The balloon pops…

November 15, 2009 at 2:04 am | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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Thisisalloneword is having a bad Christmas Day. He is with friends and they are eating, watching TV and swapping presents. Oh yes, they are also awaiting the inevitable appearance of a massive demon who will come to drag some of them back to the underworld. Someone was trying to keep secret the small amount demon blood that they carried through their veins. Thisisalloneword is waiting and planning both an attack, an escape and a survival strategy for being in hell.
There are small children present and this is the type of thing that can put them off Christmas for life.
But no demon ever shows and thisisalloneword finds himself watching Christmas TV with everyone else. It’s the local news and it’s Chris Coneybeer reporting from some fishing town on the south coast; he’s working on Christmas day, fair play to him, hope he’s getting overtime. Anyway the news story is that a strange canoe shaped speedboat had been seen going really fast along some river/lake and the river/lake had recently that day been bought by corrupt fishermen from China. The boat was actually some sort of fishing boat that had killed all the fish in the whole river/lake within minutes! The waters ran red with fish blood. Local people were very angry.
Chris does his piece to camera which is a bit odd because he stands still but his arms and hands keep motioning from left to right and the camera man follows the movements of his hands so the whole piece is decidedly odd. These corrupt no good people want all the fish right away to sell over the holidays and to hell with the fish stock (no pun intended) after that. Chris then passes over to some sort of expert who proceeds to interrogate two fishermen and ask the opinion of an angry local.
The two fishermen insult the interviewers mother and so he offers to fight them. They except and now we have a live broadcast fight. The interviewer hits one of them with a door and then puts the boot into his head – he soon dispatches them both.
Odd. Most odd.
Thisisalloneword then finds himself in Lymington High Street and the two fishermen are looking for him. They meet on the corner of New St and thisisalloneword duffs them up. But they will be back we more people soon so he starts making his way up the High St towards the church. Four of them attack him now and he punches one a few times and then realises that the man is also somehow a balloon and so he changes tack from hitting to bitting the ’skin’ of his opponent who suddenly deflates and shrinks to the size of a balloon with a slow puncture.
The rest of them chase him and someone who thisisalloneword guesses is on his side, a younger guy with a large afro, to the church. The church is a massive Gothic building with gargoyles and spires and balconies and spikes and in a creepy overgrown graveyard. Thisisalloneword has remembered that he can fly at this point so he nips up to the top of the church awaiting his foes. The afro guy runs inside the church and disappears. Thisisalloneword glides with (and he’s never seen these before) thin wings, down to the end of the graveyard where there is an old shed. He gets caught up in the branches of trees though – damn these wings! – and one of the fishermen finds him…
…as they chase each other around the graveyard they then see a game in progress near the church and they stop fighting and forget all about their differences to watch the game. This involves people throwing a large rock at each others heads – what fun! No-one is angry about being hit by the heavy rock because when hit they forget all about everything and their brains fell no pain. Everyone laughs and agrees to be best friends when they see this fun game and the dozens of happy people playing it…

Past and Present Tents

November 15, 2009 at 1:39 am | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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Thisisalloneword is (please feel free to act mock surprised at this point) in a record store. To be precise(ish) he is in an HMV – possible the one on Oxford street. He is shopping for a kids book for a friends 3 yr old for Christmas. Where have the books been moved? He walks upstairs and follows a path which cuts between two tall glass-mirror buildings in some city-banking type area – the occasional power pressed women runs between doors either on their way to get a coffee or return with one.
Thisisalloneword hangs a left and up an escalator which builds itself before his very eyes, it’s more a travelator with steps but that curves in a large semi circle high above a collection of music hardware; amplifiers, mixers, and suchlike. There is no barrier and thisisalloneword has to trust that the moving platform he is on will not suddenly jar and let him fall. The journey ends, pretty near back to where he got on the escalator, and he sees three tents and a collection of clothes. Hang on! They are his clothes and one of those tents is his…
…people appear to tell him that he left his tent and clothes here after a Glastonbury Festival when he needed to crash out on his way home, seemingly in some weird store room somewhere in London… he jokingly asks “wow, had I taken a fair bit of LSD that day?” to which he is told, “yes, you had, during band x”. Oh! He then finds that the whole area is filling up with friends and that they are under a massive marquee which is protecting them from the rain. “It was a great idea to bring this marquee,” says someone, “well worth it”.
It seems with that comment that they are actually at the festival and not in some storeroom at all. Oh well, lets all get some kip then, under our nice warm massive marquee…

