Thursday, April 19, 2012
Rattus rattus
Frank Costello: Fucking rats. It's wearing me thin.
***
I had to be up early the other day to let the asbestos removal people in. We're having asbestos removed from the building at the moment - just one of those things that needs doing, I suppose.
Our building is situated on a little close off a side street and doesn't attract much foot traffic, other than wrong turns. Therefore, I was a bit surprised to see a young couple, a boy and a girl, come running up our close and dive into the hedge at the end. I was even more surprised when a police car pulled into the close, made a quick three-pointer and left.
There's somewhat in't, I thought.
A minute or two later, the asbestos guys arrived, full of the story of a failed mugging they'd just seen out on the high street. According to their story, a young couple had been attempting to waylay 'a big African' (disclaimer: he was probably one of those Africans from Jamaica) who, finding himself unable to escape their attentions, had filled the lad in. The couple had then fled, the lad bleeding rather a lot from his nose apparently.
Having heard all this, I decided I would go and investigate the hedge at the end of the close. Pocketing my phone, I headed to the front door to find two policemen outside.
"Hello there, sir. Is it all flats in here?" asked policeman #1 airily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the filth to roll up on your doorstep first thing in the morning and conduct an impromptu housing survey.
"Ye-es," I replied levelly. "But if you happen to be looking for two fugitives, I should tell you they ran down there and jumped into that hedge." (Here, I indicated the direction and foliage accordingly.)
The policemen thanked me and went and investigated the hedge. No sign. They then called in a dog squad and a chopper, made a bunch of noise and then suddenly departed. Either they'd flushed their rabbits out of one of the neighbouring gardens and caught them on the street or, as seems more probable, they'd just decided to go for an early lunch.
Quite a bit of excitement for one day, I thought, putting my feet up in the living room and listening to the sounds of asbestos being ripped none-too-delicately out of the walls. At this point, the biggest, greyest rat I've ever seen scuttled into the room, had a quick look at me, turned around and scuttled back out.
I don't think he was any more pleased to see me than I was to see him.
***
I had to be up early the other day to let the asbestos removal people in. We're having asbestos removed from the building at the moment - just one of those things that needs doing, I suppose.
Our building is situated on a little close off a side street and doesn't attract much foot traffic, other than wrong turns. Therefore, I was a bit surprised to see a young couple, a boy and a girl, come running up our close and dive into the hedge at the end. I was even more surprised when a police car pulled into the close, made a quick three-pointer and left.
There's somewhat in't, I thought.
A minute or two later, the asbestos guys arrived, full of the story of a failed mugging they'd just seen out on the high street. According to their story, a young couple had been attempting to waylay 'a big African' (disclaimer: he was probably one of those Africans from Jamaica) who, finding himself unable to escape their attentions, had filled the lad in. The couple had then fled, the lad bleeding rather a lot from his nose apparently.
Having heard all this, I decided I would go and investigate the hedge at the end of the close. Pocketing my phone, I headed to the front door to find two policemen outside.
"Hello there, sir. Is it all flats in here?" asked policeman #1 airily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the filth to roll up on your doorstep first thing in the morning and conduct an impromptu housing survey.
"Ye-es," I replied levelly. "But if you happen to be looking for two fugitives, I should tell you they ran down there and jumped into that hedge." (Here, I indicated the direction and foliage accordingly.)
The policemen thanked me and went and investigated the hedge. No sign. They then called in a dog squad and a chopper, made a bunch of noise and then suddenly departed. Either they'd flushed their rabbits out of one of the neighbouring gardens and caught them on the street or, as seems more probable, they'd just decided to go for an early lunch.
Quite a bit of excitement for one day, I thought, putting my feet up in the living room and listening to the sounds of asbestos being ripped none-too-delicately out of the walls. At this point, the biggest, greyest rat I've ever seen scuttled into the room, had a quick look at me, turned around and scuttled back out.
I don't think he was any more pleased to see me than I was to see him.
Labels: IMPENDING DOOM, MOMENTS, NATURE
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Cleaning up Kensington, one wing mirror at a time
A series of expensive-sounding bangs outside my front window were what first aroused my interest. Looking outside, one of the 'Clean Up Kensington' trucks was going down the road. This wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that the truck's vacuum hose hadn't been secured: it was swinging freely, swiping the wing mirrors off parked cars as it went.
I was just in time to catch the best bit: the hose banged into the bonnet of a Ford hatchback, leaving a fair-sized ding in the bodywork. It flipped over the roof of the Ford and smashed in the rear windscreen of a Fiat Cinquecento, parked facing in the opposite direction. Bouncing over the Fiat, it then bashed in the headlamp of a Saab.
At this point the driver, perhaps realising that his progress down the street was accompanied by more screams and bangs than usual, pulled over.
I wandered out onto the street to survey the damage. One car owner was raging over his 4x4's missing wing mirror. A lady across the street was stammering about how horrible all the destruction had been. Various council employees from the truck were trudging humourlessly up and down the road making notes of the damage, while a man I took to be the driver was slumped against a garden wall, puffing fretfully on a cigarette, staring at nothing, thinking perhaps about deep cosmic uncertainties. Or what a lot of trouble he was in.
Out of consideration for his feelings, I forebore to take any photos of the mess. I half-suspected the whole thing had happened purely for my amusement. Otherwise, it was a pretty slow day.
I was just in time to catch the best bit: the hose banged into the bonnet of a Ford hatchback, leaving a fair-sized ding in the bodywork. It flipped over the roof of the Ford and smashed in the rear windscreen of a Fiat Cinquecento, parked facing in the opposite direction. Bouncing over the Fiat, it then bashed in the headlamp of a Saab.
At this point the driver, perhaps realising that his progress down the street was accompanied by more screams and bangs than usual, pulled over.
