pro-Creation

I'm not sure what the deal with creationism is... Do people really think that God provided Genesis as a sort of 'how-to' guide for creating a universe? Making the world in seven days? God sounds like the Craig David of the Deity world: 'I created light on Monday, separated waters on Tuesday, we were making stuff on Wednesday, and on Thursday and Friday and Saturday, chilled on Sunday...' No! it's a metaphor! For a start, He didn't create the sun until Thursday, so we're not talking 24 hour time periods here. It's symbolic language! Quite obviously. And if it wasn't obvious enough, the writer names one of the trees in the garden of Eden as 'The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil'... Not exactly one of your common or garden varieties is it? Not something you can readily pick up in a Homebase? I'll have a rosebush, a chrysanthemum, and a tree of the knowledge of good and evil... Are you sure Sir? They look great in the garden, but they really attract the snakes. It's not that Genesis is lying, it's just saying bigger things. I'm not saying God couldn't have made the world in a week, he's God, of course he could have. All I'm saying is that he wrote the book to show us who's responsible, not to give us instructions in case we wanted to follow suit- Ok God, I have pritt stick, glitter and the building blocks of primordial soup... what next?

with thanks to penny

Ex-Rated

There is a play in London at the moment that Time Out has awarded Six Stars. Out of Five. Now, this cannot be; this is making a mockery of the whole star system. You cannot just add stars on willy nilly when something is exceptionally good. It's like giving it three thumbs up! Or 126%. (Which is ironically the exact score my friend achieved on his Further Maths A level.) Things can only be so good, everything has its limits; if we don't keep quality control on our quality control where will we be? Sitting in Five Star Holiday Inns, eating Michelin-Rated McDonald's, listening to Grammy Award-Winning James Blunt and reading the latest Pulitzer Prize Novel from Nobel Winner Dan Brown.

Healthy Beating

Channel hopping and bored, Michael and I watched a show on channel five for no other reason than it's title: 'Larger than Life: Eating themselves to DEATH!!' About food addiction, it was all very sad and so on, but there came a point where you couldn't help wondering just how sharp these guys were. One guy got himself to 56 stone, had to be winched to hospital where they stuck him in a weight loss clinic, gave him a special diet and a final chance, all at a cost of £200 a day to the state. Now this was going fine, he was losing the pounds, slimming down, until his wife came along, felt sorry for him and started smuggling him in buckets of chicken! What is up with these people? After a month he'd gained two stone! They asked her why she fed him and she said, 'well urgh, he ain't so happy cos he's fat, and I want him to be happy, and when he eats he gets happy, and I love seeing him happy.' I'd laugh if it weren't so heartbreaking. Of course being channel five, the second question they asked her was how they had sex. Yeh, I felt like a great human being watching this show. The guy, halfway through munching on his second pizza, came up with a great quote: 'Lotta people think pizza's bad for you, well it ain't, it's like a whole meal in one. Ya got the bread y'see... well... that's yuh bread, the tomatos are yuh vegetables, and the cheese, well that's yuh protein...' Yeh, like I'm gonna take nutritional advice from a man who weighs 56 stone. Michael said they should make a show about us: 'Square Eyes: The brothers who watched tv themselves to DEATH!!'

Salami, Salomé

Oh Salomé, Salomé, don’t listen to mum,
She’ll get you in trouble and make you look dumb.
Dance like you kiss, carefree and care less,
Just be more careful if asked for your dress.

A Crisp By Any Other Name

In the hey day of packed lunches, Golden Wonder was the bag to have, the snacks that led the pack. I loved nothing more than eating Salt and Vinegar crisps until my lips went all raw and tingly. Then one day, Walkers got their act together, booked Gary Lineker and Golden Wonder went out the window. Now I'm all up for establishing an identity, but would someone please tell me why, when Walkers decided to take over the crisp market, they put their Salt and Vinegar crisps in green packets, and Cheese and Onion in blue? This is quite obviously flying in the face of standard accepted market practice. Do you know how many mix-ups this caused me? I HATE Cheese and Onion! More than I hate the Jeremy Kyle show, and possibly equivalent to my dislike of Kilroy. Imagine my disgust then, every time I opened a pack of blues and sniffed that mould-on-sour-milk scent or worse actually bit into one of the bile-raisers. And anyway, what kind of sick mind put those two flavourings together? When do you ever eat cheese with onions? It's like eating apricots with marmite. Salt and Vinegar has always been blue, because salt comes from the sea and the sea is blue. Cheese and Onion are green because onions grow in the ground like grass which cows also eat to make cheese and grass is green so QED. You can't just go swapping them around! Who do Walkers think they are?? Look at Salt and Vinegar in other brands: McCoys? Blue. Pringles? Blue! Even Kettle Chips are blue for Gawdsake. So my message to Walkers? Go with the crowd on this one, change them back. Or better still, stop making Cheese and Onion, then I'll never have to smell it on a potential lover's breath again.

