My Life Oy Vay. (Diary Of A Drunk Bastard.)

MY LIFE OY VAY 15.
(Diary of a Drunk Bastard)

FETCHING UP.
Yesterday I decided to tidy up all my old papers of odd writings and whimsical flim flam. I came across a piece of yellowing paper, and believe me there was a lot of it.
Some 18 years ago I fetched up at Hendon University nee Polytechnic, what I mean is that Polytechnic sounded a wee bit working class so they poshed it up to university so that you could brag later in life as you were stacking shelves in Tesco that you’d been to university. What’s worse than stacking shelves at Tesco? Stacking shelves at Asda.
Where was I? Oh yes, fetching up at Hendon which sounds a bit like puking up which is closer to reality. Anyway I digress which is a favourite practise of mine.
I was in some class which involved English, I can’t be more specific as life has been a blur. We were set the task of reading Marvel’s To A Coy Mistress (and it was a task dear reader). We were then asked to write our initial response to it, I wanted to write ’shite’ but I felt that might not be acceptable. So I decided to be creative - and - here we go. By the way I’d never heard of Marvel and what the fuck is metaphysical?
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One doesn’t want to appear inflammatory,
When criticising poems amatory,
But I can’t but help and comment on it,
When I cringe at Marvel and his sonnet (sic)
T’was once a time winged chariots rebuke,
If I read it again I think I’ll puke,
There can’t be a thing that’s sillier,
Than poets verse on necrophilia,
But hark one minute I’m buoyed again,
The worm is rising oh how Freudian,
Now don’t look flummoxed don’t look quizzical,
It’s just a conceit being metaphysical.

TOOTHACHE!

I make no apology for posting stuff I wrote last year, but I've got a bleeding toothache and more than that I've been drunk and out of it. But I'll have to go to my dentist's surgery called THE TOOTH, THE WHOLE TOOTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TOOTH. Mind you there is an upside to having a toothache I can have a snifter or eight to dull the pain.

I see Fatty Prescott has been up to no good, bonking all and sundry. If he’s not bonking, as in hitting his constituents, he’s shafting his many secretaries. I suppose that makes a brief diversion from shafting the country. He used to be known as ‘Two Jags’ Prescott I suppose we’ll be calling him ‘Two Shags’ Prescott now. It’ll be an ASBO for him with an electronic tag for his knob, but if you believe his mistress it’ll be one designed for a child. He’s been sacked from the Deputy Leadership but keeps his vast salary and his grace and favour flat. How true the old spoof of the Red Flag: ‘The working class can kiss my arse I’ve got the boss's job at last’.

Can you imagine if Tony’s dodgy ticker gave out, and Fatty ‘shagger’ Prescott had to take over, and make a visit to the States to meet Dubya, to thrash out foreign affairs?
Dubya’s sitting at his desk scrutinizing some papers: the fact that they’re upside down does not detract from the urgency of his gaze. John Prescott is shown in by an aide.
Dubya stands up to greet him.
D. “Hi Mr President I’m sorry to hear of your loss”.
P. “Actually fookin’ ‘ell, I’m still only Deputy Prime Minister, Tony’s not dead”.
D. “That’s what I meant, sorry for your loss, it’s a joke. Good ol’ boy Texas humour”.
P. “Oh, okay sorry”.
D. “How did Cherry take the news?”
P. “Cherie you mean, she found it jaw dropping”.
D. “Whoa, that’s a heck of a drop!”.
They both collapse with laughter.
D. “Where‘s that accent of yours from, you don’t sound like Tony?”
P. “Wales”.
D. “Whales, you were raised by whales?”
P. “No, It’s a country just to the left of England”.
D. “Don’t fuck with me man, even I know that’s Ireland”.
P. “No, it’s that little bit that’s joined onto England, but isn’t England and it’s full of sheep and farmers with large Wellington boots: so they can stay close to their sheep”. Very close”.
D. “Anyway, what’s it like in good ol’ Englerdom at this time of the year?”
P. “Fook, it’s full of tourists”.
D. “Yep we got a load ‘o’ those goddam tursts over here too, most of them in Guantanamera”.
P. “You put them in Guanotamo? I think I’ll suggest that to Parliament when I get back”.
D. “Okay lets get down to some business; I ran”.
P. “You ran, you ran what?”.
D. “I ran, I ran the country!”.
P. “Fookin’ ‘ell, top man it must be 4 thousand miles across, ‘ow long did it tek?”.
D. “I’m sorry the drift of what your saying I’m not catching it, I’m talking about that country that we’re going to liberate from war and incontinence”.
Prescott looks puzzled.
D. “Fuck you just turn left at Holland”.
P. “Oh you mean Iran! Sorry it’s just the pronoun uh it’s just the way you say it. We say it like they say it in Monty Python”.
It’s now Dubya’s turn to look puzzled.
P. “You know, the knights who say ‘nih’!
D. “Of course how stoopid of me, heh heh the knights who say ‘nih’ my favourite sketch”.
Dubya suddenly yells “Bumsfeldt, Bumsfeldt, get in here and bring some beers!”
P. “Ask him to bring a few pies in as well”.
P. “Okay George, we got a country in Iran that's disintegrating between our eyes what are we goin’ to do about it”.
D. “Nook ‘em!”.
P. “Bring on the pies!”.
D. “Bumsfeldt!”.
SNORING FOR ENGLAND.
Why, in the Miss Universe contest, are there no chicks from Mars, Pluto et al?
Well the ex has come and gone if you catch my drift; several times actually. Yes we did the beast with two backs scenario, we had a few drinks and she caught a cab home. Why she no stay overnight I hear you say? This woman could snore for England. She did stay overnight a couple of weeks ago and I had to sit in the chair all night, unable to sleep. At least when I lived with her I could go and kip on the sofa. Also she twitches like a dog and her legs make these involuntary movements. She’s a troubled soul alright: I guess that’s the attraction.

