Born plain Brian Envelope in the flat above Yeadon’s premiere newsagent, his early life was routine. Up at 4 to mark up the deliveries and an endless round of school, detention and Scouts on Friday evenings; an occasional week in Filey over the summer and disappointing examination results. Brian’s mediocre life of mediocre mediocrity was embossed so deeply in his existential rut, he couldn’t get out, even if he wanted to.
“20 Embassy Gold, please” came a voice from the tacky vinyl on the shop side of the counter. Brian looked up and then over the counter and then down to meet the rheumy eyes of Harry Plodmore.
Harry’s mediocrity was marginally more mediocre than Brian’s by dint only of his longevity. He had a job, he was fired; he had dog, it died; he had a roof over his head, it leaked.
‘Ever thought about being a hero’? Said Harry. ‘No’, said Brian. ‘You should’, said Harry, ‘you have the look’ and he took his change and cigarettes off the counter and turned on his worn-down heels and left the shop.