Hitting the fan

"No more questions" said the Tomas Crowd, a grey haired sensible giant of a man, wearing an astronomically expensive suit, who had just given the worst press conference of his life. He worked in sanitation, and despite there being a massive fuck up, which everybody could smell, he was told minutes before hand that he couldn't mention shit in any form.

"I can still say sewage though right?" he had asked the publicist, a small blonde lady who was curiously always wearing power suits straight out of the 80's directly before he went out to face his pressdoom.

"I'm afraid not" said Janine "The PM has asked that we play this down to the extent that we pretend it's not happening at all, so any mention of any sort of waste product must be avoided so the papers have nothing to quote".

"If we're pretending this didn't happen, then why are we giving a press conference about it? You don't give press conference's about things that didn't happen. What am I supposed to talk about?" said Tomas, while furiously speed reading his notes to double check if he had miraculously been handed a speech which talked about something other than the foul stench he was somewhat responsible for.

"Just reassure the public that nothing out of the ordinary is going on, and that no significant problems are occurring at the moment. That way, no matter what happens, we can later on claim that nothing in fact did happen, as no-one ever admitted that it actually did". Janine had said these lines surprisingly often and in an even more surprising number of situations, but they generally seemed to work somehow.

"There is actual shit on the streets of London right now though Janine, and no amount of me denying that is going to stop it from being true. People can see it with their own eyes and smell it with their own fucking noses. There are videos' and pictures of it on the internet, so I can't deny it, because it's really fucking happening and everyone can see it for themselves. How do I spin that into 'business as usual'?" said Tomas infuriated, taking a breath only once he realised he'd done air quotes around "business as usual", because he hated air quotes, just like every good Englishman.

"Make a joke out of it Tom" Janine interjected while Tomas was scowling at his fingers, "Say someone from the opposition must have eaten too much... or better yet, say they had their party conference in a curry house! Yes that might play. Say the smell comes from the stench of the opposition's policies. Now off you go, time to grin and bare it". Janine gave Tom a gentle push through the curtains and heard the camera's start clapping.

Tomas took the podium and grinned for moment while the flashes went off unnecessarily. "The leader of the oppositions flatulence has created a smell so bad it has created a stink cloud over all of London. The sanitation department is operating as per usual, with no significant issues to report. Thank you for your time." Tomas turned to step off the stage quickly, but one lone question rang out before he could...

"Isn't it true that your party had it's conference at a curry house, and now the shit that makes up your policies is clogging the streets?" a reporter said with a half-grin on his face.

With his best shit-eating grin stuck to his face, Tomas turned back to face the reporter, and pretend to be amused by the question. "More like the oppositions....conference....and bad policies....are stinking.... oh fuck it. The shit on the street is literally your shit. It's the public's shit. It's everyone's shit, and there's nothing more to be said about it. We're cleaning it up, even though we didn't shit it out in the first place, so be grateful and fuck off. Fuck this shit. No more questions."

Tomas walked out of the curtains, took off his tie and gave it to Janine, who was on the phone apologising to someone. "Fuck this shit" Tomas thought to himself. A smile crept on his face, and he started laughing. "That was the worst press conference I've ever given, but then possibly the best resignation speech of all time" he thought. Things were looking up for the former master of poop, Mr Tomas Crowd. He stepped out onto the street, and pinched his nose and thought "Fuck this shit indeed".

Born Free

A fly was buzzing around me all day, bumping into me, landing on the TV screen, taking an unhealthy interest in things I wanted to eat, so when the opportunity arose, I trapped him in the fridge. He had followed me into the kitchen, and when I opened it he just flew right in, so I acted on impulse and there he was. I only kept the door closed for about 5 seconds but when I opened it again he flew right at the window and bounced off it until I opened it and knocked him out the gap. As much as I'll never know what nasty things he might have done in there to all the food, I did learn at least 2 things from this encounter.

1) Flys know where the goddamn window is, they just don't necessarily want to leave. I always imagine that they just don't know what's going on when they spend inordinate amounts of time flying in circles in the middle of a room, but it seems that they do, and they've chose to do whatever the fuck it is they are doing.

2) Flys hate captivity (or maybe just the cold). It can't have been that cold in there after only about 5 seconds, so I'm assuming that when it went dark in that fridge and the little bastard starting bumping off the walls of his cage, he did not like it one bit.

So if you ever find yourself with a fly problem, you don't have to kill them to get rid of them, just trap them somewhere, and their inherent claustrophobia will make them run (fly) for the great outdoors asap when you let them go.

Maybe. I mean I'm no scientist, so who knows, but feels true anyway.

