I've Had a Few

I don't often hold on to regrets. Like crisp packets on the tube, I try to leave them behind. But this year, there is one I'm having trouble letting go of. And that's when I was rude to Geoffrey Durham. Man, I really regret that. I mean, I apologised for it, but still. He invited me to tea a couple of weeks ago, and he was as nice as pie to me. No, nicer, because pie doesn't offer you biscuits. He gave me some advice so priceless I can never repay him. He offered me a drink and congratulated me on my handiwork and dished out wisdom that he fought for in battles I may never be successful enough to experience. And all I could feel was that wayward blog sitting in the kitchen with me like an elephant in the corner. I felt so bad. I sat there with the slightly flat fizzy water he'd given me, and I felt so bad.

Ruffled Feathers

My favourite story about this year's Christmas gigs comes from a friend of mine who assures me this is true. He was doing a gig with a magician well known for his psychotically narcissistic temperament, and this gig turned out to be for quite a wealthy and well-connected mid-time criminal. This guy happened to have a very large house, and in that house he happened to have a parrot. Now, for whatever reason, he'd trained the parrot to say 'that's shit that is!' Maybe that should come as no surprise given the man's dubious occupation. So the narcissist is doing card tricks to one of the guests and the parrot pipes up, that's shit that is! The magician turns to the guest and says, what did that bird say? And the parrot obliges, that's shit that is! So this guy, and I'm not kidding here, this guy gets the hump with the parrot! He spends the whole night, stomping around, shooting that bird filthy looks. If the host hadn't been so shady, things could have got quite nasty for little feathers there.

Maker Meeting

I met God on a beach and He said to me, before you come to heaven I want you to count each grain of sand on the beach. I looked and all I could see was beach. Stretching off for all I could see. I said and then what? And He said I want you to go to the next beach. I want you to count each grain of sand on the next beach. And I said and then what? And He said I want you to find the next beach, and then the next beach, and stop not until all beaches have been found and all sand has been counted. And what will happen then, I asked. And He said we'll compare totals. But why? I asked. Because it's always good to have someone check the figures, He replied.

Lost in a sense

I remember when I was nine years old, hurrying down the stairs one late December morning to put on a videotape of the Muppet's Christmas Carol, because I'd forgotten what Christmas felt like. After a few minutes of watching, a feeling came over me, all tingles and itches, and I thought, ah! this is how Christmas feels. But as soon as I became aware of that feeling, it began to vanish, the magic lifting like fog from a car park. It became a memory of a feeling rather than the sensation of one. And clutch as I might, every year since this memory has faded further, until now all I recall is the shadow of that glow. But that is what happens; you move on.

Dress Code

A good pair of black shoes. They'll get you out of more trouble than a thousand card tricks. You want to know the first thing a client will look at? Your tie and your shoes. These days, you don't have to wear a tie, go open necked, but until the day the air scrams out of you, you'll need a good pair of shoes. English made. A shoemaker, find a shoemaker. Watch him turn them out of leather. Bang nails into the heel. Think of his handiwork as you sink into them. Tie firm knots. Wear them securely. Polish them thoroughly before each show, until you can see yourself in them; and reflect. A good pair of shoes will last longer than your material. By the time you've finished with them you'll have a new set. But wear the same suit. Wear nothing but the same suits. In two or three colours. A good cut. A strong cut. Get a look. Have a look. Three looks. Looks that match ties and match shirts. Find a shirtmaker. Request French cuffs. Cuffs that need adjusting. And for God's sake learn a crisp knot. No less than a full Windsor. Learn to tie it in the dark, on the tube, in the hail and storming rain learn to tie it. Your cuffs and tie; it's good to have something to adjust. But if you can't manage all that, a good pair of black shoes. They'll get you out of trouble.

Tip Jar

This funny thing happened today.
I guess you had to be there,
But our friend found money in her water.
In her glass of water.
76 pence worth.
Five coins.
And then she realised…
she realised…
she realised she’d picked up the tip glass!
by mistake!
From next to the till!
Because she thought it was just a normal glass.
For drinking.
It was a funny thing.
But I guess you had to be there.

- for a. -

How to Pitch a Movie in 5 Words

Two Cats!
One Spat!
CatSpat!!

Making Perfect

I take half a packet of cigarettes to an empty room and close the door. I reach into my pocket and pull out a brand new deck of cards. I break the seal and strip the plastic from the box. I shed the advertisements and the jokers. I examine the edges, checking the quality of manufacture, feeling for smoothness. I give the deck three sharp shuffles, and put my still shod shoes on the table. I start to move the cards between my fingers, shooting them around my palm, flipping them over the joints, rolling them like water across my knuckles. I take my tendons and muscles through unfamiliar paths, gently at first, correcting and adjusting. I make minute changes that I feel rather than see. I refine touch, balance, tension and grip. Every now and then I spill them on the floor, and have to dig my nails underneath to lift them from the boards. This is where I’ll remain for the foreseeable future, with a move that needs mastering and a schedule that’s as empty as my head.

A Thousand Words

The thing was, the photo I had, it kind of didn’t really look like her. It sort of did. If you knew her, you could see it. But that’s only if you knew her. I mean- she’s just not that pretty. She’s not not pretty, she’s just not that pretty. She looks different. Less… slick. Less… stunning. Just... less. That photo would stun people. People would go, wow, who is that? And I’d say, oh, that’s my girlfriend. And they’d look at me in this new light, and I’d feel a glow that would make me feel... good. I remember one guy, this guy, he saw a different picture. And he said, oh, is that her? I remember that Oh. I am haunted by that Oh. What did he mean? Oh.

Bumps in the Night

My coffee machine is talking to me. With little hums and whines that I catch when I'm not really listening. Soft whirrs and clicks that stir and tickle my hearing. My 'think I heard that' hearing. And not before long but after a while I realise I think these sounds are audible, and merely but possibly not just in my head. And that's when I think it's time I got some sleep. Or a new coffee machine.

Say What You See

A while back I mentioned how tasty is a word pretty low in the imagination stakes. Then I realised it wasn't alone. By a long shot. Whoever was composing the dictionary had a pretty off day when it came to the senses. See, you can smell nice, that's no problem, that's why we've got perfumed, scented and odoriferous. But if you smell of smell? Well, you're just smelly. Likewise if you look bad, you've got options, ugly, grotesque, estate agent. But if you look good? You're a looker. But then of course, a looker can also be a bit tasty. Although don't call a woman tasty because she might get a bit touchy. Still, rather a touchy woman than a man who gets too touchy. That's just poor taste.

Pretense

the magician pulled coins from the air
but walked home to a rented room
the magician cut a woman in two
but had no one to eat his dinner with
the magician read minds like open books
but never knew what they really thought
the magician found the four of diamonds
but never found what diamonds were for

Blurred Vision

I've come up with the perfect test for sobriety. Forget walking in a straight line. If a man needs to put a hand on the wall while relieving himself, I think he's had a little too much. Anyone who gravitates naturally towards piss is wobbly to say the least.

Confronted

Before I went to work today
I looked in the mirror
You need a shave I thought
And then I realised that I was me

Thought no. 82 today

Sometimes life is just one long humbling.