Cut

Yesterday, there was a power cut in our office. We were unable to do any work, so we all made our own entertainment. Some people drew pictures, some people tidied their desks, some people sat around and watched those people do those things.

I wrote the following:

***

There was a power cut in our building this morning. We have power now, but none of our systems are working. The internet isn’t working. None of us are working.

I’m bored, so here I am. Typing this into a Word document like some common urchin.

Urchins are everywhere. The rats of the sky.

You’re never more than ten feet away from an urchin. If you work for an Urchin Shelter, it’s even less.

And don’t get me started on sea urchins. The rats of the sky of the sea. Filthy. They spread disease and cover Atlantean monuments with their droppings. You can barely even see Neptune’s Column. We need a cull.

Besmirchin’ the urchin. That’s my bag. Deal with it.

Someone has come round to say that we may have another forty-five minutes of nothing. More than enough time to write and manually format a screenplay.

INT. CLINIC – DAY

A row of bricks and mortar. Pull out to reveal more rows of bricks and mortar, all stuck together with yet more mortar. This is a WALL.

An old fashioned rotary phone rings. It is answered by LLOYD BORL. He has brown coat.

BORL

Hello? What?

His hands shake. He puts the receiver back on the bit that holds the receiver, disconnecting the call.

NAOMI (OS)

Who was that?

BORL

Wrong number.

NAOMI walks into view. She is in her early twenties, and will be for another two years. Dark hair, blue eyes, smartly dressed, holding golf bag w/golf clubs (woods etc).

NAOMI

Are you OK?

BORL is as white as a white sheet. He is scared [ASK ACTOR TO COVEY WITH FACE].

BORL

Fine. I’m’ll be fine. Have you had

a chance to look at my proposal?

NAOMI

Not yet. I can’t find my glasses.

Must have left them at the 18^th.

BORL

Hole?

NAOMI

Yes.

The phone rings again. BORL gasps, but realistic. He waits.

NAOMI

Do you want me to get that?

BORL

No.

NAOMI picks up the phone.

NAOMI

Hello? (BEAT) Martyn!

With a ‘y’! How are you?

Great! Yes, he’s here. Hold on.

(TO BORL) It’s Martyn with a y.

He wants to speak to you.

BORL has since died.

CUT TO:

EXT. BICESTER – EIGHT

A red sports car races through the city streets. It flies straight through a red light, causing a bus to brake suddenly and break gradually. The driver shouts and waves his fist.

The car speeds on. To avoid traffic, it mounts the pavement. Pedestrians scatter. A dog climbs a lamppost; one of those newspaper box things gets all driven into.

Sirens blare.

A police car is in pursuit. Inside is the police officer CYRENS BLAIR. He’s the most attractive person in the car.

BLAIR

A car chase.

Static signals the beginning of a two-way radio message.

RADIO VOICE

Suspect has been confirmed as

JANE LEGGE. She’s wanted in connection

to last month’s farmers’ market

bombing, and should be considered

dangerous and extremely armed.

BLAIR

A radio message.

The sports car races towards the biggest suspension bridge in Bicester. It weaves in and out of traffic, the sun glinting off its shiny sections.

BLAIR’s police car is catching up. He skilfully avoids a pyramid of milk bottles that some school children have been building as part of a competition.

BLAIR

Milk bottles.

BLAIR’s car is almost bumper-to-bumper with the sports car. He shouts through a megaphone at the fugitive.

BLAIR

Amplified voice.

No response.

BLAIR pulls out his gun and fires at the sports car’s wing mirror.

The radio crackles into life again.

RADIO VOICE

Blair? Come in Blair.

What are you doing?!

Cease fire! You’re gonna

kill someone!

BLAIR picks up the talking-into bit of the radio.

BLAIR

Solution.

We close-up on the shattered mirror. The bullet has smashed it in such a way that the sun is reflected into the eyes of the driver. We don’t see the driver yet, but this information is conveyed using filming/cinematography and the orchestral score.

The sports car swerves one way, then the other, then clips the central reservation and (if budget allows) rolls over several times before coming to a stop.

BLAIR stops his car and gets out. He walks slowly towards the sports car with his gun raised.

BLAIR

(SHOUTING) Bridge encounter.

The door of the sports car swings open, and a leg steps out. The leg’s owner is JANE LEGGE. But as we pan up, we see that her whole head is covered in C4 explosives. 

