So my response to the breakdown of the whole fucking Helpline things is to engage in three days solid boozing in honour of by friend's birthday in Nottingham. Anyway, I might come back to this, however on the final day when I'm feeling rather paranoid and just want to leave, I'm sat in the garden with this guy who wants to be a Conservative MP (he's disappeared into the garden to write a speech). My friend has these chickens in her garden for some fucking reason, as they're not laying any eggs and we're talking about the chickens and this project. Anyway, MP2B (and I genuinely hope that this guy becomes an MP because he seemed to have a good heart (though I suspect by the time he's been through the Tory personality mincer (all political parties have one) that he's not going to be this genuine))) gets pretty excited about the whole idea of what I'm doing and basically encapsulated the whole premise of this in one line (bloody politicians):
"If I were in a great novel, what would I be do today?" or maybe "What would I be doing today if I were the subject of a great novel?" - clearly I can't put it as well as he did.
I don't know what we said about the chickens.
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Clearly I'm having problems with the notion of trying to translate a night out into a piece of prose. I should probably take note of the master, Mr Charles Bukowski, who managed to convey all aspects of a night out in a succinct and interesting manner without relying on over egging the fact that he was hammered. There is always another point with Bukowski over and above the fact that he liked his booze.
ReplyDeleteWeirdly the guy who I had the above conversation with is now starring in the fictional / reality mash up that is Big Brother. He's currently known as "Halfwit."
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