Tuesday, March 29, 2005

The Flood 

To those who were in Cardiff last Saturday.

Fear not.

Those of you who urinated; indulging in “wild pissing” to relieve bladders full of cheap beer.
Those of you who spat.
Your retch and puke.
The drool of the Irish men over our fine Valley girls
Your tears for the Grand Slam – the fabric of Welsh society restored after being torn apart by Thatcher?
Your tears because your boyfriend doesn't love you any more, or because your best friend snogged the boy you fancied
Your Snot.
Dribble from your sloppy snogging
Cigarette filters saturated - brown and yellow with tar and spit
Beer spilled, dribbled, sprayed and erupted
Deposits in condoms for the lucky ones, without the brewer's droop
Dead skin, dandruff shaken loose by jubilation
The droplets expelled as you snored
The cubes of vegetable that fell out of your pasties
The slivers of dodgy meat that that was shaved into, and slipped from your kebabs
The crushed chips
The discarded gherkins from MCD's burgers
Your gassy burps
Your Jalfrezied farts
The crushed empty beer cans
Your songs, chants and your hugs
Your joy and inebriation.

Your stench, your excess, your ecstasy, your embarrassment.
All your discarded DNA has been washed away.

The Flood has come and cleansed the city.

What my council tax dollars can't sweep away, God will.

(Unless you dropped your gum on the floor. It's still there speckling our pavements.)

Yesterday the sun was shining.
I picnicked in the park with my sweetheart.
We drank smoothies and played bouls until our bladders were full, then marched to the closest pub to use their toilet facilities and sit in the beer garden drinking syrupy Pepsi.
We walked back into town and bought knickers and socks from the British Home Stores, magazines from W.H.Smiths (where I dreamt of having a job with a waiting room and me in charge of a large monthly allowance to buy magazines for it. “Modern Painters” and “Small Holders Monthly” caught my eye. I'd inspire the bored customers, maybe just one would think outside and beyond their pointless life; then my own would be worthwhile).

Then I left her at the station to catch a train.

On the way home I passed a field full of cows lying on their backs with their legs in the air. Knowing something about animal behaviour and their close affinity with the climate, I sought out the farmer and commented to him “Looks like rain is coming”.
He sighed, “I bloody well hope so, maybe it will wash all those dead cows out of my field”

And rain it did.

Actually I've been away for a week, so it may have been pissing down for days, I wouldn't have known.

In Andorra last week I overused the word “Numpty” and learned the word “Honkey”. I was under the impression that “Honkey” was a derogatory term for people from Hong Kong but it turn out to be African American slang, a derogatory term for a white person. I think then I'm safe to use it as a replacement for numpty. (“you stupid honkey”, “what's up honkey?”, “there are far too many honkeys here for my liking”)

Steve tells me there is a Happy Mondays lyric: “I might be a honkey, but I'm hung like a donkey”

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