Wednesday 20 April 2011

Wisdom.

Sometimes toilet doors have very sound advice. When I was 16 I worked a few sample sales in Brick Lane, and whilst weeing in one of the ridiculously fashionable bars i noticed a beaut of a sentence; “Don’t sweat the petty things, Don’t pet the sweaty things”. Sometimes things hit you at just the right time. Troubling myself over little things, and the troubles surrounding heavy petting, were two things featuring a lot in my mind as a 16 year old. Scribbled on the back of that door I had a mantra, something to repeat and recite every time either one of those things became a little overwhelming.

I was having a wee in a similar Brighton establishment on Saturday night, and a couple more sentences struck me. “Be yourself; because those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter”, again, really nice timing Mr Door. Nestled underneath were a few more words of wisdom “Do everything you said you’d do whilst drunk. This will teach you to keep your mouth shut”.

Basically all these things are true. For however many nice well balanced moments of certainty we might have in our lives, there should rightfully be a few moments of absolute panic. There should be moments when who we are, or were, or want to be might feel like it’s slipping through our fingers. Moments of complete fear at the realisation of our abject insignificance, when the prospect of any other being understanding where we might currently be seems painfully unlikely. It’s at these moments that we should keep our eyes wide open, faith can be found in the most surprising places.



Sunday 10 April 2011

I wanna be yours.

This is very maybe my favourite poem in the world.
We drove down to Hastings last night to see John Cooper Clarke, it was a treat of a night.

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner
breathing in your dust
I wanna be your Ford Cortina
I will never rust
If you like your coffee hot
let me be your coffee pot
You call the shots
I wanna be yours

I wanna be your raincoat
for those frequent rainy days
I wanna be your dreamboat
when you want to sail away
Let me be your teddy bear
take me with you anywhere
I don’t care
I wanna be yours

I wanna be your electric meter
I will not run out
I wanna be the electric heater
you’ll get cold without
I wanna be your setting lotion
hold your hair in deep devotion
Deep as the deep Atlantic ocean
that’s how deep is my devotion




Monday 4 April 2011

Why cleaning is like wanking.

A good clean can be a very sweet thing. I’m not talking about a mundane every day kind of clean, I don’t mean washing up, or having to pick up clothes to see the floor again. I mean an all out scrub, clearing out your drawers, ‘my new life is going to always be this clean and tidy’ clean. This kind of clean can put things back in their place, into proportion, and back in control.

Now I am well aware this all sounds a little obsessive compulsive, maybe a tad catholic, marginally 1950’s housewife. I am none of these things, but I am a woman. Occasionally things have been known to build up, muddle me up and come pouring out of me like a confused and hairy psychopath. It is at these moments I realise it’s time to whip the Hoover out.

The subsequent clean extends beyond my home to my body, to exercise videos and face masks; quite frankly there’s no better solution to morning after guilt than a little self-improvement. But this is where I’m faced with a contradiction, if I am to believe Tyler Durden’s cheeky little mantra in Chuck Palahniuk’s ‘Fight Club’, (and of course I’m going to , because I flipping well love Fight Club) that “self improvement is masturbation”, than all this cleaning and washing and running on the spot is, surprisingly enough, going to get me nowhere. Hmm.

If I’m honest, I’ve never had an issue with masturbation, it might not get you to Cambridge, but I’ve heard it can be quite pleasurable. And if a clean kitchen is going to relinquish some of the mental attributed to my sex, then I’m ok with that too.