I wandered out onto the street to survey the damage. One car owner was raging over his 4x4's missing wing mirror. A lady across the street was stammering about how horrible all the destruction had been. Various council employees from the truck were trudging humourlessly up and down the road making notes of the damage, while a man I took to be the driver was slumped against a garden wall, puffing fretfully on a cigarette, staring at nothing, thinking perhaps about deep cosmic uncertainties. Or what a lot of trouble he was in.
Out of consideration for his feelings, I forebore to take any photos of the mess. I half-suspected the whole thing had happened purely for my amusement. Otherwise, it was a pretty slow day.
Labels: MOMENTS
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Open sesame
I'm currently living in west London, quite close to Wormwood Scrubs. Everywhere I go in London, I seem to end up next to a prison. A few months ago, it was HMP Holloway. Now it's Wormwood Scrubs.
I went out and ran ten miles round the Scrubs today, which I thought quite a commendable effort as I'd done a cross country race yesterday, prompting an evening of guilt-free drinking.
When I got home, what I was really looking forward to was a long, hot soak in the bath and a big plateful of the potato and lentil curry I'd put in the slow cooker prior to setting off on my run.
My zesty, sanguine mood, however, was interrupted by the realisation that, in the course of running round Wormwood Scrubs, I had at some point trodden in quite a hefty dog shit.
I stepped out the front door and bashed my shoes together over some potted plants until the worst of it had come off (well, it's fertiliser, right?)
It was then I realised that I'd allowed the door to swing shut behind me, locking me out in my running shorts. Apart from Joe being away for the weekend, a quick buzz of every bell on the building informed me that no one else was in either.
Here, I found myself becoming a little dispirited. However, I'm a practical man so I decided I would just have to break in. Here's what I was faced with:
My keys were in the deadlock (upper part of the door). I would need to poke them out and retrieve them from the floor, with the proviso that the letterbox was not big enough to admit an arm.
I collected a few bits and pieces from the front garden to help me in my endeavour, including the hook and chains off a hanging basket, a garden cane and a brick.
Hammering a bit of hanging basket wire flat with the brick (and increasingly conscious of the spectacle I was presenting to anyone with a view of our front door) I had a go at pushing the key out of the lock. No dice. The key, you see, was slightly turned. Further waggling established that the piece of wire was unequal to the task of levering the key straight.
At this point, the middle-aged lady next door (who owns a couple of cats) stuck her head out to ask me what I was doing. I told her the whole story. I even mentioned the dog poo. I also asked her if she had a screwdriver. She did.
With this, things were finally going my way. I waggled the screwdriver in the lock until the key was properly aligned, then deftly poked it out. My new-found accomplice looked askance at this and asked me how I now intended to retrieve the keys from the other side of a locked door. With, I trust, a straight face, I informed her that my plan owed much to the chimpanzees of the forest and their celebrated method of retrieving termites from their anthills (video below). The look she gave me suggested she might have begun to think I was a lunatic and was regretting arming me with a screwdriver. In any case, I gave her it back and she hurried indoors.
Next I used the garden cane through the letterbox to wangle the keys across the doormat to where I had a good view of them. I then tied the chain/hook off the hanging basket to one of my shoelaces and tossed it in. Using the cane with my other hand to guide the hook, I snared the keys and, feeling smugger than I have in many a moon, reeled them in.
Not one to forget my debts, I took the lady next door a bottle of wine and some gourmet fish pate for her cats. I also gave her a piece of paper with a phone number on it and told her that if she ever needed someone killing, she should ring the number and ask to speak to Mr Smith. Ok, I didn't do that. I did, however, swear her to secrecy on everything she saw today: it wouldn't be a good lookout for my future in property security if word got out about me losing my keys and breaking into places.
I myself have likewise resolved never to tell another living soul. Except you, of course.
I went out and ran ten miles round the Scrubs today, which I thought quite a commendable effort as I'd done a cross country race yesterday, prompting an evening of guilt-free drinking.
When I got home, what I was really looking forward to was a long, hot soak in the bath and a big plateful of the potato and lentil curry I'd put in the slow cooker prior to setting off on my run.
My zesty, sanguine mood, however, was interrupted by the realisation that, in the course of running round Wormwood Scrubs, I had at some point trodden in quite a hefty dog shit.
I stepped out the front door and bashed my shoes together over some potted plants until the worst of it had come off (well, it's fertiliser, right?)
It was then I realised that I'd allowed the door to swing shut behind me, locking me out in my running shorts. Apart from Joe being away for the weekend, a quick buzz of every bell on the building informed me that no one else was in either.
Here, I found myself becoming a little dispirited. However, I'm a practical man so I decided I would just have to break in. Here's what I was faced with:
My keys were in the deadlock (upper part of the door). I would need to poke them out and retrieve them from the floor, with the proviso that the letterbox was not big enough to admit an arm.
I collected a few bits and pieces from the front garden to help me in my endeavour, including the hook and chains off a hanging basket, a garden cane and a brick.
Hammering a bit of hanging basket wire flat with the brick (and increasingly conscious of the spectacle I was presenting to anyone with a view of our front door) I had a go at pushing the key out of the lock. No dice. The key, you see, was slightly turned. Further waggling established that the piece of wire was unequal to the task of levering the key straight.
At this point, the middle-aged lady next door (who owns a couple of cats) stuck her head out to ask me what I was doing. I told her the whole story. I even mentioned the dog poo. I also asked her if she had a screwdriver. She did.
With this, things were finally going my way. I waggled the screwdriver in the lock until the key was properly aligned, then deftly poked it out. My new-found accomplice looked askance at this and asked me how I now intended to retrieve the keys from the other side of a locked door. With, I trust, a straight face, I informed her that my plan owed much to the chimpanzees of the forest and their celebrated method of retrieving termites from their anthills (video below). The look she gave me suggested she might have begun to think I was a lunatic and was regretting arming me with a screwdriver. In any case, I gave her it back and she hurried indoors.
Next I used the garden cane through the letterbox to wangle the keys across the doormat to where I had a good view of them. I then tied the chain/hook off the hanging basket to one of my shoelaces and tossed it in. Using the cane with my other hand to guide the hook, I snared the keys and, feeling smugger than I have in many a moon, reeled them in.
