On Liquids

I went to sixth-form college in Eastleigh.

Yesterday's by-election has made me think about the time I spent there, and the people I encountered.

Ha! Not really!

I did go to college in Eastleigh, but know nothing about the place, and only went outside to buy McDonald's coffee and terrible albums on the day of release.

Also, I haven't really been following the by-election news, even though I might well have caught a glimpse of my old stamping grounds on the television. (I didn't have stamping grounds. I barely had feet at the time.)

My only significant memory of being in Eastleigh was a constant feeling of hatred towards immigrants. But that subsided whenever the bus carried me back into the tolerant arms of caring, reasonable, socialist Southampton. My friends and I would show our disdain for the bourgeoisie by going to Sega World and dropping £18 on a session of Time Crisis.

***

Imagine a mirror world, where males are female, words are backwards, and sheep are threatened by menstruation.

Go on. Imagine it.

Now, have you imagined the punchline? All of the ingredients are there.

It's not really a punchline, so much as a thing that I thought of which made no sense without that build-up.

Are you there yet?

That's right.

The Girl Who Cried Flow

"Flow" is "wolf" backwards. And the word "flow" probably has something to do with periods or whatever. I can't google it, because I'm worried about what I'll find.

There might be a cleverer or more succinct way to do that "joke". Feel free to write your own version. I'll gather together all of the entries, and will compile them into a big ball of screwed up paper.

I'll have to print them out first.

***

The good thing about writing a blog post in segments is I can use clever sequencing to make up for a deficit in quality. Always start with your strongest segment, then continue with something of real substance. Make sure you end on a high note. You can bury all kinds of shit in the middle.

I haven't sequenced this blog post yet. This section is in third place as I write it, but I might decide to put it first. It seems pretty strong.

Of course, my putting this first might be confusing, given that I'm about to mention the wolf joke and McDonald's coffee. Perhaps I should just leave things as they are.

It would be a shame, though, as the following segment is going to be AMAZING, and would make for a good opening.

***

Hello. This is the beginning of the blog post.

***

I came up with an obscene rap in the shower the other day. I won't transcribe it, because it doesn't really work unless it's accompanied by some heavy beats and/or the sound of running water.

I think the time I spend in the shower is the most creative of my day. I don't know what it is about rubbing things into my body and hair that makes me so susceptible to inspiration. It's like a meditative state, I suppose. You don't need to concentrate on lathering yourself, so your brain isn't encumbered by the usual roaring mind traffic.

Thinking and clothes are the biggest impediments to the creation of art.

Our new shower is terrible, though. The brilliant ideas I have - and to give you a sense of scope, my rap rhymed "retention" with "pension" - can't come as thick and fast as I would like (shampoo viscosity). We're hopefully getting our bathroom done at some point. When we have a fully-functional shower, I'll be churning out ideas faster than you can say "Paul - you've been in the shower for nine years. Do you still want this tea?"

***

They sell sanguinello juice at Waitrose. It's expensive, but it's there. I don't know anywhere else that sells it. But I can't stock up, can I? Even if the juice lasts for a long time. I can't. What would people say if I had a trolley full of sanguinello juice (in bottles)? They'd laugh for sure. They might make a cutting remark.

It would be expensive, not just financially, but in terms of self-esteem. What would people say?

Maybe I could anticipate the remarks by muttering "blood orange, blood orange, blood orange" over and over again. And each time I said "blood", it would be accompanied by my electric LED baseball cap displaying the word "BLOOD".

That might make it better. I would not be mocked. I would be respected.

I really like sanguinello juice. It's much better than water.

***

I'm dusting my hands to signal that it's all over. I've gone back and carefully sequenced this whole thing. If I could use one word to describe my writing, it would be "honed".

I'm really disgusted with myself.

This whole thing is a disgrace.

I'm angry.

I'm sleepy.

I expected better.

Eureka

Settle down, class.

I could never be a teacher. (Stop talking) I don't have the patience or the tolerance for people younger than me. I'm afraid of metre sticks. Bells make be violent. I can't read. I encourage fights. I have no teaching qualifications and no desire to get them. I have a beard.

But some people can do it. They must be driven by selfless ambition. (It's your own time you're wasting) They want to mould young minds and prepare the generation of tomorrow for the rigours of... tomorrow. And Saturday.

They probably like children. That's what they've got going for them. And I'm pleased. We need teachers. I couldn't be one of them, but that's not to say that all teachers are control freaks, pedants, show-offs, failed stand-up comedians or chalk addicts.

Yes, chalk. I'm aware that chalk makes me sound like an old man. I'm sure your touch-screen blackboards don't need chalk. Or, if they do, it's a special kind of invisible wi-fi chalk that's also an atlas.

When I'm older, my experience of chalk will be totally alien to young people. It will be our equivalent of racism or disco.

"How did you live like that?" they'll say.

And I'll say: "We lived with a permanent undercurrent of melancholy that would only dissipate with the coming of Nicki Minaj."

They'll say: "Nicki Minaj? Is that your current cultural reference. She's older than you. Also, given that this is the future, she's probably dead by now."

I'll say: "Not only that, but I don't really know who she is. I just heard it once. I didn't even know how to spell her name. I thought it might be "Menage". It was all chalk and menages back in my day."

Then they'll turn off their consciousness-circuits out of boredom.

