Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Thursday 28 January 2010
How it is
I'd rather be alive and hated than dead and patronised.
You would not believe the shit I am having to go through at the moment so that Moll the bag lady can
maintain her reputation.
Please have patience. I will be back.
Wednesday 20 January 2010
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Postcards from Rusty. No. 23
He tells me that nurse Caz has left him for a snake oil salesman from Tupelo. He is returning to England.
Correct toothpaste procedure during courting.
she watched with burgeoning affection as I squeezed the toothpaste from the middle of the tube while I thought to myself; 'how much time will pass before I am admonished for squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube and nagged into squeezing from the end.
give me a cuddle, she said some time later, not a hard one but a long squeeze. so I squeezed her round the waist and told her that she would always be my toothpaste tube and that I would squeeze her for ever. All the while thinking to myself 'how long will this last.
And sure enough one day she pulls away and says: 'Dont squeeze me like that, if you squeeze me in the middle I'll be obliged to nag...
If only you were a foot fetishist, then you'd squeeze me right.
So I never squeezed her in the middle again and over the years the 'waist' which I had squeezed Into her dissapeared and she became tube shaped from all of my foot squeezing.
The only physical contact we have now is her monthly pedicure.
I noticed the other day that she squeezes the toothpaste from the middle of the tube and has always done so.
I daren't point this out to her.
Natural history.
Jannie, I never had a teddy bear as a child. I had a sea lion.
I didn't have a teddy bear either. Or a sea lion... I had a rock, a black rock.
I found it in the shed by the kitchen door when I had first started to walk. I took it into the house and very quickly formed an attachment to that black rock but my mother took it from me and threw it on the fire.
I cried for a while at the loss of my only friend but soon returned to the shed near the kitchen door and found myself another 'friend' with which to play. my mother equally as speedily threw that friend on the fire.
This process continued for some weeks until I was fast enough on my feet to get ahead of the fire whereupon my mother started putting the black rocks into a basket beside the fire place. She called me 'Mummies clever little helper' although I could not see how it could be construed as clever to burn all of my friends.
Since then I have found it impossible to form lasting relationships.
but i am known for my splendid coal fires.
Tuesday 12 January 2010
Window shopping and lardy cake.
Sunday 10 January 2010
Molls 60's acid flashback.
The end of the lighthouse keeper.
Orthodoxing Day.
Saturday 9 January 2010
Hogmanic tumbleweed.
The start of the new year heralds the arrival of of the mysterious urban tumbleweeds that plague our streets for a week or two. The local authorities will do their best to clear the damn things away, but not before they distribute their seeds in the minds of small children and romantic adults, ready to germinate at the beginning of December.
Perfection and striped shirts.
Thursday 7 January 2010
A train intrudes... But slowly.
But hey ho, upwards and onwards. it is time to bring out the dunkirk spirit, dust off the old stiff upper lip and head towards the light at the end of the tunnel...
Probably an oncoming train though...
fortunately this is England and any oncoming train will be glued to the track by snow and oncoming nowhere, in any way other than abstract wishful thinking, for the forseeable future.
A good time to play 'chicken' then!
Sunday 3 January 2010
Saturday 2 January 2010
Blocked.
Blocked. Unable to write, focusing on the block which compounds the problem.
I hope the new year brings inspiration... Anything will do.
Thursday 24 December 2009
The torture of a tortoise.
Linford is a tortoise.
I was told that Linford is not allowed to hibernate, much to his chagrin.
Mrs x tells me that it is important that the little fellow stays awake for his first winter otherwise he might develop some problems. I would imagine that keeping a tortoise awake against his wishes is going to cause some pretty serious psychological problems let alone the foul temper.
Mrs x went on to explain that she gives it hot baths regularly as well as allowing the children to prod it, sing to it, dress it up and decorate it.
I took a look at Linford; he did not look happy.
just very, very sleepy.
But, on the bright side he is one of the very few tortoises to have seen a christmas tree or felt the splot of a snowball on his shell.
Wednesday 23 December 2009
Cabin fever, murder and flight.