AGONIST AUNT.
Oh great news for us alcoholics. Those lovely scientists have come up with something called partial agonists. No these aren’t people who write for newspapers and magazines on a part time basis, doling out information such as ‘No if your dog seems to enjoy having carnal relations with your husband, I think you can make an accommodation. And you did say he was a good father’. No partial agonists or PAs mimic the effects of alcohol without the drawbacks. According to the wonderfully named Prof. Nutt in the New Scientist magazine, PAs produce only the desirable effects of alcohol. “You could design one chemical to replace all the benefits of alcohol and in drinks it could save hundreds of thousands of lives”. PAs have the added benefit of being neutralized by an existing drug called flumazenil. So you can get squiffy, pop a pill and hey presto your sober. Mind you as it’s a chemical they’d have to put bars in Boots the chemist, and be served by a pharmacist. Or just turn all pubs into chemists.

I AM AWFUL!
This is part of a piece I wrote about Suicide Shirley and her epileptic pills overdose.
I didn’t think she was going to make it, I really didn’t, neither did Chris, and inexplicably, on the afternoon of the second day; I suddenly burst into tears for no good reason. Must have been something I ate. Not like me. I don’t do crying. Hard bastard me. She phoned just now and said she wants to come round, I said that sex will have to take place. She said al la Dick Emery ‘You are awful’! I said that no I was just being honest which also is not like me, but you can now make your own mind up. God I’m turning into a saint. Mind you I was going to see the, by now, sixteen year old festucine junkie, so she’ll save me £50. And she is a great shag.

KATY PERRY AND THE MAGGOTS.
Katy Perry and the song ’I kissed a girl’ and she liked it, is driving me nuts in that I hate it but it’s maggoting my brain. She sings of tasting her ’cherry chapstick’ and if she’s alluding to what I think she’s alluding to, then she’s never tasted a woman’s 'cherry chapstick'. Because it’s more akin to smelling and or tasting a rotting Haddock. And we men don’t get away with it either, couldn’t God have made our semen taste like - ooh I don’t know - cherry chapstick. Is it lezzer week/month? Just seen the Sugababes video ‘Here Come The Girls.’ They seem to be feeling each other up. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Now there’s a thought; Katy Perry, The Sugababes and me naked, save for a half gallon of baby oil and we just slosh around and see what comes up. Me, I hope.
I was in Sainsbury’s Supermarket the other day and I noticed a sign saying ‘FOOD ON THE MOVE’. Why is it on the move, has it got maggots in it? And what’s with these ‘fun sized apples?’ I bought a couple of pounds got them home and stared at them for a couple of hours and they brought me no mirth. MAKE ME FUCKING LAUGH YOU BASTARDS! Can I sue Sainsbury’s?
EPILEPSY PILLS FOR SUPPER.
The next day I was feeling slightly better and phoned my friend Chris, who’s been looking after Shirley and told him what happened. He phoned her cousin who’s also been keeping an eye on her, and he phoned back to say that she’d taken a huge overdose and was in intensive care and it was going to be touch and go. Apparently she had phoned a friend, I made some sort of crack saying that it sounded like a rather extreme version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? He didn’t laugh. She had said the same to her as she said to me, her friend who has a set of keys, immediately went round to find her collapsed on the floor not breathing. I’ve always maintained that when all else fails the trick is to keep breathing. So she was whisked off to hospital where she was stomach-pumped and was on life support for two days. And the dopey cow do you know what she had taken? She had taken 170 anti-epilepsy pills - meant for her daughter’s dog. Oh if it wasn’t so funny it would be tragic.