Not one to forget my debts, I took the lady next door a bottle of wine and some gourmet fish pate for her cats. I also gave her a piece of paper with a phone number on it and told her that if she ever needed someone killing, she should ring the number and ask to speak to Mr Smith. Ok, I didn't do that. I did, however, swear her to secrecy on everything she saw today: it wouldn't be a good lookout for my future in property security if word got out about me losing my keys and breaking into places.
I myself have likewise resolved never to tell another living soul. Except you, of course.
Labels: DIPLOMACY, MOMENTS, RANK STUPIDITY ON MY PART, SELF PRESERVATION
Friday, May 27, 2011
Blood on the tracks
An interesting employment opportunity has had me spending rather a lot more time on trains recently. I spotted a train called ‘The Virgin Invader’ at Euston last night and sniggered duly.
-- Rewind, last Thursday --
As our train zooms through Milton Keynes Central station, there is suddenly a nasty juddering, rattling sort of a sound and we slow swiftly to a halt. I suspect that someone has just put an end to their misery. Furthermore, I suspect mine is just beginning.
An announcement: there has been ‘an incident’ at Milton Keynes and our driver is ‘in no fit state to continue’. We are stuck, some two hundred yards past the station, and we are going nowhere fast.
Most people in the carriage have likewise concluded that the ‘incident’ must have been a suicide. “What a pity,” they lament: “if only he’d waited for the next train.”
The woman across from me is talking into her phone about ‘the selfish bastard’ who’s just brought our journey to its hiatus, all the while shovelling crisps into her face. I haven’t had dinner and wouldn’t mind a crisp. She doesn’t offer me one.
I am tormented by jumpers and Walkers. Later, more fortunate trains thunder past and on into the oblivious night, unhindered by the torsos of the broken hearted.
-- Rewind, last Thursday --
As our train zooms through Milton Keynes Central station, there is suddenly a nasty juddering, rattling sort of a sound and we slow swiftly to a halt. I suspect that someone has just put an end to their misery. Furthermore, I suspect mine is just beginning.
An announcement: there has been ‘an incident’ at Milton Keynes and our driver is ‘in no fit state to continue’. We are stuck, some two hundred yards past the station, and we are going nowhere fast.
Most people in the carriage have likewise concluded that the ‘incident’ must have been a suicide. “What a pity,” they lament: “if only he’d waited for the next train.”
The woman across from me is talking into her phone about ‘the selfish bastard’ who’s just brought our journey to its hiatus, all the while shovelling crisps into her face. I haven’t had dinner and wouldn’t mind a crisp. She doesn’t offer me one.
I am tormented by jumpers and Walkers. Later, more fortunate trains thunder past and on into the oblivious night, unhindered by the torsos of the broken hearted.
Labels: IMPENDING DOOM, MOMENTS, TRAVEL
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Good old life
The axe fell on number 244, the strange, spacious flat where I've idled away more than a year. In several sweaty trips, I moved my stuff to another property just around the corner - a total journey of about 25 yards.
The new place already having occupants, I'm in a spare room. No bed, so I had to buy an airbed. Internet reception not so good, so I have to spend a fair amount of time at the local net cafe.
It is also fairly spidery: a human accidentally consumes on average 100 spiders during their lifetime. I've probably managed that in the last week.
***
Went into the net cafe yesterday to plan my Tuesday morning business IT lecture. My Google account wasn't working.
It seems my mail address had been compromised and all of my contacts consequently spammed. I'm convinced this is down to spyware on one of the cafe's machines. Gritting my teeth, I changed all my passwords and got on with my research as best I could.
Sadly, this turned out not to be easy: a collection of loutish foreign students were in there getting drunk and being loud and obnoxious. Giving the research up, I went home and sat in bed practising new songs on my ukulele.
***
In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
***
At four in the morning, the phone buzz interrupts my fitful dozing. It is the mum - apparently my car has had its windows smashed, presumably by someone who didn't get any valentines.
The silver lining to this particular nebula is that the malefactors have been apprehended by the brave boys in blue and are, I unworthily hope, getting a taste of egyptian democracy in the cells.
I send a quick text of acknowledgment to the mum and settle back onto the airbed, which promptly explodes.
Both bed and I exhale loudly as I am lowered reverentially to the floor. I'm now so downtrodden I can't even manage a curse. I shift my bedclothes onto my exercise mat and make the best of the remaining hours of darkness. It will take more than life to kill me.
The new place already having occupants, I'm in a spare room. No bed, so I had to buy an airbed. Internet reception not so good, so I have to spend a fair amount of time at the local net cafe.
It is also fairly spidery: a human accidentally consumes on average 100 spiders during their lifetime. I've probably managed that in the last week.
***
Went into the net cafe yesterday to plan my Tuesday morning business IT lecture. My Google account wasn't working.
It seems my mail address had been compromised and all of my contacts consequently spammed. I'm convinced this is down to spyware on one of the cafe's machines. Gritting my teeth, I changed all my passwords and got on with my research as best I could.
Sadly, this turned out not to be easy: a collection of loutish foreign students were in there getting drunk and being loud and obnoxious. Giving the research up, I went home and sat in bed practising new songs on my ukulele.
***
In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
***
At four in the morning, the phone buzz interrupts my fitful dozing. It is the mum - apparently my car has had its windows smashed, presumably by someone who didn't get any valentines.
The silver lining to this particular nebula is that the malefactors have been apprehended by the brave boys in blue and are, I unworthily hope, getting a taste of egyptian democracy in the cells.
I send a quick text of acknowledgment to the mum and settle back onto the airbed, which promptly explodes.
Both bed and I exhale loudly as I am lowered reverentially to the floor. I'm now so downtrodden I can't even manage a curse. I shift my bedclothes onto my exercise mat and make the best of the remaining hours of darkness. It will take more than life to kill me.
