Tuesday, 13th May 1997
CRF for the Morning Mail First-In-Man Tolerance Studies Brief questionnaire. Cross as many boxes as you like. Please fill in and return at your leisure.
I think the morning e-mail from B should be:
[ ] More about real issues concerning people today
[ ] More esoteric and "bollockified"
[ ] Less desparate in its effort to entertain
[ ] Less self-conscious, not that it is... is it?
[ ] A reflection of modern political and theological thought
[ ] Sautéed in a white wine and tarragon sauce, 30 mins gas mark 6
[ ] Scrapped and the writer torn apart by pigeons
Mornings in general should:
[ ] Start much later and include more coffee
[ ] Begin with the company song and five minutes' calasthenics
[ ] Be scrapped in favour of long lie-ins and 30-hour weeks
[ ] Go on forever, I can't get out of that bed early enough
[ ] Do my ironing and walk the dog
[ ] Be personified
[ ] Not be given the vote
I found this questionnaire:
[ ] Informative and illuminating
[ ] Time-consuming and risibly unfunny
[ ] Full of long words I couldn't undertsand
[ ] In my inbox a couple of minutes ago
[ ] Sleeping rough by the A40
[ ] So I get to keep it! MINE MINE MINE!
[ ] Where? There on the stair! Where on the stair? Right there!
[ ] Too long
[ ] Too short.
[B]
Friday, 28 March 2008
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Tell You Wicked Lies
Monday, 12th May 1997
Mmm, lovely coffee. Well, I must say that I've had a wonderful evening; the food was exquisite and the games, well, I don't think any of us have enjoyed ourselves this much in a long while. We must do this again some time. Actually, while you're there, could you unzip the back of my grope suit? I think I'm about ready to be unharnessed now...
Good to see that the popular media are frothing at the mouth again. This time they've singled out Manchester United FC to blame for child labour sweat-shops in India. Cah. Let's face it, none of us possess a wardrobe/chest of drawers/pile on the floor which is free from garments unslaved over by overworked, callous-fingered infants on 6p an hour, so we're all guilty. Hey, and even Anita Roddick bathes fortnightly in the blood of slaughtered schoolchildren, so nobody's perfect. And don't tell me it's too early to be degenerating to that level of sordid pseudo-polemic gratuitous nonsense: it's NEVER too early. Club me a seal, I'll be home for breakfast.
Coming up: Mother Theresa Fingered For Nagasaki.
B
Mmm, lovely coffee. Well, I must say that I've had a wonderful evening; the food was exquisite and the games, well, I don't think any of us have enjoyed ourselves this much in a long while. We must do this again some time. Actually, while you're there, could you unzip the back of my grope suit? I think I'm about ready to be unharnessed now...
Good to see that the popular media are frothing at the mouth again. This time they've singled out Manchester United FC to blame for child labour sweat-shops in India. Cah. Let's face it, none of us possess a wardrobe/chest of drawers/pile on the floor which is free from garments unslaved over by overworked, callous-fingered infants on 6p an hour, so we're all guilty. Hey, and even Anita Roddick bathes fortnightly in the blood of slaughtered schoolchildren, so nobody's perfect. And don't tell me it's too early to be degenerating to that level of sordid pseudo-polemic gratuitous nonsense: it's NEVER too early. Club me a seal, I'll be home for breakfast.
Coming up: Mother Theresa Fingered For Nagasaki.
B
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Stranger Things
Friday, 9th May 1997
The dream dissolves into a warm, pink darkness and you realise that the morning is in your room.
Eyes open to see the curtains frothing light from through the window, colouring the walls and furniture with muted versions of their own.
Climbing out it's silently warm with that early post-night tang of chill clinging to your skin.
Autopilot on.
You shuffle to the window, pull back the edge of the curtain and peek out on a freshly-minted summer's day. Cloudless dusty blue, friendly hues, a potential joy to be in and of, light bouncing off itself to illuminate the shadows. This could be a really great day.
But first, coffee.
B
The dream dissolves into a warm, pink darkness and you realise that the morning is in your room.
Eyes open to see the curtains frothing light from through the window, colouring the walls and furniture with muted versions of their own.
