Tuesday, 11 November 2014
Diary Of A Man At War With Himself.
Hoorah! A new week has arrived. I awake at 5 a.m. to find that a flock of seven white doves of peace has flown in through the bedroom window and begun flying around the room in a kind of 'flight of harmony', casting a Disneylike sense of well-being about. Finally they roost on my bust of Caligula and in the dim 1/8th light I'm sure I saw one of them wink at me, in a sort of 'wink of peace'. I take this to be a sign of good fortune in the forthcoming year and fall back asleep.
I re-awake at 8 a.m. to find that the doves have flown off with my bust of Caligula. Obviously they have carried it off to their mountain eeire; a foreboding sense of dread now hangs over the home.
I rise and decide to design a new type of hat. The place of work I choose this morning is under the sink unit in my kitchen, a safe place if any. My designs are at first sketchy, looking more like a fat young man than hat, but by 6 p.m. my design is complete and ready to be sent to Kappa & Co. for approval. I hope they like it. I think it would suit a more formal gentleman like a King or Harrison Ford.
At 8 a.m. the sleepy antique-shop-filled seaside village of Newbiggin is woken by the kazoos and snare drums of Britain's criminals as they march down the main street beating out the melody of felony. What a sight this is, with the petty thieves and shoplifters bringing up the rear, through to the arsonists and fraudsters filling the mid-ranks, right up to the leading gangsters heading this march of villainy.
Amongst the crooks I spot my old University Lecturer, Ian 'Fingers' Foster'. So called because he regularly fingers not only the various foods in our local delicatessen but the serving ladies as well, and when accused of his behaviour he blasts his way out of the shop using a 75 mm Howitzer. Also present are some of Scotland's most famous baddies like '2 Biscuits' McDouglas, the Grocer of Kilmarnock, and 'Westy' Hancock, who once farted in front of the Duke of Westminster at point blank range.
As the underworld parade vanishes into a hotel for their annual villains' breakfast of fried eggs, I too vanish back home for my breakfast of boiled eggs.
I spend the rest of the day looking at my feet.
I have had some thoughts on the possibilities of opening new enterprises in the district, for example:
A) A combination asylum and pot-purri centre where the inmates create bags of pot-pourri to allow your cabinets to smell sweetly, it shall be called 'Scenti Mental'.
B) A series of old peoples homes. I've gone as far as deciding on one of the following names:
1) Yesterday's People
2) Forgotten Faces
3) Time's Up
Also, feature within the homes would be a dating agency for old people called 'Expiry Dates.
C) Failing to secure the neccessary certifcation for the OAP's home, my back up plan is to open a string of health farms called either:
1) Bye Bye Bulk
2) Fit And Farty
I have also sent off a number of ideas to the government in a bid to aid world peace. These products are presented in advertisement form to aid the politicians to understand them and realise their true potential for global and universal harmony.
I awake to find thousand upon thousand of tiny hairlike baby snakes on my head, but on closer investigation find that it's mearly my own rapidly depleting hair, which disappoints me tremendously, although the thought of charming the baby snakes into exciting new hairstyles with a flute thrills me 'nuff! Never mind, I have recently discovered a new snake in my trousers which seems to react to kindness as well as threats!
I realised mid-morning that my bones had emerged through my finger tips. The doctor tells me this is quite normal and I should in future refer to them as 'fingernails'.
At dawn I ring the police and tell them that I have shot the rebellious Nashville singer Waylon Jennings and his undisturbed corpse is lying cold and motionless beneath the pear tree with robins circling overhead.
Twelve hours later the police strolled up to my door and asked to see the body. I led them through the house and down the garden past the ornament to the pear tree. JESUS CHRIST OF BETHLEHEM!! The carcass had gone. I explained that the robins must have devoured him and suggested they keep their eye's open for a flock of robins with more red on their chests than usual.
They left silently and I cooked some of my secret recipe Wild West Pork.
Flies swarm round the pork in my attic, so I get rid of it. all 160 lbs of it, in a ditch near B & Q.