardener’s World and Darts with Davina. And on the subject of Davina, the Big Brother House is back. Of course, the Premiership collapsed and it is back to just the old four divisions, but they still have Match of the Day being presented by Gary Lineker – he hasn’t half aged. Haven’t we all?

  Mobile phones are totally a thing of the past, along with all the other forms of digital communication. They soon had the old-fashioned phones working – even the telephone boxes. You now get queues forming outside them like you did when I was young. And people chatting in the queues, all friendly, while others try to butt in, which then starts fights.

  This brings us back to the world leaders. It seems the actual copper wires that ran between the offices of all the world leaders from the old orders were still there, linking all of the old countries – they had never been got rid of, which is why Putin can chat with Angela Merkel any day he likes.

  As for our own leaders – Nicola Sturgeon is the President of the United Kingdom, even though they still have a Queen. Remember Queen Kate Middleton? And England has a prime minister – but we are waiting for the announcement right now about who is going to be the leader of the New English Tory Party. And just to remind you, it is between William Hague, who is going for the ‘safe pair of hands’ vote, and Henry Pedders, who will get all the new young ones. They are supposed to be announcing the winner of the election as part of the Christmas Day Top of the Pops, just before they do the chart run-down.

  You have to hand it to Henry Pedders. Nine months ago he was making his name burning down the Shard, and today he is more than likely going to become the leader of the New English Tory Party. They will be having the next general election in late March. Thus by 1 April our Henry could be the Prime Minister of England, the Scilly Isles and, of course, Guernsey, Jersey and Alderney. But not Sark.

  Putin gets through to Merkel, but they are just talking about what Christmas shopping they have yet to do, so there is nothing worth reporting there.

  Michelle Obama is on the phone to Yoko Ono the Older.

  ‘So anyway, Yoko, I can’t believe it! BANKSY wants us both to star in his new film. And he wants you and me, and for some reason that washed-up M’Lady GaGa, to do a dance sequence. I take it you are up for this?’

  ‘Of course. It seems we three are supposed to meet up at a pub called the Mermaid somewhere in the Cheapside part of London. Can you make it for ten o’clock?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, I will give M’Lady GaGa a call.’

  ‘Is that you, Gags? It’s Michelle here. Did BANKSY get hold of you?’

  ‘About the film?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘As it happens I will be on Top of the Pops – between you and me, I’m going to be the Christmas Number One, so I have to be there. Do you think BANKSY wants us to be working with a choreographer beforehand?’

  ‘I think he just wants us there to observe, to be like these women who can see it all and know exactly what is going on.’

  ‘So we are not the stars of the film?’

  ‘Look, I don’t think it is about us being stars or not being stars. You know the way BANKSY works. It is not until it is all brought together that you see the full genius at play. But, of course, the public will see you as the star. I was talking to Yoks and we have to meet up at this bar called the Mermaid. It’s in Cheapside. See you there about ten. Will you have the pink Roller with you? It would be great if we could all turn up at Top of the Pops in that.’

  ‘Of course. Parker is doing some little jobs for me today, as it happens.’

  ‘See you later, and bring your copy of that Grapefruit book.’

  ‘BANKSY here. Do you want a part in my new film, Tracy?’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘All about this new scene called FUUK, what the kids are into. I have set it up so they are going to break into Television Centre tonight just after midnight when the Christmas Day edition of Top of the Pops is being recorded. They will take over the whole thing and have a FUUK right there and then, and it will go out live on TV. I have this lad called Gimpo who is handing out flyers across London today – it will be massive.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? Act?’

  ‘No. Just turn up with your Bed. I want it on the main stage. You can be lying on it if you want, or whatever.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘Okay, there is something else. You know how you told me you were up for a knighthood in the New Year’s Honours list? And you know how they are going to be recording the Christmas Day Queen’s Speech just before Top of the Pops? Well, it would be great if we could have Queen Kate knight you there and then with her sword while you are lying on the bed, live on Top of the Pops.’

  ‘Are you sure this will look good in E. H. Gombrich’s new edition of The Story of Art?’

  ‘Take my word for it, Tracy, she will dedicate the whole closing chapter to it.’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘BANKSY here. Do you want a part in my new film, Bob?’

