My Winning Streak

I was driving home late last night in my racing green Mini Cooper, when it occurred to me that I was wearing an unbuttoned plaid shirt - and nothing else. No shoes or socks, no jeans or t-shirt, and no pants. And, whilst the shirt I had on was a fetching one, I suddenly felt very aware that it probably wasn't quite eye-catching enough to distract onlookers from the absence of the remainder of my attire. I tried to remember just exactly where I'd left my outfit, but in the panic that was now brewing, I couldn't even recall where I was travelling from, let alone where I'd made the transition from dressed to undressed. However, I was heading home, and it was late, so I could probably sneak from my car to my door without too much attention - even if I do live on a main road...

As I neared my road, it began to rain. And, as with all situations of escalating peril and drama, it wasn't just a fine drizzle caressing my car and the concrete - no no! It was a devilish downpour, pummeling and purging the pavements and panels of my Mini. Even with the windscreen wipers on their fastest setting, I was struggling to see the road. I considered stopping for a while, but worried that doing so may lead to some passerby also stopping to see if I needed any help - sure, it doesn't happen when you want it to, but you could guarantee that when you didn't...
I decided to brave it. I knew the roads well enough, and I could slow the car right down if I needed to; there was never much traffic at this hour. The occasional guy working nights, taxis on their last fare...

...a police car. And I couldn't tell for sure straight away - the rain made it difficult to make out anything but the encroaching headlights - but as it neared the rear of my snailing vehicle, it was unmistakable. Like the shadow of the school bully, it loomed over me and suddenly I remembered my situation. And, last time I checked, if asked to 'step outside the vehicle, please sir' you refused due to AWOL Calvin Kleins, claiming to be the modern day Lady Godiva, it was more likely you who'd be struck down than these uniformed 'Peeping Toms' who'd be struck blind. Whether I wanted to or not, I had to start driving at the speed limit, or I'd definitely be a cause of suspicion. I pushed my bare foot down on the cold accelerator, and continued towards home.

Thankfully, the police car turned off just as soon as it had arrived, and I made it to the home stretch without issue. Though, as I turned onto my road, everything felt all of a sudden darker. I noticed as I drove that the lampposts were all off, and there were no lights coming from inside any windows either. I could only assume there was some kind of mass power cut, perhaps bought about by the storm? Either way, this blackout boded well for my current condition: the dimmer the light to illuminate my 'naturism' the better! I pulled up outside my house, switched the engine off and was startled by the interior light switching itself on. I quickly clicked it off, eyeing my surroundings for any surreptitious souls who may have caught a glimpse of my guise. All seemed safe as I reached into my pocket for my house key...

...I was, of course, no longer wearing my trousers. And, with only the front door between me and safety, this posed a rather big problem. I couldn't possibly ring the bell! What would my parents say? What would they do?!

I looked up towards my house, when I noticed my neighbours dotted about around my door. Both panic and possibility stabbed at my stomach: two teenage girls and their father from one side, and an elderly gent from the other. The panic was that this was more people I had to hide from. The possibility was that someone would now have to come and answer the door, which gave me an opening - a very slight one, admittedly, but an opening nonetheless. If I could somehow sneak in alongside this gaggle, I could make it upstairs to my room (and to clothes! Sweet, sweet boxer shorts!) and no-one would be any the wiser.

I had to try. I recalled I had a large bag in my boot; a 'bag for life' full of microphones and cables from a gig I'd played at the weekend. I could wander up to the door using that to shield and shelter my shame, and hopefully the presence of my shirt would be enough, in this light, to limit any suspicions. I fastened my shirt and made my move, feeling the rainwater on my bare body as I heaved the bag from the boot and began up the driveway. As I pattered through the puddles towards my door, it flung open and my neighbours dashed in, only the eldest sister giving me a swift glance as she stepped in: she noticed nothing. I waited momentarily for them to clear the entrance and step further into my hallway, then I took a sly peek inside. They were at the kitchen door at the other end of the room, and so I made for the staircase. As I ascended, I threw the bag to my side and ran, knowing now that, if anyone were to see, all they'd catch in this muted lighting was a flash of bare leg, which was the least of my worries. I opened my bedroom door and jumped straight into some shorts: my ordeal was very much over!

The power must have come back on during my dressing, as when I crossed into the next room my friend was sitting there, printing something off with my computer. He'd been texting this girl for a few weeks now, and was printing off the messages for further analysis. He wasn't really sure if she was as serious about beginning a relationship as he was, and felt if he looked over the language used and amount of kisses per text, he'd get a better, more general idea of whether or not his endeavours were falling flat on their face. We spoke for a while about the whole situation: I was convinced he was definitely the one doing all the chasing, and that, if anything, she wasn't entirely convinced this was anything more than a bit of fun. But, I couldn't convince him of this, so decided to head out - I'd been invited to the house-warming of a friend of a friend.