In the future, young people will be robots.

Where was I?

Ah yes: teaching.

I'd like to congratulate all of the people brave enough to stand in front of a pack of savage infants and try to get them to do long division. You're the real heroes. You don't even get to kill people, like soldiers or inept fire-fighters. Your only perks are really long holidays and the pride of a job well done and Apple Tango from the vending machine.

(No smoking, boys and girls. Shut up and drink ink.)

Teaching.

***

I didn't want to talk about teaching. I just started typing. I have no say in this process.

Lor.

See? No thinking man would type "Lor".

We nearly saw a squirrel get run over this morning.

Well, not nearly. But nearly nearly nearly.

The driver saw it and hit the brakes. But for a few seconds, we were frozen in terror. Imagine seeing a squirrel being run over! It doesn't bear thinking/writing about.

The driver saw our shock and smiled. I hope he was just happy to have saved the life of a cute mammal. I hope he wasn't laughing at our concern. He might have thought we were overreacting, just because Lucy screamed "HITLER!" and I dropped a tropical fish tank.

But I'm sure it was the first thing that made him smile. The kindness.

No doubt the squirrel is laughing about it with his friends right now. Its whole life probably flashed before its eyes. Acorns of many hues, branch leaping... some other things. Squirrels lead very full lives.

Lor.

Pluh. I'm sick of this "this afternoon" business this afternoon. I'm impatient. Another reason I couldn't teach. I just want to go somewhere else. The evening, maybe. I'm on my way there, but the commute is a long one.

Let's play a game. I'm thinking of an animal.

...

...

...

...

...

No, it was a French pig.

Your go.

...

...

...

...

...

Is it a fish?

Oh. That was easy.

...

No, I'm bored now.

***

I was raised by wolves.

My parents just kept throwing them into the well, until the water level was high enough for them to pluck me out.

You might think I would have been mauled by the drowning wolves. But no - they were already dead. My parents have always been extremely thoughtful.

They could have thrown any object into the well to displace the water. That's basic Archimediary thinking. But wolves were all they had to hand. Dozens of dead wolves.

They also could have lowered a rope. But I was already clutching two wolves (I'd been holding them when I fell), and to let go now would have set back the taming process.

So they did the right thing. I was safe and sound. They told me not to play too close to the well any more, especially whilst enwolfened. I agreed. And from that point on, we've been firm friends.

They can no longer use the well (or the wolves) for water. The area has been cordoned off as a warning to people who might think that any of the things I've discussed today are worth doing.

They are not. None of them.

Apposite Blog Post Title

I wonder: what will be my legacy?

Unorthodox use of colons? Poss:bly.

I may achieve greatness in a certain field, such as ice hockey, figure skating or ice hating. It may even have nothing to do with ice. Who can say? Ours is not to question Y (or any of the other letters).

Even if we really want to know what Y is going moonlighting as a vowel. We can't question him. He has rights. We have to follow letter law by the letter of the law (which oddly is an H).

It could be that this blog is my legacy. I certainly seem obsessed with documenting birthdays, anniversaries, post milestones etc. I probably like to ascribe significance to my actions because I fear their insignificance.

Perhaps we all do that. We mark the passage of time with parties and tattoos and cakes (and tattoos of cakes), but it's pretty meaningless. Like throwing a flag at random into the Amazon and claiming it as important. Then reminiscing about that bit of water, showing pictures of it, listing the bit of water on Facebook, even though in the grand scheme of things it's just one drop in a torrent. And each other droplet is just as significant and just as meaningless.

Which is depressing, but also exciting. The river keeps moving, but we move with it. We can leave things behind. We can meet other people swept up in the current. We can look at a turtle. We can crack our heads open on a log. We can fashion a canoe out of a pre-existing canoe.

We're all wet.

This is an excellent analogy. It makes sense all the way through. Think about the symbolism.

Actually, don't think about it. Listen to this instead:



The video's a bit weird though.

***

It's Monday night. The night of the wolf.

There is a wolf somewhere RIGHT NOW.

Try not to think about it.


I SAID TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT!

I'm probably too obsessed with my own legs to get a job in showbusiness.

"What does that mean?" you may ask.

I don't know, I may answer.

I just started writing a sentence and it came into my head. My legs and showbusiness came into my head.

I think it speaks of a deep truth. Maybe I am obsessed with my legs: my massive thighs; my muscular calves; my white scars, deep like Arctic ravines; my noble knees; my Sooty & Sweep knee pads; my proud, girder-like ankles.

But I don't think that would stop me getting ahead in Hollywood. Unless I couldn't complete an audition without stroking my own quadriceps. But I could work it into the audition. Maybe the character I'm playing is mentally ill, I'll say (I'll say!).

God, I love my legs.

What about you?

Are you thinking about my legs right now?

...


Well?




JESUS! NOT AGAIN, GODDAMMIT!

THINK ABOUT THE LEGS!

THE LEGS!

We've all had some fun here tonight.

I'd like to finish by wishing you all the best of luck this coming Wednesday.

It's not going to be easy, of course; it never is. But it's only once a year. Like the old song says:

"On the twelfth of January, significant things are planuary."

If we all stick together, I'm sure we'll emerge into Thursday with our heads held high.

Especially if we get through Wednesday night. The night of the other wolf.



I'm off to not spend an unnatural time exploring my own legs or anything.