The Zen of Poo

After an smashing long weekend in mein little shire town out in the country, Simon has boarded a train for an elegant journey to Londontown, where he will mingle with society and undoubtedly drink vast amounts of tea and port. Being devoid of one of these infernal computer machines, I shall once more endeavour to live up to the splendour that is his blog and attempt to write something that isn't complete and utter shit. But who am I kidding, and inspired by that last sentence (and too hungover to think of anything more complicated), I decided to repost something I blogged about 6 years ago:


I found it one morning, in front of our barbecue. Round, soft, smooth texture, by the look of it.
Looked pretty fresh, but it struck me as strange... who, if that's what it was, would poo in our garden? And not just discreetly in the flowerbed or a dark corner, like the well-behaved cats do, but actually have the nerve to relieve himself in front of our barbie?
I stood there, contemplating, in the warm morning sun, inspecting the insolent pile of excrement which looked too weird to be of its kind.
Sarah, my housemate, stepped outside for her morning cigarette. I turned to her.
"Sarah?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Do you know what that is?"
Sarah stepped closer and eyed the tiny heap critically, but I could see a certain cluelessness in her face.
"Is that a turd?", I asked.
She still looked unsure. "Didn't the guys have a barbie last night? I think Russell dropped a burger."
"A burger?", I said, doubtfully. There are a lot of exaggerated claims about the quality of the English cuisine, but never would one expect for the average burger to look like shite. But then again, maybe it was an an Asda Smartprice one.

A few hours later, Russell got up, and I asked him to come outside. "Can I have your professional opinion on something?" I asked and pointed to the brown heap which had begun to dry on the surface, cracking like African mud in a drought.
"Is that one of your burgers?"
Russell glanced at it.
"Nah", he diagnosed with a tone of expertise. "That's a turd."

Turns out it was foxes. We hear them at night, sometimes. When they scream, they sound like crying toddlers. Like babies. It is the creepiest sound to wake up to in the middle of the night.

And yet this seemingly insignificant poo taught me a lot. About liberation and innocense and never thinking twice about anything but just going with the flow... of LIFE! Of LIFE! Yes of course. It must be a peaceful existence, being a fox.
Except maybe in England. Well, they had it coming for them. If they poo in everyone's garden, no wonder fox-hunting is the big British pastime.
You just don't mess with an Englishman's garden.

No Junk Food

WARNING!!! WARNING!!! SOMETHING CONSTITUTING A NORMAL BLOG WARNING!!!

Yesterday, I found myself having to wander a reasonable stretch to our nearest ASDA superstore, for 'some bits' as they say in the common vernacular, this is the term given to the light falsly-economic shop that the 21st Century has given a ceaserian section to... the poncy language is to somehow alleviate what is going to be one of those 'health'-blogs that are rather fashionable - the irony that endless typing at a laptop is surely does not aid 'ealf.... Anyswayze to cut a long story mediocre... I promised myself a little reward for this journey, a resultant BIG MAC! - It was to be my undoing... as when I wolfed down this double pattied , drippy yellow-sauced, corrogated gherkined sliced bunned monstrosity, that within minutes I started feeling quote unquote 'peculiar'. 

         Now, I have had McDonalds and other Fast Food type place foods on a million other occasions; to think how much money I have spent; usually it's KFC and Subway; perhaps they have more nutritional value than Maccie Dee's but I am not in the business of food snobbery (secretly slighty, but that's just personal guilt) it's just 'feeling sick after', on loads of occasions I've greedily laid out and consumed bargain buckets, three double cheese-burgers, 2 whole dominator meatball explosion dominoes pizza... and the idea of that melted cheese and garlic sauce makes me salivate - but just in the way nicotene and caffeine used to make my synapses twinkle, I do 'feel' sick and wrong and ill when I consume these things - it is a bit of a self-delusion that you 'enjoy' most of this stuff - ciggies do enhance pleasure receptors slightly but only for the next fix - and salt and sugar highs are temporary we know, we know... but it's the bottom line of THINKING ITS BAD FOR YOU AND DOING IT COZ YOU LIKE IT, and actually it FEELS SICK-MAKING; and the penny dropped yesterday - I felt grumpy, sicky and frustrated; I felt wrong. 
         
      And it wasn't until I had a walk, a couple of actimels and a banana that balance was restored. As I said before I gave up caffeine, I had done it before by just having 1 coffee a day in the morning, that seemed okay, but then became 3,2,4 etc. but by replacing coffee with decaff - MIRACULOUS! - substitution is the king, I must say; that's been a real boon - so 1 coffee here and there is okay, but I have really not bothered, I just don't like it, - and it really was something I used to have ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME! - I don't even like it that much, even though I always insist on 'going for coffee'.... 


So now I am looking for an alternative to 'snacking out' or 'lazy food' because I am perfectly happy with salad's and prawn cocktails or some weird egg/caper thing - mmmmm, what it is - and silly as it is, all that junk means to me is QUANTITY, I think I am getting more (even though I am not reaaalllly) - and that's why the bulky savoury wins out.... egads! What's a boy to do! 


        Well the eclectic of tastes and a willingness to ingest just about anything may prove to be a bonus, and perhaps the task of eating in new and outre places - something new on the menu may stop this - although it's become rather sparse with the lack of monies so I needn't worry too much....


Right off to heat up the left-over chiniese from last night........mmmmm....


 

Hero Worship

It's fair to say, that, in the past (and well up to just ere the present moment) I had a bit of a thing for idolizing people. That is to say certain noted performers, writers, actors, directors, politicians and so on and so forth, that caught my imagination, inspired me and made me feel, that there are others who are peculiar and find a natty way of negotiating with the world that keeps them afloat. An added bonus perhaps that they can use their peculiarities to their own advantage - but that's a bit science fiction for me still.

