Supermarket - Aisle 1

clutching at strings
tied to worse than aluminium
sighing into empty ears
fumbling with/at electronics
an escort of bloodhounds could not
guide me through the pines
socially exceptionless, yet
calling off the hunt is the same
as dialling for takeaway
aluminium foil encasing hope
a small bag of onion salad
is the bulwark against this
this iconic oubliette
self-contained, throw away the keynote
speaker
dash their brains out on the running track
in love with pixels
your pixie avatar resembles
a fog-laden midnight
gas lamps and rippers
I yearn to stalk the cobbles
with my very best magnifying glass
ticking off the wanted posters
rounding corners with/out abandon/ing
principles forged in aluminium
titanic and recyclable
I have drunk from the same can twice before
yet thirst like a pug
is it true to manufacture desires
selling mass-production as home-made?
This is a home-made problem
of breathing problems and back-issues of the heart
an aluminium respiratory system
clean and cheap
this is the top of the range
no strings attached
the heart has a ring-pull instead
open with your fourth finger
metal has a taste
like blood

On Shaving

      "'Shaving the upper lip,' I remarked, 'is a curse which canaries and women have been spared.' [The canary] cocked its ear. 'Except, of course, certain aunts,' I added, evoking a squawk of alarm from the feathered f.
       'On the other hand,' I mused, fondling the bare ruined choir where once the sweet-briar sprang, 'you and they will never know the bliss of being freshly shaven.'"

Bonfiglioli, Kyril. The Great Mortdecai Moustache Mystery (1999). (St.Ives: Clays Ltd, 2002), pp.173

Putting the FUN in funeral

Tonight I am embarking on a holiday with Chloe Stapleton, Claire Sissons, Graham Pether, Tim Huzar and eventually Emma Turvey. We are going to catch a sleeper train up to Glasgow where, tomorrow morning, we shall eat a hearty breakfast and hopefully get a quick bit of quality time with Henry King. From then on it will be strictly business, as we walk from Glasgow along the West Highland Way to Fort William. At Fort William we shall bathe in luxury at a hostel before attempting to scale Ben Nevis, the mountain of heaven. The plan from then on will be to traverse the Great Glen Way to Inverness where we will purchase lots of rum and catch a sleeper train home. Hoorah!

Now, walking can be a perilous thing. My last attempted long distance walk, the Coast to Coast walk across through the Lake District, Yorkshire Dales and Yorkshire Moors saw me do something to my ankle and have to abandon my comrades after but a day's walking. The first photo depicts us before setting out.

This photo is me looking a bit sorry for myself at 90 degrees, resting behind an abandoned overgrown house with my ankle feeling like it had been kicked by a moose, whilst the others went to find a nearby campsite. The next day I was on the train back to Brighton (via Carlisle, eesh).

As Scotland is just more hardcore than England in most respects I am a bit more wary this time out. A swift perusal of a Ben Nevis safety website has left me thinking about what would happen should the worst come to pass. Namely, me falling off the side and ending. A couple of select episodes of Northern Exposure that we've watched recently have looked at life, ageing and dying, and so with the fragility of human life in mind I have decided to jot down some quick thoughts about how I'd like to be dealt with if I do happen to tumble to a horrible doom at some point over the next few days.

There are four key areas that need to be addressed:

My physical estate
This will be the easiest thing to take care of. A meeting shall be held between my family and my flatmates and they can divvy everything up. I imagine there'll be some arguments over who gets the Chuckle Brothers poster and the Madagascar promo cardboard box but they are all sensible people and should be able to thrash something out.

Disposal of the body
I'm not sure what sort of state my body will be in following this sort of demise. It would be nice to be buried so that my body can return usefully to nature. I'd quite like all my organs to be donated (including eyes) but I've not filled out a donor card. Hopefully the NHS can accept blogs as a form of consent. As an NHS employee with a sound mind I can assure any doctors that this is what I would like to happen. It would be nice to have a headstone somewhere also. With an epitaph. I can't really think of anything as good as Spike Milligan's right now, so I'd probably have to go for something like, "Don't end up like me, start writing your great piece of children's literature NOW." That's a bit glum, so most of the merry-making will have to take place at the service/wake.

Service/Wake
This is the most important bit really. First of all, everybody is invited. Second of all, there will be karaoke. Somebody needs to sing Bridge Over Troubled Water and somebody needs to sing Tie Me Kangaroo Down. There will be lots of drinking. It should be held in a pub; perhaps Northern Lights as it is my favourite pub currently, but if numbers threaten to be too much for it then a suitable alternative venue can be sort. I would like a band to play, preferably a really good one. If Philanthropy were to play a set of Electric Six covers that would be swell. Alternatively Frankie Solo, 2-Shay, The Sneaky Frog and the Scoundrel or the Red Diamond Dragon Club would also be deemed suitable. I would also quite like Paul Hawkins to sing Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables. That would bring people down to earth. Also I would like a team of artisans to construct an effigy of me to be used as a piñata, so that any unresolved anger issues can be addressed and that any kids present can get some sweets. (Unsure why that's been italicised).

Imagine Paul singing this. People may need to do a whip around in order to get the money for his plane ticket. It would be well worth it though. I realise that this is all becoming deeply narcissistic but then, I wouldn't be having anymore birthdays, so the potential total of time that would have been spent focusing on me needs to be condensed into one day. Overall, the feel of the day would be a bit like one of the Irish cop wakes in the Wire.

Intellectual Property
All bands that I am currently in must continue. Where necessary, suitable replacements can be utilised i.e Lois Huzar, Steve Kelly, Chris Butler
My Facebook account is to remain active, under the control of Tim Huzar. He may utilise it as he wishes.
Someone needs to write The Adventures of Captain Iguanadon. Mike Sykes would probably be my first choice, though anyone is welcome to the project. As long as it conveys a strong environmental message, tackles important polemics making them accessible to children and is a shit-hot read then I don't mind too much.

Steve Kelly needs to get his ass into gear and start filming Chasing Frames 2.

I think that's about it. Ultimately I'm probably not going to die over the next fortnight. It'll probably be just as well that I don't, as all of that narcissism would cost a lot of money.