Stuck up with no other option but online - here’s Blind Date

As he stood at his section  of the conveyer belt at the  Village Institute for Challenged Engineers (Merthyr VICE) , Bartie Mayers Ryan expertly assembled the complex electrical appliance with the  manual dexterity of a surgeon .

Despite the fact he was on autopilot, his mind and pulse were racing in anticipation at the prospect of his cyber meeting with his latest ‘face-book’ friend Alice.

He didn’t need to concentrate too much on assembling the Air France jet engine.  

Blind since birth,  Bartie had in fairness achieved more independence,  than most of his sighted friends.

He had a job, owned a house in Blaen Dowlais and lived a full life despite his inability to see.

The end of shift ‘hooter’ seemed to take an eternity to arrive but finally blew.

Bartie loved  all kinds of ‘hooters’ and even though he had never seen a pair, he was expert at the subtle art of groping.

His disability  had been turned into a positive , as he always positioned himself on the assembly  between two women  , not only to  hear  the talk about the latest soap or who lost on X-factor,  but that at the end of the shift, he was usually able to bump into one or other of them at chest height.

He had ‘fond mammary’s’ of working at the Institute.

He longed for his own woman and the 30 year old virgin had another ‘good feeling’ about his latest love interest.

As he picked up his white stick and put on his ‘Roy Orbison glasses’ he continued to focus on his own ‘Pretty Woman’.

As he made his way out of the factory, the scene was reminiscent of that of Shaun of the Dead , as the unseeing workforce followed the sound of the exit door chime, bumping into each other like dodgem cars at Trecco Bay Funfair.

Bartie likened it to the ‘grope escape’

Once in the corridor, he listened for the sound of the clunk of the soft drinks dispensing machine in the hallway.

As he fumbled for the coin slot, his enhanced olfactory senses were on high alert,  as he could tell which of his colleagues were still present by their various aromas.


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Each person  on the cosmopolitan workforce smelled individually,  his mate Pepe the Portugeezer smelt off garlic, Polish Lech smelt of extra strong mints and the Norwegian boy called Bo ...let’s just say he was well named.  

However, the odour that reviled Bartie most was that of his hated supervisor Rothman.

He stank of stale cigarettes and the worst sound in the world was the  dreaded clink of his golf clubs being loaded into the back of his Mercedes car.

Even though he couldn’t see what he looked like Bartie ‘visualised him in his minds eye’ as having brown teeth to match his brown corporate Institute tie.      

Colours was not a subject that Bartie recognised , only black that is,  but flavours he was an expert on , as he lifted his can of Dr Pepper from the machine and tapped his way to the Hoover bus stop.

Once, one of his sighted school friends had tried to explain the concept of colour to him  , by pressing some snow into his hand and telling him this was the ‘colour’ of white.

Soft downy feathers represented pink and after much grunting and  a familiar pungent aroma, Bartie had found out that the shit in his hand  was in fact  brown.

To him,  colours were not important , but smells were his way of differentiating the ‘United Colours of Beneton’  workforce at his factory.  

As he stood  near the bus shelter in his dark shades and white stick,  can of Dr Pepper outstretched, a  kind passer-by tried vainly to put a coin in the  top of the can,  but gave up after it was snatched away by Bartie defensively.

The sound of the air brakes engaging on the Stagecoach bus, was the signal that Bartie’s lift had arrived.

Tapping for the handle, he climbed on the steps and inside to the first seat available clutching and groping with every step.

The bus took him back to his native Dowlais with Bartie sniffing the air for the familiar stench of Trecatti Landfill as he went.

Shuffling his way up the street , he arrived at his front door and instinctively knew like Loyd Grossman where the keyhole was.

Inside the house, everything was set to numbers....6 steps to the lounge door...three steps to the fire place....three more to the kitchen....Bartie had it down to a fine art.

With the wonders of modern technology , his life had been transformed by whistling kettles, toasters , everything was sound related ....even the  television remote control had a whistle back facility.

Pride of place to Bartie was his computer.

Whilst he felt ‘normal’ in his home surroundings, the computer and the internet made him superior to everyone.

Here he didn’t need sight.

Here had had voice recognition and automatic typing via his ‘Jaws’ technology system,  which could type out his spoken word better than any shorthand or  other thalidomide typist.

Here he was King of Cyberspace, Lord of the Chat Room and he loved to role play pretending he was anyone bar poor old sightless Bartie Mayers Ryan.

