the day of the smell of asphalt

She's moving her lips to somebody else's voice,
You are calling down death, she says, upon yourself.
I want to drop things down long stairwells, I reply,
Dangle my glasses from bridges, I want to reach across
And pull the steering wheel into oncoming traffic.
The city is a map of our mistakes, she tells me.
My CV is made up, I say, of things I can learn in a week.

She looks at me and speaks.
Today I read in the newspaper:
'Baby Heals Man of Face'
And then I read closer:
'Baby Heals Man of Fear'
And then I read closer:
'Baby Seal's Plan of Fear'

Before I started seeings things
I could not believe my eyes.

Just Desserts

I may have to use some nasty language later on. I apologise, but I am about to discuss a subject dearly dear to my very heart and emotion may overcome, so forgive me. Vienetta. A modern classic of the ecolux dessert; those luxury products at an affordable price. Sara Lee Chocolate Gauteaux, Mint Choc Chip Gino Genelli, Ice Magic, none can hold a candle to the humble but fun-full Vienetta. Until now. Some bright spark has taken this staple perfection and new and improved all over it. And as history proves, 'new and improved' is merely another way of saying 'pissed but all over'. They've lost the soft creamy ice cream down the side, lessened the chocolate flakey layers and, worst of all, thrown the whole swirl measurement system thing out the window. Now when dishing it up it is impossible to ask 'how many swirls would you like?' You give the regulation 'three' reply and you end up with half the cake. This is what comes with having management consultants fuck with the ice cream. Give them a platter of canapes, a bottle of Schloer, lock them in the basement and send up Tommy Two Tummies from the postroom. Now there's a man who knows a good dessert when he sees one! And have you noticed how people who hate ice-cream, also dislike cartoons? Let me tell you, they are not welcome for dinner.

Stunted Double

Helen Mirren is a great actor. So good in fact, that whenever I see the Queen now I think, wow, what a great Helen Mirren impression.

Filthy Habit

The way he smokes, my friend harry,
Is to suck all the air of the world
Through that red burning glow
Such that the white paper filter
Visibly recedes with each deep drag;
It's like he's giving CPR to a noodle
Backwards.

Glow

Look at the many things I have bought. Admire them. Observe them. Take note and stroke them. Sense their tactile sensations. Silver things and shiny things and shiny silver shiny things, safe in their original plastic wrapping. Stackable things, packable things, rows and rows of easily rackable things. Box sets of trilogies, shelf-fulls of seasons, catalogues of back-catalogues, completed works of era-defining oeuvres; alphabetised, eulogised, chronologised and deified. Sit with me and we shall watch outtakes of deleted scenes with director's commentaries and extra behind the scenes footage of cast interviews never before seen with screennotes and hidden easter egg bonus web update features, subtitled and surtitled in the full complement of foreign languages. Minor works, major works, works of art and works in progress, I have them all and play them on 42" widescreen technology. Turn a blind eye to the outmoded, ignore the incompaitable byproducts of the past, cast your eye from the carcasses of outdated technology, sitting forgotten on self-assembled storage solutions, discarded and rotting in their tinny plastic; once the smooth minimilism of the future, they are as forward thinking as the apocalypse. Bask in the glow of full high definition, absorb and be lost in 5.1 surround sound, cry no more unless someone else is watching, this is the age of light, of vision, of ones and zeros and on and off. Lose yourself in the white noise, it's as close to heaven as you're going to get.

Chicken Feed

There is nothing I hate more than change, I refuse to accept it, which, to be honest, makes paying for low-cost items with large bills an issue. But the reality is life is changing exponentially, evolving and morphing like a ninja turtle in a radiation leak. Even the changers get left behind, as change informs the change, creating the need for change, and we enter a downward spiral of progression. No one knows where it will stop because no-one can remember who started it. Progress is regress, retro the new past, history is past it's sell-by date, vintage is in, second-hand is out, cool is over, death is the new life and life is good; we've never had it better. We can't settle down for one season without being out of fashion the next. There's no point trying to accept this, the very act is a sign that it's too late for you.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

friday thirtieth march eight forty am: Last night Steven Seagal said I was awesome. I'm not really sure what to do with that. 'Awesome magic dude,' he said, 'awesome.' I wanted to call him Steven Seagull for the joke of it. That would have been funny right? No. He would have put a knife through my head like he did to Tommy Lee Jones.

saturday seventeenth march one twenty three pm: My good friend ana is shooting a movie at my good friend ray's shop. The location manager failed to arrive early enough to save a necessary parking spot, and a car is now parked in prime location. The car must be moved. 'Err, mr ray,' says ana, 'whose car is that please?' 'That is the car of Stella McCartney,' ray replies. 'Stella "Daughter of Paul" McCartney?' says ana. 'Yes.' says ray. 'Oh.' says ana. 'She's away for the weekend,' adds ray.

sunday eighteenth march five thirty eight pm: Marco Pierre White buys my mother and I dinner. 'Can I just say how good it is to see a boy take his mother out for dinner,' he says to me, 'I want to thank you for choosing my restaurant, it is an honour,' he says to me, 'these two will be my guests for the evening,' he declares and clicks his fingers at floor managers and waiting waiters; tables are set and champagne is brought over.

monday nineteenth march two fifteen precisely: I buy a paper from a guy at the station, I put down some chewing gum and a bar of Mr Tom and hand over the wrong change. He returns the overspend and hands me my receipt with the wish of a good day. He even smiles. Who are you? I think.