Labels: EVIL, IMPENDING DOOM, MOMENTS, SELF PRESERVATION
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Attack of the killer tomatoes
Sainsbury's Basics tomatoes often come in warped cans, making them a bit of a pain in the neck to open. I had one particularly recalcitrant example of such a can today, which remained jammed shut even after I'd finally made it all the way round the rim with the can opener.
I was successful in levering it open, but the vibrant twang of the lid springing free was somewhat muffled by the fleshy squelch of it embedding itself in the middle finger and palm of my left hand (putting the cut in subcutaneous, as it were).
I asked Sam to buy me some plasters from the shop next door and drain the pasta, while I bled copiously into the sink.
Sadly, the plasters proved about as effective as a puncture repair kit aboard the Titanic, so I ate my pasta in tomato sauce (with traces of Dan) then wandered off to A&E on Euston Road.
"Tomatoes do come in boxes these days you know," said the nurse as she strove to glue my finger back together.
Next week: Dan slices his own head off while trying to assemble a sandwich from pre-sliced ingredients.
I was successful in levering it open, but the vibrant twang of the lid springing free was somewhat muffled by the fleshy squelch of it embedding itself in the middle finger and palm of my left hand (putting the cut in subcutaneous, as it were).
I asked Sam to buy me some plasters from the shop next door and drain the pasta, while I bled copiously into the sink.
Sadly, the plasters proved about as effective as a puncture repair kit aboard the Titanic, so I ate my pasta in tomato sauce (with traces of Dan) then wandered off to A&E on Euston Road.
"Tomatoes do come in boxes these days you know," said the nurse as she strove to glue my finger back together.
Next week: Dan slices his own head off while trying to assemble a sandwich from pre-sliced ingredients.
Labels: MOMENTS, NEAR MISSES
Sunday, December 06, 2009
The elements mixed in me
The mum and I are walking up the road. A bloke coming the other way is talking intently into his phone.
As he passes us, he announces: "Listen, you lay a finger on your mother again and I'll come down there and kick the shit out of you."
My mother bursts into raucous laughter at this. I wish myself invisible.
***
"Indeed, ancient flower," says the dad, apropos of nothing.
Startled, I glance over at where he is sitting, newspaper in hand, pen at the ready. Realisation dawns.
"How many letters?" I ask.
He looks at me, perplexed.
"I'm doing the sudoku."
As he passes us, he announces: "Listen, you lay a finger on your mother again and I'll come down there and kick the shit out of you."
My mother bursts into raucous laughter at this. I wish myself invisible.
***
"Indeed, ancient flower," says the dad, apropos of nothing.
Startled, I glance over at where he is sitting, newspaper in hand, pen at the ready. Realisation dawns.
"How many letters?" I ask.
He looks at me, perplexed.
"I'm doing the sudoku."
Monday, October 05, 2009
Pigeons on public transport
Sitting on the train at London Bridge, about to depart into the Saturday night for destinations which have only previously occupied my consciousness as Carter USM lyrics and the space on my mental map marked 'here be dragons'.
One of London's feral pigeons flutters through the still-open train door and waddles regally under a seat, opposite which a girl is reading.
Unwilling to share a carriage for three stops with noxious guano-spilling vermin, I grab my notepad (practising shorthand) and head over.
"Excuse me," I say in passing to the girl, who ignores me entirely.
I crouch down and flap my notepad under the seat.
"Go on, fuck off out of it you fucker. Jesus fucking Christ..."
The pigeon, discomfited by my flailing (or unimpressed with my language) leaves huffily.
"Sorry about that," I say to the girl, standing up. Her ignorance of me redoubles.
I return to my seat and my reflections. London is a foreign country.
One of London's feral pigeons flutters through the still-open train door and waddles regally under a seat, opposite which a girl is reading.
Unwilling to share a carriage for three stops with noxious guano-spilling vermin, I grab my notepad (practising shorthand) and head over.
"Excuse me," I say in passing to the girl, who ignores me entirely.
I crouch down and flap my notepad under the seat.
"Go on, fuck off out of it you fucker. Jesus fucking Christ..."
The pigeon, discomfited by my flailing (or unimpressed with my language) leaves huffily.
"Sorry about that," I say to the girl, standing up. Her ignorance of me redoubles.
I return to my seat and my reflections. London is a foreign country.
Labels: MOMENTS, NATURE, TRAVEL
Monday, February 16, 2009
Dead for a ringer
I was about to sit down at the table in the Arms with some mates when I noticed a bloke at an adjacent table grinning and waving at me. Ever one to learn from my mistakes, I glanced around to check that he wasn't actually waving to someone behind me: he wasn't. Not one to disregard random friendly strangers, I returned his salutation briefly before taking my seat.
A minute or so later, he beckoned me to come over. He looked like a bit of a nutter, had a mate with him and the two girls sitting at his table looked perfectly mortified with embarrassment. I crossed over and bade all a good evening.
"You," he informed me, struggling a little to focus his eyes, "look exactly like one of our mates."
Ah, so...
He went on to inform me that said mate was a real lunatic, always starting trouble in boozers. I briefly looked around the crowded room.
"So," I said, "he's more than likely got a few enemies in this place."
"Beyond doubt," said the friend of my dangerous doppelganger.
"And it's quite possible that someone's going to mistake me for him and break a bottle over the back of my head?"
"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," he pronounced. None of his companions could look me in the face.
"Rightio, I'll finish my pint and I'll be off over the Cottage." I said, more than a little amused. I then trooped back over to my table and stayed there getting drunk until closing time.
Happily, I had neither my identity mistaken, nor the back of my head bottled.
A minute or so later, he beckoned me to come over. He looked like a bit of a nutter, had a mate with him and the two girls sitting at his table looked perfectly mortified with embarrassment. I crossed over and bade all a good evening.
"You," he informed me, struggling a little to focus his eyes, "look exactly like one of our mates."
Ah, so...
He went on to inform me that said mate was a real lunatic, always starting trouble in boozers. I briefly looked around the crowded room.
"So," I said, "he's more than likely got a few enemies in this place."
