I Used to be a Showgirl

Hey Asshole: Happy New Year.

I hope the festive season was a joyous one. I myself spent it wallowing in fine wines and opulence trying to drown my disillusionment in the sorrows of the poor. I feel I did quite well, for I am ready to face 2011 with renewed vigour! Hurrah!

But really, I am actually quite looking forward to this year, even though I'm entering it with a mystery illness and no actual plans made. My secret? Heroin. That's right, I'm drawing my inspiration from Sally Bowles, star of the musical hit Cabaret. Oh, heroine has an "E" on the end?? How misl'E'ading of me...guffaw.

Anyway, I have a little story to share, something I hope y'all can learn from. It's something that has bugged me for a while now. I'm not sure if it's a new trend that has recently emerged or if I've simply moved in better circles until now. (To my current circle: who am I trying to kid? I do not have a circle.)

So here we go:

I was watching the 100 Greatest Musicals countdown the other night; a repeat from a few years ago in which the "great" British public further cast themselves from my regard by voting GREASE as the number one musical of all time, putting The Sound of Music at number 2. Bullshit, you stupid twats. Anyway.

Tony Hadley came on to discuss one of the musicals. It could have been Les Mis, it could have been Cats, perhaps it was West Side Story, we'll never know. At least we'll never know until More4 run out of billing material again and they reshow it in a few months time. Anyway, whatever it was he was talking about must have been upsetting because he said, and I quote,

"...I was in absolute bits!"

I was nearly SICK.

Tony, if you're reading this, take note:

"absolute" = "complete"

"I was in complete bits."

It's a contradiction, Tony, a contradiction. One cannot be in "absolute bits" because that implies you are in whole bits. There's no such thing as a whole bit, at least not in the context you were using. I think what you meant to say was, "I was absolutely in bits", which would mean the musical was so moving you were metaphorically a broken wreck, perhaps like a smashed glass. (I went for a glass a) because the broken pieces of glass could look like large scattered tears and b) because it's quite sad to see a broken glass, especially if that glass was part of a set you got for your birthday and the shop you bought it from no longer stocks that range...but now we're moving slightly into the literal and I don't think that was what Tony Hadley had in mind.)

Don't worry, Tone, you aren't the only person to have done it. I've heard it several times this past year, you were just on the wrong compilation show at the wrong time. But I've opened the door to you; why not come on over to the real world where people aren't made of gold and many don't believe in the existence of the soul and sentences actually make SENSE. (NB, I do not include myself in my statement about the soul; I'm merely speaking as a representative of our maddeningly atheistic society.)

Come on guys, let's make 2011 our year for using language PROPERLY. YEAH!! *high five*

Ohhh I'm never going to get through to you; no one's even reading this! Damn you, Tony Hadley!!

Sigh. Here's a New Year poem:

Today I am a caper at a party,
tomorrow I shall be a germ,
the day after that, stomach acid,
and then? Perhaps rickets.
I tire of myself quickly, you see;
every day is like New Year, I'm always
reinventing. Sometimes I'll put on
a different hat every day for months on end,
each a little more wacky than the last.
People like that, they like it if you're wacky.
Wackiness gets you places:

Her new book has such a charming wackiness about it
I hardly put it down for three years!

Our next guest is anything but ordinary, currently touring the country with her outlandish stage show.

Okay, that one said outlandish,
but that basically means wacky, right?
I'm never quite sure what I mean,
but who is?
Yesterday I heard someone trying to explain
how a gate works:

No Susan, you just open it and walk through.

I see birds and reptiles everywhere.

The Devil asks you, "What went wrong?"

I breathe. I take a can of cold whipped cream from the fridge. I eat the entire can. I place the empty can on the table, thin beads of condensation rolling down the side towards the polished wood. I breathe. I feel nothing.

I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days, and as a result, I took a spiritual journey through nature at its most basic level. Here's how it went:

Last night I switched off my light, convincing myself I was tired. I lay there for HOURS, absolutely not tired still switched on to the terrors of the days. I guess zen has never really been my style.

It must have become too much after a while though because eventually I found myself in a forest. I had a torch and a napsack and a feeling I had to walk through the forest. And so I walked.