His latest hook up was that of a female  he knew simply as Alice.

Switching on the computer , his computer voice was set to a posh sounding ‘Joanna Lumley ‘ with a hint of Gurkha thrown in for good measure.

“ Hi Handsome...!” it sounded just after  the counterfeit ‘Pentium inside jingle’ had stopped playing.

“  Daaahling...you look absolutely fabulous tonight!” he replied flirting with the artificial intelligence.

“ Facebook!” he requested and the  genie of the computer duly complied.

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“ ‘You have Mail’ ....two new messages... it announced...both from Alice AGAIN!” sighed the computer with Bartie feeling a inflection of jealousy in the voice.  

“ Please read them!” he replied.

“ Hi Bartie, this is Alice again...I hope you don’t think I am a cyber stalker,  but please reply....I want to hear your voice again....I have set your voice to Tom Hanks...is mine still  set as Meg Ryan?....Alice , Sleepless in Attlee (House)!.....and secondly at 5.20pm today .... Hi Bartie, I am  live on face-book chat from 5.30 pm tonight ...if you want to chat again!”

Bartie felt his specially made ‘meccano’ watch and realised it was nearly 5.30pm.

As the living room clock chimed once,  to signify the half hour, Bartie logged on with glee to find his cyber partner Alice.

“ Hello, Tom Hanks are you ‘BIG’ again?” asked Alice/Meg.    

“ Oh... I have been ‘Saving Ryan’s Private’s all day for you!” boomed back Tom/Bartie.

“You know what happens when Harry met Sally ...said Alice thumping a table and shrieking yes...yes... yes....well this one is ‘Terminal!’ continued the voice.  

“ I’m having a Tom Hank now!” he declared .

Bartie sprayed a squirt of her perfume ‘Tramp’ in the air  to make his  ‘out of body’ experience even more complete.

Using his screen wipe, he continued to talk to his cyber partner.

‘Meg ....Tell me more about the real Alice....LOL...are you single?’ begged Bartie still in Tom Hanks mode.

“ Well I am attached to somebody...but that’s only work...not permanently!” she replied.

“ Are you seeing anyone special ?” asked Meg/Alice.

“ I definitely not seeing anybody...laughed Tom/Bartie eyes like a pools coupon in an Australian soap- one home- one away.  

“ Well,  I haven’t always lived in this country and I haven’t always found it easy to meet people... my background hasn’t helped...some would say I was dragged up...and to be honest ...I can be a bit of a bitch on times....”   “ Life is like a box of chocolates (in Forrest Gump mode )....you never know wotcha you are gonna get!” replied Tom/Bartie.

“ Anyway ...I used to be in the Guides... and I worked for a short time in the Bavarian Police Force on  guard duty in the rural areas.....now I work for HMV ...I like all kinds of music what about you....  ? asked Alice.

“ A varied  working life and background ... interesting.... Bruce Springsteen, 10cc’ replied Bartie/Tom shuffling all the while.

“ Wot?” asked Alice/Meg.

“ LOL ...CRÈME!” replied Bartie exhaustedly.  

“ What about you? asked Meg /Alice.

“ I am a multimillionaire Formula 1  car driver....I own a mansion and a small Caribbean Island....!” panted Bartie/Tom.

“ and would there be a little bloke called Tattoo who announces ‘Airplane’ on this Island?” asked Meg/ Alice ...cos you live in Merthyr according to your face-book page !” asked Alice suspiciously.  




“ Not everyone on the internet ....are who they seem...!” she said mysteriously.

“I agree...  perhaps we should meet on Thursday to discuss a real blind date!” he countered  

“ I have a specially constructed area in the rear of my car ...where I can Woof  you!” offered Meg/Alice.

“ What do you mean by woof ....?” asked Tom/Bartie.
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“ Machine error....I meant to woo you!”  laughed Meg/Alice.

“ Damn it ...I thought you meant doggy style!” chuckled Tom/Bartie.

“ I CAN make you go woof ...but only if I pour petrol on you first!” declared Alice/Meg.

“ Kinky eh...but Top Gun...now that’s what I call a hot date!” laughed Tom/ Bartie  

“ Where can I meet you...!” asked Bartie carefully selecting his words.

“ Rhydycar... main Hall....I am working the European elections.... after they announce the result I am free to leave and we can get candlelit dinner for two!” suggested Alice.

“ I must tell you...I am not too good with candles!....too many bad memories...old flames...you know” replied Tom/Bartie.  

