Friday, August 1, 2008

A couple of Mickey's Big Mouths

Friday, August 1, 2008
Don't you just love those childhood smells? The little whiff of something or other that transports you back to happier times, to brief moments of innocence, simplicity and peace?

Yesterday afternoon, as I prepared to get myself the fuck together, out the door and in the direction of Tom, I was thusly moved through time to a pleasant afternoon, oft repeated, in the house of my grandparents. There I would sit contentedly cross-legged before an electric bar heater, meticulously melting biros and my uncle's plastic toy soldiers. 'Die, motherfuckers, die', I would have thought to myself had 'motherfuckers' been a word of which I was aware. Perfect placement of the military men in question allowed for a drawn-out death, a slow, dramatic dissolution to a blob of green. And gradually the pleasantly acrid stench would drift to my awaiting nostrils, filling me with a Zen-like universal oneness.

I woke up yesterday morning wishing that I hadn't. I don't know exactly why. Cock. Of course I know why. It was the morning of the day of the evening that I would finally witness my musical idol play live. and any excitement that I allowed myself was sure to result in nothing but more disillusionment with both my heroes and my existence. With my strandedness. Here's a life tip: when faced with the possibility of a special or defining moment in your life, hurl yourself into a monumental depression to ensure that while your overwhelming emotion at the time of the event may be a desperate sadness and loneliness you will yet remain untouched by disappointment.

All day I moped and moaned, therefore. Wheedled and whined my way through work. Ungratefully accepted an afternoon nap. And then I arose, bid a grumpy farewell to an exiting Common Law, put on some coffee to brew and went to take a shower.

And as I stepped out refreshed and almost looking forward to skinning up a big fat one, I found myself back in '84, back in 63. Oh, sweet scent of melting plastic. I flowed freely down the stairs to be greeted by yet another kitchen engulfing inferno of my own making. In a truly Pinteresque moment I had not put on, but lit, the kettle. Lit it was and oozing artistically across the ceramic hob.

I paused briefly to inhale my childhood and admire this slowly bubbling installation and then reluctantly snapped into smoke alarm soundtracked action.

My usual inanimate object addressed howl is 'What's in it for them?' But as the count of self-induced incidents of domestic tragedy mounts up, increasingly the question becomes 'What's in it for me?'

18 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

fatmammycat said...

Plumes most foul and oh so gnarly, welcome back Darling, we have missed you.

Medbh said...

I remember your microwave incident. Do you have a hidden destruction wish?
Oh, wait.
It's not hidden.

Medbh said...

The new format looks fab, Gimme.

Sniffle&Cry said...

So you paid the big bucks for Tom. The fuck is he going on about touts. Someone sold out. Great to see you back. Like FMC said.

savannah said...

i am glad you're back, sugar. xoxo

Rosie said...

a magnificent return to form.

it must be the font.

gimme a minute said...

Nice to be back, Fmc.

I do like to fan the flames.

And glad you like the look.

The tout crackdown accomplished nothing but a tent full of the rich and disinterested.

Fucking wank bags.

And I'm glad you're still reading, Sav.

It certainly wasn't care and attention to the written word.

Conan Drumm said...

Once a pyro always a pyro, and now you have fans.

Ellie said...

Jaysus, I remember that smell.

Gav said...

Your bum looks bigger in your new livery. Re Tom, there must have been another show / free coke in the jacks as people were constantly up and down. Do you think that the honest to goodness po' folk who would have got tickets without the tout crackdown would have had bigger bladders / better manners? It was a great night (even without beer).

Caro said...

Just be thankful that the person sitting beside you didn't take off their shoes at the start of the concert and not put them back on until the end and her feet STANK like gone-off Gruyere.

That and the constant chattering because they couldn't understand what Tom was saying. Fucking morons.

Welcome back, by the way.

gimme a minute said...

Very good. And thanks for risking blindness.

Takes you back, huh?

The poor people would have just pissed in the aisles, stomping all the while.

I think the Eric Cantona led band upstairs in Slattery's had the march on Tom's progeny.

Jesus. Fucking people, always ruining shit.

problemchildbride said...

Rich and disinterested? I thought, if not meaningful or happy-making, being rich would at the very least be interesting.

Welcome back, fattie.

dj lance said...

Yes, welcome back, you look pretty in your new clothes.

Gav said...

Slatterys would have been a more suitable venue alright - but the little Waitses done well particularly on Hoist that Flag.

gimme a minute said...

Isn't getting what you want supposed to be boring? Not that I'd fucking know.

dj lance:
Don't I though?

True, true. A high point that. Along with all the other ones.

Gav said...

Rag even.

gimme a minute said...

I didn't like to say...

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