Cello Scrotum

She was quite intense. Fierce even.
She would look you in the eye and fire direct questions.
She talked about tropes, synecdoche, metonymy, denotation and meta-fiction.
She asked if you could separate emotion from image, or image from emotion. If you write The glass was empty, it's just an image, but isn't there an emotion attached?
She talked about being an active reader. Can you read something without putting your own interpretation on it? Doesn't She lost her child have differing impacts?
She said it was important to take notes in daily life. (Today, I wrote down 'cello scrotum.' I heard it on the radio.)
She was very theoretical. She made my head spin. Other people in the class were nodding or writing things down. They were writing about writing.
Writing about writing can be useful, it can look like you've written something when you actually haven't written anything at all.

I Piss Excellence

So I took another of those personality profile tests and the results came through.
The test was similar to Myers-Briggs and based around Carl Jung's models of psychological typology. Apparently, the results offer me a framework for better self-understanding and development.
To summarise:
-I am logical, critical and ingenious, but tend to be convinced only by reason.
-I am not comfortable expressing my inner feelings to strangers.
-Many people see me as self-contained.
-My quest for knowledge can be very theoretical and I will not trust ideas until I have tested or experienced them.
-I express affection non-verbally and appreciate others' company on an abstract level.
-I prefer the dialogue which is going on in my head with my internal critic to participation in meaningless social chit-chat with others.
-I am puzzled why others see me as rigid and intractable.
-I will make a good lifelong friend if the conditions of friendship allow me complete independence and the freedom to withdraw as and when necessary.
-I tend to be influenced by the idea rather than the person behind the idea.
-I apply unrealistically high standards to myself.
-To communicate effectively with me you should talk quietly and not touch me.

Hmm, I sound like the love child of Spock and the Terminator. Thanks, Carl, lots of areas for self-improvement there, think I'll start by taking that Hawaiian shirt back to the shop.

Giving Up At The Perseverance

It was a set up.
She had been mentioned to me. I wasn't sure if I had been mentioned to her.
She was a doctor but didn't like dating doctors. I wasn't a doctor so I ticked that box.
So I mingled. There was a large crowd. We were in a pub called The Perseverance. I wasn't sure if it was apt or ironic.
She was pointed out to me. I circled, waited for the right moment to approach, moved in. "Hello."
I wasn't nervous, I had been here before, you didn't choose your emotions. So we talked, had a drink, talked some more. Then we were broken up. Other people knew her.
I went outside, got some air, took a breath, thought about it, and didn't go back in.
It wasn't happening, whatever that means. You can't choose your emotions. Perseverance my arse.

The Dogs Ate Her Legs

I was drinking tea, eating toast and reading the paper. The sun was out and the sky was clear blue. Stevie Wonder was playing on the radio.
I scanned the headline and read the article.
On a rubble-strewn street lay the body of a roasted and charred child. Two bones were sticking out where her thighs had been. ‘The dogs ate her legs,’ he explains.It was about Gaza but could have been about any number of places.
I stopped eating.
The dogs ate her legs.
Below the article was an ad showing a kid on a bicycle. The bike was on sale.
The dogs ate her legs.I got up, walked around, looked out of the window. Outside, people were shopping and sitting in cafés.
The dogs ate her legs.
I sat back down and turned the page.
Then I read an article about Spanish nuns using YouTube to recruit new members.

World Famous in Holland

"It's world famous in Holland," he said.
"That doesn't make sense," I said.
He was Dutch and he was talking about the ring tone on his mobile.
"When they show the Tour de France in Holland, they play that music."
"The Tour de France is world famous," I said, "not the music. They only play that music in Holland."
"It's world famous in Holland," he said.
I frowned at him.
What I really felt like doing was hitting him in the mouth. Preferably with a bicycle.

The Bum And The Arsehole

He was asking for change.
He was just wandering up to people in the street and asking for change.
I watched him from the coffee shop. Here it was nice and warm; steam rose from my espresso. Outside it was freezing.
He wasn't in rags, he could have passed unnoticed like the rest of us. But he was going up to people and asking for change. At least I'm guessing it was change, I can't read lips but it didn't look like he was asking for directions or for the time or for the latest on Britney Spears. And he wasn't dancing or singing or selling anything. He was just asking for money.
Nobody gave him any.
He looked around, our eyes met, I looked down, then he moved on, up the street.
Doesn't he know that nothing in life is free? We have to fight for things. Except my coffee. My coffee was free because I had a loyalty card and this one was free. Thinking about it, I should really have ordered a large decaf skinny mocha frappuccino.

The Resolution Will Not Be Televised

Get Me To The Church On Time

A wedding already.
Three days into the year and I'm tailed and waistcoated up. The Stag Guy of 'tache and tutu fame tied the knot.
We sat, we stood, we sang, we celebrated, we drank, we laughed, we ate, we danced, we cheered.
"She looks beautiful," said one guest.
"I can't believe he's finally done it," said another.
"Where's the loo?" said a third.
The doors opened, the cold rushed in, the bride picked up her train, the groom waved, and they disappeared together off into the night and into a new life.
I thought about love and marriage. How the odds seem stacked against us but we still keep trying. Then I caught my reflection in a mirror. Damn, I look good in tails. Maybe I should start wearing them all the time. It would look like I'm getting married every day. Or like I'm a mature student at Eton.