Jeezum, I must have walked for miles. And miles. My feet had worn away and yet I strove onwards, carried only by the bloodied stumps of my ankles. Soon I saw a sad light coming from somewhere in the distance...as I approached I saw what I'd been looking for and shouted out,

"Oh flaccid penis of life! What am I going to do?"

"My child," replied the flaccid penis of life, who sounded a lot like Dame Maggie Smith, "just let go."

"But I can't!"

"Dear one, be calm. Learn from me; if you force it, it won't rise and things will be worse. Then everyone will be disappointed."

"You're comparing my huge and terrible upset to erectile dysfunction?"

"Yes, child."

"...you make a lot of sense. Thank you."

And then the flaccid penis of life granted me my feet back and told me to run home and report what I had seen in my massively popular blog, The Rattle Bag. And so that's just what I've done.

Fucking hell, Nobody...I just compared my huge and terrible upset to erectile dysfunction. What is the MATTER with me?! :/

"You can find
a million faults in me
but Darling you can't say
I gave you nothing."

Update...

...just a quick note to tell y'all of a small progression in the mystery one has found oneself embroiled in...

Yesterday I saw the castrato on the bus. I haven't seen him for an age as I've been off work dying of stomach terrors. WELL I hardly recognised him! He now sports a shaven head and...A MOUSTACHE. To me that indicates one thing: A criminal mastermind trying to disguise his guilt with a facial adornment.

Perhaps he read my last post. In which case he'll also read this. Well I'm onto you castrato; you won't get away with it forever. The world wants Mr Whitehairblackbeard back. SO GIVE HIM UP YOU CRAP BAG SANS BALLSES.

I hope you're still on the look out since the case obviously isn't closed yet. Stay safe, wieners :/

Call me Hercule

Lately I've been experiencing a lot of coincidences. Today it reached the stage where I decided that they're not coincidences and are in fact connected by a universal strand meant for closer examination.

Yes that's right!! A MYSTERY TO BE SOLVED!! Oh doesn't that just spark a deep and dreadful excitement in the gut?

So first let me give you the back story, bring you up to speed on the whole operation before we move forward:

Some time last year, while I was still unemployed, drizzling around the house in my over-sized pyjamas with feet too cold and a look of deep space glazed on my vacant face; yes at some point during that year I managed to make it out of the house for a visit to my favourite high street media vendor where I bought a copy of I <3 Huckabees. Really strange, confusing film!! I've watched it twice and still find it difficult to keep up. Anyway, if you've seen the film, you'll know that this purchase and subsequent viewing of mine was the first coincidence, though of course I didn't realise it then.

Anyway, then I started work. As anyone who reads this blog with any continuity knows, I ride the bus every day to and from work. Obviously a lot of the same people get on the same bus as me, so seeing them every day isn't that big a deal. This will however become more significant as my story unfolds, so bear this in mind: I get the bus with the same people most days; I know what they look like; I notice if they aren't there. Okay, got that? Good.

Most days when I'm heading to work I get off at the far end of town so I have a fifteen or so minute walk down to work to clear my head and prepare me for another monotonous day of treachery. At some point, probably around May/June of this year, every day when I got off the bus, I would see a tall man in a pale blue shirt with white hair and a black beard, carrying a rucksack. A fairly distinctive looking man to most people, let alone an obsessive person spotter like me!

The first time I saw him, I obviously thought nothing of it, other than, "Wow, what white hair he has; so striking against that rugged black beard." Then, on another day, I was catching the bus home and I saw him again. This time he was at the opposite end of town. Fair enough, perhaps he's like me and likes to walk through town for some fresh air.

The third time was more significant - I saw him on my lunch break. I was starting to wonder if I'd bagged myself a stalker, but decided that couldn't be the case since he didn't seem to register my presence at all, even though I stared at him so intently every time he might well have burst into flames. That or he was just a really good stalker and is in fact hiding in my wardrobe right now...

...shudder.

Anyway, I kept seeing him. Pretty much every day for three whole weeks, There are a lot of people in and around Leeds and for me to see the same stranger every day for three weeks convinces me even further that this was no coincidence.

For the next part in the saga we need to go back to my fellow bus users. I get on at a stop near my house every morning. Three stops later a man, always dressed in a black shirt and a black and white stripy tie, gets on. He looks like a normal guy. HOWEVER he had black hair, PEPPERED ENTIRELY SYMMETRICALLY WITH GREY HAIRS. His voice is also really girlish for a man. Traits of an evil mastermind? Well stick with me, my theory is coming, slowly but surely...