There's a tiny gap for her to see through. So the whole sunlight blinding thing does work after all, Sarah.

LEGGE

Bmffff lmmmf grrrjjrr fffn.

(OR OTHER MUFFLED NOISE)

BLAIR

Amplify voice.

LEGGE

Bmffff lmmmf grrrjjrr fffn.

A helicopter circles, making bits of paper blow around a lot, and there’s a searchlight.

BLAIR holds his ground.

LEGGE takes one step forward. BLAIR cocks his gun.

A loud speaker from the helicopter blasts out.

HELICOPTER VOICE

Put your hands over

your bomb-head and

lie on the floor.

LEGGE looks up at the helicopter. Then at BLAIR. At least she seems to be looking – her face is obscured by the C4, as mentioned above. But the eye-slit lines up with the helicopter.

BLAIR looks up at the helicopter. Then at LEGGE. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his gun to the floor.

He walks slowly forward with his hands outstretched in a gesture of not holding anything.

BLAIR

No ploy.

LEGGE looks uncertain through body language.

BLAIR walks closer.

LEGGE looks up at the helicopter.

BLAIR

Potential explosion:

undesirable.

LEGGE

Mmmff rrrrnnnnnnn

MMnnnnrrrr gnnnnn!

BLAIR is visibly shocked at this statement. He starts to run away from LEGGE, waving warning waves at the helicopter.

But it’s too late.

LEGGE’s head explosives explode in an enormous explosion. It takes out a huge section of the bridge. Its plume of fire hits the helicopter, which falls out of the sky, decimating the milk bottle pyramid.

BLAIR runs and jumps off the bridge, narrowly avoiding a huge shrapnel cloud.

BLAIR

Jumping.

He dives into the Bicester river, with chunks of concrete raining down around him.

He sinks beneath the surface. Underwater, he speaks a single word, which we can hear because of bubbles.

BLAIR

Martyn.

The ‘y’ makes a *special* bubble.

***

The forty-five minute estimate turned out to be way off. The systems weren't fixed before home time. Everyone had wasted their whole day.

Everyone except me.

I wrote a screenplay.

I do all my best work when I'm not contractually obliged to work.

I need to find out the name of a river in Bicester. Then I can send this bad boy off.

Cure

I posted a link to my last blog entry on Twitter and immediately regretted it.

Not because I'd used the phrase "immediately regretted" a couple of times and felt bad for splitting infinitives, but because I think the whole thing came across as whiny and melodramatic. I tried to diffuse the patheticy (and, yes, that should be a word) in the post itself, but I don't think it worked.

The link was retweeted and lots of people read it. I'm very grateful for that, but would have preferred them to read something where I'm funnier and have a sense of proportion. Not the right sense of proportion, but an awareness of it as a concept.

Why couldn't I have had 87 hits on that hilarious post where I talked about... I don't know... cranky melons or whatever the usual bullshit is that I do here?

That was an interesting sentence.

You see, dear reader (and using the singular there is accurate in every sense), you and I know that I'm occasionally whiny and pretentious, but am at least semi-aware of those qualities. You've had years of irreverence and neurosis to contextualise a slight falling-out with Twitter as just another bump on the petty road that is my life.

But a lot of those 87 people will have read what I wrote and either a) thought I was a bit of a dick, or b) thought I was a poor eloquent wretch in the throws of depression.

Only a) is correct.

I can't help but think that anyone writing a blog post about their disillusionment with Twitter automatically makes them someone I don't want to hang around with. But I have to hang around with myself. It's one of the rules of corporeality. Complaining to my usual readership (and I love you both) is fine, but projecting my concerns to a wider audience seems like yelling "I'M A COMPLEX AND DELICATE FLOWER" into a bullhorn.

I do appreciate people retweeting and complimenting me on the post, I just wish I'd included a few more spoonfuls of caveats, so that it was obvious to strangers that I'm fine, I'm rational, I'm generally not as florid, and that I'd rather get a laugh than a pat on the shoulder.

Oh well. At least a few people will have read that dolphin thing.

Caveat spoonful:
1) I don't really regret linking to the blog post
2) I know writing this makes me seem like I'm taking it even MORE seriously
3) I AM a complex and delicate flower
4) I've never written anything about cranky melons
5) I'm eating bran flakes, which taste exactly like caveats

***

They should sell pornography in pharmacies.

Or if not pornography, just something else to look at. Like a magic eye picture.

