On The Disappointments of Browsing

Bookshops are a waste of space. They add nothing. They need shooting. The lot of 'em.

Obviously, I'm messing about here. Toying with your deep-set J R Hartley related emotions. Obviously I do like bookshops. I enjoy browsing. But there is always disappointment. It's like fish'n'chips. The idea of browsing is better than the actual act. Mushy peas or no mushy peas.

I always get hot. I always start to get back ache. I never find a book that engrosses me beyond belief. I get agitated by the superfluous 'tat' shelf selling cuddly Gruffalo key rings and J K Rowling tea cosies. I get wound up seeing Alex James's face everywhere. And I always end up browsing through books I already have (Today it was Sum by David Eagleman).

I also selfishly bemoan the fact that the unpublished book I've written wouldn't fall comfortably into any particular section. There's never a 'NINE PERCENT FICTITIOUS DIARIES OF THIRTY SOMETHINGS ON THEIR DAY OFF' category.

But as with fisn'n'chips these disappointments will never stop me coming back for more. I'll leave you in the more than capable hands of Samuel Johnson:
'Disappointment, when it involves neither shame nor loss, is as good as success; for it supplies as many images to the mind, and as many topics to the tongue."

Observations From a Parked Automobile – Mid-Summer Downtown Leamington Spa (co-ordinates CV31 1EU)

A Windscreen Theatre
Showing Windblown Street
Bitterly cold
Sky seal grey
Leaves wave sarcastically
Parked cars line the pavements
Like temporary gravestones
An empty space:
DO NOT PARK IN FRONT OF THIS GATE
(in Fuck You Red)
The crash and clatter of the lonely workman feeding a trailer
He thinks to himself:
Feels like the last day of Autumn
I might have stew tonight
With dumplings
And a warming glass of red 
The wind howls in triumph

Post Repetitive Euro 2012 Syndrome

England come from behind to beat Sweden in a pub. At the end we all celebrate by spontaneously singing the theme from the A-Team. In their next match England will either win, lose or draw. If they win we will probably sing the theme from the A-Team again. That is the very nature of human beings.

Urinal Protest

In the court of Excessive Lavatorial Humour, I'm guilty as charged your honour. Most of us are. It's funny to us because it's based on the hidden away stuff. Hidden, unless of course you are a man amongst other men in urinals. Why are men forced together to urinate? Here's a protest verse I penned on the 17.15 London Paddington train:

I freeze at urinals 

when I'm beside you
why the hell is it men have no privacy
unless they want to poo?

Foraging In The 21st Century

"Jason?"

"Och aye, it's Jason here, but, ooh da noo, you would know that cuz you called me on my mobile so who else could it be laddie?"

"Scottish Jason?"

"Aye."

"You free today?"

"Is Billy Connolly the pope? Does Haggis shit in the woods? Aye. Of course I'm free."

"Great. How would you feel about a day walking around Oxfordshire countryside, stopping at every opportunity to meticulously pick wild food - nettles, dandelion leaves, that kind of thing - with the intention of using them for a feast later, only to decide on our return that getting fish'n'chips is less hassle and chuck everything we've gathered down a ditch?"

"Aye. Sounds bonny. I'll bring the ketchup."

Tastier than doc leaves