"Beyond doubt," said the friend of my dangerous doppelganger.
"And it's quite possible that someone's going to mistake me for him and break a bottle over the back of my head?"
"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," he pronounced. None of his companions could look me in the face.
"Rightio, I'll finish my pint and I'll be off over the Cottage." I said, more than a little amused. I then trooped back over to my table and stayed there getting drunk until closing time.
Happily, I had neither my identity mistaken, nor the back of my head bottled.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Stimpy makes her mark
In the wee small hours of the morning, I was at my computer. An ominous noise behind me made me turn. Stimpy, tongue stuck halfway out of her head, was retching. Before I could get her off the sofa onto the nice wipe-clean wooden floor, she threw up.
Damn, I thought, surveying the damage done to the sofa. I should have been quicker.
Stimpy started retching again. I grabbed hold of her and tried to sweep her off the sofa, but for some reason she dug her claws in and, at the last second, lunged forward and managed to send her second load of vomit into the mum's handbag. I didn't really know if this was better or worse.
Damn, I thought, surveying the damage done to the sofa. I should have been quicker.
Stimpy started retching again. I grabbed hold of her and tried to sweep her off the sofa, but for some reason she dug her claws in and, at the last second, lunged forward and managed to send her second load of vomit into the mum's handbag. I didn't really know if this was better or worse.
Friday, January 09, 2009
The darnedest thing
I was checking out my sadly-depleted head of hair in the mirror yesterday, when something caught my eye: a lone frizzy strand jutting out above my right ear. I gave it a twiddle; the feel was unmistakeable.
"Joe, I've got a pube growing out of my head."
Joe gave me an old-fashioned look.
"I'm serious, check it out."
Joe stood up and inspected the offending hair.
"I think it's just a very curly hair, Dan."
"It's not- it's a pube. It even feels like one."
Joe, looking suitably dubious, put this to the test, whereupon there was a sharp "pop!" noise and he sprang back.
"Ow, it gave me an electric shock."
"Oh, great: so there's a magical electrical lightning pube sprouting out of my head. It could be time to lay off that caffeine shampoo."
"Joe, I've got a pube growing out of my head."
Joe gave me an old-fashioned look.
"I'm serious, check it out."
Joe stood up and inspected the offending hair.
"I think it's just a very curly hair, Dan."
"It's not- it's a pube. It even feels like one."
Joe, looking suitably dubious, put this to the test, whereupon there was a sharp "pop!" noise and he sprang back.
"Ow, it gave me an electric shock."
"Oh, great: so there's a magical electrical lightning pube sprouting out of my head. It could be time to lay off that caffeine shampoo."
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Trawling through the dregs of the past
TIM (lit): Would you rather have continuous diarrhoea, or be vomiting uncontrollably?
Brief pause
DAN: Can I have both?
TIM: You're wrong.
***
There's often a bit in films where someone says Dark forces are aligning; I knew that was exactly what was happening when I woke up at 6 am. What's worse, it was happening in my midriff.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Greebo didn't improve matters by choosing that moment to jump onto my stomach. Now I was definitely feeling nauseous.
I propped myself up on the end of the bed and tried to calm down. On the landing, I heard footsteps, the distinct sound of a toilet seat being thrown back, followed by the sound of various things being thrown up.
Evidently, whatever my affliction, Joe had copped a dose too.
After several minutes of heated discussion with the goldfishes of christmas past, Joe wandered downstairs. I went down to check up on him and report my own condition; he advised me to jump before I was pushed.
Into the back toilet I went and embarked on the Kate Moss diet.
Stimpy regarded my efforts quizzically from her adjacent litter tray. I apologised as best I could, whilst eating in reverse.
As I wandered out of the toilet, Stimpy threw up enthusiastically next to her litter tray.
Perhaps she thought we were playing a game.
Brief pause
DAN: Can I have both?
TIM: You're wrong.
***
There's often a bit in films where someone says Dark forces are aligning; I knew that was exactly what was happening when I woke up at 6 am. What's worse, it was happening in my midriff.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Greebo didn't improve matters by choosing that moment to jump onto my stomach. Now I was definitely feeling nauseous.
I propped myself up on the end of the bed and tried to calm down. On the landing, I heard footsteps, the distinct sound of a toilet seat being thrown back, followed by the sound of various things being thrown up.
Evidently, whatever my affliction, Joe had copped a dose too.
After several minutes of heated discussion with the goldfishes of christmas past, Joe wandered downstairs. I went down to check up on him and report my own condition; he advised me to jump before I was pushed.
Into the back toilet I went and embarked on the Kate Moss diet.
Stimpy regarded my efforts quizzically from her adjacent litter tray. I apologised as best I could, whilst eating in reverse.
As I wandered out of the toilet, Stimpy threw up enthusiastically next to her litter tray.
Perhaps she thought we were playing a game.
Labels: MOMENTS
Monday, November 17, 2008
Distraction
Sunlight glaring through the windscreen, the mum rattling on about the traumas of an acquaintance's life in the passenger seat. A lone pigeon on the opposite side of the road stands dejectedly in front of an oncoming vehicle, too jaded to care.
The oncoming car does not simply kill the pigeon: it destroys it. Something like a flurry of snow scatters over the road. Feathers everywhere. Who would have thought the old bird had so many feathers?
I have seen birth, I think, as I swing the car left and head up Spencer Avenue, past number 57, the house where I saw birth; and now I have seen death.
The mother, unaware that a life has winked out of existence within the last few seconds, is still on about what's-her-name.
"Sorry, Mum- you may need to rewind a bit. I was with you up to the point where you said her feller was shoeing her around, then I got distracted by the sunlight."
The oncoming car does not simply kill the pigeon: it destroys it. Something like a flurry of snow scatters over the road. Feathers everywhere. Who would have thought the old bird had so many feathers?
I have seen birth, I think, as I swing the car left and head up Spencer Avenue, past number 57, the house where I saw birth; and now I have seen death.