Two Tails

'Would you come down from there?' said mr bojangles.
'In a minute,' Sebastian replied, 'I can almost see it, it's just over the top of that-' and with that he fell off the fence, plunging into a bush.
There was silence, and the air was still.
After a few moments the bush began to rustle.
'Phew! That was a close one,' said Sebastian, jumping out of the bush and spitting leaves and twigs from his mouth. 'I almost fell off that fence.'
'You did fall off,' replied mr bojangles.
'No,' said Sebastian icily, 'I leapt.'
'So what did you see?'
'It's definitely behind that tree.'
'How do you know.'
'These things tend to be obscured. By trees. That's how you can tell.'
'But you did see it?'
'No, there was a tree in the way.'
'There could be anything behind that tree.'
'No, not anything, there could not be an elephant, could there? or two elephants? Or a snake, unless it was standing on it's tail, or another tree unless it was exactly the same size and shape as the in front tree, or a hittotroppamus unless it was really thin and was dangling from-'
'Ok, ok, I'm saying there are many things, lots of which qualify in both categories of size and shape, and any or many of these things could possibly be behind that tree.'
'But there aren't. Just that. It's behind that tree. Definitely.'
'And if you're wrong?'
'Has this monkey ever been wrong?'
'Yes.'
'Today?'
'You poured trousers on the cereal this morning and complained your milk was too tight.'
'Ok, fine, let's not get the kite. Let's just go on, walking around, without a kite.'
'I'll buy you a new one.'
'I told you to do a double knot because I always let go by accident.'
'Cat's don't tie double knots. It's unlucky.'
'Not as unlucky as losing a kite.'
'I'll buy you a new one and some crayons.'
'Hmm, what colours?'
'Blue.'
'And?'
'Dark Blue.'
'Ok, but I need to get some paper first, and- do you think they sell biscuits at the crayon shop because I always get hungry when I start drawing and I remember one time when I was drawing and I forgot to eat and I was about to do an aeroplane but I made a mistake on it so I had to turn it into a fish but I don't like fish, as you know, so then...'

And with that mr bojangles strolled off with Sebastian hopping excitedly behind him, occasionally falling into a hedge or stepping on a snail, continuing his story, on and on, until they were out of earshot.

- for jules, with many thanks for the tolerations -

Screen Burn

Promises don't come much emptier than the 'laugh out loud funny', no matter how many times I'm told this by book covers, movie trailers, west-end musicals and adoring parents of small children, I never fail to be left audibly muted. For me, it's 'weep in silence austerity' every time. So imagine my surprise as I read the very first two pages of my new book and laugh. Out loud. Funny, I thought, that's never happened before. I read more, I laugh more. And more and more and more. My new book is one of the funniest, biting, harshest, wittiest, ingenious books I've ever read. Way way too funny. Too funny to read. On the tube I'm snorting and snuffling into my collar, on the train I'm spasming with self-restraint, on the buses I'm choking with each page-turn. The stares I'm getting, the glares I'm netting, it's all too much. So I've decided to leave the book at home, to only read it within these four walls. However, as I spend so little time here, this means it will probably never get read, I guess sometimes you can have too much of a good thing.

0800 096 3666

Recorded voice: Welcome to Glaxo Smith Kline Nutritional Health Care Consumer Relations Department. Please hold for an operator.

Caller: Hello?
Operator: Good morning, welcome to Glaxo Smith Kline Nutritional Health Care Consumer Relations Department, you're through to Nina, how may I help?
Caller: Hello, yes, I'd like to chat to a real live ribenaberry please.
Operator: I'm sorry?
Caller: I’m drinking some ribena and I’d like to chat to someone and it says I can ring up and chat to a real live ribenaberry.
Operator: Oh. Of course, what can I do for you sir?
Caller: Are you are real live ribenaberry?
Operator: Err, yes.
Caller: Are you sure? Because you didn't say that at first.
Operator: No, I'm sure, I'm Nina the ribenaberry. How can I help you?
Caller: Help me with what?
Operator: Why did you call?
Caller: To chat. [Slurp.] I'm just drinking my ribena and it says I can ring you up and have a chat.
Operator: Ok.
Caller: So...
Operator: Right. What would you like to chat about.
Caller: I don't know. What do people normally chat to you about?
Operator: Nutritional contents.
Caller: That doesn't sound like my kind of conversation.
Operator: Ok, how do you like the ribena?
Caller: It's ok I guess. It’s not a carton by the way.
Operator: What isn’t?
Caller: My ribena.
Operator: What is it then?
Caller: It’s a bottle.
Operator: Ah.
Caller: A big bottle.
Operator: Right.
Caller: Of concentrate.
Operator: What?
Caller: I’ve poured it into separate glasses already, so I wouldn’t have to keep going to make more. I didn't want to put you on hold.
Operator: You've emptied the bottle?
Caller: Yep, I’ve got 16 glasses. Is that a good amount to have?
Operator: What do you mean?
Caller: Well I never know how many glasses a bottle is supposed to make.
Operator: How big are the glasses?
Caller: 250ml.
Operator: The recommended amount is 18.
Caller: Wow, I ran out of glasses at 16. I’m in the toilet too. 16 glasses is going to make me need the toilet a lot, you see, and-
Operator: You didn't want to put me on hold. You said.
Caller: Yes. [Gulp Gulp.] I’ve finished one glass now.
Operator: Right.
Caller: I’m glad this is a freephone number.
Operator [to intercom]: Cancel my four o'clock.

