Chlorine

The walls have ears, but the flume takes them by force.

Make sure you tuck in your arms and legs on the way down. There are rivets in the tube. If it's not tucked in, it's up for grabs. The rivets don't discriminate. Building the flume took all of the council's money; there wasn't enough left for sandpaper.

But if a normal swimming pool experience isn't exciting enough for you, those are the risks you have to take. The fun of plummeting down a water slide comes at a cost, and the cost is often the loss of a body part.

The flume is long and curls around. It starts inside, snakes outside, then forces its way back through the brickwork. You'll land in the pool with a satisfying sploosh. Take the time to appreciate it, before you check your appendages. You might as well have those few seconds of euphoria before you realise your hearing is now mono.

One in ten children will lose an ear on the way down. Though, to be fair, that's only one in twenty ears.

You can see them as you slide. Nobody will collect them. How would they? The ears stay where they were caught: attached to the screws and the nuts and the jagged plastic, hanging like fleshy bats That's part of the thrill of the flume. Not just the water and the danger. Not just the gravity. You get to see the ears.

All shapes and sizes and colours, dangling there like Christmas decorations. Some have earrings. Some have tape on the lobes, with the promise of earrings beneath. But you only get a sense of them. You're moving too fast. It's just an after-image of ears, flashing before your eyes alongside your life.

There were complaints. The ear loss was raised at the council meetings. "But what can we do?" they asked. "The flume has been installed. We can't take it down. It's still so popular!"

And it is popular. Despite of, or because of, the ears.

My cousin lost three ears in the same month. He must not have been frisked before entering the pool area.

It isn't just ears, of course. Some people lose fingers. Some, wigs. The mayor foolishly decided to go down with his ceremonial chain, and ended up drowned because of the weight.

Because of the wigs and ears, the flume is getting narrower every day. Soon there won't be enough room to get to the bottom. People will get lodged there; stuck like the very ears they came to see. We're all ears now, they might say.

The flume will probably be closed at that point. Someone on the swimming pool committee will suggest filling the flume with powerful acid to melt away the blockage. And the suggestion will be approved by three votes to one. The one vote will be from Lydia, who would never approve of acid because of what happened to her little boy, even though it was his fault for tripping over his goggles.

The acid won't eat through the flume, because it's made of a special plastic, suggested by someone who watched Breaking Bad.

The flume will reopen. And the ear harvest will continue. There we'll be. A town full of people with crooked glasses.

Still, it's safer than the diving boards, which are covered with swords.

Dinner Date

I Want to Save Room for the Metal Detector

a story

"Not for me, thanks. I want to save room for the metal detector." She patted her belly and licked her lips.

"You what?" asked Loz.

"I want to save room for the metal detector. So no seconds for me. It was lovely, though." She put her knife and fork together on the plate and sat back.

"What do you mean? What metal detector?" asked Loz.

"Oh. Are you getting the cheese board?"

Loz put his wine glass to his lips and held it there. He was scrutinising her expression.

"Five courses, right?" she said.

"Yeah. Five courses."

"Great." She drummed the table greedily. "I'll try to grab the waiter when he comes past."

"I don't understand," said Loz. "What does a metal detector have to do with anything?"

She gave a little patronising, quizzical head movement, which made things worse. "Five courses," she said, and counted them on her fingers and thumb. "Soup. Appetiser. Main course. Desert. Metal detector."

"Or cheese board?"

"Yes. Or cheese board."

Loz leaned in. "You know, I don't think they do a metal detector course here."

"What?" She met his lean. "Why not?"

"I don't think it's a standard thing. I've never even heard of it."

"You've never heard of a metal detector?"

"No, I've... I have heard of a metal detector. I know they exist. But I've never heard of them as a... dining... option..."

"Well, you grew up down South," she said. She shook her head dismissively. "I'm sure they must do it at a place this fancy."

"I really don't think they do."

"Well we'll see, won't we." She lifted her hand to attract the attention of the waiter. Before she could speak, Loz grabbed her hand and lowered it. It was the first time they had touched.

She laughed. "What are you doing?"

"Just... just wait a moment," said Loz. "Just wait a moment."

He tried to move even closer, but his chair was tucked in as far as it would go. 

"Just wait a moment," he said again. "Before we ask them, can I just... I was wondering..."

He was having trouble finding the words. She waited patiently for him to speak, and finished her wine.

"I was just wondering," he continued in a whisper, "what kind of metal detector it is. Normally, I mean. Is it the sort-of 'beachcomber' portable one, or is it the thing you walk through at the airport? The... gateway?" 

He mimed a gateway.

The waiter arrived thirty seconds later, by which time Loz and Antonia (the woman) were engaged to be married.

That Fung Boy

I bought a banana.

I bought it, but I don't really "buy" it. It's not realistic for a fruit to be shaped that way. You don't see that kind of crescent shape anywhere else in nature. The crescents you see in suburban road design are man-made. A crescent moon isn't really a crescent at all. It's just reflected light.

Something fishy is going on down at the grocer's.