Rest in peace

And then I told him, I said "this is my frying pan, these are my pancakes, get the hell out of my kitchen", but he wouldn't go. And then he started kissing my wife and he ruffled my kid's hair and I thought hells no, this is not right. But then...

but then....

but then... I noticed that my kid was much older than I remembered. He looked about 16, and last I saw him he was 12. That was only yesterday though so what the hell is going on, I have no idea. 4 Years gone. Where? Where did they go? Where did I go?

And why the fuck was this jackass making out with my wife in front of me? Had he no respect? Did Pamela not recognise me? I had had more than enough when I took an ill-judged swing at him, and passed right through him then fell on the floor.

So I'm a ghost I guess. No-one can hear me, no-one can see me and I can go through walls and shit. It's pretty depressing when you think about it. It's very depressing when you think about that Patrick Swayzee movie, as being a ghost isn't like that. I don't get to have weird pottery sexy time with my wife. I don't get to meet Whoopi Goldberg. I can't move things, no matter how hard I try. And worst....there is no fucking light at the end of the tunnel waiting to take me away. I'm just here, alone, all the fucking time.

After haunting my kids for a few months, getting to know the little rascals better than I ever had when I was alive, I finally got bored and went for a looksy-loo around the city. I thought peeking in women's showers would be hot, but it really wasn't. Not even famous women's showers. I don't think I get sexual urges anymore, but if I do, people cleaning themselves definitely does not do it for me.

So I watched everything that came out in the cinema, I hung out at DVD stores and caught people when they were just starting new boxsets and joined in. I tried reading, but trying to get through a book by moving your head through it one page at a time is just not fun, nor is reading over someone else's shoulder at their pace. I went to dozens of circus's and weddings, parties, clubs, and even a few funerals. I became a big sports fan. I tried to see what was at the bottom of the ocean , but it was just too dark down there for it to be a good time. I went to war zones to see the excitement, but it's actually pretty surreally boring if there's no danger to you - just a lot of noise and some random screaming, and seemingly for no reason at all.

I ran out of stuff to do. I was bored. I was lonely, and there was nothing to do about it. I went to the hospital to watch people die and see if another ghost was spat out, but no. It was a pretty messed up experience seeing those people die, so I gave up quickly. I already knew funerals were no better, so I tried cremations and every other death rite I could find but to no avail. The first ghosty thing I can remember is being in the kitchen screaming at my wife's new man, so it's not like I sprung into existence at my death, or at least I don't think I did.

I never found out how I died either. When I was alive I wouldn't know how to find that out, let alone with the zero resources that come with being dead. I went back to find my family and they had moved. I had nothing better going on in my life (death?) so I started living (dying?) with the new family that moved in there and watched the mail. When a letter finally came for my son, I watched it like a hawk to see what they would do with it, and after a week they finally got around to forwarding it. I could have just read the address and found the place, but I was really bored by this time, so I just followed the letter. I spent a night in the postal system, perhaps having the most fun I've had in a while. Sliding down the shoot with all the letters was a hoot anyway.

So I find my son, and he's married now, and I watch him live. It's kinda nice seeing him react to things like I would have, or overhearing him say a few loving things about me every now and then. On my birthday one year, he goes to my grave for the first time (that I've seen anyway) and the whole experience is a bit overwhelming for me. I knew I was dead this whole time, but actually seeing my headstone is a bit much. Seeing my wife weep quietly, and my son gently console her makes me feel less forgotten. It brings back the reality of what I lost, of who I was and why I miss being alive so goddamn much.

I weep. I mean I really sob and wail at my grave. I scream and curse and beg for the life I had. I question and cry and break down like a little baby, unable to control the terrible sad rage coursing through me. I notice my family are gone, and I don't try to find them. I sleep, on my own grave, mournfully, brokenly.

When I awake it's night time. I don't know if it's the same night I went to sleep in or a new one, but then time keeping is always a bitch for a ghost. I start walking towards the gate, but then stop and reconsider.

There is nothing on the other side of those gates for me. I could watch my kids grow up, watch the world grow old even maybe, but why? I can't affect it, and I'm feeling less and less bothered about it all every day. I don't think I even cared that much when I was alive, but I don't remember that so well anymore anyway.

I lie down on my grave, and start sinking. I've gotten good at moving through things, so I guess about 6 feet and stop. I could be in the mud right now, but I think I'm in myself. In my coffin, where I'm supposed to be. I close my eyes and relax. Nothing. No sounds, no sights, no people, no buildings, no living, no dying, nothing.  It's actually kinda nice and peaceful. I think I'll try it out for a while.

When the world ends I suppose I'll see it. Or when this graveyard gets dug up. But until then I'm going to sleep in like an unemployed teenager. It's going to be pretty sweet I think.

No reason

Seven o'clock in the morning I wake up and say, "not fucking today world, not fucking today". So I go back to sleep as long as I can, and when I finally awake the world says "now goddamnit, I'm out of patience". So I get up and make a cup of joe, drink the shit out of it and sit down at my desk. I push some buttons, check my emails, post a joke on facebook and think about doing it.

