Monday, 17 February 2014

You Know that Feeling You Get? (Part One)

You know that feeling you get when you finally work out what the phrase you’re adopted actually means we’ve all been there, haven’t we? and it feels like you’ve spent your whole life wearing your jumper back-to-front only nobody thought to mention it to you because this world needs its eccentrics and besides it makes you look quite cute and funny in a ridiculous sort of way even if you don’t quite seem to get the joke and it’s the nature of rhetorical questions that they don’t get an answer so let’s move on shall we now?

And afterwards every time you put your jumper on it’s back-to-flipping front but there’s nothing you can do about it and even when you do try and turn it round to wear it properly it’s still back-to-front and there’s apparently nothing you can do about that either and it feels like one of those weird hallucinatory dreams which your mother refers to as do you remember being delirious last night? when you climb on top of the loo to escape from the dragon no an actual dragon don’t be facetious and you’re asleep but awake at the same time and you look down from the summit of Mount Lavatory don’t say toilet and notice with despair that your pyjamas are back-to-front as well and that trying to escape is impossible because you can’t dig a tunnel to freedom when you’re floating in outer-space and your space-suit doesn’t fit or is it because it’s back-to-front?

It’s okay isn’t it? when you’re a little boy because you can be all aaah and cute and isn’t he just the sweetest thing? apart from the odd occasion which is more frequent than you’d ever admit such as when you hurl your prized Roberts radio against the wall in a fit of rage and it shatters into a million pieces which fly around the room like a 747 aeroplane piloted by an IRA bomb which you pick up and hide in the bin because no-one would ever think to look there would they? with the giant battery still hanging limply from its attachment like your broken heart or the odd occasion when you’re round at the house of family friends for Sunday lunch and you’re called in but what with you being even further away than the faeries their annoyed mother has to come out to call you in a second time and tells you out of nowhere how lucky you are to have been adopted and you look down at your feet for where else is there to look? and you notice that your shoes are on the wrong way round Blimey you think maybe that explains why I’m so clumsy and you go in for lunch and everyone’s already sitting down and as they look at you when you come in you feel a stab of empathy for the roast chicken and wonder if roast chickens are lucky as well while at the same time the soundless voice which sometimes bounces around the inside of your skull starts intimating that they’ve all been talking about how lucky you are and you try and take the wrong-way-round shoes off but they seem to be stuck and you wonder if you might be able to remove them with the orange-handled electric carving knife which is being cheerfully wielded by their father which makes him look even more terrifying than usual.

Sunday, 9 February 2014

This Week’s Football Punditry

Every week, we ask a famous bus-driver for his views on the latest shenanigans in the Premiership. This week, Dave, famed for his handling of the Tunbridge Wells-Rusthall 107 shuttle service (which doesn’t exist).

fergusthepoet: So, Dave, with Citeh losing more points, Arsenal playing like a boutique of poodles and the mighty Chelsea back to their glorious best under Voldermortinho, surely it’s all over bar the phone-ins?

Dave: I’m more of a cricket man myself. That Ireland, eh? Beating the Welsh. Marvellous. And without Pietersen. We used to get a lot of stabbings on the 107, but not since all the undesirables left to become bankers and MPs.

f: Thanks, Dave. As insightful as ever.

Next week: Ahmed, who operates the Kabul-Islamabad suicide run.

Friday, 7 February 2014

Just a Word

Noel (Edmonds) believes that if you order wishes from the Cosmos, the Cosmos will oblige, just as long as you follow the correct ordering protocols. You must write your wish down on a piece of paper. You must keep your wish general. The Cosmos won’t, for some reason, grant over-specific wishes.
   “Yes, the word Cosmos might sound off-putting,” he says, “but you don’t have to call it Cosmos. Cosmos is just a word. You can call it anything you like. You can call it Argos or MFI.”
Jon Ronson “Lost at Sea”

Just a Word

To my surprise, I learn that cosmos
is just a word, and Noel Fruitcake
(it’s just a word) has never stumbled
across the likes of connotation.

I write a wish upon a piece
of paper. “Dear Wish-Fairy,”
(it’s just a hyphenated word)
“New name for Noel Edmonds, please.”

The answer comes back quicker than
expected. “Too specific. Be
more vague. Sincerely yours, The Cosmos,
It’s Just a Word, Plc.
(P.s. It’s just his name, so why
not try some cosmic DIY?)”

The Cosmos offers free advice
to those who ask (correct ordering
protocols needn’t be applied,
apparently, and who knew that?).

It’s Noel Creepy (just a word),
and Mr Slimy Smug-Faced Tosser,
or Anus Edmonds (all just words),
or Queerbeard Childmolester now.


“My Dear Cosmos, Many thanks
for your advice. Address the problem
of stupid folk who think that words
are words and nothing more. Cheers, F.”

Sunday, 2 February 2014

Out of One's Mind

To journey from that ever distant
demesne, attached to now by paths
so Byzantine the Devil couldn't
negotiate his way around them... last, we learn that all those things
we thought we'd kept as safe, like love
and poetry and memories
(yes, most of all and memories)
were lost in transit. Who knows now?