National Smoking Week Short Story

November 9, 2009 at 3:03 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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Anyone that knows me well will tell you that I am firmly against advertising. It’s a pet hate and I hold a strong belief that advertising is a key contributor to kidney stones and ulcers. Before advertising there were much fewer recorded operations involving the removal of kidney stones, I am unsure about ulcers but I have my suspects.
I am also deeply against smoking. It is a filthy habit that has claimed many lives; six of my eight great grandparents have passed away and were smokers, the only living two may seem in robust health but they too smoke and it can only be a matter of time. It saddens me that they may not live to see the birth of their first great great great grandchild.
Despite the above, there is a recession on, and we need to pay bills and buy new things and so on. I have reluctantly accepted a £50 commission to write a short story for possible inclusion in an anthology which aims to celebrate National Smoking Week, in particular, the simple joys (when smoked in moderation) of a certain brand of cigarette (who I will not be further condoning, or mentioning, here).

The story, slightly hackneyed, centres around two schoolchildren on the cusp of adolescence, who break into an old house and see some sort of ghost. They will discuss one in knowing tones – the other in quick agreement – that ghosts are made of a physical materialisation of a spiritual presence which, in short, is dust. Dust being what the shell of the body inevitably will become; an almost weightless form for a spirit strong enough to form such dust into a figure. This is why old house are such good places for ghosts to haunt. Modernist two bedroom spotless apartments are not so good.
Whether they actually see a ghost or not is left open for the interpretation of the reader. But it is the trigger for further philosophical ponderings, as young boys are want, on the subject of death and if the dust is still part of the dead person. They conclude that they have probably been breathing in a fair amount of dead person and so they decide that to remove this dust they will carefully burn it out by smoking (the unmentioned brand). The older and more dominant of the boys pulls a pack from his pocket and they light up, lie back and watch the autumn sun fall below the horizon of the trees. The end.

Needs padding out to fill up 2,500 words, nothing ground breaking, you get the gist.


Fridge Anxiety

October 28, 2009 at 10:22 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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No fridge I have ever known has answered one way or another this question;

 

Do the numbers on the temperature dial inside the fridge mean in degrees centigrade positive or negative? Is 4 warmer or cooler than 1?

 

Save me google!

 

Most posts seem to say that the higher the number = the colder the fridge… but is this always true?

Catching up on a slow Sunday afternoon

October 18, 2009 at 3:25 pm | In Uncategorized | 4 Comments
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Well, I’ve not been great in writing this blog for months now. Distractions can occur. When I’m at work I am sat in front of a PC for at least 5 hours a day and there’s a routine of non-work that fits snugly into the routine of actual work; I check the BBC news pages and read any new stuff about Saints or AFC Bournemouth; I delete the freecycle emails from my yahoo account – I have no stuff to give away and no room for anything else – sometimes I might skim them just in case someone is giving away a crate of priceless old punk vinyl (they never are); I check my last.fm pages and I check here too. Anyway, there’s a finite amount of time all this non-work can fit into and, against my better judgement, and after work said to me that I actually should get one of them because, well I work in IT and they are the future apparently, I signed up with Twitter. Twice.

So, if you ever want to;
www.twitter.com/thisisall1word – that’s my ‘normal’ one
www.twitter.com/joefoster_PICT – that’s my ‘work’ one

So there’s that eating into my time a bit. Not sure if I like it yet because I am thoroughly bored of people having conversations saying “You do read Stephen Fry’s twitters don’t you? You don’t! Oh, well, and this is so funny…” blah blah blah. Conversation gets sucked into what some celebrities think about something. Celebrities, even those as great as Mr Fry, can hold good opinions but I dislike the viral like spread of this culture further and further into our daily lives.

