If I were to win a teeth whitening session I’d use the opportunity to just go spend an hour near a dentist asking them questions about their personal and professional decisions and their thoughts on death and dreams and where that all fits in with dentistry and teeth whitening. People who work with teeth always seem so interesting, with a real knack for philosophising and helping me see...
Nothing but partridges, ball-point pens and a load...
Hello. I’ve been wanting to tell you something. I’m not sure how appropriate it is, and in fact it’s a little embarrassing, but here we go… Well, I just think you’d look better with a parrot on your shoulder. Nothing says alternative like a resting tropical bird, well, apart from a panting shrew. Though actually I suppose a resting tropical bird is just that...
The oversized antlers of our dear exhausted deer.
Goats and levers, where do they lead? They lead down the river and over the bridge to a fountain of youth and a stream which never ceases to run. A dried up prune is left on a gravel path. He has been here.
A brief note to our leaders
Plate to fork to mouth is the established mollusc eating process and never could I stand by a government that wishes to impose its dogmatic trajectory of plate to teaspoon to mouth. Let those within power understand that mollusc eating, and the methods by which each citizen chooses to eat them, is a personal choice and a fundamental liberty. I’d sooner die than be forced to chase greasy...
Dear Diary #12
The weatherman really did give a sensational performance this evening. I was engrossed right from the start, didn’t know where it was going and couldn’t stop watching. A thrilling ride.
Dear Diary #11
I’m completely through with living for the weekend. From now on I am living for the carrot peel, the banana skin and any other discarded flesh or rind.
Dear Diary #10
Really excited! Roll on The Floor!
Dear Diary #9
From today onwards I pledge allegiance to my side-parting. We’ve actually started an organisation, too; it’s called “global side-parters of the world united”. Membership is £3 a year. Centre-parters not welcome. Comb overs will be judged on a case-by-case basis.
The grass was so green that it covered the faeces...
What I don’t understand is how someone can come to this country, have a great time and be relatively ‘successful’, driving anything from a Vauxhall Astra all the way up to an Aston Martin or a Jaguar or a Fourth-generation Jet Fighter Plane, whilst I’m here, sat at a desk, typing pointless information into a pointless system for pointless people to make pointless money only...
Dear Diary #8
Living life dangerously appeals to some, but eating undercooked beans just does not seem like a thrill. Living life intelligently should appeal to all, and that includes eating properly cooked beans.
Dear Diary #7
This is an official notice to let you know that I am now going by the name of ‘Blackmagic Nighthawk’ of the Black Turtle Bean Clan. Regards.
Dear Diary #6
Thinking of starting my own grocery business. I’ll be selling soil-grown fruit as well as water-nourished vegetables. The idea is you buy them, pan-fry them and then hopefully decide to kill yourself.
Dear Diary #5
It’s been a ‘slice of quiche’ kind of day today.
Don't tell nobody but I kissed Magdalene - I am...
Mary was on the ground, the hard dead ground. She had fallen and was horizontal on the ground. Then she got up and she was fine She had a fag and she was fine. She had a shandy and she was fine. She had a couple of luxury chocolate misshapes and she was fine. She had increasing amounts of heroin for several years and was in hospital in a critical condition It was there, on her death bed,...
and boy oh boy is it starchy
Mr Mingus in his ordinary boat was ordinarily dead. A classic case of goodbye porc en croute hat and hello unknown dried egg replacement. Maggots loosely writhing on his now defunct Aer Lingus plane tickets hoped to mount him and penetrate his outer layer to feast upon his flesh, something I’m sure Mingus would have been complicit with were he conscious, but he was nevertheless powerless...
Season o' t'bear growin', dancin' t' dance o'...
What of your yearly bear yields? You might ask. Well, we aim for at least two bears from seed per annum, meaning we’ve the highest bear germination rate in the whole region. We normally sell our bears in Dewsbury bear market, just behind Mount Faeces Recycling Centre. We’re currently trying to branch out into other vertebrates including junior tysons and military men, though...
Dear Diary #4
It’s only when it’s broken and gone and you have to turn your attention to the old reliable masher that you really start to think, “do i even need a hand blender at all?”
Dear Diary #3
It really is surprising the softness one can find in celery when partaking in the soup making process.
Dear Diary #2
Fed stale bread to the ducks that live in my jeans in my jeans.
Dear Diary #1
Spent the evening altering waistcoats under moon light. You’d think it’d have been romantic but it really wasn’t, I was too near the coast and the smell of fish was agitating and really putting me off some of the finer needlework.
Confusion at sainsbury's
Is this a place of business? I’d like to pay with a mumbling jackal.
