CHARLES by Tony Rawlinson

Charles was a snob and he knew it.  He had always been one for as long as he could remember.  He enjoyed it.  Not for him The Times Newspaper with its common broadsheet format.  Thank goodness for The Daily Telegraph.  He never ate chips of any sort;  HP and Tomato Sauce never graced his table.  Not for him travel by omnibus (dirty);  train (smelly);  only taxis experienced his presence.  He had a strange rich aunt who lived in a Scottish Castle (all fifty two rooms).  She sent him money on a regular basis, he was not sure why.  She lived the life of a hermit - Charles just took the money.  


Rather worryingly her last letter had included the word work which made him feel quite ill.  A couple of days in bed were necessary to restore his equilibrium.  He spurned the world of computers; he was not keen on keyboards and strange words like quirty.  Likewise he never, ever put any money in the collecting plate for any charity on any occasion.  

He was, in four words, a self seeking man, who had one great gift, he could play the violin almost to concert platform level.  To his neighbours regret he practiced daily, ceasing only to take a strenuous walk of 100 yards to the nearby library, to read, of course, The Daily Telegraph.  Usually he proceeded from the library to a local wine bar to indulge in a midday aperitif.  As he was partaking of his beverage he became aware of a rather loud coarse voice proclaiming that, “No one can tame my lions.”  Meeting no initial response the claim was repeated at an even louder level.  Charles turned round to see a middle aged man dressed almost entirely in yellow, except for a red neck scarf and blue shoes.  It was obvious that neither his shirt or trousers had ever enjoyed much of a meaningful relationship with a washing machine. His peace interrupted, his drink spoilt, Charles experienced a rare flash of complete anger.  Before he could stop himself he took up the circus owners challenge, head on.  

Just as the Roman Empire had the seeds of its own destruction within it, so did this challenge.  The circus owner was delighted, he had three ferocious lions to take this big headed toff down a peg.  Arrangements were quickly made.  In one weeks time at ten o’clock am the violin player would take on the three lions, dealing with them one at a time.  No publicity was needed as the word spread amongst the fairground community and beyond.  On the day a huge crowd gathered.  The violinist went into the cage, which was set in the middle of the circus ring, sat on the chair provided and shouted, ”Send the first one in”.  He began to play a haunting melodic tune.  The lion  prowled around him then sat down at the violinists feet and went to sleep.  “Send the next one” he called and another fierce  lion came into the cage, took one look at the violin player, sniffed him, put his head in his paws and went to sleep.  “Next” called the violinist.  
Confident now of winning the contest he awaited the last lion which, when it came, was the biggest of  them all.  

He walked around the violinist and with one huge bite bit the violinists head off.

Not surprisingly the music stopped.  The other two lions woke up, rather cross.  They turned to the third lion and said, “Why did you do that, we were having a lovely sleep”.  The third lion put his paw behind his ear and said, ”Pardon?”