My Tube

Girl on the tube
Get off the tube
This is my stop
If you sit there
It will all be too late
Too late
It is all too late

Passengers

The woman opposite me has her chin buried so deep in the ruff of her fur coat, at first glance I think she has a beard. I watch a guy run a stick of lip balm around and around and around his lips until he's completed seven circular journeys. His lips are so shiny the reflected neon is blinding my eyes. The girl next to me is reading a French novel. She causes my heart to itch. Her hair is as straight as her posture; when she walks it moves to its own pop song. Her eyes are pale pools of cool water with two small blue yolks floating in the center of milky white. I think I ate something funny for breakfast. Standing in front of me is another girl. Her creamy perfume is filling the carriage, her blond hair is highlighting what we cannot fail to miss. Creeping over the edge of her jeans I see white lace panties. Her makeup conceals her, keeping us safe from her every flaw. She is the type of girl I want to fold napkins with. I hear my phone ring in my head. It's been doing that a lot lately.

trylight

i dream things i do not remember
and remember things i do not dream

i fall asleep on the train and forget who i am
not where i am or what i am doing but
who i actually am

at night on the edge of sleep
i remember girlfriends i have never had
i remember jobs i have never done

on the edge of sleep as sleep overtakes
me i become confused as to very simple
things like how many arms i have
and when my last tv show went out

i have a recurring dream that i am taking a class i never go to
i have been taking it all term and no one has noticed my absence
it is ok for now for now i am getting away with it
but i have a feeling i shall soon be found out

i wake with a lingering aftertaste
a bad feeling about


something


but i go to work anyway

Five Star Treatment

I'm in a hotel room, seventh floor up, looking at London from a Mayfair view. The carpet is thick, the corridor empty, the lifts uncalled for; it's a clear, blue sky day. The sun is slung low, it slides noiselessly across the sky, light blooms its shattered shards into the room, and looking at people is difficult. There are people in this room, I should have mentioned that, but I don't feel like talking about them, or to them, so I watch out the window. An armful of balloons sweep past the glass, trailing strings from their tails, crying out the absence of child. I watch them pass by, and then watch them again in the side of the gleaming building across the street. Below, the people are like ants, but less efficient. And no one is carrying a sugarcube. At least, not a giant sugarcube that I could see from up here. They may have sweeteners but I didn't ask. I like walking around hotels, pretending I stay there. They don't mind. They let you. As long as you don't steal anything. Like breakfast. Or a lift. Or two lifts. Besides, it makes the corridors feel better, less alone. If you wear a bathrobe nobody bothers you. Then everybody bothers you.

One to One

1: Did you come over to talk or do you want something?
2: Sometimes I don't know myself.
1: I never did.
2: What?
1: Know myself; she died before I was born.
2: We lost two dogs on the escalators today, they zipped straight under, we never saw it coming, we cried as those little leads bumped and trailed.
1: That's the way it goes sometimes.
2: Down.
1: Or up.
2: Depending on the direction.
1: And your perspective.
2: Sometimes even along.
1: No, that's a travelator, it's very different.
2: No escalation.
1: Not a jot.
2: How dull.
1: I saw a fish in a puddle today.
2: Really?
1: No.
2: Oh.
1: It was a stick. In the mud.

Radiance

I'm waiting for something; a coffee, a donut, a table, I don't know; a haircut, a drink, a girl, I don't remember, but I'm waiting for it. Something where they take your coat. I know that because the man next to me is waiting to have his coat taken. That's what I remember. And what I notice about him is that he is smiling. And not nervously, not an awkward, out of place, too many limbs for one's own body type of smile. Just a happy, smiling, smiley smile. He's beaming no less. He stands there with his mole eyed glasses, beaming. That's where it was; the hairdressers. I remember now because he had a long ponytail, down to his waist, nicely juxtaposing his receding, thinning hairline. It was like a follicle tug of war, and I remember looking at him thinking, what are they going to do with you. And as I did so, as I scorned and sneered, he smiled a smile of such pure joy, love and happiness right back at me, that those superficial smirkings fell from my face that instant, and all I wanted was to be someone else.