4930/17850
Plastic five pound notes? Whatever next? Marmalade for lunch?
I tweeted as a little nod to the few people who’d get the reference,
And @Eilnworb kindly tweeted back this vine of the offending bit of the Breakfast Biscuit ad on a vine. And somehow seeing it repeat endlessly over and over again turns it from the worst bit in an advert ever, to the greatest work of art created by humanity. To have the terrible joke and the totally inappropriate reaction of mirth that follows it repeated on a loop for all time means that it actually starts to become funny and then slowly starts to deconstruct and destroy everything that our civilisation is built on. And it made me realise that the funniest part of it is the fact that Vaughan uses the somewhat archaic “Whatever next?” instead of “What next?”. He’s being sarcastic of course, but it’s still a jarring statement. When I get my art installation that is going to win the Turner Prize (and I have to be quick as you need to be under 50 to be nominated) then one room will be this projected on to a wall and if you go in there you HAVE to stay in there for at least an hour. And if we run out of budget then one episode of AIOTM will just be this.
Also at whatever point you pause on Johnny Vaughan’s face it is always hilarious and tragic.
My mild illness continues. There’s nothing worse than a mild illness (no, not even a fatal illness), because you fell lousy, but it’s not so bad that you’re forced to stay in bed. You can still get stuff done. You just do it under an invisible shroud of blah. The kind of invisible shroud of blah that leaves you searching for the right word to describe your invisible shroud for three minutes, before settling on blah. Which is not a great thing if you’re trying to write anything (as I was today). You feel nauseous, but because you’re only slightly ill you don’t get that wonderful release of vomiting and the euphoric happiness that sometimes follows heaving your guts out (when you’re properly being sick, for the few seconds after throwing up your guts you feel better than you would have done if you hadn’t been ill). Everything just grinds you down, but there’s nothing to stop you doing your chores or attempting your work. It’s the worst of both worlds. At least the properly sick get to stay in bed and watch Netflix.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I have got mildly ill just after giving up drinking. This was my sixth day without booze and I feel much worse than I did when I was hungover. So I can only conclude that it was the alcohol that was holding me together. Without it I am weak and useless and too sluggish to get anywhere with my proper writing. I will start drinking heavily again and be able to write a book about the health benefits of daily drunkenness. My theory is that the alcohol molecules have little hands that literally pull your ageing and sagging body together and prevent disease etc getting in the cracks.
I managed to finish off a half-written Metro article and do about half an hour on my new short film script (half an hour of sitting and deleting stuff, not half an hour of action), but by lunchtime I was pretty much done (to be fair, on current wake up schedules by lunchtime I have been awake for at least 9 hours by then).
Phoebe, the lucky blighter, had managed to throw up all night and so was in a relatively chipper mood today. She is keen to feed herself at the moment, but luckily I enjoy the bomb site that results from allowing her as much as she does. Today she didn’t want me to give her food on her spoon or to suck the prepared stuff straight out of the packet, but she would hold the spoon towards me and allow me to squeeze some on to it which she would then manoeuvre (usually pretty well) into her mouth. It made me laugh. She’s probably more dextrous than I am to be honest, and when she’s not throwing food all over herself pretty tidy too. Anyway had fun through the shroud of blah, but not much closer to bringing you AIOTM. We’ll get there.
If you want to come and see Me1 Vs Me Snooker having to follow a man who cooks his own poo, then buy your ticket for the Tempting Failure Transgressive Art Fesitval on 28th July in Dalston. Me2 might attempt to drink his own wee (or make Me1 do it, that'd show him). Facebook page with deets is here.