GORGEOUS MACHETE.
Well I woke up this morning (ah feels an old blues refrain coming on) and my throat was beginning to play up again, so I thought I'm not going to leave it this time. (I was extremely ill with my throat on fire a few weeks ago.) So phoned a service here called Camidoc which is housed in The Royal Free hospital near me. They said come in and we'll check you over. I found them and I sat down dutifully in the waiting area alongside a couple. After a few minutes the Dr's door flew open and out clacked a Myleene Klass look-a-like in her high heeled shoes, about 17 and she strode around the corner - she was certainly six feet or more with a perfect body, Anglo/Oriental with great tits and her jeans must have been painted on. Fuck she was gorgeous! I thought she’s going to give a urine sample in the loo. I’d have taken it gladly - in my mouth. She clacked back and she clocked me staring at her tits and her all over gorgeousness. She gave me a hint of a basilisk glare and went into the Dr's surgery. Where did I go wrong? Why didn't I go to Med. school? Suddenly the door opened again and Ms. Anglo/Oriental said "Mr Brown?" Mr Brown got up and went in. OH . MY . GOD. SHE'S THE DR! A plan began to form in my brain straight away, I'll tell her that ‘the information you'll have received was incorrect, and that this very morn. I felt a lump in my balls and that I'm afraid that I might have testicular cancer. But I'd like a professional opinion. You see my father died from something similar. (In fact he died from having his own balls shoved down his throat by a jealous husband whose wife and daughter he'd been shagging. (No, not at the same time, do keep up!) She called me in and I explained the mix-up. God she was even more gorgeous close up. She turned around and looked up to her left and I followed her gaze, it rested on a large Machete hanging on the wall. I made my excuses and left.

A DRUNKEN ONTOLOGICAL RIDDLE.
My relationship with Felicity gives the lie to the old adage that men and women, who’ve had a sexual relationship, can never just be friends. She makes me larf! And me her. I’ve seen her through a marriage, 3 kids who all know me as her friend, a divorce and all that trauma, and now the new love in her life. So being a sexual predator is no bad thing. My alcoholic friend is not answering his phone again. Oh dear.

Ex girlfriend phoned me after we spent a couple of days shagging and drinking together, after which remorse and a hangover set in. I told her it will never work between us because we always end up getting rat-arsed and ill. And one of us will die prematurely. Can you do that? Die before your time? It’s one of the great ontological riddles of our time. So she accepted that I was right and left. (Right and left?) So she called two days later when I was rattling like a pair of maracas. She said “Goodbye Stephen” I said “Oh yeh goodbye”. I put the phone down. I thought that she was just coming to terms with the separation, then I thought is she going to jump out of the window? But the way I felt at that moment I really couldn’t care.

