Category Archives: Flights of Fancy

The Reckoning

When my life is over and all that must pass has come to pass and I stand, upon quivering legs, ready to make the account of how I lived, weigh every truth and every lie, every gesture and every grudge, every small act of kindness, every petty deed of cruelty, every reasoned tolerance, every irrational prejudice, every promise kept, every trust abused, every generosity, every greed, every action born of selflessness, every thought spawned of selfishness, every noble bearing, every shameless conduct, every remembrance, every neglect, every thoughtful gift, every thoughtless theft, each and every moment of love and every and each second of hate, when that dread day comes and I must stand naked and unadorned before Justice herself…I bet it’ll be all those bloody Farmville invitations I ignored that’ll tip the scales. Fucking bastards!

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Just discovered what pantyliners actually are, having gone through life thinking they belonged to that mysterious and blessed netherworld of male fantasy where women of course got up in the morning and without a moment’s thought put on thongs, suspenders and fine, lacy things with fine French names, instead I now learn that they belong to that cold and brutal world of male reality filled with ever-expanding knickers, high-waisted items which are simply girdles by any other name and without irony given names like Spanx and then, as if to seal matters,  covered up by velure sweatpants with JUICY (dis)splayed across the arse.

Geez, what a rough day to be alive!

The Truth Hurts And Is Sometimes Wet

The Truth Hurts And Is Sometimes Wet

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Transports of Joy

Today as I spent my Sunday just like I seem to spend all my Sundays, standing around at some forgotten bus stop waiting desperately for some non-show bus, it occurred to me that the female orgasm is a lot like a bus: you wait and you wait and you wait for one to come AND THEN…

…you get tired of putting your finger up.


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He was one of those men that couldn’t be said to walk down a street so much as bounce along it, seemingly spending as much energy propelling his body vertically into the air as forward along the street. All in all, he gave the impression of a large piece of cork bobbing up and down on what was, funnily enough, an entirely flat sea, or a penguin chick that hasn’t yet realised that flap as it may he will never fly. Or, indeed, a human being that has failed to realise the very same thing.

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Manias Makyth Man

As a child my mum used to threaten me, in particular the head part of me, with a large stone that sat prepossessingly on the front room mantelpiece, looking like a great and calcified mass of sticky popcorn. Now, I put my current inability to eat popcorn down to that one traumatic childhood experience. Well, I’ve just seen a woman who could make the same threat and induce equal terror in her son with just one of her Brobdingnagian breasts, which were hoisted and suspended to such effect that they too seemed as though displayed upon a shelf, as if waiting to release their vast store of potential energy squarely upon his Lilliputian head. Well, far be it from me to say anything of this particular boy’s likely future aversions…but Poor Bugger!

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My Favourite Bit Of Toilet Graffiti

My Favourite Bit Of Toilet Graffiti

I’m loving this bit of toilet graffiti I saw today.

I tell you, the world’s alright with me as long as there are still people who can get angry enough at a lack of soap to actually scrawl their protest onto a toilet wall.

And I like to think the arrow was completely unplanned, a streak of pure fury that just flew out the end of his pen before he even knew he was doing it. Cos that arrow is basically the equivalent of pointing and screaming, ‘LOOK! THAT F***ING BASTARD THERE!’, when there’s clearly only one other person in the room.

What makes this even better is that somebody else has decided to pick him up on the double negative. I don’t know if you can make it out, but they’ve crossed out the ‘No’ and then written ‘Any’ next to it and in brackets (Bad Grammar). Now I’m a stickler for (Good Grammar), but even I wouldn’t bother to correct someone who’d basically decided mid-hand washing to take out a pen and stage a protest in a dingy, piss-reeking toilet, thus essentially converting myself into someone who decides to take out a pen mid-hand washing and stage a protest in a dingy, piss-reeking toilet. No, I much prefer to go home, sit at my desk in the sweet swirl of potpourri and write an aloof commentary about the whole thing from my MacBook Air where I can rest my much overused wrists on a pleasant cushiony type thing. That’s much more my style.

p.s. I do have to say that the final thing I love about this is that there was actually soap in the dispenser. So whether this guy meant it or not, with the double negative it was quite simply a perfectly accurate and factual description of the soap situation in that particular toilet. This guy’s not a vandal, he’s a public informant! I’d take my hat off to him but my wrists kinda hurt.

