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160
EPILOGUE
A little over a year later Bond was standing at the urinal in the Gents’ toilets in the Grey
Mare Inn. Since his last visit to Stockport a year ago his troublesome prostate gland had ceased to be a problem, a
simple operation having restored his waterworks to A1 condition. Had he known the operation was going to be as easy
and stress free as it turned out to be he would have had it done years ago. Bond had been attending a small arms seminar in Manchester and at its conclusion had decided to stay overnight rather than return to London immediately. Rather than Manchester he had chosen to stay in Stockport, just six miles to the south east away. James Bond was not a sentimental man - his profession didn’t allow it - but during his short time in Stockport twelve months ago he had developed a sort of affection, if not for the town, then for its people, and his plan was to look one or two of them up. He had started at the Grey Mare Inn, and after a couple of pints with the locals his intention was to call on Mrs Snockers. (He had phoned earlier and she had promised toad-in-the-hole would be on the table at eight thirty. An apology to the lovely Gloria for his previous behaviour and who could tell might what happen?) It is in the nature of man, when stood at a urinal, to gaze up at the wall in front of him. Occasionally there is a window set in the wall through which he can look out , but to do this is seldom rewarding as it is invariably glazed with frosted glass, rendering the view outside murky if not non-existent. It might just as well be a wall. Which of course it is; tiled in the better establishments, painted or whitewashed in the more humble. What the man expects to see on the wall no one can say with any certainty. An amusing example of graffiti perhaps? Possibly, although men were in the habit of looking up at the wall when they were urinating long before someone first had the idea of informing the world that Kilroy had been there. One might be led to think, in view of what he was doing at the time, that it might be somewhat advantageous to look down, but urinating is a comparatively simple matter and a man would have to be especially dim-witted, or possibly a member of the aristocracy in order to piss on his shoes. Some say it is an attempt to find a distraction, urinating being a boring business at the best of times. Or perhaps there are hopes of seeing a pair of flies copulating, anything being more interesting than urinating. Some men eschew the wall above and the chances of seeing a little fly fucking and find their entertainment in directing their flow of urine at the disinfectant block nestling in the bottom of the urinal - an obvious target for the sporty, but not a rewarding experience for the majority of men as most if not all of the entertainment value is nullified by the consequent acrid smell of disinfectant mixed with urine emanating from below. Therefore the majority of men end up looking at the wall above the urinal. James Bond was no different from that majority in this respect, which is why he was now looking at the wall above the urinal in the Gents’ toilet at the Grey Mare Inn. When he had looked at the wall on his previous visit a year ago there had been nothing to see, save for a spider’s web in the corner, the spider parked nearby anxiously awaiting its lunch. Since then however somebody, probably the landlord, had secured a small blue plaque to the wall. The inscription on it read: ‘James Bond Peed Here’. |