“ How will I recognise you ?” he continued.

“ I’m a traditionalist and will be wearing a red rose ...and smell of my favourite perfume ‘Tramp’!” she replied.

“ In the meantime, same time tomorrow ...I’ll be Leslie Grantham as Dirty Den and you can be Angie Watts? he suggested.


Thursday 4th June 2009 and the European election night votes were arriving at Rhydycar Leisure Centre.

The last box delivered by the Pontsticill Polling Station came in,  strapped to a motorcycle driver and retired Local Government official Paul Clark.

The returning officer Stuart ‘WW’ Jones was on pins.

This was his big moment to appear on national television and wanted the whole thing to run like clockwork.

Popping his head around the door,  Bartie too was a bundle of nerves.

Trouser zip undone, anyone could see that he had his ‘Born in the USA’ underpants on.           Hanging from his pocket was a  Boots own brand  ‘cheese and onion’ flavoured condom with instructions ribbed in Braille.

Surprisingly, he was stopped by security from entering the hall.

“ Exactly which party are you representing tonight?” asked Roy Dead , Chief of Security.

Looking down at the crusty yellow pants he declared-“ I can’t see your name on the invitation list ....Mr Bruce Spunkstain.?”

“ I’m meeting my ‘friend’ Alice.... here!” declared Bartie proudly.

“ Alice who...?” came the stern reply.      “ I’m sorry I don’t know her surname!” replied Bartie nervously.

“ There’s no Alice on the guest list...!” declared the Guard with all the courtesy of an American Guard on Passport control.

“ You might have been born in the USA...but I wasn’t born yesterday ....and I don’t believe your fake disguise...your not really blind ...you’re from that protest group ‘plane crazy’ and want to throw eggs at Prescott or green custard at Mandelson...!” he said kicking away his white stick and grabbing him in a headlock.

“ I know you ...you used to work in the Kooler..cos I can smell the stale beer and carbolic soap...this is  an outrage!” gasped Bartie feeling the floor vainly for his dark glasses.    

“ Man ...your disablist!” snorted Bartie  face to face with  the chocolate bar dispensing machine.

*************************************************

All political parties were present.

To win in Wales at a European election,  the word Labour had to be in the Party name.

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Everyone candidate in the entire hall wore a red’ John Smith Labour’ rose.  

The proportional representative element , instead of the two party system had encouraged minority parties to participate more fully at a local level.

Official Labour Party candidate Dave ‘Yale’ Date had brought out all the big guns to back him from the  former  London Cabinet.






Two Jags Prescott, Blunkett and Mandy minced about , busily watching the staff delivering then emptying the contents of each ballot boxes onto makeshift school dinner tables.

Date, a former salvage man , loved a good ‘scrap’ and believed he had the ‘key’ to the election.

He had promised his electorate to refund all their taxes from ‘flipping’ MP expenses and those charges for the lies about ‘global warming’ actually existing.  

His election bluster about  ‘scrapping  Home Information Packs ’ and  dropping the worthless energy performance certificates was working.

Reintroducing capital punishment for MPs with phoney mortgages was another vote winner , as was his gun-boat diplomacy policy on re- invading Hong Kong.

Scrapping  was his life .  

If he had his way , he would dual the A465 (T) tomorrow and build an airport through the Site of Scientific Interest at Cwm Glo Woods Heolgerrig....great crested newts bats or even pandas were history as far as he was concerned...if he had the chance he would have shot the last dodo himself.

It was safe to assume he got the business vote , if not the green vote.

The hall was astounded to see a moody Gordon Brown trying to open a pack of galaxy chocolates whilst entering  the arena.

It was the results of the Jack Straw ‘Teller’ Poll that gave him cause for concern.

The Scot had Pre- Minstrel Tension (PMT) over his lack of AM’s.

There would be a lot of Prime Minster’s question’s , as the party looked to be heading for an election disaster.

Brown was worried that the Labour party vote would be split,  by the array of splinter groups masquerading out there hopeful to catch the  short-sighted or those pensioners who had left their ‘proxy glasses at home’.

The prime example of this strategy were the Myopic Labour Party.

They were originally called the Minority Black Sheep Labour Party  and  were experts in this particular ‘field’ of subterfuge.  






The Bangkok Ladyboys (Labour Pains) Party was also testament to the cosmopolitan nature of Merthyr politics and its recent diversity.

Their plan was to split the Tory vote and take all the ‘nobs’.