Ray

We all have our problems, but really, few of us have anything to make a fuss about. I know I don't. But I also know that, sometimes, I make a deal of them anyway. At least I have that awareness you could say, but the truth is everyone loves a drama, it's almost as good as a crisis. A friend of mine had a chat with me once, almost three years ago now, and I can still remember almost every word. Most of us are in a quiet stream of despair, he said. It's not a torrent, it's not a flood, we're not washed away, but then again it's not gentle enough for us to lose interest. Our job's not quite what we want, our love's not really working out, but fixing it is something we haven't quite got round to yet. We'll do it tomorrow, today is just for talking about our options. It's just a quiet stream flowing around our ankles, and we choose to not get out, no-one changes. It's nice that way.

393 b.e.

I was taking a leak today when a man came and stood directly behind me, queuing. There were five unattended watering holes around me, so why was he queuing? What was so special about mine? I turned to give him a look, but my face fell over and it turned into a wink. Bad news for the vanderput-

Hang on, this pen doesn't work. How can I convert memory to memoir with no ink? I'm shaking it, licking it, scratching this biro all over the page and it ain't working. I turn and ask the woman beside me to lend me her pen. She refuses. She's not even using it. How selfish. I ask her to guard my coffee while I go and buy a brand new pen, in the hope this might prompt a little stationary charity. It doesn't. She says fine, and I swear I catch her licking her lips. Wait right here.

Ok I'm back, I have a pen, and my coffee's still warm. But shallower. I scowl at the woman. I wrote that whole paragraph above in retrospect by the way. Just as soon as I thanked her for licking my coffee I wrote it. She has the remnants of green nail polish, on her nails, little green remnants. She's picked most of it off of course, but if you look close enough it's there, lime green nail polish. Tells you a lot that does. As I consider exactly what this does tell me, I slurp my tea. So loud and clear people around me look up. Damn. Oh. Right. Yeh, so I lied. I said coffee earlier, yeh, well it's tea. It's just that coffee sounds more impressive, more noir; ice cold hands round a paper cup, pale foam frosted with dark brown powder, cigarettes whispering in the ashtray, jazz in the dark, that kinda thing. Moving ya know? Not exactly the same is it, me stuck here with faulty pens and a chai tea latte? Ok ok, so it wasn't even tea. Gee, what kind of man drinks chai tea latte? If the name of a drink contains more than one word, a man should not be drinking it. Coffee, beer, whisky? All fine. Hot Chocolate? I rest my case. Rum and coke, lime and soda, tia maria? I rest it further.

All in a name

Tom and I are in All Bar One, eating a goat's cheese tart on rocket salad; I hope the goat doesn't mind. I've got my sunglasses on in the overcast and a yellow hoodie flipped over my hair, I look like an idiot. Our waitress is lovely though, Maritzah, she's Spanish and making good use of the fact, Tom is making eyes at her, and I'm fumbling over my words. I sit there minding my own as she clears the plates and gives us the bill, until she stops, pauses and asks, is your name Johnny? Or John? Tom and I exchange glances, he shakes his head in disbelief. Yes, it's John, I reply, how do you know? Ah, a secret, she lilts, and walks off. Before he can open his mouth I tell Tom I haven't a clue. We lay the currency on the bill plate and I put my glass on the notes. She comes back and tries to take the check, I put my hand on her fingers. How did you know? I ask. Hey, she says, I'm trying to work here, let go. Tell me first, I say and we stand off, eyes locked, the first to break loses. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds, her eyes light with charm and I don't stand a chance. I move my fingers and accept defeat. She smiles and leaves, leaving me with nothing but the luxury of unanswered questions.

On Ego

'I never blame myself when I'm not hitting. I just blame the bat, and if it keeps up, I change bats. After all, if I know it isn't my fault that I'm not hitting, how can I get mad at myself?' -- Yogi Berra

I'm arrogant, so what? I'm not too proud to admit it. Thinking that I matter, that we matter? I think arrogance goes for most of us these days, we're pretty self-involved recently, and why not? Gotta protect our lot, what else have we got to live for? C'mon, we're dust amongst the sand man, least we can do is lie and enjoy it. Sure I can do a couple of things pretty good, but I can do many more pretty bad and that's not the point now is it? Hey, if I thought I mattered less I'd be in a whole heap of trouble, I'd probably have to stop flipping channels when the news comes on and give more than loose change to buy off the guilt. I can't start thinking about others now, I've left it too late, you say the truth and you pay for the truth baby; I ain't got that kinda currency anymore. Humility is not an option. We're all gonna die, and at least we're gonna have some chicken in our bellies when we do.

