Skip to main content

Bubble-Bubble-Roly-Poly

 And then you smiled and my heart leapt so high I thought it would come out of a nostril.  If you can make me laugh within the next ten seconds, you said, sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket, I’ll kiss you.  Under normal circumstances, I would have dozens of one-liners ready to go, but the way you looked at me made my mind go blank and something in me regressed to a billion year-old fish state and I starting making bubble noises.  You know, the kind you make in front of a fish tank and want to get some dialogue going.  I needed something else, a more silly-surrealistic one-two because two funny things done together is much funnier than the sum of two funny things done separately.  So I did a roly-poly off the picnic blanket and down the hill, but the hill was rather hillier than expected.  On this mild, autumnal day, the roly-poly snowballed.  I was a tumbling seasonal anachronism.  Gravity became persuasive: one roly-poly turned into three, turned into five, turned into eleven.  Within all this spinning, I had a notion that the river - which had made our picnic even more beautiful - might be getting closer.  And indeed it was – and in spite of the accuracy of my fish impression, this man-fish couldn’t swim.  So there’s me thinking that’s the end of that then, isn’t it.  Dying for a kiss, then dying without a kiss.  Oh well, a shame for sure, but it’s not a bad way to go.  A little shambolic, but memorable.  You never do things by halves, his mother used to say.  That much was true.  Carved on my headstone: One roly-poly too many.  A unique inscription and a little mysterious.  He knew a gentleman who’d carve it by hand.  It would be a beautiful headstone and it would keep a future graveyard stroller guessing.  But you knew I couldn’t swim and had hot-footed it down the hill after me.  A splash and a scream from either or both of us. 

Seconds or hours passed. 

Laid out on the bank, soaked to the bone, you dripping wet above me.  You moved the hair from my eyes.  Say something, you said.  I coughed up the last of the water. I’ve forgotten the punchline, I replied.  You laughed.  No matter, you said. No matter.  Then you placed a hand on my cheek and kissed me.       

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mr Pebble Pockets

I’ve called him Mr Pebble Pockets because if I don’t make a joke out of it I’ll cry.  It was about 10:30pm, I’d just got back to the boat from a late shift and I was waiting for my Deliveroo.  He was standing a little further down the towpath and staring at the water.  The night was clear and crisp and there was enough moonlight to see the shape of him: he was tall, late twenties and had a powerful sporty look to him.  He wasn’t crying, but he was shaking and he stood crooked.    Well, it doesn’t take a genius, does it?  I only came out to wait for a bloody curry.  Mother Florence bloody Teresa Nightingale springing into action, hungry and as tired as fuck and now having to stop this guy from jumping into the canal with an anchor for a coat.     I know now that the best thing to do was offer him a cigarette.   I don’t know why I didn’t.   I had the packet and the lighter in my hand. ‘Excuse me,’ I said.   ‘Ar...
Post a Comment
Read more

An Expert Analysis of Michael Fassbender's Running Style From the Film 'Shame'

Tom Wiggins: What are your first impressions of Michael Fassbender/Brandon's running style? Paul Whittaker: He's running nice, smooth and relaxed. He seems like he has a good amount of fitness and he is running well within himself in terms of pace.   TW: What improvements could he make to his running style? PW: The main improvement I'd make is his foot plant.  He lands heel first and this causes a 'breaking' effect when travelling forwards.  If he landed on his mid-foot/forefoot, this would be a much better for impact stress and propulsion going forward into the next running stride. TW: Regarding his speed, how many minutes per mile is he running? PW : I would say he is running approx 7-7.30 minutes per mile. TW:   What do you make of his stride lengths?  Is he overstriding/understriding? PW:  The actor is definitely overstriding in this clip.  It would help if his feet landed underneath and below his centre of gravit...
Post a Comment
Read more

Samsa & Shabeezi

Samsa was now a human.  He’d recently become a human after his architect decided to put a human heart in him and give him feelings.  The five litres of blood that now pumped around his body warmed him up.  It made for incredible nose bleeds, spasms, cramps and bruising, to name o nly a small fraction of the symptoms, but his architect assured him that it would all be worth it and that he'd feel normal very soon.  He didn't know what normal was, but he knew it wasn't puking and shitting and bleeding all over the place for the first two months and then just feeling terrible for several weeks after that.  Human life is agony, he thought, but he trusted the process.  One day, a little over twelve weeks after the operation, he woke up from his first good night's sleep and was able to open the curtains without the light splitting his skull in two.  Samsa had known Shabeezi before she became a human woman.   All they had done was fight.   Samsa es...
Post a Comment
Read more