"NOW" says the world, "do it fucking NOW". So I put my key in the machine, turn it, open the box and press the red button. Everything goes boom, just like it's supposed to and there is no more human race except for me.

"World" I say, "was that really neccesary? What was the big rush?".

"No rush really" says the world "I just told Jupiter I did it already and I didn't want to be called a liar".

So now it's just me in a concrete box talking to the planet. I got enough supplies to last a lifetime according to the world, but then a lifetime is subjective, much like sanity.

"World" I try again "Are you telling me I ended everything just so you wouldn't look like a tool to a massive tool?"

"You ended nothing you arrogant little fuck, you just gave me a little cleaning. I couldn't take all those stupid little feet walking over me anymore and now I don't have to, that is all. Jupiter was just a side point. I told you from the get go this is what I wanted, and you said you would do it so bam, it's done and that's that."

"So uh...what now for me? I know we talked about me being king of everything and all, but now there's nothing left it seems kinda hollow. You wanna maybe play xbox or something?"

"For one I don't have hands" said the world irritatedly "and for two, there is no more electricity. Why do you think you're sitting in the dark?"

"For dramatic effect?" I queried, but with no response. I pushed on anyway "So... no power, no people and no outside..for me anyway. This is a pretty bum deal I agreed to hey?

"Well think of this way" said the world "at least you didn't get fired for being insane like you always worried about hey. You got the last laugh on this one buddy, that's for damn sure".

And that I did, that I did.

The Age of Swan

Today I decided that I wasn't going to worry about being the greatest anymore. Or being rich. Or being anything but being happy really. Since I quit I've been beating myself up over my desire to start my own business, and my lack of abilities in the are which I want to get involved. Imagining that I could get some of my friends to help out, or that extra effort on my behalf would make all the difference has led me to being disappointed at not being able to bring about a better tomorrow for myself through sheer hard work. So I realised today that I shouldn't kick myself about it. Yes I want to do good in the world, but it doesn't have to be an overnight Facebook size success that I just knock up in my living room.

I'm just gonna get a job doing something I like and respect myself for and work on what I want to do in my spare time. If I can help the world even moderately then my life will have been a success. I think that's reasonable isn't it?

That's today's opinion anyway, and I hope I stick to it. I think something different everyday about the possibility of my success or my inevitable failure, but this seems like a good plan to me.

Also it means I don't have to waste my unemployment time feeling depressed about how lame I am. I mean yes, I'm still going to have the startlingly diminished sense of self-worth due to not having a job, and yes I'm going to still be a pointlessly jealous motherfucker when I can't afford to do things that I didn't want to do even when I could afford them. But I'm also going to take this extra time as a fucking blessing; time to get my life in order and smell the motherfucking roses.

I love my wife. I love my life. These can be good times. I just need to get a job I like and boom, it's the age of the Swan.

Don't Panic

I've got that feeling of non-specific panic again. Like I did or said something really bad today but that I don't know what it is yet. I can't quite remember, but I will and I'll freak out about it later I'm sure. I always wonder if this panic is a fear of the event or of the freaking out about it. The track record for a lack-of-repercussions is sterling by the way - not a single memorable bad thing has happened from anything that I have previously freaked out about. Every single thing I've worried myself into an early grave over has been ok in the end, or at least unnoticeably bad in the long run. I know this, I know there isn't, there can't be, anything to worry about really. So why do I have this feeling again?

It didn't taste great

I quit my job today. I don't have another job to go to, I was just done. Advertising beat me. I thought I could civilize it if I just kept on plugging away doing things the best I could, but the wave of shit just overwhelmed me eventually. It eroded away all the good I did so that no-one would ever know it was even done, so I guess I was just trying to fight back the sea with a sword after all.

So now I'm staring down the barrel of nothing, just like I always daydreamed about the joy of being unemployed on the bad days, and of course now it's real it's also terrifying. What now? What next? Am I  going to have one of those "it was the best decision of my life! stories or have I just doomed me and my wife to destitution? I have no fucking idea right now.

I thought I wold feel better after I left. I thought I would feel elated or relieved that it was over, but advertising beat me. It broke me, it cowed me, it built me up and then tore me down. Advertising beat me, I didn't think it would, but it did.

And now I have to live with that.

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls

I was working from home and planning to go to the bank at lunch so I could put my cheque in, but it was raining cats and dogs (2 months of rain in one day so the news has said) so I decided to wait until it stopped to go. I always take my lunch at 1pm and as I am keen to make sure no-one becomes suspicious of how much work I do when I'm working from home I became nervous about going offline for the 30 minutes or however long it would take to go to the bank. So as soon as it stopped raining I jumped up, put on my coat and stepped out the door.