Where was I? Where was I?

Twitter joins the list and blogging sits back. Plus I’ve still been archiving the old 20six blog stuff (not done for a while) and I now have to worry about backing up all my old geocities content. Back in the day before people said inane things such as “back in the day” I was a geocities dweller, hotsprings neighbourhood, class of 97, back when there was a big thing made when we reached 250,000 members. This, I thought, is the future. And it was for a while. Now it’s closing down and I have to pick through badly constructed html and save what I can by next week…

So so so so so so so so so.

Apologies, I’ve not been writing here, have I? Not much. Not often.

My ankle got knackered at Mildew’s wedding – I stepped into the gloom behind a statue of queen Victoria thinking the ground was flat when in fact there was a 3 step drop. My ankle is getting better but it is still not fit enough for me to use it for something important.
I swam – did I say this already – in October Dorset waters…

I swam again in
October Dorset Waters
From Man of War Bay

And off Portland Bill
Handstands on Purbeck Limestone
Down from Golden Cap

…last weekend was the best man speech nerves and remaining calm and collected before the service so that Fox remained calm(ish) and collected(ish), remembering the rings, handing out orders of service, smiling, shaking hands and trying to fix names to faces to positions on family trees. Rewriting my speech on teh fly and watching in wonder at Fox’s great speech in English and Norweigan and then some harmonica blowing to the Ramones ‘Baby I Love You’… Drinking a bit too much a bit too early, forgetting to keep checking the camera and top it up with polaroid paper (but it was all good), dancing with everyone I could, being the last to leave and being refused entry into the Big Chill bar (quite rightly so) heading back to drink Bourbon and Coke with Nicole and Karen, waking up without a hangover the next day, waking up still drunk, sleeping more, waking up with a hangover, shooting across town to try and look stable and eat food with families of the bride and groom, return suits to angry suit hire man – “they’re in the wrong fucking bags” – back to relax…

…work was busy busy busy this week, lots of things going wrong but all fixed by close of play Friday and off to the pub at work in the palace for much needed drinks. Boss celebrating a 40th birthday and was happily drunk when I left at 8. Met lots of people I worked with years ago all saying “Hi, haven’t seen you for ages, I am drunk” “me too, me too”…

Victorian Outfit Looking Good + Alcohol

September 21, 2009 at 2:31 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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Got my outfit sorted out for the wedding at the weekend the theme of which is Victorian/Zombie/1950s/Monkeys.
I am rocking a pretty decent Victorian look if I say so myself.

Weekend just gone spent sloe picking in the forest in preparation for Gin. Found a pitched tent hidden in the woods, behind a load of sloe bushes. Someone been living there for a while I wonder or just a weekend camper wanting a lot of privacy?
Saw and nearly stood on an adder as well, it soon buggered off soon as I said to the rest ‘oo look, adder’ – Dad was pullin back th gorse an tryin to get a better look but it was well hidden.
After picking was done we went up Rhinefield and over to the stream where we BBQ’d and dammed the stream – of course we un-dammed it soon after. Lovely warm and eventually sunny day.

Mum has been making blackberry whiskey which is ace! Really tasty and it’s only been in the jar for 4 weeks. Easy to make although still need to figure out how much (if any) sugar to use. The bloke who told us to make some recommended no sugar but I think it needs a bit in there.

Oh – Deej got me another birthday present – Yo La Tengo – And then nothing turned itself inside out – on vinyl – my old copy was half inched years back and it’s bloody hard to track other copies down unless you have £££’s. Good work Deej!

hypochondria

September 4, 2009 at 1:22 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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I think its possible that I might have developed a mild case of hypochondria – should I see someone? It’s probably nothing, but then again you never know, do you? I’ll leave it a few weeks I guess…

