Lunch with Dr Maroon - A Blunt Gothic Tale That Was Too Complicated To Create In Cartoon Strip Format...

It was a civil affair: salmon and cucumber sandwiches at Old Bessie’s Men’s Club, one of the finer dining establishments in Alloa. Polite and genial conversation flowed throughout lunch as we discussed lofty and literary issues about the local blogging community, their plight and what we could do to help alleviate the worst excesses of their self-destructive vices.

All was going splendidly until, during a brief lull in our exchange, Dr Maroon put down his cup of Earl Grey tea and said, “Listen, Ayres, there’s something I need to ask you.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s a delicate matter…”

“Maroon, Maroon, Maroon,” I said, “how long have we known each other now – fourteen, perhaps fifteen months? I was there at the birth of Cape To Rio; you helped me preside over the Blunt Cogs Smug Awards. We’re old friends: there’s no need to feel awkward. Out with it man.” I took a bite of my fourth iced bun.

“I…” He was clearly fighting some internal struggle. “God damn it, Ayres, there’s no easy way to put this.” I raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Are you Sir Man Boobs?” he ejaculated.

I tried to maintain a poker face but inside I was reeling. “Now look here Dr M…” I began, but he must have seen the fear in my eyes.

“My God. You are!”

A thousand thoughts rushed through my head as I sought to find a plausible way to deny his accusation, but in that instant, my resolve dissolved. I slumped back in the chair feeling utterly humiliated and ashamed. “Yes,” I sighed, “it’s true.”

But instead of the expected look of triumphant glee, Maroon’s face suddenly crumpled. “No,” he cried, “say it ain’t so!”

I sat bolt upright; something was seriously wrong. The day I had feared for so long had finally arrived: the greatest mind in the blogging fraternity had finally uncovered my secret identity, but rather than lord it over me all he could say was “You’re lying! You must be lying!”

And suddenly, in that instant, I understood: in confessing to my sin I had destroyed his illusions; I had plucked his hero from the pedestal and cast him to the ground. All this time, Maroon had believed Sir Man Boobs to be a genuine member of the Knights of the Round Bottoms, heroically fighting the flab and holding the torch aloft for all who would seek a healthier life beyond the cheap thrills of processed food and The Sugar Rush. Yet here I was, crumbs in my beard and a significant chocolate stain on my tie, the very antithesis of the noble Well-being Warrior.

For a brief moment I considered ways I might convince him otherwise, just to save his feelings, but it was too late: the truth was out. His hand was shaking as he reached for another piece of shortbread to calm his nerves. I called the waiter over an ordered two large chocolate éclairs, each.

“To be honest Maroon, it’s something of a relief to get it out in the open after all this time. Everyone who knows me in person just thinks I’m a rambling buffoon with an over-sized ego and has no idea that I’ve been able to inspire upwards of 3, maybe 4, people in their quest for weight loss. While those who have only ever known the Bold Knight in the well-tailored Shining Armour have never realised that I’m just an ordinary man with nearly as many failings as the next person.”

Inspired by my honesty, Maroon put down his piece of Victoria sponge and said, “Well Ayres, I too have a confession to make.”

I was intrigued. Could it be that I wasn’t the only blogger in the world who had secrets after all?

“I also blog under the name of… ‘Fatmammycat’”

My eyes immediately glanced down at his ankles. “Surely not!” I gasped.

He nodded. “And Binty McShae.”

Suddenly it all became clear. A huge weight fell from my shoulders as I half shouted out “I also blog as Shebah, and Monstee.”

“I’m Andraste, Anti-Barney and Barbudo!” he said with a grin.

“Sarah Laughs, Jokemail and HappyKat!” I continued.

“Slim Lindy, Glark and Redhead,” he chuckled.

“Dr McCrumble, Dr Evil and The Tubthumper,” I giggled.

“Justin, Gorilla Bananas and SafeTinspector,” he sniggered.

I stopped in mid guffaw. “SafeTinspector? But I’m SafeTinspector!”

“You mean to say,” said Maroon, “that we’ve both been SafeTinspector and never realised the other was too?”

Oh how we laughed and laughed

“You must have so much fun being Foot Eater” I said, with tears streaming down my cheeks.

Maroon’s face froze. “But I thought you were Foot Eater,” he said slowly.

Suddenly the world seemed a little darker and a little less secure.

We finished the cake trolley in silence.