It was the old woman again, the who calls herself Cynthia. It’s probably not her real name and I think that a lot of the stories she tells are perhaps only loosely based on fact.
She probably looked quite good in her heyday. You can tell that with some people; bone structure. Booze is like longshore drift which gradually wears away at the soft tissue and leaves the hard stuff stranded and way out to sea. Anyway, she still has her figure.
She’s just been telling a tale of how she was an actress. Big name on the West End. Danced and sung and all that. I have this image in my head of her as one of those burlesque girls, long legs and kicking them up into the air to show a little peak of her knickers. They did that back then, before it became un-PC. Political Correctness meant not doing or saying the things that had the possibility to harm or hurt. Women’s bodies and wrongly chosen words could do that. Anyway, back to the woman who calls herself Cynthia.
No, I have a better plan. Let me tell you a little of my story, from my perspective.
My name is Liam Flowers and I’m an alcoholic.
I just love that line. It’s meant to be about repentance and honesty. For me, it’s just a case of putting your cards down on the table. A lot of my story has already been told, but a lot of what has is not necessarily kosher. At the very best it was written by other people. At the worst it was the product of some writer’s imagination. Some writer who should have been concentrating on his own life rather than mine.
But that last bit is not completely true either. You may disagree, but I believe that I have the right to my very own perspective as I am just as real as he is. In fact, from where I am sitting, I have a whole new world to gaze over and it’s he who is trapped by his little own pages. He’s tapping this out now, in the middle of the night, thinking that he must get the idea down before is floats away into dreams. Okay then. I understand.
My name is Liam Flowers and some would have it that I was once the anti-Christ and the bringer of the end of days. Semantics?