Tick, Tock, and Goat Yoga

“We have all the time in the world.”

“If by ‘all the time in the world’ you mean three minutes and forty-two seconds.”

“Time is a human construct.”

“And this construct will blow us to smithereens if you don’t defuse that bomb in the next three minutes and thirty-nine seconds.”

“You stress too much. Have you considered goat yoga?”

“No, Frank. I haven’t tried goat yoga.”

“You should. It’s good for those wrinkle lines.”

“I don’t have wrinkle lines, Frank. I have stress lines. Stress lines caused by a certain bomb disposal expert.”

“I’m your favourite bomb disposal expert, though.”

“I don’t have favourite bomb disposal experts. That’s like saying I have a favourite sexually transmitted disease.”

“I still think you should try goat yoga.”

“I’ll strike you a deal, Frank. If you defuse this bomb in the next thirty seconds, I’ll do a session of normal yoga.”

“Fine. I’ll bring the goat.”

“For what?”

“Goat yoga.”

“I’ve just told you I’m not doing goat yoga.”

“The goat’s for me.”

“I’m not doing a yoga class with you.”

“That’s a bit harsh. Why not?”

“I don’t want to see you in Lycra, Frank.”

“Who said I did it in Lycra? I do it naked. I hate to be restricted, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I’m going to be sick. On second thoughts, don’t defuse the bomb. I don’t think I can live with the image of you naked doing goat yoga.”

“Fine. I’ll wear loose-fitting shorts. Is that better?”

“It’ll be better if you defuse the bomb, Frank.”

“Chill your beans. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Three minutes, Frank!”

“Would you say this wire is red or dark pink?”

“Dark pink. Is it an important wire?”

“I’m wondering whether to paint my bathroom that colour. Do you think it’s a bit much?”

“Jeez, Frank. Do your job and then we can talk paint colours for your bathroom later.”

“Dark pink is a bit of a statement colour, isn’t it? I think I’ll go for duck egg blue.”

“That’s a bit safe.”

“The colour for my bathroom or the colour of that wire?”

“You tell me, Frank.”

“You’re right. I’ll play it safe.”

“Whoa, what are you doing?!”

“Cutting the duck egg blue-coloured wire. Isn’t that what you just said?”

“I’m not a bomb disposal expert! I was talking about the colour for your bathroom.”

“That was a close call. We could have gone kaboom! I think you picked wisely though. I’ll definitely go with dark pink…”

“Woah, what about lemon yellow!”

“What other colour would lemon be? I suppose an off-white magnolia would be a close match. I don’t think that would make my bathroom pop though. I definitely want it to pop!”

“The lemon yellow wire, Frank. I was talking about the lemon yellow wire. That looks like it’s connected to the timer and the C4. You’ve got two minutes and twenty-eight seconds left. Please can you stop talking about what colour to paint your bathroom. We have pressing things at hand. Like, not dying. I very much like living. I’ve been informed it’s good for my health.”

“I agree. Dying on a Monday is a terrible day to die.”

“Any day is terrible to die on, Frank.”

“I think Friday’s a good day to die.”

“What’s your logic for that then? Actually, on second thought, I don’t care…”

“It’s the beginning of the weekend, isn’t it? So your friends and family can participate in some Urban Slam Poetry while honouring your memory.”

“I don’t think that’s how grief works, Frank.”

“Grief is a bit like goat yoga and Urban Slam Poetry.”

“Not this again. Seriously, what has goat yoga and grieving someone’s death through participating in Urban Slam Poetry got in common?”

“Have you tried goat yoga…”

“We’ve already established I haven’t and before you ask I haven’t tried Urban Slam Poetry while grieving a loved one’s passing either!”

“You know what they say…”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it?”

“Never wear flip flops while juggling machetes. It never ends well. My little toe on my right foot will tell you that.”

“Give me strength, Frank, you’re making me lose the will to live.”

“I’ve been told that a few times, you know.”

“It’s nothing to be proud of.”

“Of course it is. Better to be unique than ordinary like a radioactive cheese sandwich.”

“There’s nothing ordinary about a radioactive cheese sandwich.”

“That depends on where you get your sandwiches from, doesn’t it.”

“Frank, I hate to nag you, but we’ve got two minutes left before the bomb goes off and I really need the toilet.”

“Don’t worry. Just have a piss by that tree over there.”

“I’m not pissing by that tree, Frank.”

“Why not? I promise not to watch.”

“I’m not bothered about pissing in front of you. It’s that…cat.”

“Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there. You okay, my furry friend?”

“Frank, leave the cat alone. Defuse the bomb.”

“I wonder what their name is. They look like a Gaylord.”

“I don’t think anyone in their right mind would call their cat Gaylord.”

“I would.”

“Like I said, nobody in their right mind would name their cat Gaylord. I think it’s called Fleabag.”

“It’s not a very catchy name, is it. ‘Come here, Fleabag. Tea’s ready, Fleabag.’ No, they’re definitely not called Fleabag.”

“And they’re not called Gaylord either, you muppet.”

“You’ve still not said why you won’t piss next to them.”

“I don’t like the way it’s looking at me. I think it might attack my ‘you know what’.”

“I don’t think cats like cocktail sausages.”

“Cats are devious and evil. I wouldn’t trust one as far as I could throw one. If the bastards had opposable thumbs, the furry Hitlers would rule the world.”

“Now you’re just being catist. If I was a youth of today, I’d be triggered right now. I think I need a safe space to collect my thoughts. Over by that tree where Gaylord is sitting glaring at you is a good place.”

“One minute and two seconds left, Frank!”

“Okay, okay. Keep your hair on. If you tried goat yoga like I say, you wouldn’t be as stressed as you are. A lot of heart attacks happen in the workplace, you know.”

“And I’ve heard it’s incompetent, irritating twats that are the root cause of them.”

“I wonder if they prescribe medication on the NHS for that.”

“They do. It’s called Working From Home.”

“They need to work on the name of that drug. It’s not catchy like Viagra or Cocaine.”

“Frank, 50 seconds. If you don’t defuse the bomb, I’m going to strangle you with Fleabag’s tail.”

“Fine. Have it your way. Dark pink. Duck egg blue. Lemon yellow. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…”

“What are you doing?!”

“Frying kippers. What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to defuse a bomb. Which, I might add, is harder than it looks when you’ve not done it before.”

“Thirty seconds! Wait…what do you mean you’ve never defused a bomb. Now’s not the time to play silly buggers, Frank.”

“Yeah, about that. My name’s Alan.”

“Alan…Frank’s got a brother called Alan. Frank used to joke that one day if he got too drunk or couldn’t be arsed to turn up to work, he’d get his brother to do his job for him. The problem was that this brother was a failed actor who couldn’t remember lines or stage directions.”

“That’s a bit harsh but sadly very true.”

“Oh my days, 10 seconds left! I’m going to die. We’re going to die. Gaylord Fleabag’s going to die too!”

“I just think it’s a shame I never got to pick what colour I was going to paint my bathro…”