I’m fucking up a lot lately.

Loads. In just about every area of my life.

And while I wholeheartedly believe in self improvement, I think some people are beyond salvation. For instance, no matter how hard I try, I will always manage to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Always. 

And since there’s no hope for me, I think there should be an enforced solution for all idiots with hang-ups. (Because) let’s face it, we all fall into this broad category. I propose people be forced to wear A4 easy-wipe boards around their necks.

Warning signs, if you will.

It won’t just help me. I promise. I promise promise (that’s three promises).

Imagine how easy obligatory social interaction would be if, at a glance, you knew exactly what subject to avoid talking about with particular people. Really think about that….meeting the parents, Christenings, the first day at anywhere.

Off the top of my head, I could suggest the following:

 “I don’t think its funny when fat people fall down”

“I’m not a slut, I’m empowered”

“Someone close to me has recently died. Let’s not talk about death”

“What’s wrong with a little infedility?”

“I’m pro choice” or “I’m pro life”

“Don’t offer me your drugs”

“Poo is so NOT funny to me”

Perhaps closer to home; “don’t talk to me about people I pretend are my friends. They aren’t and I hate them and I’ll hold this against you” 

Can you imagine how much easier life would be? Mine would be… Anyway, there are always the avoid-me signs to consider too. These could go a long way to keep things amicable:  

“I don’t mind immigrants, as long as they’re white”

“Let’s talk politics”

“Later, when you get stuck with me, I’m going to teach you about finding Jesus”

“I think you can tell all you need to know about someone just by their accent”

“My car defines me”

“My car defines my cock”

“Who’s Nelson Mandela?”

I think a lot of people would be more tolerable. And tolerant. I certainly would be. I might avoid you, or talk about the weather, but I’ll certainly be far less likely to piss you off. And that would be nice.

I might start the ball rolling by writing my own sign.

I’ve got three new pieces in the Lazarides Outsiders show.

If you’d like a look you can pop in at the address below:

Ground Floor,
125 Charing Cross Rd,
London WC2H 0EW

It was Saturday morning that I stood before the Metro ticket machine with a fistful of change, most of it useless because it wasn’t silver. My big weekend weigh-up was to break a note to a get a return ticket (to the grocery store- YAY!) or to just buy a single.

Entertainment was thin on the ground since my Friday night consisted of a hot date with a packet of biscuits.

Deciding to just get a return ticket, I ambled over to the kiosk clerk with a Freddo Frog, sing-songing “Just that, please”

I wanted chocolate and I needed change. And I wanted chocolate.

“You’ll have to spend more to get change for a fiver” The sallow clerk said.

“Sorry?” I said, scared that I didn’t understand him.

“I won’t give you change for a Freddo, it’s 15p, like.”

I said “oh” and felt bewildered. I’ll take a 15 minute walk to a shop just for a Freddo, but suddenly felt a bit ashamed of myself for inadvertently picking up what must’ve been the cheapest thing in his pokey station shop. I felt like justifying my choice by telling him that I really do adore the things when he said:

“If you bought something else, something sensible…” he trailed off, opening his palm and waving to demonstrate the glorious array of sugary junk every other corner shop sells nation wide.

“Something sensible?” I asked and then realised he meant “something more expensive” “something worth pressing a button for”

My mood has been muddy lately.

For one reason or another, I’m experiencing constant niggling pain. It’s not the sort that keeps you in bed all day and there’s more than one source, but it’s there and it won’t shake off.

Since my doctor insists on a two week time frame for all ailment reassessments (no matter how long you’ve suffered with them) I can’t be bothered to go and have him announce, bored, that chests, feet and collar bones aren’t his problem, leaving with only the hint that I should “just fuck off until it falls off”.

All in all, my temper is short and I’m muttering to myself a lot lately. Wounded animals bite. I hiss and scowl with slumped shoulders. Nice.

I glanced around the shop, looking for something else to buy. Stumped because all I wanted was a Freddo. I was annoyed because I was giving up chocolate simply to prove a point.To a skew-faced man who must do this to school kids every day.

I considered buying two Freddos and paying with penny coins. And I considered telling him to wash the mouth sores off his gritty face. Instead, I stuffed the Freddo in a box of Trackers and felt happy that he’d have to get off his arse to rearrange his merchandise.

I’m amazed that I matched his pettiness and felt a sense of victory.
Still, what a bell-end.