3rd Prize
ONE PUNCH TOO MANY by Jenny Dean
‘It’s all a bit of a blur at the moment; the day after the day before. And the night. So, if you don’t mind, I need an ear, given willingly or not, to voice what happened and maybe make sense of things. Before life changes.
It had been years since we visited Bognor Regis. 1993 it was. We came to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. Stayed at the Royal Norfolk Hotel for our honeymoon, too. It’s changed a lot but still rather charming. You know. Upmarket. None of the riff raff you get in some bed and breakfast establishments. I can’t stand them. The Norfolk still holds vestiges of our heritage, the British Empire with its colonial architecture and high standards.
Back to my tale. ‘Celia dear,’ Ollie said a few weeks before, ‘how do you fancy a few days in sunny Bognor? A romantic way to remember how long we’ve been together?’
‘Huh’, I thought. ‘When was he ever a passionate soul? Did I really need reminding it was sixty years? And why would I want a busman’s holiday?’ But I decided to humour him; it’s the easiest way, I’ve found.
So, that’s how we came to be here. September 2023. Our own diamond jubilee party although marriage hasn’t exactly been a jamboree. We’re hardly suited, less so with age, if I’m honest but one just stays.
On arrival, we saw that the front lawns were masked by an array of spectators. ‘What on earth is going on?’ I thought. Wouldn’t put it past my husband to book this weekend on purpose, seeing how
I dislike crowds. And he had. Turns out it’s a Punch and Judy festival. Of course, Ollie was in his element; a ‘big kid’ and, forgive the pun, a bit of a punch himself. In more ways than one. Me, I have more elevated ideas on the arts. Nothing like a good Ibsen or Chekhov.
Appears it was to celebrate the film, ‘Punch and Judy Man’ which was shot here in Bognor. I recall it well. I would, wouldn’t I? Staying in the room next to Tony Hancock’s – in this very hotel -is hardly commonplace. It rather made my honeymoon, to be honest. I’ve always liked stardom and Ollie has never come close to that.
It rather spoiled my plans; revisiting Arundel – such beautiful restaurants and antique shops, watching a show at the CFT. Instead, Ollie had us in front of every Punch and Judy stand there was.
Always the same plot. Punch bossing the other characters around. Then the baby crying, the policeman’s truncheon used against him and the proverbial string of sausages coming in somewhere.
Anyone with an intellect like mine would have had enough after one show but having watched eight, I was beside myself and wishing I wasn’t standing beside Ollie, either. He unnerves me; the way he can get angry then take it out on me. It’s as if he takes on Punch’s personality – one dreadful consequence of his occupation, perhaps.
Watching those afternoon shows did something to me; I don’t know why it was different but, inside my gut, I knew something was struggling to get out; to attest to the world who I was; that I didn’t have to endure perpetual Punch and Judy shows for ever.
I didn’t plan it; it just slowly developed like a writer creating a story. By the evening, I was ready, spurred on by the afternoon’s events.
We had a mediocre meal in the hotel’s restaurant; most of the ‘sausage and mash’ left on our plates.
That and Ollie’s foul mood as a result, motivated me further towards my goal.
I knew that the rest of the evening would be contentious; I foresaw Ollie, fallen foul of a bottle of whisky, using me as a punchbag. The usual thing. This time, it wasn’t going to work.
The attack began immediately and his tongue lashed out, with insults fit for a murderer. I waited for the next stage, the physical abuse, but it never came. Not this time. Instead, Ollie succumbed to a drunken sleep.
I knew exactly what to do; hadn’t I viewed the method countless times before in Ollie’s entertainment show? With dogged determination, I wrapped the string of sausages – discarded by Judy earlier onto the lawn- around his neck and pulled. Would they break like a necklace of precious pearls? Just in case, I thumped him hard on the head with a thick stick I’d hidden in my bag. It felt like I was knocking a post into the ground. Very satisfying.
So, here I am. Hiding between a couple of beach huts. Just for now. I know they’ll come. The police. They always do. Eventually. But, Punch, your show is over, too. Judy’s doing life.
By herself.’