First we went to the zoo. Dudley Zoo, and I swear to
you on this, has RATS in its kiddie's corner section. Cool. (Yes,
I know these are mice, there's rats in the next one. Trust me.)
Then it was time for a little Duke Nukem. My boy stabbing the trigger
while I dodge and weave. We bond.
Lying in bed this morning,
I reached over the sleeping Nastassja Kinski to grab a handful of illegal
drugs and, as I watched the fifty pound note with which I lit them writhe
and disintegrate, I got to thinking. There is a great deal of STUFF
I should really be doing. Surely, there must be more to life than money
and the endless, endless sex? Suddenly, the ennui evaporated and I was
filled with a spiritual rush. I 'phoned Winona Ryder to tell her I couldn't
make it for lunch and, hanging up on her sobs, slipped on my leather
dressing gown and headed downstairs...
In the number two drawing room, rummaging around among
the discarded champagne bottles and exhausted starlets, I found a small
boy. He was about two-and-a-half years old, blond and, on questioning,
turned out to be my son. "Where's your mother?", I asked, recalling,
now my memory had been jogged, the German woman called - I believe -
'Margret' with whom I been living for the last eight years. "Mama's
barking.", replied the boy.
"Ah yes, so she is... Looks like it's you and me then." I scooped up
the little tyke and we set off to get in some quality time.
Which, by marvellous good fortune, we managed to find
on the panel on the left-hand side.
And that, as they say in Brazil, was that. I had discovered
a new, deeper meaning to life. Invigorated and my soul refreshed, I
was able to fling myself once more into narcotic excess and sexual promiscuity
with all my old vim.
I hope you've learned something from this,
I know I have.
And finally... a good hot bath, blow
dry his hair into an amusing style, and it's off to bed for the piglet.
No! It Can't Be More Stuff? Surely?
Oh, yes it can. I have decided to include Dreams
here, for no reason whatsoever. (I play by my own rules and women
love me for it. Quite possibly.)
In a just and equitable world, Antonio Banderas would
spend his sleeping hours dreaming of chipboard, whereas I would lay
my head on the pillow, be fellated for a solid eight hours by Courteney
Cox, and wake refreshed and ready to face the day next morning. Perhaps
As all but the most wilfully stupid of you will be
aware, however, the world in not remotely fair. Just look at All
Saints. It is therefore my lot to suffer the most atrociously
dull dreams; tedious beyond daytime TV levels, even. Often my offspring
(there is now another, Peter, along with First Born, above) save me
from actually remembering my dreams by being super enough to wake
me up smartly at 5.40am by shouting in my face. The few recollections
I list below will be added to as and when this does not occur.
- I am standing in my kitchen. Cooking meal after
meal of convenience food. Following the instructions exactly
as they are written on the packets.
I have to spend the morning laying
strips of bacon across the top of our swing-top bin. Because it's
'National Bacon Day'.
I can't get the 'E' string and
the 'B' string of a guitar quite in tune.
I have a headache.
I'm washing up sink after sink
of greasy ovenware.
I dream I am watching the entire
length of The Deer Hunter. Possibly the only thing more
tedious that actually watching The Deer Hunter, is to dream
yourself watching it. I woke up drained.
I come downstairs in the morning,
Margret and the kids are at the breakfast table. I say "Is
there any toast?". Margret snaps back "No - you can
listen to that instead." pointing at one of those bulky,
tinny, old-style cassette players like we used to use to load
games onto the Spectrum. I sit down and press 'play', it's Spandau
Ballet doing 'True'. I listen to the whole song in silence before
getting up and going to work, hungry.
Compare, if you'd be so marvellous, those pathetic
apologies for dreams with these from unnamed colleagues
Wrestling the 'Bat Out Of Hell'
in a ring with Meatloaf as the referee.
Bending over in a corridor, having
a gynaecological examination. The doctor pulls out at biscuit
and says "Ah, that's the trouble, right there."
strictly a dream, but 'A Colleague' was in one of our local sex
shops and noticed they were selling pills that claimed to give
you smutty dreams. Checking the ingredients on the label he discovered
that the major one appeared to be sugar. In a move that reflects,
in no way, on his social life he went home and ate loads and loads
of cake before going to bed. Didn't work, incidentally. (But now
all his teeth have fallen out.)
- Brace yourself, here we go... "Well
it starts that I am a FBI agent partnered with Scully and we are bored
so I say to Scully "Want to go out for a meal tonight?", she says
"yes" and we agree to meet at a restaurant. I could see that Scully
wanted me bad. Anyway, Scully goes home and I get a phone call from
Will Smith out of Men in Black and he tells me to meet him at Area
51 and I drive there. I get to Area 51 and I get into this car powered
by Alien technology and we sort of hover through America in the car
with sparks of lightening flying from the car. We eventually reach
Wolverhampton town centre and Will Smith says "the truth is here"
I get out the car and he drives off. I then come across 3 guys who
I know and we are sat in Jay's café. They tell me we are the chosen
ones and we are going to get killed by a guy. But the thing is this
guy will only kill you if you look at his face so if you keep your
eyes down and don't look at his face he won't kill you. I am shitting
myself at this point 'cos I am one of the chosen ones and I don't
know what he looks like but the others do. I then say "shit I'm supposed
to be with Scully now in a restaurant and she wants me bad". Well,
then I decided to go for a walk into the town centre and come across
the French babe - she says she wants to marry so that she can stay
England so I agree and we end up in Wolverhampton Registry Office
and get married, she then goes mental and starts smashing up plates
in the Registry; she eventually tells me it's tradition but I was
having to duck and dive to avoid the plates. I then jumped out of
a window and got to the town centre. I then see my 3 friends running
towards me and I look up and see this guy who looks like a technician
from the computer centre - soon as I saw his face my friend shouted
"you idiot don't look at his face" but it was too late he gets his
knife out and it had a 9 inch serrated blade. The guy then took two
swipes at me with the knife and on both occasions he cut me quite
deep in the stomach. I then fall to the ground and see the guy run
off. I then remember coming round on the number 529 bus with Scully
sat next to me. She says my wounds have healed due to some magic cream
she used on the wounds. I look at my stomach and can see two faint
scars. I then ask her how long I had passed out for and she says 20
minutes." I get about five e-mails a day from this person.
And they're all like that.
- People I don't know have now started sending me their
dreams. Yes, I am scared. Sleeper 'Mason
H' heaped the following on me - I've edited it, for clarity. "It
was happening during my marathon snooze button pushing... about four
times, each time altering slightly... marshmallow-happy-land with
my bed being outside... when I was living at Curt's but it isn't...
this really cool brown and orange 70's carpet... my friend Ryan from
Regina, but I don't realise that until much later... like those pedophile
Calvin Klein ads with the wood paneling... now I am in the hallway...
they are becoming coated with some sort of Limestone powder that is
seeping from their pores... Just then an oriental woman... and said,
"Yeah, like mucklucks"... having to move their cold bodies out of
my house... And that is when I got up for real." Now
there's a man you'd be happy to have his finger on the nuclear