I was waiting for a prescription recently, and there was nothing interesting to look at. I didn't want to leave the shop, so I just wandered round. Your eyes have to rest somewhere. I'd have preferred some kind of iris hammock, but they didn't sell them there.

I was wandering around from shelf to shelf, desperately searching for anything remotely interesting. There are certain areas that I, as a large bearded man in a long leather coat, can't hang around without arousing suspicion. I can't spend too long by the tampons or any other absorbent crotch accessory.

I can't really look at the make-up. (I've no objection to wearing make-up, but some of these pharmacists can be quite regressive in their views on masculinity). There are a whole variety of embarrassing medications that I can't spend too much time near. I don't want people to think I'm constipated, or covered in weeping sores, or covered in infectious rashes, or am a baby with a cough.

So I have to keep moving, like a bored shark. There are only about four shelves in there, and I cover them all several times.

The most interesting section is the toothbrushes. I don't need a toothbrush, but at least they're inoffensive and come in a variety of shapes and colours. Modern toothbrushes are like Transformers: full of accessories and rotating blades and little nodules that help you clean your teeth, your tongue, your lips, and even a needle you inject into your brain to remove the very concept of plaque.

But this particular pharmacy was not well stocked in the toothbrush department. And I didn't want people to think I was spending too long there, so I had to move on.

You can usually find something to look at in the section that sells hair-straighteners, clippers and electric toothbrushes. I think 90% of electric toothbrushes are sold to bored people waiting for prescriptions, ground-down by lack of mental stimuli. But in this pharmacy, they only had one electric toothbrush. You can only read packaging so many times before you forget how English works.

By the time my name was called (after about six minutes), I was limp with tedium. They recommended some pills that would solve the problem, but I declined.

That's why, in the future, they should start selling pornography. It's just something interesting to look at. You'd get fewer complaints about long waiting times.

Also, the pharmacy is a sterile environment, which would make the porn seem less seedy. They could sell it in sealed packaging like plasters, to make sure there's no risk of infection. Some might say that's even more embarrassing than constipation medication. But everyone would be looking at it. Let she who is without porn cast the first stone.

Or the magic eye thing. I suppose that makes more sense.

Or a pinball machine.

Pornography is probably quite a long way down the list of viable options. But I'm just brainstorming here. My suggestions will not be binding to L. Rowland & Co (Retail) Ltd.

"Not with that attitude."

As a Whistle

It's Wednesday, and you know what that means!

I've just had a shower.

It was a very nice shower. Warm and cleansing, fragrant and heartening. Probably one of my top twenty showers of all time. A real classic.

I'm thoroughly spick-and-span - ready for the day. The rest of the day, anyway (showering took up most of my Wednesday).

You'll notice that my writing style is much cleaner than usual. Before the shower, I would have been overly-wordy. But post-shower, I only use words that are absolutely necessary to convey my meaning, be they adverb, noun, superadjunctive, "ham word" or number.

Let's not dwell on how great I smell. It's time for some more

Paul Writes Things In A Small Box And Shares Them With Strangers

These are the tweets I've written since my last compendium. Some of them are jokes, some are just a collection of words. But they've all got one thing in common!

I don't know what it is.

***

Brideshead Recarpeted #lessinterestingbooks

***

A Portrait of the Hipster as a Young Man #lessinterestingbooks

***

Laughterhouse 5 #lessinterestingbooks

***

The Age of Raisin #lessinterestingbooks

***

Bleak Horse #lessinterestingbooks 

***

We Need To Talk About Coving #lessinterestingbooks

***

I always preferred The Smell of Music.

***

"It's all water under the bridge" - Even Trolls have a flood myth.

***

When I was a kid, I tried to plant a sesame seed from a bap in an attempt to grow a burger tree. I was so naive. I hadn't heard of beefseed.

***

No positive sentence has ever begun: "Yeah?! Well, you know what?..."

***

When I was a zookeeper I used to exercise by jogging on the spot. That poor leopard...

***

Failure is a jacket that everyone can wear, but that only looks right on me.

***

I think stupid jokes are falling out of favour. I'm going to just start tweeting wise sayings and sage life advice.

***

The opinions of others are like the wings of a dragonfly: always moving, translucent and attached to a dragonfly.

***

Regret is a pizza with its toppings on the underside.

***

My keys jingle so much in my pocket I've had to start giving out presents.

***

You can't swing a dead cat around here! Read your contract.