The house was beautiful, and had a very Spanish feel to it. The weather was warming up nicely too, and I was very much looking forward to the forthcoming festivities. I tried the front door but it was bolted shut, so I grabbed the vines that were hanging harmlessly from the balcony and began my climb to the top. I flung my leg over the ornate fencing that bordered the balcony, and heaved myself over. I stood and dusted myself down, seeing the party had already started: there were people drinking, chatting, sharing a glass of champagne in the hot tub. I soon found my friend amongst the medley of minglers and we tried to speak, but the music was suddenly overbearing, so he took me to one side. I asked him who the house belonged to, and he hollered to a man who was, at this point, surrounded by scantily-clad women. He slided his way over to us, and we shook hands. He had a very strong handshake, and as we exchanged greetings I could feel his eyes making decisions about me, as if his initial interpretation of me was the work of long years researching and studying my behaviour. He placed his arms around our shoulders and led us outside again to the balcony.

It was empty now, and the sun was setting. Everything was a golden river. He reached into his back pocket, removing a small bag of powder, and began divvying it out on the tabletop. I'd never snorted drugs before, and as he passed my a rolled up £50 note, I hesitated. He looked at me again, and I looked to my friend. He was already nostril-deep in the drug, and I felt inclined to follow suit. As I inhaled the substance, all the golds and glistening gimcracks surrounding me began to surf in and out of focus, and all my worries wormed around inside my eyelids when I blinked. I could hear the music growing louder, growing more mellow, getting closer, and as I laughed and smiled to my friend...

I woke up. It was 10:04 and the wind outside was walloping my window.

I apologise if a) you thought this was a real story, or b) you thought it was a fictitious one that I ended in the worst way possible, but it's been such a long time since I had a very vivid dream, and I decided to get it down on paper (albeit the virtual kind). Dreams are so interesting and wonderful, and I do fully intend on trying to understand just what made me have this one this morning. I wonder how long I was dreaming for - the dream's time-frame itself is, as always, convoluted and dissolved, but it felt like it lasted so much longer than it does when I'm remembering it. Almost as if each event has the same kind of weight to it as a real-life event; alive with all the thoughts, feelings, senses, worries, pleasures and pains we encounter every second of every day.

And I've read Freud. I've read Broks. I've read Borges. I've watched documentaries, read articles, listened to psychologists and scientists. And, no matter how much you think you know about dreaming...you don't really 'know' anything. Sure, it could be coded events from my recent life replaying and rewinding, unwinding in my unconscious and dealing with my regressions and repressions. And, sure, it could just be misfiring electronic signals and sparks in my brain, which I attempt to give birth to using the everyday images and thoughts that it just so happens to trigger. Hell, it could even be an alternate version of me in an alternate world, and just one (or several) of those forking paths merging into the current path I'm walking on. Or, better yet, it could be real-life, and in my dream I'm writing this blog about it. But I'm not so sure about that...

...though, if that is the case, if anyone does know where I left my clothes and you happen to be sharing this dream with me, do let me know.

So, what about you guys? Any dreams lately? Any theories about dreaming?

Do share!

Hard of Hairing

This morning, after the rigorous routine that results in my hair looking like a wilderbeast's backside, I found lots of tiny fallen hairs about my shoulders and clothes, which isn't an uncommon event to be honest. But today, it seemed to stick in my mind even as I drove. Then, at work, I served five bald people in a row, all of which I assumed to have had a full head of hair before they went all 'Edward Scissorhands' on it...

And this got me thinking. I wonder if people who have their head shaved decide to do so just in case they upset someone who happens to be adept in casting curses and forces them to forever live upside-down; nothing would alter, they’d still move their legs to walk and up would still be up, and down down, but they’d be flipped the wrong way so that what touched the ground was the top of their heads. And, therefore, in having their head shaved, they wouldn’t have to worry quite so much about dirtying their hair.

Though, some people who have shaved heads decide on growing large beards, which, presuming the curse didn’t directly affect gravity, would dangle about their faces and become quite the nuisance I should think.

Maybe they haven’t thought of that; I’ll give them the head’s up.

Haha…‘head’s up’…

I did think once that the large beard was a kind of compensation for their decision to have a shaved head, but I have sometimes seen people with a full head of hear grow equally large beards, and the reason for that is something that plagues me to this day.

…unless it’s an act of defiance?

If they became upside-downed, perhaps the beard would act very much like head-hair, and maybe one day someone will notice this trend and open a very lucrative specialist barbers that pays particular interest in upside-down beard hair grooming.

Perhaps they’ll name the salon ‘Chin Up!’…

I refer to this business opportunity as a 'barbers' solely based on the fact that I rarely see women with shaved heads, and rarer still is the day when I encounter a large beard-wearing woman. I would imagine such a woman’s face would face severe ridicule, and would perhaps even cause young children to weep uncontrollably - understandably even!

Though…that prospect does make me wonder…

Say a woman, who at conception happened upon the genes in which there was a predisposition towards female beard-growth, decided, in case of the chance encounter with the adept curse-caster, to shave her head, and then was, in a coincidental twist of fate, made to exist in an entirely upside-down manner…would she not be the single most sought after woman of the upside-down, male demographic?

The upside-down lesbian demographic also – why be close-minded about it?

In fact, for all I know, for all I really know about upside-down people, women with chins aswim with hair might just be the most fashionable females of them all.