AN EXORCIST..FOR SHIRLEY.
Brilliant sign seen in a bookshop: 'Please Sue Upstairs.' Oh if only I could.
I've just googled a cousin of Carols’ whom I last saw 8/9 years ago who had a great sense of humour and wanted to get into acting. She's now set up her own company and is in a couple of ads, AIG and the Wellwoman vitamin ads.. Good innit? You see them as kids then suddenly there they are, all growed up and being successful. I don't know what's happening with the group that Carol’s involved with other than she's been to New York to do a few gigs, Carol’s not talking to Shirley again because of Shirley's behaviour when she's drinking. Sue turned up here ringing the bell at about 2.30am.. I ignored it - I was awake anyway - but someone came in and knocked on my door so I answered. I went down and there were a couple of Sudanese guys talking to her. They live here and are about twentyish. They were very sweet as they were talking about Shirley's relationship with Carol and telling her that this is quite normal for daughters to fall out with their mothers. I didn't get involved as it's like a broken record. They had called an ambulance for Shirley as she was/is in a bit of a state. She phoned the other night asking me to find her an exorcist - I kid you not. I just said yeh yeh yeh and hung up. The next morning just idly googling away I typed in exorcists, and there are fucking hundreds and hundreds of them! I said to Shirley yes you are possessed - by alcohol. Anyway we went to the Royal Free which isn't great, as I know. They do tend to leave you there for hours before they see you, I don't see why they can't sling a couple of Temazepam down you just to quieten the nerves. I have heard that University College Hospital downtown is much better at treating someone with severe withdrawals. So Shirley did her usual thing of walking out and I took her home which is only a few minutes from the hospital, then went home myself. I still have left-overs from the throat infection, because when I go to lie down I start coughing like mad very like Mutley the dog's wheeze. I went around today to take her some booze just to calm her down a bit as she was rattlin' but I had no desire to join in save for a milli-second when it flashed across my radar. I came home and pigged out on a couple of chocolate bars. Great old song just on the TV station 18 at the moment; Montell Jordan, 'This Is How We Do It.' Some songs/tunes just get better with time. The greatest in my opinion is Green Onions by Booker T and The MGs. It still has that cool groove which stopped me in my tracks back in - oooh - '63/'64.
I’ve just had Suicide Shirley on the phone and guess what? She’s threatening to kill herself again. She’s very very drunk of course and how does one respond to that kind of emotional blackmail? She was just phoning to say goodbye, so I said “goodbye.” She came around a couple of weeks ago fairly tanked up as was I but we still managed to shag like rabbits.
The evening went on as did our drinking and I can’t remember when she started to go ‘tit faced.’ But she started to scream, and I mean scream “mummy, mummy mummy, daddy daddy daddy!.” She lost both her parents within 3 months of one another when she was 15 and had to live with a much elder brother who didn’t understand stroppy teenage girls. (Does anyone?) He eventually had her put into care. The neighbours started to bash on the walls and I tried to shut her up by putting my hand over her mouth but she tried to bite me. She eventually calmed down.
Later on at one point she started to try to punch me but I managed to hold her wrists, and she eventually calmed down again but not for long. As luck would have it Felicity rang and as Shirley was by the phone she picked it up. Felicity was thrown by hearing a female voice when Shirley asked “who’s that?” Felicity replied “um Shirley” for some strange reason. Shirley did 1471 and rang her back and started to hurl all kinds of abuse down the phone with extreme prejudice. I was too drunk to stop her but what I didn’t know, Felicity had the answerphone on and everyone in her house could hear this stream of invective, and were grievous affected. Our Shirl rang her back a few minutes later and apologized.
A few minutes later she came up to me in my chair and railed against me for sitting there all day just watching TV and drinking and doing nothing with my life, she then picked up a full bottle of wine and hit me on top of my head with it. She luckily hit me with the base of it and it didn’t break but what it did do was knock some sense into me and I called the cops to have her removed. They came a few minutes later and one of the cops said “oh hi Shirley”. Now this was a woman who would have made Mary Poppins seem one raunchy bitch when I met her. She never swore, if she hurt herself she would say “oh pooh!” Now myself and Polly the cook in Dipsomania House (see the story with that title.) knew she was sitting on a pile of emotional shit, Polly and I both came from seriously dysfunctional families so we knew our stuff.
I was also warned by someone who used to visit the house, he was an ex-resident, he said” you’re not going to get involved with her are you?” I said “why?” “Just don’t.” I again said “why?” “I’m saying no more” he said. I pressed him on it further but he refused to elaborate. God was he ever right. Well she’s not tried phoning in a few hours so she’s either dead or asleep. I suspect it’s the latter.
Other stuff.
I think there are snowflakes that are exactly alike. Prove me wrong. Eskimoes or Inuits as we are now to call them have only one word for snow.
Has anyone noticed that the More4 TV logo looks like someone giving someone else ‘the finger?’
Lemmings as we now know do not commit collective suicide by jumping over cliffs, no they just go off on their own and blow their brains out with Lemming guns. The Walt Disney film which brought this calumny to the screen (I remember seeing it as a kid) got into our collective consciousness to the extent that we still use the phrase ‘like Lemmings’ when we talk of people en masse committing suicide whether literal or metaphorical. What does intrigue me is who was the bright spark at the meeting where they were just ‘kicking a few ideas around’ to liven up the film? ‘Oh I know, why don’t we say that Lemmings commit collective suicide by jumping over cliffs?’
‘Goddam brilliant Perkins!’ ejaculated Johnson. ‘Your fired’ said Walt. ‘Why’s that sir?’ Said Johnson. ‘No one ejaculates on my watch’ said Walt.