***

JOKE: "Doctor, Doctor!" "Please, call me David." "Oh.. uh, David, David!" "What?" "David.. I.. " "Actually, on 2nd thoughts, call me doctor"

***

Forgot all about my 'words of wisdom' initiative. Sorry. My next tweet will make up for it.

***

If you spend too much time looking back, people will think the back of your head is your face. #wisdom

***

It's really hard to draw a target on your face with a biro. Stop moving.

***

I can take the hyphens out of an ISBN faster than you can blink. I'm the Billy the Kid of data entry (and self-loathing)!

***

I'm going to call my autobiography 'Obviously Not'.

***

Crop-growers should do more for the less fortunate. Keep the amateur seeds for themselves, but give all pro seeds to charity.

***

With Barclays' new Rectal Interface Booths™, your butt can finally cash those checks your mouth has been writing.

***

I went to a kissing booth and they included a lip service charge on the bill. "The cheek!" I said, hoping to reduce the total.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: WHICH WITCH WATCH? - Contestants attempt to identify occult timepieces, and avoid burning in Hell for all eternity.

***

How old were you when you realised you were eight years old? I was eight.

***

You probably shouldn't include the word 'you' in the same sentence three times, should one?

***

I'm going through a real purple patch! I think Barney the Dinosaur's been in some sort of terrible accident.

***

I'm playing stirring music whilst making a cup of tea. Do you see?

***

The tea, the music, the rainy Bank Holiday and the football. My idea of English bliss. #engbliss

***

Admittedly, the tea is from Asia, the music is Icelandic, one of the football teams is Welsh, and the rain comes from space. But still...

***

Do you think it's too late to get my GCSEs re-marked? It's been twelve years, but thinking back, I'm not sure that K* was deserved.

***

"Handsome" is synonymous with "attractive" because having lots of hands is an evolutionary advantage. Especially for glove models

***

If you're ever stuck to a magnet, phone the emergency services and ask to reverse the charges.

***

I think I'm awake, but can't be sure. I've been pinching myself all morning. If I was a lobster, I'd be dead now.

***

Our office is cold today. My teeth would be chattering if they weren't so unsociable.

***

After years of experience, I'm finally at the stage where I can regret things in real-time.

***

Every time an observational comedian says what we're all thinking, Carl Jung feels totally vindicated and laughs like a pig.

***

I try to listen to my heart, but I don't think I have the right headphone jack.

***

In the wake of the FIFA scandal, Sepp Blatter has echoed demands for more transparency. Though only in the women's changing room walls.

***

It's great having a Guardian Angel, but I never know how much to tip.

***

Listening to 'The Only Way Is Up'. Now I understand why Yazz was so shit at R-Type.

***

I just threw a red pen with my left hand to my right hand. Like Darth Maul would.

***

That Kermit the Frog is all mouth and no trousers.

***

A French museum has unveiled a new haul of pirate treasure. It's the world's largest collection of objets d′ARRR. #sorry

***

I think people who complain about archaic spellings should shut the fuccough.

***

I just looked up the etymology of 'procrastination'.

***

Anagrams of 'procrastination' include: Tis Raincoat Porn, Sprint To Ocarina and Carnation Ripost.

***

I'm NOT procrastinating:

***

Ten to three. That's not the time - it's the odds of me doing anything useful today.

***

Six of one, half a baker's dozen of the other.

***

Let's get the party startled!

***

I just googled 'Paul Fung insane' and I was only the second result. Phew!

***

Whenever I see a sunset as beautiful as tonight's, I can't help but wonder who'd win in a fight out of Jimmy Nail and and a sharkbot.

***

Just got an auto-email notification from Twitter that I've "let myself and others down". So I've gone to Settings and unticked that box.

***

All cheese knives are made from flattened metallic snails. Very sad.

***

My shoes are currently composed of 85% scuff.

***

I always think of original sin as 'Sin Classic'.

***

You can't refer to browsing Amazon as 'window shopping'. But according to my optician, that's not a good enough reason to get glasses.

***

When you're applying for a job, do you have to mention criminal offenses you've committed in dreams? Because I don't have that much paper.

***

When I was 17, I wrote a list of the Top Ten Things I Will Never Do. I've only done one of them so far: NUMBER 8. INVENT TEENAGE LISTS.

***

From work training email: 'Would you like to break into using formulas in Excel?' Break into? Like it's the television industry?

***

Catholicism is a growing force in Africa. Which explains why I've just seen a zebra crossing.