I don't know if you feel the same way? I love to hear of others heroes and heroines, it does warm the pulminary muscles of my heart, it truly does. I used to (and still) feel a little shy at the idea of some of my idols. Especially as now I get older, I realise that I can meet and (for the briefest of moments) interact with said idol - some come at a price and vary strangely. Luckily the highest sainthood of idols are mostly dead, or at the point of no return (Thatcher) so it will be very unlikely I'll ever get to meet them...

Where to start in exposing this desire... I cannot quite fathom. I try and theorize till the sow comes home about WHY? WHY? of it. This insatiable desire to look over the other mans shoulder to see how he's constructing his life, so you know you're doing it right? No, no, to easy.... I like to think I am testing the waters of what one can do with this group of particles we are temporary custodians of (hehehe - love that so much - got to keep using it ;)) - they aren't little templates that I am going to go out and copy.... as I used to terrorize myself with the idea of.....*shudder* *shudder* "MY LIFE IS NOT MY OWN!" I'd howl at the moon...no, I think it genuinely is getting a feel for the many, varied and amazing ways people live, entirely outside or through gritted teeth - the accidental time and place of their birth and what becomes of them.... of course there is an element of preservation of personality long after the fleshy casing of the human has perished, and ego, ego, ego.... but it has a lot to do with being a stickler for that intense flourish of a relationship - even if it is with someone you don't know. Although unfortunately I have a tendency to 'ruminate' as a kindly Doctor once put it.... and the seeds of this are also thrown into this little aspect....

These Heroes I don't pick at random, I see a lot of potential in them and they sort of nourish me, I seek shelter in their lives; the way they've dealt with rough times when I've been going through a dank patch and so on, some philosophize, some have such an outlook, or way with words. The downside is that they intrude my normal function sometimes, they crowd into my head and I end up repeating vast swathes of their ideologies, regardless if I share the view, I will get frustrated that my life does not or never will fit THAT pattern.... they are minor concerns and I think I have just about absolved myself of that oddity....

Lets concentrate on the gooey yummy loveliness of my idols and the whys and wherefors:

1. Stephen Fry = Now he's probably the most famous of my idols, and sometimes compared (which irks) unfavourably but the reason I have adored him since the age of 14, was because at that age I read his autobiography; MOAB IS MY WASHPOT, which I urge you all to read - his honesty, his defiance, his insecurity and anger, joy and sadness, and especially the positive words on sexuality which I desperately needed to read at that time. That really springboarded me out of the closet at such a young age... although perhaps it didn't prepare me for the backlash ;)

2. Dennis Potter = This is a biggie - and one for which came at the time of a big personal struggle in my life - what inspired me about this figure and writer - was the mythology that surrounded him - the fact he was cloaked in a debilitating illness, chain-smoking, a liar, a self-inventor of his life-story that he twisted fact into fiction, fiction into fact, almost wrote scenes and constructed scripts as he was talking to people in resteraunts (usually young actresses) his sensitivity, and obsessions, especially with memory - now this helped (and hindered) and harnessed my secretive nature and also a panache for delighting myself privately about how I went about 'constructing' the conversation of evening meals with friends.... all rather strange.... I do think he is the reason I did a scriptwriting course - and although I tried not to and didn't see it, the influence in a quantity of my scripts is his....

3. Will Self = Now this is the first hero I actually met, asked questions and got to 'ogle the flesh of', as it were, I even wrote a sickening sycophantic essay at college about staring at him during a book-reading in Stockwell; he and his influences (J.G. Ballard, William Burroughs et al) I delight in because of their view of the world as an alien landscape, the association with violence and mutation, also that they also exist in the real world and well the interesting superstitions of writers I always revel in. His geekiness, bad posture and skin complexion also interested me - oh dear - yeaaahsss...

4. Germaine Greer = I always see her pop up on panel shows since the 90's especially HIGNFY, and her no-nonsense 'I don't care what you think' attitude, topped with real learning, humour and personality, I got to ask her a question at a radio recording of FRONT ROW at broadcasting house. Funnily enough I was in the front row - irony - and my question concerned 'criticism' and how she felt about it, she looked utterly shocked and didn't understand a word of it, Mark Lawson had to translate my tongue-tied verbiage for me, such a nice man.

5. Quentin Crisp = Always on the periphery of my vision since I was a child - this again - the fact I have devoured his zen philosophy of 'living in the constant present' and witty ideology of living, humour in faith goes a long way for me, I have read and reread and relistened to nearly all of his books and recordings and so on, it ironically is not his propaganda of th protest of his sexuality that most inspired me - its that mythological lifestyle that is completely his own -he transcended society, time and space by simply BEING as a consious act, and the construction of persona and the identity through uniform - oh, oh god! Such a major influence!

(YES it's all INFLUENCE isn't it - grrrr)

6. Barry Humphries = His private life and construction of public personae is so complicated, so funny, yet so simple, that he has got away with his life of eccentric, intellectual, low-humour, high-concept life, he has lived it so well and with such originality that it defies belief, and when I met him at a book-signing only last week I was a shivering wreck that spoke completele goobledegook and shook his hand twice. I left him a letter telling him how brilliant he was - the shame the shame....

Oh and there are so many more that I have met from Melvyn Bragg to Reece Sheersmith, some brief nods to full-blown conversations, but I would never agree with the opinion that I am simply STAR-GAZING, my strangeness compells me, no propels me into the orbit of these strange noted persons because I feel all my waffle and strangeness if funneled in their direction may wought some sense of perspective and we might really get a bearing on how to live this existence....

Thank-you and toodle-pip.