Being housebound with only the bag lady for company has led to the inevitable; we are at each others throats. Neither of us will dare drop our guard lest the other attacks with a broken bottle or carving knife.
I hear her late at night sharpening things. There is a book on poisons open on her bedside table. Open at the chapter on nicotine poisoning.
She is Googling 'hit men'.
I believe there is some kind of symbolism in her choice of flatware that she bring my lunch on.
I for my part am hoarding apple pips having read that they are (in large doses) deadly. How I am going to get her to consume 8 Kilos of the things is something i have yet to work out.
I must escape... I thought of going to France but the Eurostar trains have all broken down, B A is on strike, the airports are all closed due to asuggestion of snow and traffic is at a standstill on the roads.
I must find refuge!
Saturday 12 December 2009
Cauliflower, corporal punishment and coke.
There was a cauliflower in the coldbox so I decided to make cauliflower cheese. I thought it a good one; made with a good bechemel sauce, bacon and 3 kinds of cheese. Then sprinkled with breadcrumbs and parmesan and baked in the oven.
Moll (who's tastebuds have deserted her) thought it bland and inedible.
To me it called up my schooldays and was redolent of headmasters (Eric Forrester) study as he brought out his cane for the first and only time in our relationship.
'I am going to have to give you six'. He said. 'It will I am sure give you no joy and hopefully an amount of pain. On the other hand I shall derive a great deal of pleasure from it'.
My crime? My crime was to have written CUNT in weedkiller on his lawn a few days earlier. Is it my fault that I am dyslexic and was only attempting to demonstrate my knowledge of early British kings.
I feel sorry for the kids these days who have to explain FCUK to their dyslexic teachers. But at least the teachers are not allowed corporal punisnhment and they must look after their pupils as they are probably their coke dealers as well.
Is it not ironic that it is now our educators who have the learning difficulties. They have problems understanding that there is no point in an education any longer.
Best to keep drones in the dark.
Irony in a pig factory.
Ironically he has been forced back to working in the American pork products factory on the outskirts of his village.
'So'. said the overseer when he went back to work in the pig fat rendering vats. 'I see you are no longer waving Fluente but merely drowning'!
Nurse dreams in a potting shed.
I feel that the worst is over and I shall soon be in full command of my faculties
Sunday 6 December 2009
Wednesday 2 December 2009
Motoring with Tiger Woods.
while there I had a beer or two with an old friend Tiger. In fact we had too many beers and I told tiger there was no way he was driving.
'That's cool.' He said. 'I've got a driver.'
He climed into the passenger seat, started the car and while steering with his left hand pressed the accellerator pedal with a golf club.
The result was inevitable.
Tuesday 1 December 2009
A foot fetish explained.
But ours didn't break when the old man left
It broke much much later than that.
When the old man left things were hard
Mum worked in bars and pubs, did cleaning; anything she could find to keep us.
We lived in a one bedroom flat
Mum slept on the sofa in the living room
My sister and I slept in the same bed in the tiny bedroom
Head to toe.
I spent twelve years in that bed with my sister
Head to toe
I came to know her feet intimately
I knew every inch, every pore, every crease, every nail, every callous.
I learned to tell the seasons by the colour of her toes
I learned to tell her moods by the colour of her polish
I loved her feet
They were the first thing I saw in the morning
The last thing I saw at night.
We did everything in that bed together
Head to toe
Homework, super Nintendo, reading, hobbies, laughing, crying
I taught her to whistle
She taught me to knit.
I gave her hand knitted socks each Christmas
She whistled in admiration.
She taught me chiropody
I taught her reflexology
I gave her pedicures for her birthday
She cured my acne
I loved her feet.
Then one day, mum was out and that awful thing happened
The police called
There had been an accident, a girl , thought to be my sister had been knocked down by a truck
Would I go, in my mothers absence
To identify the body.
At the hospital the body was still in a bed covered by a sheet.
The doctor pulled back the sheet to reveal the dead girls head.
I exhaled with relief and said: No this is not my sister
My sisters head is at the other end of her body.
