Things what I writ

I sometimes write nonsense about things to try and sound clever


spontaneous contagiousnessness

excuse me. aaaaaaaaaaaah. that’s better.

I’ve spent 9 hours looking out of this window listening to collaborative nutmegs and ganttisms and I’ve become an uncontrollable twitching avatar of a onceperson. people pass about 20 feet from my upstairs window and they’re only on view for about 10 seconds (which is normally enough round here, I can tell you), but I’ve developed a curious bodily contagion that is a kind of overexaggerated group activity with me as the only knowing participant. 3 times in a row someone has strolled past barking into their clamshell and then taken a moment for a 5:30 yawn, at which point I’m uncontrollably flapping my head open in a contorted drawl, my eyes streaming with overegging and I’m collapsing on the beech veneer like I’ve not slept for a decade.

but that’s quite normal really. group yawns are pretty common. nothing to worry about. so why am I watching this group of UEA students stutter past in their half jeans and elvis shades, laughing like hyenas about someone they don’t like in waveney terrace, and suddenly breaking into an insane cackle during the conference call on platform globalization, much to everyone’s consternation? I don’t know. why am I flapping my arms about like a deranged water mill as an overgesticulating midlife crisis from the middle management at norwich union dribbles past, conversing unappropriately about Mike in accounts with his hands juggling an imaginary flock of seagulls in the phonebox of entrapment. search me. I just seem to be randomly picking up character traits from passing strangers as they flit across my periphery, like a bad tv interlude in my subconscious dribbling.

there’s another. she’s picking at creases in her skirt as she wafts through, and suddenly my office chair is decidedly uncomfortable. look at him, he’s poking a finger in his ear and scraping away the detrius of an unfulfilled working day. ditto. oh, there’s a dude swinging his limbs in time to the foo fighters on his iRiver. stop it, dammit. Im trying to type up a manifesto.

this day will end soon.

I’m not bothered about the noise though

do you mind if I just shut the door on you? is it my singing? no, its your whistling, ha ha. actually its the sound of the circular saw buzzing through the floor of the kids bedroom that’s vibrating me across the office floor like davros or whatever his name was from doctor who. I’ve got a bit of a bad stomach today as well, so I’m probably green too. all I need now is to get my medusa headset on and I’ll probably get a free pass to some kind of convention where I can spend my time sifting through back copies of radio times and betamax videos, occasionally looking up and nodding to a cyberman with a sea dragon mask in one hand and a cheque book in the other.

so we agree on a ‘100 mil’ panel and some beading that is apparently called ‘ocra’ or ‘ocar’ or something and then gary gets to work on the wardrobe doors. he’s going to fill in all the little gaps as well. ah. after that, he’s going to start on the shelves in the living room that I haven’t designed yet, but all I know is that they have to have one shelf about ‘800 mil’ off the ground that’s deep enough to fit a shiny new turntable on so that I can finally, after about 15 years, stack the vinyl underneath and then pull out and dust off my mono copy of piper at the gates of dawn and cue it up and sit back in the leather sofa and relax. its probably at that point I’ll realise that piper at the gates of dawn is really a horrible screechy wailing noise, especially in mono, and so I’ll whip it off, delve back into the warped back catalogue again and pull out hex education hour or 1997 wtf’s going on or something instead and then do some air posturing in front of the telly while I’m reading the sleeve notes on unknown pleasures. I might even dig out who’s next and do a spot of windmilling, if nobody’s looking

but right now, the sawing has started again. I can’t really hear it that much through the victorian walls inside this house and over the fan battle of the w2100z and the 8400 and the bionaire (which the w2100z wins quite easily, naturally) and the passing traffic through the open window because its sunny again and my south-facing office is approaching the volcano zone. but its there. just niggling away like a rat chewing your skull. so I expect to lose it completely by the end of the day and go rampaging down to M&Ms with a sawn-off bike pump or something, demanding they had over the soft rolls before anyone gets hurt. dammit. there it goes again. scuse me gary, can I just borrow that saw for a minute?

it’ll all fall apart

right, quick shifty at me dual timezone clocks tells me it’s about, well, 2 hours til this stupid SonicStage software imports my mp3s so I can update my shiny fingerprint magnet Sony network walkman with some Bloc Party and some one-man mad mentalism from a underneath a bucket somewhere outside Cambridgecestershire. More importantly though, its about, well, 12 hours til I get on a patched up 737 courtesy of bargain airline EasyJet and flop over to Spain to spend two and a half weeks laughing like a madman on the beach as I think about the woeful assortment of project managers I’ve left behind to do all my rubbish stuff while I’m away.

they won’t do it though. I say it’s because I’m so frighteningly efficient that my projects look after themselves while I’m away. They even make small origami models of Menlo Park for people as they pass, and compliment them on their free Sun Education laptop bags. All that effort I put in the last 4 weeks. The selfless dedication I have to the success of the project. My children think I start work at 4pm, because they never see me after that. I’m always on the dog and bone, waiting for 50 minutes quietly in the corner and then suddenly getting IM’d and blurting out some incomprehensible gibberish that I just quickly nerfed from my iBull. Sam gave me a hug today while I was washing up the tea things and I said “aaaaaaah. what’s that for Sam?” and he said “because I won’t see you. you’re going to work now” and it wasn’t even a work day. He just thinks I disappear at that time and “do my calls”.

the truth is, things will go on without me and I’ll come back in 2 and a half weeks and I’ll login and I’ll IM someone and say “heyyyyy. I’m back!” and try and intimate a knowing kind of sideways nod and a wink in an instant message and expect them to somehow pick up on the fact that I want then to ask me about my vacation. Except they’ll just say “did you finish that roadmap for the countries?” and I’ll sink into my office chair and my tan will just instantly fade and the camera will suddenly zoom out above me while I’m looking up from my desk in the middle of a million identical desks and my mouth will be forming the words “heeeellllp meeeeee” but noone will hear me scream.

because I’ve left myself on mute. arse.