Leapt (working title) – Page 1

I’m currently writing my first book about Alex, a channel hopping entrepreneur looking for a missing girlfriend. For an idea of the tone of the book, here’s the first page.

Hope you enjoy it.


Page 1


” Sorry, could I not have ice?” I was miles away.

She looks at me like I’d just spat on her shoes “I’m programmed you see, I’m like a robot. You ask me for a drink, I put ice in the cup. I’m like a robot you see, you need to be clearer.” As she finishes her last word her lips gradually tighten into a perfect anus shape and she sucks in her pudgy cheeks. She reminds me of the kind of nun you see on Father Ted. Maybe I just think that because of the accent but she’s portly and her jacket is snug as if it takes her a good pop song length of time to cram into it. Her hair is up in a bun and her make-up is exactly how it is in the training video, I imagine.

She’s still giving me the evil eye. Perhaps another passenger has just clicked their fingers at her, or shouted at her because they couldn’t get their bags on. Maybe someone just straight up called her fat and then she’s waddled over to me who hardly even noticed she was there despite still managing to order a drink.

“Could.. ” small pause “..you..” smaller pause “not just put it back in the bucket?” I’m trying to sound as polite as possible but I obviously sound condescending as hell as I rise my intonation more than necessary.

“Nuh-uh, it’s against health and safety” Pretty bad with Irish accents but it’s definitely got that Dublin yawn to it, maybe from a satellite town. Wicklow? Somewhere like that? Now that I think about it I have no idea where Wicklow is.

I gaze blankly at this odd but amusing specimen.  “It’s against health and safety? To return the ice from the clean cup back into the bucket?” Anus mouth has a few more lines on it now. I can read your thoughts you miserable moo-cow, just tell me to shove the ice up my arse. How far should I push this? If this plane goes down, this Emerald Isle Annie Wilkes might be my only lifeline. Not that that fills me with much comfort, I could use her as a life-raft I suppose.

I concede “Look it’s fine, I’m sorry to trouble you. I’ll just pick it out if my top lip gets too numb” There’s the look. I’ve given that look many times. I work in the service industry and the first rule is that the customer is always a prick. I’m the prick in this scenario. As mentioned before, she could have been through a whole load of crap before serving me. When that happens, any slight inconvenience becomes a major pain in the arse. She serves my Johnny Walker in a way that shows she couldn’t care less and slams it down on my dinky table with just enough effort to ensure a good sip of it spills out. She’s a pro! What can I say? As she shuffles off I lift my flimsy plastic cup with blunt-razor sharp edges and six cubes of ice and take a swig. Why did I order Johnny Walker again? Pretty grim. Actually quite glad I’ve got the ice now, mellow out the grimness. Don’t tell Brenda! Or, whatever she’s called, Brenda’ll do though.

Fucking Ryanair.


-Matthew Whibley






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