The third and probably most significant base fact I want to give you, are details of the black shoes I've been seeing everywhere for the last two weeks. Seriously, everywhere I turn there's a single, shiny black shoe lying there as if it's been kicked off in a mad scramble. It's always one and they're always in the weirdest places: the middle of a road; stuffed in a bush; tossed in a field full of horses. It's so strange. And sinister.

Still awake? Excellent, here comes my sewing together of facts and follow up theory!

Probably about two weeks ago, around the same time I started seeing all the shoes, the castrato didn't get on the bus for many a day. The bearded man also disappeared. I haven't seen him for an AGE. Having seen him so often for so long, I was obviously worried.

Then, tonight, when the castrato boarded the bus and immediately fell asleep, and I saw another black shoe in the bus station, it all fell into place! THE CASTRATO MUST HAVE MURDERED THE BEARDED MAN AND THROWN ALL THE SHOES HE OWNED AROUND LEEDS AND THE SURROUNDING AREA SO HE WOULDN'T BE DISCOVERED!

THAT'S why the pepper haired man was so tired on the bus today! I could barely contain my terrified excitement at having struck upon this theory. Oh good God, I thought, what should I do?! Oh I know, I'll write a blog about it, logging my suspicions and vowing to keep my audience gripped with any further information I uncover over the next few months.

So there you have it, a real life mystery, signed, sealed and delivered avec verdict. I mean, obviously I can't be 100% certain I'm right, which is why I won't go to the police until I have something physical to show them - I didn't manage to pick up any of the shoes and can't very well go up to the man on the bus in case he murders me too; the only thing I really have to go on besides the facts I've presented is the extra strong inkling I've had to listen to ABBA lately...ONE OF WHOM HAS A BEARD :/

As I said, I'll keep all four of my faithful readers posted with any developments. All helpful suggestions welcome. I just want the bearded man found so we can lay his perfectly contrasting face/head to rest if indeed he is dead. However I'd also like to say,

"Mr Whitehairbackbeard, if you read this, please get in touch, I'm worried about you and think you've been murdered."


Let's just try and keep one another safe guys. And if you hear a castrato singing out a ditty in your ear, I'd like to know about it straight away.

Peace out, Napoleon.

Lines That Don't Collate

Well! Never have I more seriously considered lobbing my apple core at 'yooman bean! There I stood, waiting patiently for my bus, next to a lady who very well looked as though she was queuing for the same one as me.

I saw the bus on the approach so I got out my Pass of Extortion and waited for it to pull into the stand. There were several people in front of me, so I was in no rush to cut in front of the woman. I turned to her and said something along the lines of, "Why good day to you, lady of a similar politeness and social decency level as myself, art thou waiting for this here omnibus?"

Before she had chance to respond, a large turd with legs was pushing its way in between us, making for the queue of people in front of me! So shocked was I, I blurted out something along the lines of, "Erm, HELLO?" avec Ricki Lake hand/head gestures of indignation.

The turd had the turdy audacity to turn its turdy head and say, in it's stinking turd voice, "Oh don't worry about it! Take your time!" with a large intonation of turd-flavoured sarcasm, as though the bus had been there for five minutes rather than the five seconds of time that had passed in non-turd reality. The doors hadn't even skittered open yet!!

Boy-o-boy did I push past him as quickly as I could! No doubt my coat is stained with his turdish demeanour, but justice simply had to be done :/

He proceeded to sit in front of me on the bus and only then did I recognise him as the very same turd who used to get on the bus every morning and practically sit in my LAP, casting his turdflakes about the place like some grotesque carver of faecal matter, and was, in turn one of the reasons I now cram myself into the not-made-for-tall-people individual seats at the front of the bus every morning. Hence my longing to throw my apple core at the back of his head.
I refrained though; I figured it would only result in a horrible smattering of turd flying all over the place.

I sat wondering what on earth this country is coming to, letting actual piles of crap with legs ride on buses, when Jimmy McSmokes got on with a lady friend.