***

I'd like to make an anouncement! But I have nothing to say.

***

Every ring is a mood ring. The mood is always either 'married' or 'garish'.

***

Someone's been a naughty boy! I'd imagine. Given the large number of boys in the world, I'd say it's quite probable.

***

In the film of my life, I don't think today is even going to make the deleted scenes.

***

I'd have been better off donating my day to the needy. Give a man a fish & he'll eat for a day. But give a man a DAY, &... he'll...eat.. fish..

***

An aviary is a habitat for birds. A beaviary is a habitat for beavers.

***

Jesus Christ lived in a savioury.

***

Over the course of my life, I've broken more spirits than I have windows or promises.

***

Ask your local ice-cream man for a Falsetto. See what he says. See what he does. It's a test.

***

Peter Parker's Aunt May was warm, if slightly over-protective. Her sister, Aunt May Not, was less forthcoming.

***

Raising children is a lot like raising the Mary Rose: salty, splintery, and ultimately boring to others.

***

A smile is like a pirate simile (lost one eye).

***

I pride myself on my honesty, and shame myself on the same basis.

***

If you have a friend called Anthony or Antonia, the chances are they're: a) very attractive and b) a shoplifter.

***

It takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to drown.

***

This country has a proud tradition of being indiscriminately proud of tradition.

***

Now look here.

***

Magellena Bonham Carter #actorexplorers

***

Fiddles aren't fit. They're inanimate. Another idiom discredited.

***

Surprise, surprise... SURPRISE! Ha! I bet that third surprise was a surprise.

***

The false messiah is an unsavioury character.

***

I hate Geordie slang. FYI.

***

I'm thinking of getting a job as a dwarf lookalike for a famous German film director. Should be a nice little Werner.

***

That was probably the worst thing I've ever tweeted. Which covers some ground.

***

Is it arrogant to like the cut of your own jib? I mean, mine's more of a graze, but still...

***

I love those weird little toys you get inside chocolate eggs. In fact I've always depended on the strangeness of Kinders.

***

Who was the most well-rounded knight? Sir Cumference.

***

Familiarity breeds comtempt. And so do I! I'm fostering a litter of comtempt right now - when it's older it'll be fully-grown disgust!

***

I'm hungry, but bored of cereal. Maybe I'll crack an egg into some cheese and cook it on a hot boy. Like they do on the continent.

***

I have no idea where this strip of toast came from. #unknownsoldier

***

Just had an afternoon nap. I dreamt Hulk Hogan was making a giant sponge cake.

***

I used to cut my sandwiches into squares, then triangles. But then I started to prefer three-dimensional sandwiches.

***

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. That's why I always take mine off before going to bed. It's just common sense.

***

I'm going to drink some tap water. Heads: cold tap. Tails: hot tap. If only I had a coin.

***

On my own at work today. I hope I don't get driven crazy by solitude. At least I have Twitter. (SPOILER: THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS TWITTER)

***

Going well so far. I've just drawn a volleyball on my face and have started talking to Tom Hanks. He's reluctant to discuss Big.

***

Maintaining my sanity by watching a soap opera projected in my head. It's called Knuckledusters and is about a family of knuckledusters.

***

This episode of Knuckledusters is boring. I think the problem with the show is that I'm not particularly interested in knuckledusters.

***

Beware of Greeks gifting bears.

***

I think loneliness might have made me less perceptive. Eg. Just realised my computer isn't on and I'm writing this on a matchbox.

***

I used to hang around with unicyclists, but always felt like a bit of a second wheel.

***

I had a really soggy Chinese meal the other day. Burst water mein, apparently.

***

Remember, I'm part Chinese, so my material has a Lenny Henry-esque air of authenticity.

***

Last night I dreamt up an idiom: "Happy as a hen, fat, with friends". That was the sentence structure my subconscious chose. I dreamt commas.

***

Poor turnout at the International Hermit Convention this year.

***

Emmeline Pankhurst's favourite beach activity was riding a Suffragette-Ski.

***

Irony is a quantum fluctuation. Tweets can be both ironic and earnest simultaneously. But this one isn't.

***

Honeste is the best police.

***

Water! Falling from the sky! Individual little packets of water - plummeting to earth at speed! WHAT AN EXCITING MORNING.

***

I can't decide if I've done loads of stuff today or not. I'm prolifickle.

***

The penfish is mightier than the swordfish.

***

I don't really agree with satanic guacamole. I'm just playing Devil's avocado.