The mother, unaware that a life has winked out of existence within the last few seconds, is still on about what's-her-name.
"Sorry, Mum- you may need to rewind a bit. I was with you up to the point where you said her feller was shoeing her around, then I got distracted by the sunlight."
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Spoken in jest
I am not feeling my finest. Small matter: coffee covers a multitude of sins. I grind up the beans and put the kettle on to boil.
In walks the mum.
"Did you drink very much last night, Daniel?"
I weigh up the situation. I am well aware that the answer is "yes", but I don't really like to say it and leave myself open for whatever judgmental comment is to follow. On the other hand, I am also well aware that the mum knows the answer to be "yes", otherwise she wouldn't have asked. (I know- ridiculous isn't it.)
Furthermore, she did call me "Daniel." Definitely potential for hot water there.
"Why do you ask?"
"You went to the toilet in the night, then you came into my room."
"I'm terribly sorry about that."
"And I shouted: who's that, and you said: it's me, but I think I'll pass."
***
If I'd had a mouthful of coffee at this point, it would have come straight out my nose.
In walks the mum.
"Did you drink very much last night, Daniel?"
I weigh up the situation. I am well aware that the answer is "yes", but I don't really like to say it and leave myself open for whatever judgmental comment is to follow. On the other hand, I am also well aware that the mum knows the answer to be "yes", otherwise she wouldn't have asked. (I know- ridiculous isn't it.)
Furthermore, she did call me "Daniel." Definitely potential for hot water there.
"Why do you ask?"
"You went to the toilet in the night, then you came into my room."
"I'm terribly sorry about that."
"And I shouted: who's that, and you said: it's me, but I think I'll pass."
***
If I'd had a mouthful of coffee at this point, it would have come straight out my nose.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Dan and Eamonn did Murphys
After an 0830 bedtime, three hours of sleep and a day spent toasting myself by the riverside at the VMM's barbecue, it was time for the long-awaited gig at Murphy's. The omens weren't good: I wasn't nearly as drunk as I should have been and the amp had exploded the previous night.
Nor did we get off to the most assured start. I strummed through the opening A chord of "Fake plastic trees" three or four times, while Eamonn stared off placidly into space.
"Er, any time you're ready..."
This broke Eamonn out of his reverie with such a jolt that he almost fell off his barstool.
1st half
Postman Pat (warm up)
Fake plastic trees
1979
Landslide
Perfect day
Stand by me
Think twice (reprise: No good)
Girlfriend in a coma
Galapagos
Notes on the first half: we were fine from 1979 on. Singing "Think twice" (a Celine Dion song) and finishing it off with "No good" (a Prodigy song) was a good laugh. I had to sing "Think twice" because Eamonn, quite wisely, hadn't bothered to commit the words to memory.
Galapagos was by far the most intricate song of the set and I wasn't helped by a latecomer, Kazu, bursting out in front of me to say "Hi Dan!" whilst I was attempting to negotiate the most fiddly bit. Fortunately, I made it through in one piece, Eamonn sang it angelically, and I was able to relax in the interval and stick two pints down my throat.
2nd half
Karma police
If you're into it
Wind
Father and Son
There is a light that never goes out
So long, Marianne
Lily (my one and only)
Highlights: Eamonn missing his cue on Father and Son for the umpteenth time; me ballsing up all the words to "There is a light..."; Bushman Jim standing next to the stage shouting "suck it!" at me in an attempt to put me off; me pulling faces at Eamonn every time he looked my way to put him off; Eamonn changing words to the songs:
For now I need your hidden love
I'm cold as a new razor blade
You left when I told you I was bi-curious
I never said that I was gay
Now so long, Marianne...
Ah, me... good thing we practiced...
Nor did we get off to the most assured start. I strummed through the opening A chord of "Fake plastic trees" three or four times, while Eamonn stared off placidly into space.
"Er, any time you're ready..."
This broke Eamonn out of his reverie with such a jolt that he almost fell off his barstool.
1st half
Postman Pat (warm up)
Fake plastic trees
1979
Landslide
Perfect day
Stand by me
Think twice (reprise: No good)
Girlfriend in a coma
Galapagos
Notes on the first half: we were fine from 1979 on. Singing "Think twice" (a Celine Dion song) and finishing it off with "No good" (a Prodigy song) was a good laugh. I had to sing "Think twice" because Eamonn, quite wisely, hadn't bothered to commit the words to memory.
Galapagos was by far the most intricate song of the set and I wasn't helped by a latecomer, Kazu, bursting out in front of me to say "Hi Dan!" whilst I was attempting to negotiate the most fiddly bit. Fortunately, I made it through in one piece, Eamonn sang it angelically, and I was able to relax in the interval and stick two pints down my throat.
2nd half
Karma police
If you're into it
Wind
Father and Son
There is a light that never goes out
So long, Marianne
Lily (my one and only)
Highlights: Eamonn missing his cue on Father and Son for the umpteenth time; me ballsing up all the words to "There is a light..."; Bushman Jim standing next to the stage shouting "suck it!" at me in an attempt to put me off; me pulling faces at Eamonn every time he looked my way to put him off; Eamonn changing words to the songs:
For now I need your hidden love
I'm cold as a new razor blade
You left when I told you I was bi-curious
I never said that I was gay
Now so long, Marianne...
Ah, me... good thing we practiced...
Monday, August 25, 2008
The fall of a sparrow
As I am going out to play football, I consider the full shower a bit redundant. I am, however, aware that I have developed a fair pong over the course of the previous evening. Time being of the essence, I content myself with a quick trucker's wash in my bathroom sink.
Choices: Gillette shower gel or lucky four-leafed clover soap. I feel like I could use a bit of luck, so I go for the soap (it has a big, fake, four-leafed clover inside.)
I work up a good lather under the arms; the lucky soap squirts out of my grasp and falls, as luck would have it, directly into my lavatory.
I peer into the bowl, then, reluctantly, pull the "flush" lever.
