Sunday, June 19

The moth, the spider, the hoover...and the DVD

I hoovered up a moth a couple of hours ago. One second it was there on the skirting board just outside the bathroom, the next I'd altered its life forever. I wonder if it's still alive, and if so, what is it thinking? Can it breathe in there? Will there be enough room in there for it to stretch its wings? Indeed, will it run into the spider that I sucked up a couple of weeks back? If so, will the spider assert its natural superiority, or given their plight, will they become pals? I can see the world weary spider acting as a mentor for the frightened moth. The moth will be bitching about me, and the spider will be saying in a laidback manner, "Let it go my little friend, let it go. He's not worth it."

And I'll be crouched down by the hoover, evesdropping, and suddenly they'll hear, "Hey, I might not be worth it, but I've got Lucy and Michelle - the DVD, so think about that if you can think about anything other than that horrifc scenario you find yourself in."

If this was a Hollywood film, then I have little doubt that the spider role would be played by Morgan Freeman. More importantly, if there is a heaven, is it this kind of behaviour that will keep me out? I hope not, for once I finish with the insect kingdom, I'm looking to start hoovering wild animals. May start off with a tiger.

© Disappointed of West Egg 2005. Do not reproduce without permission.

Monday, June 6

The Uni-ball Signo 0.7

"How are you this week Disappointed?" asked my therapist.
"Well, my hair's an ongoing problem, I continue to have very bad dreams on a frequent basis, and I have a surprisingly large number of shoes."
"Are the shoes a problem?"
"It's a small flat," I quipped.
He paused, forming a triangle with his hands. "Tell me about the dreams."
"You don't want to know more about the shoes?" I asked.
"We can come back to the shoes later. Let's talk about the dreams."
"Well, it's wierd."
"What is?"
"The dreams. The way your mind plays tricks on you over time. I mean, I know what happened that day..."
"The day your mum died?"
"Yes. I know that I had no idea that was going to happen. There'd been no warning she was going to go like she did. But the dreams now tell me differently."
"In what way?"
"In that she's there..."
"Your mum?"
"Yes. She's there, but I know she's ill and on borrowed time, and it's always the same. She dies in front of me. But even though I know that's not how it happened, I wake up wondering if that's how it actually happened. Do you know what I mean? Maybe I've forgotten things. Maybe that is how it happened. The dreams take it out of you and you become convinced that's the way things really happened."
He was busy scribbling away as he always did, on a blank piece of A4.
"Is that the uni-ball Signo 0.7?"
"What?" He asked.
"The pen."
"Oh," he said, glancing down at his pen. "Yes, yes it is."
"I thought so."
"How did you know?"
I smiled. "I love pens."
"Do you?"
I nodded. "I had a great pen in the summer of '94, a blue pentum."
"Oh."
"I found it when I was working at a picture library. It was a joy to write with it. The most beautiful pen I ever had. I could never find a refill for it though."
"Did you ever replace it?"
"No."
"But you miss it?"
"Yeah, I do," I said, completely ignoring the piss poor analogy he was trying to draw. "Handwriting's never been as enjoyable since."
"Or life?" He ventured.
"Er, no. Handwriting."
"You've mentioned the summer of '94 before."
"Where'd you get the pen?" I asked. "I hope it wasn't Rymans. Those guys are really pricey."
"You don't want to talk about '94."
"No."
"The dreams?"
"I'm done with the dreams."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Er...women's football. What's that all about? It's the one refuge men have from women, and now they're playing football. It's bad enough you find them in the pubs now watching games with blokes. I mean, what's the world coming to?"
"Anything else?"
"I've written a joke. But I'm not sure if it works."
"Tell me the joke."
"It's a girl speaking right."
"Right."
"She says, I'm going to do it in my own voice, okay?"
He nodded.
""The girl says, 'My boyfriend is dyslexic. Instead of finding my g-spot, he keeps hitting f and h'."
He thought about it. "I don't get it."
"See, sometimes I think it works, sometimes I don't."
There was an awkward silence.
"So you think Rymans are expensive?" He asked, pen pressed to his lips.
"What did I say that was? The uni-ball signo 0.7?"
"That's right."
"99p in WHS."
I saw him curse under his breath.
"How much they sting you for?" I asked him.
"£1.35."
I grimaced."You could buy yourself a three bedroomed flat in Peru for the extra 36p you paid for that."
"You don't want to talk about the dreams?"
"I don't want to talk about the dreams."

© Disappointed of West Egg 2005. Do not reproduce without permission.

Sunday, June 5

Carrots

"I've never really sussed out what's the best way to do carrots?"
"Don't even talk to me," she said.
"I mean, do I want them in strips or cubes?"
"You're not even on a tight rope."
"Or maybe just peel them and leave them their normal length?"
"The tight rope's long gone."

© Disappointed of West Egg 2005. Do not reproduce without permission.

Thursday, June 2

He caught me looking at her bazookas

It had been a mistake to check out the waiter's new girlfriend. But in my defence, I had no idea she was with him. Besides, who comes into work on their day off? But he had turned up at the cafe with a gorgeous bit of fluff and caught me virtually undressing her with my eyes.

They sat opposite me, and by the time I realised they were an item, it was too late. His top lip kept curling upwards every time he looked at me. That was on Monday. Since his return to work, I have been served a cold steak sandwich and a toasted cheese sandwich with some of the roughest bread I have seen since I spent a fortnight squatting on the infamous Winstanley Estate in Battersea in the summer of '89. You can understand my reluctance to order my favourite chicken escalope with mayo.

I'm not sure how to fix the problem. God knows what he's doing to my lattes behind the counter.

© Disappointed of West Egg 2005. Do not reproduce without permission.