***

If I wasn't me, I don't think I'd follow me. I'm going to change my style of tweeting. Fewer puns, more revolutionary politics.

***

Mash the State! Capitalism is the seatbelt caught in the car door of progress! Stop shopping in the stupormarket!

***

I must be the only person in the world

***

If boredom was fondue, I'd be Switzerland.

***

I spend all day at work staring dead-eyed & bleary at my computer screen. And what's the first thing I do when I get home? Turn on my laptop.

***

Squintuplets: five blurry little babies.

***

You can track nosey rabbits by their eavesdroppings.

***

This room is quiet and dimly lit. But there's a tangible potential in the air. I just need a spark to light it. #anothergameofFreeCell?

***

Right - I'll brush my teeth, you brush your teeth and we'll meet back here to compare brushes and teeth.

***

OK, let's see 'em. Hmm. Yours has more bristles than mine. Now, what about the brush? [AHAHA teeth bristles!]

***

Fipokmlknl

popkp[wkd999


...

Sorry I was finding it difficult to type for a minute there, because I was PATTING MYSELF ON THE BACK.

So it goes

*BLAM*


Somebody call the police!


*SMASH*


Hello? Someone's trying to get into my house!


*CREEEAAAAK - SNAP*


Please send some help. My address? It's 48 Wal...


*CRUNCH*


Heh heh heh.


Aaaaagh! Please don't hurt me.

Heh heh heh.

*SQUAWK*

Whuh - ?

Oh thank God! 


*SQUAWK SQUAWK*

Ohhhh.... nooooooooo

God bless you, Captain Beaksworthy!

*EGG*

*laughter*

***

There we go. How's that for a different opening?

That will show them. That'll show 'em. Th'll'm.

I should be doing something more useful than this. That's always the case.

But today in particular. I had a long to-do list. This post was one of the items, but was not a priority.

I intended to wake up early and make a dental appointment. I'm not having any teeth problems, but I haven't been to the dentist in nearly ten years. That seems like too long.

Anyway, I didn't wake up in time.

Then, I intended to go to a coffee shop in Summertown and concentrate on some writing. No distractions - just black coffee and dedication. A productive morning.

I didn't wake up in time for that either. I didn't wake up in time for much morning.

But still, I can do my writing here at home. I just need to concentrate. All writing, all work, no distractions, no problem.

I made a playlist of songs. They didn't really have anything to do with the writing, but it seemed like more fun. Then I ate some bran flakes, then I watched an episode of Larry Sanders, and now I'm here.

My to-do list is still there, untouched like the many to-do lists of Pompeii.

I didn't even write it down. I never create actual to-do lists. I just have them in my head. It's much better than putting them on paper because having a to-do list in your head is constantly oppressive and unreliable.

Having such a terrible system prompts me to get the tasks done.

Except I haven't got any of them done.

Except this.

Accept this.

But I have finished a book, and you know what that means!

***

An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 17

Who's been reading all the books on a certain shelf consecutively? Who has taken far too long to do so? Who's the black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks?

You damn right.


Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16

***

Kurt Vonnegut - Slaughterhouse 5

Vonnegut again.

Vonnegut begin again.

Vonnegut begin agut.

I read this quite recently, but thought I'd read it again, because it's good. I'm sure you all know that.

It's an impressive work that's anti-war and anti-linear. It just goes to show that it's sometimes best to deal with serious issues in an unconventional way, to really bring home the real impact.

The descriptions of the second world war are terrifying. It's incredible to think that so many people had to go through such horrors, and that it wasn't even that long ago.

There are a lot of things wrong with the world today, but I don't think we should lose sight of how relatively horror-free the modern world is.

And by "we" I mean white, Western, heterosexual men. There are other horrors out there at the moment, but they're mostly experienced by people with a darker skin pigment or less money than me, so it doesn't really matter.

(I like my irony like I like my coffee: black and a woman)

I suppose it was the seeming universality of WWII that makes it so scary. A whole generation of people lived (if they were lucky) through a huge mess of fire and bombs and rations.

It makes me feel like I should probably stop whining about getting up early for work, and not completing my to-do list.

But early mornings are my Hitler.

Anyway, the book is funny and scary and interesting.

In many ways, Vonnegut was lucky. Being there for the destruction of Dresden gave him some real authority in his writing. I've never seen a whole city destroyed. Which means my writing will always seem a bit frivolous.