***
Even for a bad omen, I thought this was particularly inauspicious.
Choices: Gillette shower gel or lucky four-leafed clover soap. I feel like I could use a bit of luck, so I go for the soap (it has a big, fake, four-leafed clover inside.)
I work up a good lather under the arms; the lucky soap squirts out of my grasp and falls, as luck would have it, directly into my lavatory.
I peer into the bowl, then, reluctantly, pull the "flush" lever.
***
Even for a bad omen, I thought this was particularly inauspicious.
Labels: MOMENTS
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Hot in the city
The barbecue was a true success- I rocked up on the back of three hours of sleep, hit the sauce pretty hard and engaged in all manner of shenanigans. The following morning brought me plenty in the way of recollection but little in the way of guilt and, with a light work schedule (not to mention extensive bruising to my body), I went out for lunch and fun with the VMM.
Fellow goon confessed to having an outbox full of shame on his keitai, a relic of the previous night's tomfoolery. When I asked him how shameful it was, he said he couldn't tell me because he was too ashamed to check what he'd actually sent in his drunken folly. The reason he knew he had an outbox full of shame was the e-mail he had sitting in his inbox from Random Bird, saying "What- now?!"
After a hearty Mexican feast, we went around the game centres of Minami in search of an air hockey table to sweat some of the debauchery out.
What we found was Super Dodge Ball.
This was great fun. The Japanese title is Nekketsu Koukou Dodgeball-bu ("Hotblood High School Dodgeball club.") After besting the rival high school (VMM High), I went on to represent Japan against England.
Sadly, the prancing limeys wiped the floor with me and, with our date with an air hockey table still pending, we left the dodge ball at that. I would heartily recommend this game to anyone with an NES though.
(Here's a shot from a later level: Japan vs Iceland. Maybe next time.)
Fellow goon confessed to having an outbox full of shame on his keitai, a relic of the previous night's tomfoolery. When I asked him how shameful it was, he said he couldn't tell me because he was too ashamed to check what he'd actually sent in his drunken folly. The reason he knew he had an outbox full of shame was the e-mail he had sitting in his inbox from Random Bird, saying "What- now?!"
After a hearty Mexican feast, we went around the game centres of Minami in search of an air hockey table to sweat some of the debauchery out.
What we found was Super Dodge Ball.
This was great fun. The Japanese title is Nekketsu Koukou Dodgeball-bu ("Hotblood High School Dodgeball club.") After besting the rival high school (VMM High), I went on to represent Japan against England.
Sadly, the prancing limeys wiped the floor with me and, with our date with an air hockey table still pending, we left the dodge ball at that. I would heartily recommend this game to anyone with an NES though.
(Here's a shot from a later level: Japan vs Iceland. Maybe next time.)
Friday, June 06, 2008
Open mike night
Was playing guitar in my room the other night. When I finished, I put some dinner on. To my surprise, I could still hear guitar-ish noises coming through the air vent above my cooker. I wandered out onto the roof of the building and there was Thom, one of the guys from downstairs, jamming with a friend over a bottle of wine.
I was all up for a rooftop sing along, but time was scarce as Thom had to be at a bar in America-mura for an open mike night that he was hosting. He invited me to go along and help him out.
The open mike night is held once a month and Thom is away next month, so he's looking for someone to fill in as host. He offered me the job, but I'm not too sure about my work schedule at the moment.
As a co-host, I did a pretty good job: I called one act a "pair of pussies" for bailing out after only one song. Thom said this made me ideal host material.
I also managed to deal with the one act that no one wants to follow (a pretty common occurrence at such events): some guitar hero with his wife on drums. The wedlocked wailers treated themselves to about ten minutes of high-octane musical self indulgence, then left the stage.
As no one wanted to fill the void, I decided it was time to hit the "reset" switch. Up I went and got on my best Simon and Garfunkel-style fingerpicking. Extremely soulful stuff. The lyrics left a little to be desired though:
Postman Pat
Postman Pat
Postman Pat and his black and white cat...
Still, it's not what you've got, it's how you use it: several of the Japanese patrons, failing to comprehend the lyrics at all, were visibly moved by the performance; even the Welsh guy who'd been heckling me admitted that I carried it off pretty well.
And no one was scared about coming onto stage after that.
I was all up for a rooftop sing along, but time was scarce as Thom had to be at a bar in America-mura for an open mike night that he was hosting. He invited me to go along and help him out.
The open mike night is held once a month and Thom is away next month, so he's looking for someone to fill in as host. He offered me the job, but I'm not too sure about my work schedule at the moment.
As a co-host, I did a pretty good job: I called one act a "pair of pussies" for bailing out after only one song. Thom said this made me ideal host material.
I also managed to deal with the one act that no one wants to follow (a pretty common occurrence at such events): some guitar hero with his wife on drums. The wedlocked wailers treated themselves to about ten minutes of high-octane musical self indulgence, then left the stage.
As no one wanted to fill the void, I decided it was time to hit the "reset" switch. Up I went and got on my best Simon and Garfunkel-style fingerpicking. Extremely soulful stuff. The lyrics left a little to be desired though:
Postman Pat
Postman Pat
Postman Pat and his black and white cat...
Still, it's not what you've got, it's how you use it: several of the Japanese patrons, failing to comprehend the lyrics at all, were visibly moved by the performance; even the Welsh guy who'd been heckling me admitted that I carried it off pretty well.
And no one was scared about coming onto stage after that.
Labels: MOMENTS
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Who Man-boo?
My first lesson at my new school, back in December, was with class 1-2. And it was hellish.
Since then, I've got a lot more used to them (and they to me) and it's a barrel of laughs at the moment.
For example, last week a student demonstrated mastery of the possessive pronoun "mine" by leaping onto a desk and loudly declaring ownership of his own penis.
I held my poker face for a fraction of a second, then burst into shameless laughter.
This week, I was drawing a picture of Homer Simpson on the board whilst explaining to students why I always say "Y'ello?" when answering the phone. One of the students jumped up and said he wanted to draw something.