Except outside my door wasn't the familiar hallway, but instead a massive mess of soggy newspapers on top of a layer of bin bags surrounded by buckets. A veritable brown waterfall was pouring from the gaps around the hatch in the ceiling which led to the roof. While I stared in shock and awe at this development, a little voice got my attention.

A little old lady in her slippers said in an italian accent "I'm sorry I'm...." and gestured to my next door neighbours door.

"...locked out?" I ventured.

She shrugged and said "I no speak english" and then banged on the door and waited. Aware of my urgent task and limited time to do it in, I closed the door behind me and dashed off to the bank, where I did my urgent bank stuff. I worried that I had been a dick for not inviting her in or making sure she was ok, and resolved to invite her in for a cuppa when I returned, imagining the smug satisfaction I would feel from doing a neighbourly turn.

When I got back into my building, I immediately could hear a massive repetitive banging sound. I mounted the stairs confused and cautious, and when I got to my floor I was bemused to find the old lady attacking her door with a stick. Attacking it pretty furiously I might add. My front door is made of two sheets of steel bolted to a frame, so I can only imagine my neighbours is too, and that what she was doing was entirely fruitless (and if it wasn't fruitless - kinda stupid). So I decided to get me some smug satisfaction.

I said hello and asked her if I could help...which only involved me trying to stick my arm through her letter box for a second. I soon discovered that her not being able to speak english wasn't just over-zealous modesty - she had no idea what I was saying. I began mostly shrugging, smiling, speaking loudly and playing charades to try and get the idea through to her that I was going to call the land lord for her. She was not really interested in the babblings of a foreign stranger, but I gave her a glass of water and left my door open while I panickily got the details off of Kathy and eventually got the landlord to agree to send over a locksmith. I even got the old lady to tell me her name....or just some name of someone, I still don't know for sure. The landlord recognised it though, so it must have been someone who lived there.

I emptied the buckets and allowed her to wash her hands - which was communicated by her showing me her hands were effin filthy and her pointing at the sink! When she came out I gestured towards our living room and a chair, and then made a cup of tea and shoved it in her hands. Task accomplished!

No sense of satisfaction though....or resolution. I began to start texting people I thought spoke italian so I could communicate with the woman and explain what was going on. She drank the tea slowly and started to look forlorn. She hadn't really drunk the water I gave her, and didn't ask for the tea, so I started to think this situation was pretty weird to her. I hadn't closed our front door, but it was only ajar now, and she was sitting in our messy and childish living room on an uncomfortable chair while a strange english man made loud panicked phone calls and kept glancing at her! I started to worry that I had kidnapped her accidentally.

I finally found someone at Kathys' work who would text me in italian anything I asked, so I got it and showed her. After staring at my screen for a few seconds she said "I no my glasses. Who is Kathy?" (as the text was from Kathy). The text was short, and my screen showed a pic of Kathy feeding some ponies, so I think she might have thought I was just showing off my wife to her. Damnit! My phobia of strangers was becoming a bit overwhelming by this point, and now it seemed that this woman would permanently remain a stranger, and worse, she was in my home!

So anyway, from then on my panic grew, even as the situation remained static. A builder called me to say he couldn't come fix the lock, and asked if my flat was leaking water too. It was only then I started noticing all the damp patches on the walls in weird places. So I started panicking about that too - calling our land lord every 20 minutes or so for updates about everything (as no-one arrived for hours). I was dealing with a couple crisis's at work at the same time, so my stress levels were getting out of control, but I had to remain calm as this old lady was sitting next to me and I didn't want to freak her out anymore than I already had. She looked really small and sad by this point.

I told Kathy I needed her to come home and help me. She knew there was nothing she could do, but she left 20 mins early bless her, coz she knew I'm a bit crazy about such things. I sat there for another hour or two in silence with this old lady, afraid to eat or drink due to the social awkwardness of not being able to ask her if she wanted anything. Just a minute before Kathy arrived, she got up and rushed out, and after I cautiously followed her, I found her son outside. It turned out she was visiting him from italy, and was trying to fix the leaking roof when she was locked out of his flat. It was the first and only time I've met my neighbour.

Kathy came back and called the Landlord repeatedly until a builder actually arrived and fixed the leak (the roof drains were clogged). She then told me off for not taking the leak(s) seriously, as I told her that I had only even asked for a builder when the locksmith one started questioning me!

And then I had my first cigarette in months to calm down. It wasn't that nice or calming, but still probably helped.

Phew.

I know it doesn't sound like much, but social awkwardness and strangers are two of my biggest phobias and they were both right there in my home. And I was dealing with work emergencies, home emergencies, and being crazy hungry and thirsty on top of these! Just goes to show, charity may begin at home, but it should probably continue outside of your home unless you really like hanging out with strangers.

Steve Vs Swiss Cheese