Tragedy is the writer's fuel.

Fill 'er up.

***

[Not really, not really, not really. I'm touching wood right now, and buying a three-course meal for some magpies. I'd rather have a lack of tragedy than a good idea for a book.

Though couldn't it be said that me not writing a book would be the greatest tragedy of all?

It's a Catch-22. Or a Slaughterhouse 5.

Or one of those other warnumber books.]

If man is five...

Hey, I haven't done this in a while! I'm up (relatively) late, as I can't sleep.

I think part of the problem is I have a certain bit of a Pixies song in my head. It's the middle eight of Monkey Gone to Heaven. I don't really know what a middle eight is, but I read about it in this article. The writer thinks this is the best middle eight. He's right, it's pretty great. I never noticed how good it was before I read about it.

You can hear it at 1:50 on the below video.



And if man is five, and if man is five, if man is five, if man is five, then the devil is six, if the devil is six, if the devil is six, if the devil is six. If the devil is six, then GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN.

And ever since, I've had that bit in my head. It's been two days. I hope it stops soon, or it might drive me insane.

Frank Black looks funny in that video - like a Philip Seymour Hoffman character.

(and if man is five, if man is five,)

Anyway, I can't sleep. It's on a loop in my head. So it's better to be awake and distracted, rather than in bed in the dark.

I wouldn't do this any earlier in the week. I need my shut-eye. Monday or Tuesday nights can't be late ones. Today is Wednesday, and it's not so bad. Only two days to go. Thursday night you can stay up as late as you want, because Friday gives you an energy boost. They should market an energy drink called 'Friday'.

(then the devil is six, if the devil is six, if the devil is six,)

I could be mugged on a Thursday and have both my legs broken, get smashed in the face with an old-fashioned telephone, and have my library card revoked, and I'd still have a spring in my step on Friday. Good old Fridays.

That Friday feeling.

You know that Crunchie advert? This one:



That's a stupid advert.

Don't get me wrong, the visuals are pretty good. A chocolate rollercoaster - that's fine.

The song is also fine, albeit a bit over the top. I fucking love Crunchies, but even I don't get so excited that I just can't hide it. They're obviously trying to suggest the same feeling as getting an erection in class, just before being asked to write something on the whiteboard. You can't hide that. You're excited. But I never got erections over a Crunchie. (And anyone who says they caught me masturbating over a Double Decker is a filthy liar)

The problem with the advert is the slogan 'Have you got that Friday feeling?'

What does that have to do with the chocolate bar? Are Crunchies only sold on Fridays? Does the mixture of honeycomb and milk chocolate produce similar reactions to a particular day of the week?

It makes no sense. The Friday feeling and the chocolate bar are entirely distinct. That's rubbish marketing. You can't just imply a relationship between any good thing and your product. It would give license to idiocy:

Orgasms are Amazing - Alliance and Leicester!

Remember VE Day? Buy Petit Filous!

(then GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN)

It's now midnight. I should go back to bed. I know it's not that late, but I think I need more sleep than the average bear. And they hibernate.

I also like pic-a-nic baskets, but that's beside the point.

(and if man is five, if man is five,)

Throughout this post, I've been wondering if you spell the days of the week with capital letters. Is it Thursday or thursday? I honestly don't know. And I don't really know how to check. I'm pretty sure months have capitals. And I always spell the year with a capital 2.

(then the devil is six, if the devil is six, if the devil is six,)

I found a wasp on my keyboard before I started this. I think that might be good luck. I tried to shake him out of the window, but it was raining and he was pernicious. I was worried I might drop the laptop out of the window. I don't know if my warranty covers acts of wasp.

In the end, I used the old glass 'n' postcard technique. I can never kill an insect. I feel guilty about it. Also, who needs a dead wasp all mashed into the space bar?

(then GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN)
Yes, ok. I'm procrastinating. I'll go to bed. I hope that the song leaves my head. I think Hell would be an eternal middle eight. You'd be constantly brought to the brink of the chorus, but would be pulled back to begin the climb once more - never to reach the summit. It would probably be something worse than a Pixies song though. Maybe the middle eight of a Westlife song.

Little known fact: the middle eights of all Westlife songs have explicit Satanic messages in them, but nobody notices because they've always either turned the song off by then or shot themselves in the face four times.

(GOD IS SEVEN. GOD IS SEVEN.

THIS MONKEY'S GONE TO HEAVEN!)
And this bear's gone to bed.