  ‘I’m supposed to be dead.’

  ‘Bob Hoskins will never be dead.’

  ‘So you want me to play an East End gangster?’

  ‘No, not quite. An East End cabbie. I want you to turn up at The Shepherdess Café on City Road—’

  ‘The one I was in in that film Mona Lisa, or was it The Long Good Friday?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. I want you there for about ten. I’ve got these three women turning up from different parts of the world. They won’t know each other, but they will all be carrying the same book. I want you to go over and introduce yourself in some way – you will just have to improv, but I know you can do it.

  ‘One of them will be from India, another from Africa and the other one from Port-au-Prince. They will have no idea about what’s going on, but they will be fine. You have to get them out of there and into the back of your cab and to Television Centre in Shepherd’s Bush by midnight. And no hanky-panky. These girls have been through a lot. And, oh yeah, the camera crew will be hidden. All one-take stuff. You up for it?’

  ‘Yeah. I will want to be paid in cash though.’

  ‘Cool. See you later. Oscars and everything. I always thought you should have got one for Mona Lisa. You were robbed.’

  ‘BANKSY here. Is that Parker?’

  ‘Before you start, BANKSY, I’ve got a job on tonight. Not only have I got to sort M’Lady GaGa’s Christmas Number One, I have to get Lady Penelope out of Holloway and then—’

  ‘That is what I was wanting to talk to you about. There was this scene in the film I am working on where I wanted to film this birth in a prison cell in Holloway. But now I have changed my mind and I want it done live on the Christmas edition of Top of the Pops on the main stage. I have already sorted the bed out with Tracy, so while you are breaking into Holloway to get Lady Penelope, could you get these two women as well? From what I understand, they are in the next cell to Lady Penelope.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  And before Parker has a chance to say any more, BANKSY puts the phone down. He is a busy man – or is she a woman? Do any of us really know?

  ‘BANKSY here. Is that you, Katie?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘Well, a little birdy tells me you are doing the Queen’s Speech as a double act tonight. That you and Queen Kate Middleton are doing it together.’

  ‘How the fuck did you get to know that? It was supposed to be completely hush-hush, but yes, and anyway, what gives me the pleasure of this call?’

  ‘Well, I also heard Tracy Emin is on the New Year’s Honours list and—’

  ‘And was it the same little birdy that told you that? I need to find out which little birdy this is and get them to shut their trap. But you were saying—’

  ‘It would be great if you and Queen Kate Middleton were to hang around after you h
ave done your joint Queen’s Speech and pop into the Top of the Pops studio. I’m making my new film in there tonight. All sorts is happening, I want to capture the culture of these very fluid times in the one film. All in one ninety-minute slice of a FUUK that gatecrashes the Christmas Top of the Pops. I have this vision of you, as in Queen Kate Moss of England, knighting Tracy Emin with your sword of office, or whatever you call it.’

  ‘Do I get to have my name above the titles?’

  ‘You know I can’t let you have that. I am the only one to have my name above the titles in my films. But I will agree to have your name to be the first to appear after the title. And we will play “God Save the Queen” after the closing credits.’

  ‘You have a deal.’

  ‘BANKSY here. Is that you, Tony?’

  ‘Yeah, Bro, what ’appen?’

  ‘I need your nephew to turn up tonight at the Top of the Pops studio at Shepherd’s Bush.’

  ‘With the sound system and everything?’

  ‘Yeah, and all his latest cuts. We are having a FUUK.’

  ‘Cool. You know the fee?’

  ‘Yeah, that will all be taken care of.’

  ‘Security?’

  ‘Parker will be there. I will make sure some of his boys will look after that.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘There is one thing I better warn you about.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You know your daughter, the one we don’t talk about? The one who calls herself Yoko Ono, who won the Turner Prize and then got banged up in Holloway for killing her boyfriend?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, she will probably be there with her sister, Winnie.’

  ‘You mean her half-sister. Same mum, but I wasn’t the father. I think the colour of her skin is a bit of a giveaway, Bro.’

  ‘Okay, right now they are sharing a cell in Holloway and they still have no idea they are half-sisters, or whatever. And maybe now is not the time to explain all that to them.’