Go ahead, I said.
He drew a pig's face on the blackboard. Very cute.
A second student expressed a wish to doodle. I assented and he drew a couple of lines around the pig's face, leaving the impression that the pig's face was on a bird's-eye-view picture of a canoe, or else peeping out from between some curtains.
A third student came up, further lines were added, and the canoe now looked more like a banana.
And then a fourth student came up and did a couple of horizontal lines.
And I realised that what I was looking at was a pig's head sticking out of a woman's... well, sticking out of a woman, at any rate.
I am rather quicker on the uptake than my Japanese teaching counterpart- an intellectual distinction which I suspect I may share with the vast majority of multicellular organisms- so it was a few moments before she realised the significance of the picture on the board, and by that time I had pretty much lost all pretence of self-control.
"Man-bu!" shouted the students. "Man-BOOOO!!!"
And, unfamiliar though I was with the term, thanks to the picture on the board I was able to determine that, on some bizarre level, it meant a pig's head sticking out of a woman.
And I was truly grateful for the knowledge.
Since then, I've got a lot more used to them (and they to me) and it's a barrel of laughs at the moment.
For example, last week a student demonstrated mastery of the possessive pronoun "mine" by leaping onto a desk and loudly declaring ownership of his own penis.
I held my poker face for a fraction of a second, then burst into shameless laughter.
This week, I was drawing a picture of Homer Simpson on the board whilst explaining to students why I always say "Y'ello?" when answering the phone. One of the students jumped up and said he wanted to draw something.
Go ahead, I said.
He drew a pig's face on the blackboard. Very cute.
A second student expressed a wish to doodle. I assented and he drew a couple of lines around the pig's face, leaving the impression that the pig's face was on a bird's-eye-view picture of a canoe, or else peeping out from between some curtains.
A third student came up, further lines were added, and the canoe now looked more like a banana.
And then a fourth student came up and did a couple of horizontal lines.
And I realised that what I was looking at was a pig's head sticking out of a woman's... well, sticking out of a woman, at any rate.
I am rather quicker on the uptake than my Japanese teaching counterpart- an intellectual distinction which I suspect I may share with the vast majority of multicellular organisms- so it was a few moments before she realised the significance of the picture on the board, and by that time I had pretty much lost all pretence of self-control.
"Man-bu!" shouted the students. "Man-BOOOO!!!"
And, unfamiliar though I was with the term, thanks to the picture on the board I was able to determine that, on some bizarre level, it meant a pig's head sticking out of a woman.
And I was truly grateful for the knowledge.
Labels: BUNKA, MAMMON, MOMENTS
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Slippery when wet
Sadly, the greyhound bike didn't last me all that long: having completed the pilgrimage up and down the Yodogawa a bunch of times, it was thieved by some thieving villain in Kyobashi. Another kick in the teeth in a year full of them.
Fortunately, Adam chose to return to America this December: fortunate because, although it further shrinks my already-shrunken circle of like-minded scoundrels, it at least enabled me to buy his bike off him.
And this thing is mint.
The first bike I've ever owned with drop handlebars, it has wheels like razor blades and they just shave the miles away in next to no time. It is quite a steed.
What it isn't so hot with, however, is tactile paving.
Dan has been teaching a lesson in Umeda on a rainy, rainy day. Picks up bicycle from outside station and sets off down Midosuji. Steady going, looking for a chance to move from pavement onto road and put his foot down. Spies pedestrian crossing ahead with green man on the go. Nice opportunity to transfer onto road. Speeds up slightly. Hits patch of tactile paving, which, wet as it is, doesn't agree too well with mighty steed's razor-blade wheels and slick tyres. Mighty steed goes from being mighty steed to being newborn foal with bandy legs. Dan loses control and all hope of making it home sans abrasions. Miraculously manages to rescue himself from falling off bike outright, only to find that his compass bearing has changed and he is now heading due tree.
Dan and steed rebound squarely off tree and end up in a parody of a lovers' embrace on the wet pavement, bicycle- as is usually the case in such events- on top.
Brrr brrr
"Emergency operator, what service do you require?"
"All the King's horses and all the King's men, please: I've had a great fall."
Click. Dial tone.
Morose introspection thus far completed, I hauled myself to my feet and assessed the damage. Casualties: coccyx and gear shift. Ring out the old, ring in the new. Rode home with handlebars at new rakish tilt. There's nothing new under the sun.
Fortunately, Adam chose to return to America this December: fortunate because, although it further shrinks my already-shrunken circle of like-minded scoundrels, it at least enabled me to buy his bike off him.
And this thing is mint.
The first bike I've ever owned with drop handlebars, it has wheels like razor blades and they just shave the miles away in next to no time. It is quite a steed.
What it isn't so hot with, however, is tactile paving.
Dan has been teaching a lesson in Umeda on a rainy, rainy day. Picks up bicycle from outside station and sets off down Midosuji. Steady going, looking for a chance to move from pavement onto road and put his foot down. Spies pedestrian crossing ahead with green man on the go. Nice opportunity to transfer onto road. Speeds up slightly. Hits patch of tactile paving, which, wet as it is, doesn't agree too well with mighty steed's razor-blade wheels and slick tyres. Mighty steed goes from being mighty steed to being newborn foal with bandy legs. Dan loses control and all hope of making it home sans abrasions. Miraculously manages to rescue himself from falling off bike outright, only to find that his compass bearing has changed and he is now heading due tree.
Dan and steed rebound squarely off tree and end up in a parody of a lovers' embrace on the wet pavement, bicycle- as is usually the case in such events- on top.
Brrr brrr
"Emergency operator, what service do you require?"
"All the King's horses and all the King's men, please: I've had a great fall."
Click. Dial tone.
Morose introspection thus far completed, I hauled myself to my feet and assessed the damage. Casualties: coccyx and gear shift. Ring out the old, ring in the new. Rode home with handlebars at new rakish tilt. There's nothing new under the sun.
Labels: MOMENTS
