Thursday, July 30, 2009

All Change

I am pissed off. Too much drinking, too much amiable bed hopping, too much of the same daily round. Scotland has a collective drink problem: from the rough boozers of Govan to the Highland howfs it's just constant imbibing, cars abandoned in ditches, and folk in drying out clinics.

I'm selling up, fucking off to London. Four flats in Fitzrovia: cost exorbitant, rental income tasty, the Fitzroy Tavern a short stroll.

She's back in my life. I'm not sure that's a good thing, but what can you do?

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Favourite Mid Life Crisis Cars

Porsche 911

Fat arse, big gut, Thai wife.

Ferrari 308 GTB

Likes big moustaches. Avoid.

Lotus Elise

Likes darting about like an annoying bluebottle. Squish.

VW Beetle

Is obsessed with arses and talks like one. Avoid.

Ford Mustang

Takes onanism to a new level. Hence the the drop top.

E Type Jaguar

Penile erectile disfunction.

Lancia Fulvia

Tasteful. Sounds just like ladybits and is a bit slow
on the uptake.

Jensen Interceptor

Just plain stupid.

Audi RS6

Oh, just fuck off and have a wank.

I'm getting the bus.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Trilogy for X

And love hung still as crystal over the bed
And filled the corners of the enormous room;
the boom of dawn that left her sleeping, showing
The flowers mirrored in the mahogany table.

O my love, if only I were able
To protect this hour of quiet after passion,
Not ration happiness but keep this door for ever
Closed on the world, its own world closed within it.

But dawn's waves trouble with the bubbling minute,
the names of books come clear upon their shelves,
the reason delves for duty and you will wake
With a start and go on living on your own.

The first train passes and the windows groan,
Voices will hector and your voice become
A drum in tune with theirs, which all last night
Like sap that fingered through a hungry tree
Asserted our one night's identity.

Louis Macneice

Why marry?

Sunday, July 12, 2009

The Walking Cure

It's a boon being bipedal; it wouldn't be much fun having to hop everywhere, and I imagine being three legged would (although efficient in an ungainly way) produce much derision from the fag smokers outside pubs.

The walking cure's the thing. Speech and walking are similar in their cadences. Many's the happy drunken hour I've spent stomping the streets to Hamlet's Greatest Hits or Yeats coming over all grandiloquent. Some people call it pub crawling, but I see a more elevating aspect to this pursuit of the kebab shop.

If I hadn't hiked so far and sat on so many park benches contemplating beds of geraniums while staring at the moon the world would be a poorer place.

This is one of my favourites:

As I Walked Out One Evening

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

W.H. Auden

Try it next time you've been on the piss and crave carbohydrate sustenance. It might get you arrested or punched, but it might just get you the girl.

Friday, July 10, 2009

The Holy Stump

Everything is coming over all Father Ted. I believe that Craggy Island was home to several Holy Relics, although whether this included the crazy golf course on which Ted and Dougal liked to play in the pouring rain is debatable.

I've got nothing against Roman Catholics, but sometimes they fall prey to a strain of deluded credulity that is far from healthy. I'm sure there's money to made out of it. I'm thinking of announcing that I have seen a vision of the Virgin Mary in my Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and an image of Christ on a burnt piece of toast. The admission fees to view these Holy artefacts should be sufficient to keep me in beer and pork scratchings for life.

I mean, come on.