***

Don't look before crossing the road and then, after a car comes to a screeching halt, the driver will shout, as drivers often do, "have you got some kind of death wish!?!".

Now's your chance.

"Uh, it's more of an inclination than a wish," you'll say. And apologetic, not sarcastic. And with sad eyes. And with honesty. No quip, this.

The driver, open-mouthed, will worry about his next move. No apology from him, but no further anger neither. No winner, no loser, but a story to tell. Whether or not you were in a hurry, you get kudos from the lads.

***

The pessimist's remark is tongue-in-cheek. The optimist's remark is cheek-enveloping-tongue.

"Both remarks are difficult to make out" - The Realist.

***

I'm in a strange mood this afternoon, probably because of the banana I've yet to eat. I can't decide whether to be strange all the way through this post or to include a saner section (this one).

It's the twenty-third day of August. How about the news that's come out recently? Ben Afffleck as Batman? It certainly is a surprising choice! I, for one, am up in legs about the decision. I've seen the film Argo, but equally have seen several real-life bats, so make of that what you won't.

And the weather has been very kind. I can't thank it enough. I really appreciate it.

Don't get me started on the cricket. It is certainly making for an exciting stretch of my life.

It's nearly Bonfire Night. Put your sparklers in water when they've stopped sparkling, or you're liable to have burnt hands.

Not much else has been going on with me! I'm learning to play an instrument. It has been challenging, but rewarding so far. Next week, I'm going to be told which instrument it is. I use my mouth, so it's not a delicious piano.

The government really gets my goat.

Join a gang this Bank Holiday weekend. ❤

Overflow

You see that little hole in the sink? The overflow hole?

Our brains have evolved them. No human can survive without one.

They're not there for draining water. They're there for draining wonder.

A overflow of wonder doesn't just ruin the floor, it bursts the sink.

A big part of what makes humans so successful as a species is the large brain. We can use it to solve problems and communicate. Our thoughts are much better and more complicated than anything a worm can do.

We have the capacity for abstract thought. We can understand ourselves and our environment. We can think conceptually about things. We realise we're alive, and we realise we're going to die.

The latter could have been crippling to our species. By all rights, it should be. The notion that we are temporary and our point of view is subjective, and that the world will carry on without us, should crack our brain porcelain in two.

The disadvantage of an imagination is that you can imagine some pretty messed up stuff.

But we have an overflow hole. When the enormity, the profundity, the bleak, vast, endless, hopeless truth of existence reaches a dangerous level, it all drains away. And we turn on the television. Or worry about the football results. Or think about alphabetising our DVD collection.

The brain has a fail safe that prevents us from being overwhelmed by eternity and infinity. It's how we survive. If we didn't have the overflow hole, we'd just freak out and kill ourselves, or die of a hundred different aneurysms.

Evolution has built us a freak-out airbag. We don't let the universe overwhelm us - not fatally at least. We forget about it long enough to breed and pass on our valuable genes.

Nature is a real lifesaver.

Of course, lots of people are overwhelmed by the universe. Lots of people do kill themselves. Their overflow holes must be blocked up or covered by a flannel.

But for the most part, humans tend to keep on being alive for as long as possible. Even though time and space are incomprehensible, and we're insignificant and significant and everything and nothing and I'd better stop thinking about this.

But the overflow hole doesn't just stop bad things from overwhelming us. The wonder isn't all bad.

The hole also stops us from being overwhelmed by art and beauty and history and science. It stops us being overwhelmed by both the bleak truth and the bright shining glory of truth itself.

Sometimes, I'll be watching an inspirational documentary about a great artist and their amazing works. Or about physics: the amazing depth of our understanding, and the incredible amount we still have left to learn. Or I'll see something mind blowing about the age of the Earth. Or I'll listen to a breathtaking piece of music.

By all rights, I should be permanently screwed up by it. I should flip out and close my eyes and go to bed forever. But I don't.

I just get up the next day and go to work.

The overflow hole keeps everything ticking.

Evolution is a capricious master. It gives with one hand, and takes with the other. And gives us hands in the first place, except for snakes and birds.

We're given the capacity for wonder, but we don't let that wonder interfere with the whole breeding thing.

It's like watching an eclipse through a pin-hole - we get the joy of appreciating celestial poetry, but we're protected from retinal burns.

We've really lucked out as a species.

Unless the overflow hole is just "Nanny Nature" at work, telling us what we can and can't think, infringing our rights to take in as much wonder as we like thank you very much. Those clowns in (the metaphysical equivalent of) Brussels are telling you how to live your life. So what if I want to fill my wonder basin to the top? So what if I want it to overflow? So what if I want to have an aneurysm?

I'm British and I'll die on my own terms!

Oops.

I seem to have fallen into a pit of incongruous satire. My philosophy got hijacked by a blurry metaphor.

Sorry about that. It was all going so well.

Hmm.

I suppose I'd better just go.

***

(But seriously: FUCK libertarians)

Can Create Something Out Of Nothing

Too long between posts. Much too long.

What have I been up to? What haven't I been up to!

To what have I not been up?