She never did come home though. Not after that.
But I found comfort in her shoes.
Monday 30 November 2009
Rusty, tumbleweed and Envy.
Studio talk
He said: Many years ago, when I was in my youth, I lived with an older woman; she was very beautiful and in demand. but I too was beautiful and in demand back then so everything seemed harmonious.
Until I said one night in bed: 'I love you.'
Don't say that she said. It is just a licence for me to abuse you.
why is that? I asked. Although I already knew the answer.
'Because'. She said. 'The first person ever to tell me he loved me then went on to abuse me and I now associate love with abuse and abuse with love... I would rather associate with shallow people who have no real feelings for me because they are safe and I am not obliged to form a real relationship with them.
'But you will get old'. I told her. 'And be alone and unwanted.
'So what'. She said. 'I will just commit suicide!'
'No you won't' I said. 'you will continue to behave as if you were a young woman and you will continue to ignore the people who really love you because they will not lie to you. And the eurotrash company you crave, because you buy into that shit, the eurotrash company will move on to the next generation and the people who really love you will have given up in exasperation.
And of course your father will be dead by then and by then it will be too late.
'Too late for what?' she asked.
'Too late to tell you I love you.'
Friday 27 November 2009
Lost coat update
This is the last time that I saw the thing was when it was being manhandled by a karate expert from Calgary.
It was being given the chop!
Thursday 26 November 2009
Romance
The first time I saw her
I thought
She has been unlucky
She was the most beautiful girl in the clinic
The second time I saw her
I thought
She had been careless
The beautiful girl in the clinic
The third time I saw her
I thought
She was promiscuous or worse
That girl in the clap clinic.
She was the most beautiful girl in the clap clinic
The fourth time I saw her
I thought
Stupid me, she is a doctor.
I approached her then and said
Doctor
You are the most beautiful girl in the clap clinic.
She replied:
I'm not a doctor
I'm unlucky
I'm careless
I'm promiscuous
or worse.
But I feel that is about to change.
We left the clinic hand in hand
Separated by the thickness of a surgical glove.
Later, much later as we lay
Her head on my chest her hair in my face
the scent of hibiscrub filling the white room.
I said I love you
And she said don't love me
I am unlucky
I an careless
I am promiscuous
or worse
And nothing has changed.
BEAT
I shall be there of course. If only to heckle! http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/event.php?eid=197528849848&ref=nf
Penpal
We wrote to each other once a week. We did this for years.
Bill told me that soon there would be no need of letters (he was what you would call a bit of a geek), that we would communicate electronically through the ether. And would be able to have real time conversations.
I said: Bill. you are full of shit. That will never happen in my lifetime.
We stopped writing soon after that.
I wonder what became of Bill?
She complained as she poked her Facebook lover
Who poked her back
Unknowingly
from across the room
As he poked his facebook mistress
Wednesday 25 November 2009
Auto maintenance and feng-shui
What do you think Moll? I asked.
It's African isn't it. Nice. she replied. As she sorted through old Christmas decoration catalogues.
She then found a Feng-Shui plan for her appartment. At present I am sitting in the marriage area. Intelligence is in the lavatory... Can't say that I believe too much of this hokum.
Friday 20 November 2009
Domestic scene.
She said: Look son. You are 54 years old. You are going to have to leave home one day.
Friday 13 November 2009
Rain, pornography, coincidence.and Dungeness.
I decline Moll's offer of her pink umbrella and suffere the consequences as I attempt to travel across London by means of public transport; the tube system is truly awful and explains the miserable demeanour of it's occupants.
On the street I no longer get any satisfaction from splashing through the puddles although my preference for Converse in all weather probably has something to do with that. Moll is on at me constantly to get some work boots with steel toecaps...
Surely the toecaps will rust in this climate.
Somewhere near here. She says, passing me an old poloroid of two sisters standing fully and impeccably dressed on a beach.
I glance at the photograph then look again in shock. Moll notices my hand trembling. What is it? she asks.