Climbing out it's silently warm with that early post-night tang of chill clinging to your skin.
Autopilot on.
You shuffle to the window, pull back the edge of the curtain and peek out on a freshly-minted summer's day. Cloudless dusty blue, friendly hues, a potential joy to be in and of, light bouncing off itself to illuminate the shadows. This could be a really great day.
But first, coffee.
B
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Howling Wolfpack In Formation Appear
Thursday, 8th May 1997
So there's a suicide cult called "Heaven's Gate". That's like naming your terrorist organisation "Ishtar" or "The Last Action Hero". If you got that, give yourself a pat on the back. If you found it funny, give yourself electro-convulsive therapy.
Bloke goes into a bar with this girl wearing nothing but a pair of red stilettoes, leather peaked cap and carrying a whip. The barman says to the bloke, "you could've put some pants on."
Girl goes into this bloke with a bar, knocks him flat and pinches his wallet. Not so much a joke, more a cautionary tale.
That's as far as I can remember, the alarm came on at that point, so I had to go to sleep.
b
So there's a suicide cult called "Heaven's Gate". That's like naming your terrorist organisation "Ishtar" or "The Last Action Hero". If you got that, give yourself a pat on the back. If you found it funny, give yourself electro-convulsive therapy.
Bloke goes into a bar with this girl wearing nothing but a pair of red stilettoes, leather peaked cap and carrying a whip. The barman says to the bloke, "you could've put some pants on."
Girl goes into this bloke with a bar, knocks him flat and pinches his wallet. Not so much a joke, more a cautionary tale.
That's as far as I can remember, the alarm came on at that point, so I had to go to sleep.
b
Monday, 24 March 2008
The Why of All
Wednesday, 7th May 1997
the why of all ( two haikus )
You don't want to know.
Believe me.
It's a long story.
Some other time.
Not here.
Not just yet.
Maybe tomorrow.
See me then.
Don't hold your breath.
B
the why of all ( two haikus )
You don't want to know.
Believe me.
It's a long story.
Some other time.
Not here.
Not just yet.
Maybe tomorrow.
See me then.
Don't hold your breath.
B
Friday, 21 March 2008
You're Standing On My Neck
Tuesday, 6th May 1997
Pyramid clown
With the ears hanging down
You're moving too fast for the sea
Somersault high
Custard pie in the sky
Assaulted with impunity
Carry my car made of foam
To the dark circus outside of town
Pyramid clown, run around
On your own
Pyramid clown
Shoot the audience down
A toy gun, real artillery
Play elephants
Polka-dot baggy pants
There's nobody paying to sea
Laugh till you scream oh for sky
Where the lights have no business to shine
Pyramid clown, you are mine
Till you die.
B
Pyramid clown
With the ears hanging down
You're moving too fast for the sea
Somersault high
Custard pie in the sky
Assaulted with impunity
Carry my car made of foam
To the dark circus outside of town
Pyramid clown, run around
On your own
Pyramid clown
Shoot the audience down
A toy gun, real artillery
Play elephants
Polka-dot baggy pants
There's nobody paying to sea
Laugh till you scream oh for sky
Where the lights have no business to shine
Pyramid clown, you are mine
Till you die.
B
Thursday, 20 March 2008
The Streets Run Red
Friday, 2nd May 1997
Wow. Labour landslide.
I didn't have the first blind clue that that was going to happen. If you always miss the news, never read the papers, and only catch five minutes of "current affairs" every day on popular radio, there is rather a lot that can take you by surprise.
And thank arse it did. Democracy been well and truly exercised. Not only did Michael Portillo, David Mellor and Gyles Brandreth lose their seats, but word has it that Paul Daniels might emigrate. Magic!
Order me a bus of Dianas and a Singapore Sling...
B
Wow. Labour landslide.
I didn't have the first blind clue that that was going to happen. If you always miss the news, never read the papers, and only catch five minutes of "current affairs" every day on popular radio, there is rather a lot that can take you by surprise.
And thank arse it did. Democracy been well and truly exercised. Not only did Michael Portillo, David Mellor and Gyles Brandreth lose their seats, but word has it that Paul Daniels might emigrate. Magic!
Order me a bus of Dianas and a Singapore Sling...
B
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