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I hold Kitty to my naked body

  Sat 5th August 2017

My mother was up for a few days, during which I demonstrated my utter selfishness.

We went to see my middle daughter, who has a part in a professional production of an adaptation of a book whose title sounds a bit like Pleasure Thailand. I had to look nonplussed when she said last night that it lasts for three hours.

Its duration isn't the problem -- I've sat (well, lay) contendly through a four-and-a-half-hour-long performance of John Cage's Imaginary Landscapes; it's the fact that Pleasure Thailand is produced outdoors.

In the evenings, there's only one reason to go up there, and it's not sitting on a cushion wrapped in a binliner listening to a three-hour play I can't hear. It's like a re-cast Milgram experiment. "Watch the play." "But the subject is suffering. He's saying his arse and back are killing him and that he doesn't give a shit what happens to the characters." "Watch the play."

I lasted about ten minutes. A set of harlequin-panted actors shouting at each other whilst dancing like chuggers. I made my excuses and sloped off: guilt and relief in equal measure.

I rang Kitty and went round hers. She reminded me that last time I was in her house, a few days ago, she said that if I wanted to stay over (a certain amount of alcohol and another relaxant had been consumed) she'd put my clothes in her washing machine. I promptly stood up, took every single item of clothing off, clasped her to my naked body, thanked her profusely, and took myself to bed.

Every workplace has one person who takes an irrational dislike to you and makes your job as difficult as possible. The Cunning Little Vixen never speaks to me except to criticise me. Glancing up at the cricket score whilst pouring a pint, I am told "keep your eye on the pint." Resting my elbow on the back of the bar for a few seconds has me told to stand up.

She does the rosters, and this week I have been allocated 5.5 hours' work. If I had anything as archaic as a contract it would be constructive dismissal.

Never mind, all will be forgotten soon. I'm off right now, to Glasgow, for house music all night long.



Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

“Looby’s not dead!” klaxon.

Sat 5th August 2017 @ 09:38 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

I will remember the phrase “guilt and relief in equal measure". I’ve just sloped off early from a wedding reception in order to “check on the dogs” and am trying to work up the enthusiasm and energy to return for the evening part.

Sat 5th August 2017 @ 09:41 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

It’s the time of night when i get into what is called the “heavy indicas", and while i’d like to type some sort of coherent comment it’s also the time of night when coherence isn’t at the forefront of my thinking, we’re gentle and sentient lot we are, all we want is a place to lay our head, the occasional warm body to hold or be held by, we want to laugh and dance and smile and tell dirty jokes and ponder the fucking stars, and yet we are forced to deal with things like the the Cunning Little Vixen, or to use more precise terms, that cunt, who will never understand joy or happiness or the 4am air and a cigarette as the music plays in the building you’re leaning against and the drugs are kicking their last bits of pleasure and the infinite possibilities of bus rides or breakfasts or phone numbers fumbled or forgotten, how do you help the hopeless or hope the helpless, do we even try? for maybe to them it is us who need the help and the hope and it is as much their right as ours to interpret this ride in any way they see fit, neither view is more valid than the other, though one might be a lot more fun, i guess the terms applied are only relevant to the vessel which applies them, ah well, i do enjoy reading your missives good sir, like that 4am cigarette, somewhere between the synapses and the keys so much has been lost, if i can find it i will let you know, for now though i’m going to sit in this metal folding chair and listen to my favorite melancholy songs as i wander my way from Sunday night to Monday morning, the smoke twirling towards the ceiling…

Sun 6th August 2017 @ 19:20 Reply to this comment

Was there any blowback from your daughter about leaving after ten minutes? I hope you didn’t hurt her feelings.

I agree with Homer. It’s nice to know you haven’t expired. Yet.

Mon 7th August 2017 @ 03:38 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

That’s the person I feel most worried about, but she’s got me sussed and she knows I don’t enjoy the outdoor plays and she doesn’t expect me to be there. I don’t know why I bother pretending to be interested. And Middle Daughter knows that too.

Mon 7th August 2017 @ 14:51 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Yes still here Homer. Would love to know if you went back after the interval.

kono – Your first few lines describe the life I’m aiming at.

Mon 7th August 2017 @ 14:55 You are currently replying to this comment
Comment from: isabelle [Visitor]

The title of your post is very click bait-y. I was looking forward to lurid details of naked shenanigans with Kitty. Never mind,it’s good to know you’re still alive and being you ;) xx

( kono sums up perfectly the aim of stoners and hedonists and lovers the world over)

Tue 8th August 2017 @ 10:58 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

Well, yeah I did, but only because I knew there would be a giant pan of goulash made by the Czech chef next door and it would save me having to cook. Pretty craven, I admit.

Tue 8th August 2017 @ 12:36 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

He does doesn’t he isabelle? I regret that there are not, and never will be, any lurid details to recount concerning any of my female coterie. I am the sexless friend, held at a wary arm’s length by girls who don’t fancy me and that think their sex lives belong to a passed time.

Selfish to the core Homer :) How could one resist that though?

Tue 8th August 2017 @ 15:41 Reply to this comment

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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

M / 60 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

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