Jimmy McSmokes is a guy who must be about my age, but probably has the lungs of a 90-year-old miner. I'm guessing this from the STENCH of smoke that comes off him every time he boards. With no exaggeration intended, he must smoke literally one million cigarettes a day. It's as though his rather fetching wee tracksuit is made only of lit cigarettes.

Don't get me wrong, I hate Jimmy for that, he just disappoints me. And he lived up to that disappointment yet further today when he sat with a paper bag full of DVDs; like ten of them or something. He went through them all and picked the price sticker from each one. When the sticker had been removed, he threw it on the floor. Then he took the DVDs out of the recyclable, paper bag and threw that on the floor too.

Oh Jimmy McSmokes!! You were homeward bound! Do you not have a bin there? One made of cigarettes perhaps? Or could you not have held onto the bag and the stickers and put them in the bin that is...oh yeah, right next to the stop where you got off?

The most pathetic thing about it was that he didn't even look like he was doing it with any malicious intent. I think he thinks that where rubbish goes.
SERIOUSLY, where is this country GOING right now?!

Ahhhhh fuck it! I'm going to chisel out a grain of sand to live in. Have a little poem why don't you?

Photographer

Take the camera out of my face,
I know you're lying to me -
those eyelashes aren't even yours.
And get out from the curtains;
my grandmother hung them
and if I find one footprint...

I've seen you, with your courderoys
and your meat-blood eyes
and I don't trust you.
How old are you?
Timeless, is it?
What're you going to do?
Photoshop me into outer space?

You aren't a wizard,
you'll never remove the reflection
of your face in my glassy eyes;
everyone will know it was you,
even if you are hiding
at the other end of a darkened tunnel.


NB Yes, these stories are indeed trivial, but hey, I'm just trying to raise a smile or two. :) <<< there's one, so I'm halfway there, riiiiiight?

No One's Laughing

The other day I bought a new jacket. It's smart and green, it has a hood. I was initially quite pleased with myself. But now I look at it and just feel sad. I'm sad because that jacket means it's Autumn again. And then it will be Winter. And then another year will have gone by and I'll still be sitting in this same chair with my little notebook open on my lap trying to write my way out of a paper bag. No wait, not paper, polythene. A polythene bag is more suffocating. And more depressing because you can see the world you're struggling so hard to get back to.

Today is...an effort.



The bus roars on
a wolfhound through the fog,
sent out to find the bodies.
I turn my collar up
to look like on of those painters;
calm and detached,
a leafy branch floating
down the window of a river
with no perilous thoughts
to ruffle my peripheries
or disturbs the patterns
trailing out at my back.
But really I'm drowning.

Making Life-Sized Models of The Velvet Underground in Plaid

When I go to the shop; when I break, for the hundredth time this week, my vow not to eat a sackful of sweet treats; when I purchase a bar of Dairy Milk Fruit & Nut because I haven't had one in many a year, do you know what I expect? I expect more than ONE nut. And I do not think that this is unreasonable.

True, the name of the chocolate bar is Fruit and Nut, singular. However in the brief description on the back of the packaging it clearly states, "Milk chocolate with raisins and almonds." Almond*s*, plural. As in, more than ONE.
Really, Cadbury ought to have written something along these lines:

"Lots and lots of raisins, a drizzle of over-priced chocolate and a single ancient, crumbly nut."

That description gives away pretty much everything I need to know and allows me to make an informed decision on whether or not I really do want to spend more than fifty pence on a glorified packet of dried fruit.

Fair enough, this bar of chocolate no doubt slipped around the factory, going from one conveyor belt to the next with little or no human input before being wrapped, packed and shipped out around the country. But seriously, ONE nut?! JEEZ-O! It didn't even taste like a real nut! Get your act together CADBURY, why don't you? Hey, why don't you do the whole friggin' country a favour and EMPLOY someone to watch my friggin' chocolate bar to make sure I get more than one friggin' nut? It's not like Kraft can't afford it, with their squeezy cheeses and tinned meals! Just stop being s'damn greedy CEOs, SEOs and whatever other EOs it is that're hoarding all the dosh! Oh, and Simon Cowell, can't forget about that insanely selfish, narcissistic abomination dominating the entire Western sonuvagun world!

Huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Everything is ruined again. Thanks Cadbury. Thank you VERY much :/

"Still, it's a choice and I choose to rage."