Comedy

September 4, 2009 at 1:06 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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‘How did I end up here?’ thinks thisisalloneword ‘This is not a good idea’. These phrases are repeated, the evening mantras, over and over again as he stands, sometimes sits, always shaking, backstage at the comedy night.
It was Fox’s fault, if blame need be assigned, he was the one who decided that they should both attempt to get through a night alive performing stand up. This isn’t even one of those free-to-get-in try out nights that they have in pub back rooms. This is a proper night of quality entertainment.
Thisisalloneword has no plan, no jokes, no ideas, nothing close to hand except fear. Maybe fear will help? No. Hell no. OK, maybe crowd expectations are very low and he can get booed off along with everyone else that night – who else is on? He checks out front of stage; and why, it’s Sarah Silverman giving good comedy and playing a mean jazz trombone. She duets with Dylan Moran playing tuba and the music is not only beautiful but it’s actually somehow funny at the same time. How is that even possible?
Thisisalloneword runs away, back to the safety of a small dressing room. Where’d Fox go?
He passes the compare who is obviously on some weird awesome comedy high because he did the last link whilst undressing completely. Yes, nakedness is funny. That’s not a good idea for thisisalloneword though because the site of a naked fearful stand up refusing to say anything is not cool, not cool.
What the hell can he say? His mind is blank. He walks towards the stage. The fear is changing to a masochistic curiosity.
He passes out.

Jail, Hipster cast-offs, occasional flooding

July 20, 2009 at 5:30 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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I seem to remember that we were off for a picnic somewhere within a walled garden with a nice little gift shop in one corner and a rectangular water feature stream running as a smaller square to that of the walls.

Deej had gathered up a collection of my old cassette tapes and had given them to charity, I was off to track them down and I had a few box full with me already.

Charlotte had been shopping ‘in thrift stores’ in New York. She had been there a few days already before I arrived. ‘Everything is so cheap! I got these sunglasses for £2.50!’ we ordered cocktails I think. They could be drunk within an American dinner built into the side of a white jet plane body. I want to go to thrift stores and buy hipster cast offs for pennies. Prices were in pounds and pence not dollars. Weird, no?

Sent to prison again after some sort of anti-government rant which may have been on national television. This brings my total to four. They will be sending me to Hull jail this time – which I spent a single night in once before. They will lock me up and by the time they’ve processed me I will be out again. It’s no hassle. Except Hull is a way away and, even though it’s an easier jail to go through, it feels like a pain because of the distance. Are they doing this to annoy me? Probably.

But what I imagine one night soon dissolves into delirium, dream and giddy fantasy; am I drugged? Maybe. Deej is locked up too – same as me – one night only. Fox tells me I have been there for over two weeks; it feels like hours. Even though I have not moved from this upright sleeping position my mind has been away with the fairies and reality is no longer my speciality. Will I be released? I kind of like it here. I am in jail but I am wandering through the forest meeting some wonderful people.

I meet a girl on the tube with a nice bicycle. I agree to meet her for drinks next Tuesday. She seems nice, a red head, and I think she likes me. On the way home I remember it’s been flooding. The canal/streams are a good 10 meters higher than they should be and the pond next to my house is fuller than normal. At home rooms dissapear and layouts change and I follow a cat into someone elses house – I use him as an excuse to snoop through these ultra-modern flats. The owners return and I say that I was trying to find the cat and they sort of believe me.

Can not stay here; a lot of us are getting a cheap train up North, to swamp country, somewhere between Yorkshire and Humberside.  The hotel is massive and has a huge hall full of pool players, bingo callers and old people crouched over their cards – next door is a mass of people watching a football game. Why am I here?

Suit and deja vu

July 18, 2009 at 10:59 pm | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
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Strange Deja Vu feeling after I bought a cheap new (and nice) suit from M&S clearance stock shop in Wood Green. An aside here; Wood Green is full of end of teh line, clearnace stock shops – we even have a Matalan which stocks the stuff that they couldn’t sell in other Matalan’s. But back to the suit. I try it on when I get home and feel something in the back trouser pocket – I think maybe it’s some clunky security tagging thing – but no – it’s a used white and blue comb. Obviously used because it’s dirty.

Why is there a comb in these suit trousers? And why do I seem to remember the same thing happenning before?

Still, never mind, good suit.

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