I am too distressed to tell her that it is a photograph of Tilly and Buddy, daughters of a woman named Agat who had been my muse many years ago . I had once possesed an almost identical photo (probably taken the same day) of the girls.
Agat had traced me and sent the photograph with a note that read:
'The girls at Dungeness.'
Thursday 12 November 2009
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Nudity, Princess Diana and bait.
A month ago he told me he was helping a group of friends make a film.
He did not tell me it was like that.
the film won the jury prize in the competition and now Tristan's arse is the talk of the town.
I said: For heavens sake Tristan, fishing in the Serpentine is illegal.
He said no-one bitched at Marlon for Last tango in Paris.
But Tristan. I replied. Marlon was not fishing in the Serpentine.
For christ sake Tristan you were within sight of the princess Diana ditch. Have you no respect.
Only for my bait dealer. He said.
David Bowie, Iggy Pop, MC5, Mick Ronson & Jan Nieupjur.
I sensed the tension that already existed between the Spiders; they may have been ready for life on Mars but they were not ready for fame on earth. We thought it a good idea to write a song together, the mesquite helped we guessed, Mick was already paranoid about being let down and dying in penury, Woody wouldn't stop playing with his sideboards.
David wrote some words, passed them to me. I ripped them up in disgust, handed them back.
Angie shot me a cautionary glance.
David gave me that toothy grin and said: There's something here Jan. He laid out the torn shreds of paper randomly on the coffee table and picked up his guitar...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXq5VvYAI1Q&feature=related
All I could say was..... David. Put on those red shoes and let's dance.
Iggy came round and said: Hey man there is panic in Detroit. David picked up a notepad and said: Do you spell Detroit with a capital D?
Iggy. I said. I'm bored.
I said: Iggy. I'm the chairman of the bored...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGDb8X8limY
Iggy said he missed the MC5.
I don't.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
60's revisited, mushrooms and wraiths.
What HAVE you been up to dear boy? I ask.
Oh! He replies. This and that, but mainly that... That which results from spending the week foraging for mushrooms.
And what is that? I ask.
Listen. He says: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgEk4A-t1k8
Saturday 7 November 2009
A careless man.
I had been walking through Snowdonia for lack of something better to do. One evening I found myself some distance from the nearest hostelry and rather than tempt a broken ankle in the dark decided to make what I could of a derelict farmhouse.
On closer inspection i saw that it was not as abandoned as I had thought and the glow from an open fire lit one of the windows.
I knocked and entered to find a man seated before a hearth lit by nothing other than the glow from the fire.
Good evening I said. May I please join you, I am miles from my destination and it is an unhospitable night. I gave my name and offered my hand in greeting. He did nothing with either; just sat there in silence.
'Careless' he almost shouted some minutes later. I begged his pardon.
Careless he repeated. Then went on: Careless is my name... He turned and looked at me then and gave me an almost toothless grin. He said:
"It was over thirty years ago when I got that name. I've forgotten my given name and my mother died two years ago without reminding me. But thirty years ago not far from this place my brothers talked me into trying some magic mushrooms they'd been picking on the hillside. We lit a fire out there and sat around waiting for something to happen and before long something happened and I began to take more than a passing interest in the flames and hot coals of the fire.
I leant in to get a closer look and as I leant in my teeth fell out into the fire, and being plastic they burst into flames before I could retrieve them.
Careless bugger said Ifan.
Careless bugger laughed Daffyd.
Careless bugger roared I.
That's why I'm called careless."
He never spoke another word that night. But sat looking mournfully into the fire.
Ballooning, starlet, crop circles and prunes.
Thursday 5 November 2009
Fly agaric, woodland nymph and Never go back.
Are they edible she asked.
I tried one.
What happened after that is at best a hazy dream to me now.
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Rusticated thoughts of Rusty and arson.
The house is tucked away in a valley a mile from the road surrounded by rolling grassland and woods. Pheasants litter the garden and sheep dot the horizon. There are deer hereabouts but I have yet to catch sight of one. As I write this a posse of beef on the hoof ambles accross my line of sight and I think of Rusty.