Tired of expensive sunglasses? You can bet your favourite face transplant I am. In light of this tired feeling I’ve put together a guide to help you escape the tiredness and feel refreshed and invigorated and more importantly, have a cheap pair of sunglasses. Start off by finding a selection of abandoned drinks, paying particular attention to those displaying proud and strong straws. This...
No real reason for this other than it’s a...
When I wear my jacket I feel important.
I’m waiting for a response in a dark room lit solely by one candle, but it’s flickering quite a lot as I’m actually roasting a tiny vole over it and the fat keeps dripping into the flame. I’m doing so hoping to have a nice roast vole to eat and a candle that is coated in vole fat from the drips… that way whenever I light it in the future, the scent will remind me of...
Denial of liberty
Why don’t you just roast the shit out some potatoes and eat them with everything everyday if that’s what you want to do? If you can’t do it now when the fuck are you ever going to do it?
Wednesday, BLOODY WEDNESDAY
My inspiration is normally just the little claws of birds and how they use them to cling onto the electrical wires in the sky. Perches aside I am quite a bird fan. I like most of them actually: beak, wing, bones and general feather. The odd sing and swoop also appeal to me, as well as the use of moss in home construction
I bid on a pair of shoes on ebay and afterwards...
I’m living life in the slow lane, vapid and vegetating. The less I use my body the more it feels like my head is independent and will soon float away in the wind, leaving the rest of me behind to perish, and be pecked at by birds.
A formal non-postal address to a worldwide...
Greetings, Earth. After a long period away roaming the open autobahns of the free world and dog faces, I’ve returned several library books and processed a multitude of exotic meats. My face is wreaking an ungodly stench but my sweet peas look a treat from the bay window. Sometimes the son rises far too quickly in mourning the passing of time. His jaded leaves and their timely wilting....
More plump hens/Plump of moorhens.
Teddy bear with an eye hanging out by a thread. Yeh that’s life, that’s a life right there.Bloody eye hanging out - bitta string. That’s pretty much it. Unstuff it, peel its face off and stick it in the washing machine, out of sight until it’s been cleaned. Dry its outer in the back room and examine its eye between your finger and thumb - “I should probably fix...
An understanding of contemporary attitudes towards...
Do you sense sheep? Run Thomas! Run! For they are coming! (pause) The sheep are closer now
Memo #5 - Standards of strawberry motion
Hearing his mother cry out “the butchering could wait.” Hearing his mother cry out, the butchering could wait. A hasty ingestion of cereal and he was away to the night but more importantly, to the rescue. The price of meat had just gone up and my old lady had just gone down. The goat was being fed though no score was accepted. Yes the corruption had returned and the door was still...
It was about 5 and Timothy Berners-Lee was having marital problems. At the same time my own wife was resting by a lampost. Whilst resting, another wife, in another country was picking up a crab on a beach. Roger Taylor’s wife was also resting but in a different location and actually propped up against a sort of unconventional, mildly aggressive hat stand. Not to be out done Shaun...
After our cross country exploits (literally) around eastern Europe our tattered suits were looking a bit worse for wear. We popped into a delightful tailors in the upmarket part of Gali. Whilst my inner leg was being measured, a comforting smile came across the face of Mike, something I’d become familiar with throughout our perils. He had a warming glow about him, but as the tailor would...
Mike Spalding came into my life this week. Young man, great arse. He had a strange tan but this didn’t affect his impact on the ambiance of a room. Sure, he was flambouyant, but who could deny affection for such charming eccentricity? To set the scene we were meeting somewhere around the Czech-Austrian border after a busy business schedule in Russia, where we’d seen a man about a dog....
A clash with Mr Grapefruit Drink has yielded yet more in the way of lead filled wooden writing implements. There’s pencils everywhere. I’m often left wondering when will he learn? Will he ever see the benefits of biro? That aside the week has been steady with little joy regarding the quest for dignity/social adequacy. I was made aware of a sexy referencing scheme with much innuendo...
Anger he smiles tow’ring shiny metallic purple armour. Queen jealousy,...– Jimi Hendix - Bold as Love.
of that existential moment.
With his Hands, Arp the Jean Arc.
Pleasantries over with attention was turned over and over and tossed. Listed painstakingly in bored key throats, his majesty resided in Fladengby castle with trousers so short that the dovetails at the perpendicular were excited by the above-the-knee flesh available to all seeking enlightenment from its aura. Gape in throat cleared, words ejected; “Honey combed hair was the rage, anger...
Henry the 8th and his processed meats.
“What is your name?” Asked Mr Zaglanikis. “Monsieur S J willow Walton,” he retorted in an exaggerated mock french accent. “And I’d like to join your organisation.” He casually moved towards the looming wardrobe, trailing his finger along the wall and keeping constant eye contact with he who questioned. “Mr Walton, what are you doing?” Mr...
The Ian Browne song
Just a bit of something i’ve been working...