Or perhaps the most flagrant? Maybe upside-down juvvies and jails are jam-packed with these females, all a part of the rotated-revolution of Feminists fighting for their freedom to grow grotesque goatees and defending their right to garb their faces with gristly, prickly hairs, all in the name of equality and liberation!

And yes, you could argue with them that sexual equality in the Western World has, in most part, been attained…but there’s no need to split hairs.

After careful deliberation, I can only conclude that, out there somewhere, a wizard / witch / mage / deity who, through scriptures of old (and tales of older still), has threatened the possibility of an upside-down existence. And, as a result of this, some of us feel the need to shorn our scalps, perhaps even unconsciously, with some distant, dark memory of magick and mischief, making mayhem of our minds (and merkins of our mullets!).

Or maybe, like me, they just got fed up of finding stray hairs clinging to their clothes. Though, I think I might risk keeping my hair as it is.

For now, at least.

What a Wonderful, Wacky, Wampy World #1

I'm going to try and make these kinds of posts a bit more regular, as every day I seem to come across something that either amuses me, or sends me into a state of awe. The world is wonderful, and you don't actually have to look too hard to find proof of this. On the flipside of that, the world is also incredibly wacky... This is mostly a result of our creativity as humans bleeding into boredom; the whole process giving birth to ludicrous, often brilliant nuggets of knowledge or nonsense.

Today, I spent the day recruiting students at my old college for my new creative writing group (read more about that here), and I found two prime examples of such behaviour...all on one miniature whiteboard-rubber!

Excuse the language on the second picture; try instead to see this as a fine example of the empty-headed, hormone-heavy human condition a 17 year old must deal with each and every day, culminating in this fine piece of prose.........

...as my old English teacher muttered upon reading this: "Oh, for f***'s sake..."

And, I suppose, she's quite right.

When I got home, I also found out where The Incredible Hulk deposits his used toilet roll tubes after he's done with them: right outside my house, apparently...

...would have thought I'd have noticed this before now. Obviously not.

Anyway, that's all for now. I'll be back with more of these soon no doubt.

Adam's Back! (Located just around the corner from his front...)

Well...

Given my last official post on here was in January, and that was, in fact, my only post...I think we should put a line under it and just say this, right here, is where I start writing.

I mean, still read my previous post. It's not bad! Just...let's not talk about the absent period. If you want to see where I've been, check here - that's my other blog, dedicated to my writing. So that makes this one my personal blog. Welcome, I hope you enjoy everything I have to say...

...I'm sure I will!

I watched a programme recently written by the irreplaceable Stephen Fry called 'Fry's Planet Word', which is a look into language and how it became, how it evolved, how we learn and develop it, and how it differentiates us from every other species known to man. I've only seen the first episode, and it's a five-parter, but so far I'm very interested indeed. Admittedly, the introductory episode 'Babel' did cover a lot of ground I was already familiar with, but we get given too few television programmes about language these days, so when they come around I think they deserve to be shouted about...

...or at least blogged about.

On the topic of language-based television beauties, did anyone used to watch Balderdash & Piffle? Loved that one too.

So, for all you lovers of lingo* out there, please do take a look and let me know if you enjoyed it thoroughly too. Episode 1 is available until the end of October, so don't dillydally.

If I find episode 2 as good, I'll probably have to plug it again, just to forewarn you!

Anyway, hopefully you'll be seeing a lot more of me in the coming days and weeks, but for now, I'm going to go and walk my dog Taz and try to avoid being blown away by the wind...

It's good to be back.

*That does say 'lovers of lingo' and, sadly, isn't a typing error for 'lovers of limbo'...sorry to disappoint...

O Arise, All You Sons

O Arise, all you sons of this land,

Let us sing of our joy to be free...

Papua New Guinea.

I start with a mention of this delicious-sounding state not only because it is highly unlikely it will ever get mentioned again elsewhere in my writing, but also because, as locations in the modern-day world go, there are few others quite as unexplored or estranged. And it's been so long since I actually sat and started to write something substantial that my own mind is feeling somewhat like I imagine Papua New Guinea would feel if a country was granted such sensation: a little isolated, untouched, undiscovered (and difficult to spell)...

This year, I've aimed to actually finish one of my 'big' projects in writing, and I do seriously intend on sticking to that goal. But I'm yet to retrieve all the bits and pieces I need to begin my writing, thanks to a truly horrific external hard drive and its corrupt innards. I do feel for the poor little fella - I have IBS, so have had some dealings with corrupt innards myself - but until I can remove all of the stuff crammed inside it's wee stomach, I can't really move on...

...sounds a lot like IBS actually.

Sitting on my hands whilst figuring out how to cost-effectively save my collection of crowings and conflations was making me feel like a terribly cheap boob-job - I began to sit with a peculiar posture and started to deflate somewhat - so I decided it was time to start up a blog again. And, hopefully this time, keep it up.

It'll probably end up being a random collection of cross-eyed, cross-dressed chunterings, but maybe I'll find some interesting things to talk about along the way too...

...after all, when was the last time somebody mentioned Papua New Guinea in conversation?