I have not been up to:

a) mischief
b) no good
c) my neck in something
d) the minute
e) scratch
f) Scotland
g) get lucky

I've come up with several ideas for this entry, but they all seem a bit facetious. The facetiousness may not be noticeable if you're reading this, but it's very evident to me. My teeth are gritted, and everything that's even remotely positive is sarcastic. Sarcasm can power through gritted teeth if it's concentrated enough. It's like radiation. You can measure it with one of those Ghostbusters clickysticks.

I have a small ball.

Let's deal with that.

It's a football, but a small one. A miniature version of a big football. I won it in a prize draw for the 2010 World Cup. That was three years ago.

That was three years ago.

I've been kicking it around our flat for the past few days, with some breaks. It has improved my close control and my mental state. I'm the best in the world at what I do, and what I do is dribble a small ball around a pillar.

I can do complicated flicks and step-overs; I can ricochet passes at a variety of angles, from a variety of cupboards; I can curl the ball around the curve of our sofa, avoiding the coffee table. I can annoy our downstairs neighbour.

Who needs grass when you have badly-cut laminate flooring?

Sometimes I'll miscue and shatter a portrait of a Ming vase, but it's a small price to pay.

I couldn't do any of it with a full-sized ball. A full-sized ball would make the kitchen a death trap. But a small ball is fine. It's good to kick a small ball into the kitchen when Lucy is cooking a hot meal. Scalding is good. Ambulances are good. Skin grafts are good.

The new Premier League season is starting soon, so I'm going to buy a cricket bat.

***

I came up with a new character the other day. It's not one of those ones that's nothing more than a stupid play on words. It's a fully-fledged character, with his own internal life, complex morality and compelling back story. In fact, his name isn't important. The character could thrive even if it had no name, like that cowboy one.

Names are nominal. That's literally what nominal means.

Look past the label, and see what's in the jar. Don't judge a book by its Wikipedia entry.

My new character is something new, and something exciting.

"Fab" Rick Softener

His full name (not that it's important) is Fabulous Richard Softener, but he prefers "Fab" Rick Softener.

It's not important why he's called that, other than illustrating his character. He's the kind of person who would have a name like he does have.

He's complicated, because part of his name is in inverted commas. Also, he lives in America.

I'm trying not to give away too many details.

(He's not Chinese, if that's what you're thinking.)

Inside

The Slide

A kid slid

No lie, he did.

Inside the slide, he hit his head and died

"He's dead!" I said, then cried

The slide was not as wide 

as he'd been lead to think

By Ed, the playground shrink

There was ample room for ego

But no leeway for the id

In days to come, Ed would confide

His focus wavered from the slide

To mood swings and the climbing mindframes and the tell me roundabout your mother

New guidelines, to which Ed complied,

Require that he be qualified

And not just a man who owns a COUCH

In accordance with the dead kid's dead dad's wishes, 

The dead kid's dead-ass ashes 

Were scattered on the low end of the see-saw

There the remains remain

All except his enormous skull, which was in a skip in the crematorium car park

***

It's difficult to be a poet when you have a short attention span. Things like metre and stanzas and rhyme scheme, and coherence, are hard to maintain. Sometimes, you try too hard to tick all of the boxes, and end up dabbing each of them with a spot of ink, invisible to the naked eye.

It's August. This is the last non-depressing month of the year, which is pretty depressing, I can tell you. I need to squeeze all of my barbecues and water fights into the next thirty-one days. You best not try any of that shit in September.

August is like your thirties. There's too much pressure to achieve things before the leaves and hair change colour.

This year, I might opt out. I bought flip-flops this year, and have used them on multiple occasions. That's my summer fun quota fulfilled. I can afford to spend the rest of the month under a blanket, with the curtains closed, can't I? Why should the calendar dictate my behaviour? Just because it knows more about holy feast days than I do? That's not right.

I just can't shake the feeling that I might be exactly the same as everyone else.

That's all I see when I'm in a crowd of people: dozens of exact replicas of myself.

They all dress the same as me, they all have the same stupid fluffy beard. And I know - I just know - that they're thinking exactly the same thing.

It's hard living in a world where everyone shares your values, tastes, fears, shoe size and postcode.

I've always been an insider. Even as a young child, I suspected that I fit in. I'd see my peers engaged in some activity, and I'd think "I'm also doing that".

There's no point in doing observational comedy anymore. I get on stage, and can immediately see that everyone has noticed the same things I have. I don't even talk. I just nod into the mic, and the audience nods back.

Everyone suspects that they are the only non-pariah in the world, and they're all correct.

What is "normal"? It's the thing that everyone is. Especially me.

Someone has definitely already written an identical blog post to this one, which is comforting. Being comforted makes me feel uneasy. Being uneasy makes me just like everyone else.

I'm not on the outside, looking in. I'm on the inside. But I'm not looking out. Who wants to look out?

I'm on the inside looking in. Like everyone, I'm perpetually aware of my place in the world. At night, I lie asleep thinking, worrying about being unable to get awake.

But you know how it is...