The usual Monster Raving Loony candidate was present...this time he was dressed in a military style outfit... Mad Dai from Aberfan  complete with medals , was now called ‘General Apathy’ for the night.

As the last box, that of the Pontsticill Polling station, was tipped onto the table tension mounted.

The smell was unbearable...Paul Clark had unwittingly sealed up the ballot box with the requisite hot wax seal but forgot to remove his egg sandwiches first.
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Local ‘Old Tory’ candidate Egwina Curry from Kent , recoiled in horror, scented Marie Antoinette handkerchief held delicately around her powdered nose, declaring that was probably just the ‘Green Vote’.    The sight of a pink ‘tendered’ ballot in the box enraged Stuart ‘WW’ Jones who promptly, dispatched Paul Clark , the dispatch rider,  to an early retirement.

“ He won’t be on the booths again...!” he declared to the Chief Executive...I knew he was trouble when he set the voting cubicles upside down...you could who voted for who but not what shoes they had on!!!    

“ Who the Hell voted twice?...there was only ten people on the electoral roll for that area “ he demanded .

“ I think it was that local millionaire Jimmy Davidson from the BNP party!” Clark replied.

“ He came in once as himself and secondly as ‘Chalky’” even though he did look different!”  

“ Sounds like the election offence of Jim ‘personation’  to me!” replied the Senior Returning Officer.            

A signal to Jones meant that the votes were counted provisionally and that the candidates could now be called ‘ behind the curtain’.

For the first time ever, the lowest turn out in history  had left it in the balance.

One vote would actually make a difference.







As the candidates grouped up in anticipation, the returning officer announced the result:-

“ As returning officer for the European Parliament in the constituency of  Merthyr Tydfil and Warsaw , I would announce the result as follows:-.....

As each candidate’s share of the vote was announced it was met by jeers , cheers and cat-calling as their party was announced live on BBC Wales by political commentator  Peter Snow( in hushed tones  and the effect on his ‘swing-ometer’).

1. Lamby Davies Junior ( Minority Black  Labour Sheep  Party)...38 votes. ( Peter Snow- the voters didn’t flock there) 2. Siamese Twins Candidates Sam and Ella Old Tory Wales (Labouring) 1 vote. ( Peter Snow - No split in the vote there). 3. Vlad the Impaler (BNP Stakeholder Welsh Labour Candidate) ....38 votes (Peter Snow...let’s hope he doesn’t want a re-Count) 4.  Hid Enkok (Bangkok Ladyboys Twynyrodyn Labour party ....38 votes. (Peter Snow- it’s a three way Thai so far)  5.  David ‘Yale’ Date – Official Labour Party candidate...38 votes. (Peter Snow- apart from the Tory Candidate it will be hard to separate them)  6. General Apathy (Monster Raving Loony Party) ....39 votes.

The last result went unheard as Mad Dai promptly produced a custard pie which in true comedy fashion he fit the official labour candidate full in the face.

“ Look a blind date!” he laughed as  bedlam broke out.  

“ I declare the winner to be General Apathy .....as ‘Sutch’!”  announced the returning officer above the commotion.

Bartie  used the kafuffle  to his advantage slipping into the hall un-noticed by the security who were busy doing rip-curls with dumbbells from the weights ‘suite’.

Suddenly, he was met by the overpowering smell of ‘Tramp’ perfume.

Ah ‘the scent of a woman’...Bartie thought

He reached out his hand  and asked politely “ Alice is that you?”

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His hand met with a hairy paw and sharp claw.

“ Alice ...nice to meet you at last...?” he continued bending to kiss his intended.

A hard long pink tongue was thrust into his open mouth suddenly.

Like  wine and kangaroo balls connoisseur Jilly Goulden,   his olfactory senses were on high alert.

“ I’m getting horsemeat...buttholes....and dead cat!” he squirmed.

“ What are you doing snogging David Blunkett’s Guide dog? asked  a local MP, a former Hoover Spin Doctor, standing in amongst the Merthyr Depress Reporters.

There was a twist in the tail...Alice stood on her two back legs offering her paw to Bartie.

“ It must have taken on the characteristics of its owner...but then again...that’s the power of love....”   Huey Lewis and the News said as one...

“That’s what you call ‘Paw Taste!”” said another hack  camera flashing unknown to Bartie.

“ Alice Sation!.. German Shepherd....former Guide...attached to someone ....it all makes sense now ” declared Bartie horrified.

“ I’ve been ‘groomed’ again!”