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Padded Cell, Quilted Nation

Need we look any further than the recession to explain society’s current obsession with quilted garments? Faced with the blight and uncertainty of these times, can we truly look with any wonder on the fact that the weakest among us have regressed to their very earliest infancy and now seek to clothe themselves in a poor imitation of their childhood safety blanket – the very same blanket, let us remember, that represented for them the unfailing security of the ever-full breast and the unfettered freedom of the never-empty nappy? In order to cure this infectious malaise, surely it behoves our government to establish a nationwide network of drop-in centres where the afflicted may freely suck at the breast and soil themselves free from reproach or censure. The truly Big Society begins with ‘The Community Chest’ (to borrow a phrase) and a Bank where the public are encouraged to actually leave a deposit rather than forever be withdrawing. Then and only then will we free ourselves of all this bed linen and begin to live again as men.

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Trail Finders.

So, I was sick all weekend, not man-flu, but genuinely (and stoically I might add) sick.

From my designated sickbed (a far greater preponderance of black than my normal one), I actually managed to have a really interesting day yesterday.

It was one of those days where one interesting fact leads you on to another and then another and then another, until you find you’ve been wandering for hours and are quite faraway from home.

Well, I thought it’d be interesting to retrace my footsteps and map my journey, detours and all down this little rabbit-hole.

Radio 4 Saturday Play: Terence Rattigan’s In Praise of Love — Radio 4 three-part series The Rattigan Versions — BBC Four documentary The Rattigan Enigma with Benedict Cumberbatch –What John Gielgud was caught and fined £10 for cottaging in 1953! — Wikipedia, please, what’s the origin of the term ‘cottaging’ –Victorian common name for public toilets designed like cottages — That’s a shame. Hoped it had something to do with cottage cheese — Wikipedia, tell me the history of Polari. Any cottage cheese there? — Oh look blagger, clobber and drag all come from Polari and hahaha willets means boobies — Google Images WILLETS — Oh wait, Safe Search Off. Google Images WILLETS — Urghh Universities Minister and birds of the entirely avian sort — Wikipedia: Phillipines Swardspeak — Theives’ Cant — Daily Mail: “Convicts use ye olde Elizabethan slang to smuggle drugs past guards into prison” — Justice Department issue national alert to all prison staff and Elizabethan slang handbook — The history of undeground Argentine Lunfardo — ‘Verse‘, Spanish syllable-based backslang — Jeringonza, Opamaparipi — Bollocks what’s that word which means inserting one word inside another — Right, Google , what can you do with Abso-bloody-lutely + term + grammar? — Damn Google, you good. Tmesis — And Wikipedia, what do you have to say about Tmesis? — John O’ Grady’s Australian poem ‘Tumba Bloody Rumba’ — Ok, that was a bit shite — What else you got Wikipedia? — Hello, Stephen Fry says tmesis is his favourite of all tropes, interesting. And a link too. Don’t mind if I do — Stephen Fry talks at the Border Kitchen in Holland — Stephen Fry is Jewish?! — ‘Unbe-fucking-lievably’ — Oh look Radio 4 has a new word-based panel show, WordAholics and Stephen’s on the first show — Right, that was bo-goldie-locks — BBC 2 Fry’s Planet World: Episode One Babel — Awesome! — Radio 4 Fry’s English Delight: Language of Persuasion — I wonder what NPL courses there are — Oh look, there’s a free weekend one – And now you’re my slave!

Being a man, of course what I left out in all of that was the male constant which isn’t so much a journey as a hamster wheel for a particularly small hamster:

Sex — Balls — Food — Sex — Thirsty — Itchy Balls — Sex — Itchy Balls and Arse — Ah-Ah-Ah, Gonna Sneeze, Achoo! — That didn’t feel like an eighth of an orgasm — Snot — So still need to clean up then — No Tissue — Sleeeve?–Sleeve! — Need Sleep Now.
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Toilet Humour

Who are these people that are failing to grasp the meaning of an engaged sign?

They are the vacant of this world and yet they take up so much space, pushing when they mean to pull, bashing their head when they ought to mind it, confusing red with green and silence with talking, turning left instead of right and turning right and still being wrong, going forwards when they mean to reverse, regressing in the very midst of progress. They continuosuly move when told to stay fast and then lock down when ordered to bolt, they think with their feet and land on their heads, they are downright plebeians with upbeat failures, they exert idiocy where others exercise caution, they head for warnings they should heed, they career towards disaster instead of success and all the while they profess that, yes, they could care less…Bloody Americans!

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