Slim Pickings

So maybe I'm the bad guy here, but I for one have always judged a book by its cover. Nothing other. I know that goes against the received wisdom, but hey, that's what swings my vote. I hardly ever buy a book based on a review, it's rare I pick up a recommendation, and if I see it on the tube it doesn't stand a chance. Anything recommended by a lifestyle magazine or tv presenter is out the window, as are staff picks and page turners; I don't want to strain my wrist now do I? Books with a question mark in the title are bad news, as is anything purporting to be 'laugh out loud funny' or 'the best book I've read this year'; euphemisms for 'I know the author/publisher' and 'I don't read'. And don't even get me started on the Richard and Judy Book Club. So mostly I just sift the shelves for the shiniest cover or the prettiest illustration, minimilism or matt finishing are big draws, as is black and white photography, and anything that someone has gone to the bother of translating. Yeah ok, so basically I'm a snob.

apart One

I'm outside Gloucester Road tube, waiting for a bus that will never come cos I'm not waiting for it. I've arrived an hour and a half early and I'm killing some time, nice and slow like. I light a menthol, inhale and spit into a bin, the smoke bites the back of my throat so I fall the cigarette on the floor and crush it out with my heel. Maybe they're healthier but they taste like smut and anyway, I don't wanna live that long. I shuffle my feet and look around, catching the eye of a girl standing a couple yards from me, leaning against a florist, her cream coat picking grime up off the greasy glass. She looks down and I play with my lighter. I glance back and she's all making eyes again. She walks over.
    'Hey,' she says.
    'Hey,' I says back.
    She pauses and flicks her eyes to mine.
    'You're Alex right?'
    Who the hell is Alex? I think
    'Sure.'
    She's looking at me like she's not convinced.
    'I wasn't sure if it was you or not,' I continue.
    'Right, I look a bit different in my picture.'
    Picture? This is sounding new.
    'Yeh, well, so do I right?'
    I look at her, she squints in the sun.
    'You look just fine,' she smiles.
    'You wanna go for ice-cream?'
    'I thought we said coffee?'
    'The sun's out, how 'bout we change our plans?'
    ''k,' and just like that we walk away.

Hypo-Critical

A lot of people these days seem to have opinions. We pride ourselves on it, we celebrate the opinionated on daytime tv and give them a platform and a people to shout at. Talkshows beg and plead with viewers to phone in and share their views, newspapers publish polls of current feeling, and worse, everybody is a writer, delivering daily snoring thoughts to the masses. Blogs spring up quicker than whiskers on a granny, barely disguised rants, slander and tantrums, hundreds and thousands of millions of words, too many words to ever be read, to ever have a chance of being read, even if we weren't too busy writing pages of irrelevance to have time to read. Please, everyone, give it a rest. Let me tell you this; opinions? they don't count for squat. Most of the bad feeling and resentment we deal with each day comes from people who think their opinions matter. They don't. Of course... that's just my opinion.

appointed

i climb the stairs to the ward, the sun is shining outside and burning the glass. it's cheered up, she says. i don't think so, i voiceover to my head, it's downhill from here. i change and they put my name on plastic bracelets, slipping them on my wrists like monogrammed handcuffs. i have 5.6 days of music with me and i think i’m gonna need it. a buzzer goes unanswered in the corridor and i wait. i'm all burned out at twenty-to and i barely even lit up.

Subliminal

I am drinking still lemonade,

it is very poignant,

on its label is written:

Separation may occur
this is natural

in some near night

my hands are in my pockets. i decline the quiet pill; if sleep eludes me, let it be on my terms. i walk along an empty street. people are in bed by now, long asleep. the traffic lights flick from green to red to green to red, and no cars show. at the passing of each night, these lights will continue to change, with or without me. i lie alone in the dark, where all is said and all is done, and all my loves, my bonds and my blood, all are no comfort. because the thing is, we all lie alone, side by side of each other.

Manger

When I was younger we used to watch so many cartoons, Franime cartoons, written in france, inked in japan, dubbed in english. But not just dubbed, oh no, dubbed at lightspeed. Were these guys drinking fanta-laced triple espressos or something? These actors used to garble their lines so fast someone musta had a gun to their head. Why the rush? No time for any soft pauses or slow beats, for inflecting a little emotion or adding a delicate intonation, just a desperate mad scramble to the full stop. What was it with these guys? Were the cartoons originally thirty minutes, and some wiseguy had shortened them to fit in a twenty minute time slot? Leaving the actors to rattle out lines so fast their lips fell off and tongues went into spasm.

-heyestebanwhatareyouuptotoday?

-ohithinki'llfindthemysteriouscitiesofgoldwouldyouliketocome?

-hahahahahaohofcourseiwouldireallyliketocomeiwouldlikethatalotbe-

causei'manorphanjustlikeyouyouseeireallylikeyou!

[blush]

What was with all the blushing? Always with the blushing in those cartoons. Anyone would think the shaders got special discount on pink and they adapted the scripts accordingly.