Saturday, November 29, 2008

Renegades of this atomic age

So it's happened twice now. I broke the law with a stranger and I was too into the moment to even look into their face. No it was't some sort of illicit sexual encounter (I can hear your derisive sniggering from here) it was a simple tresspassing fraud kinda deal. I was waiting patiently to go through the barriers at a train station, and the person in front of me didn't swipe their Oyster card properly and took a step forward. Assuming that swiping one piece of plastic on another is a relatively simple and trouble free procedure, I swiped mine too early. In some ways of course it was too late, as now I had swiped mine and the stranger was between me and the barrier what was I to do? Inform the nearest train guy that we had been embroiled in some sort of two for one scam? No, I pushed forward and cried "Shit, QUICKLY" and we both barged through the barriers together. It was a crime of passion you might say, considering the amount of adrenaline that very briefly pumped through my body.

What still gets me though is that I didn't look up at my co-conspirator either time. We broke the law together, we were criminals, outlaws, bonnie and fucking clyde, and yet I don't know their names, or even what they looked like. I smiled inside and was shocked by our actions, and I hope that they did the same but who knows. For a moment there we were in the thick of it, together, us against the motherfucking world, and then we separated, never to work the system together again. It was strangely humanising and touching (although as I said before there was no actual touching, you filthy minded freak).

If it had still been Kenny Ken Ken in charge, maybe I would have felt bad, but with fucking Boris "I'm a rich prick who says things that are funny if you don't keep in mind I'm a rich prick" Johnson earning my Oyster bucks, I was pleased by my crimes. Viva la resistance.

Monday, November 24, 2008

The Amazing Captain Splee

I want to tell you about my first son, I owe him that much. His name was Chinny and he was a goldfish. He started life on another world, in another place, probably filled to the brim with fish. But he began life as my son on my mum's dining room table sitting in a little fish jail with his cellmate, swimming round and round. Unfortunately for Chinny he was the prison bitch of his cellmate Fishy, who was driven insane by the cramped living conditions. Every morning I would watch them while eating my breakfast and promise to save them from this tiny hellhole.

Fish love eating shit. That's their pastime; it's what they live for. Fishy became a bit too institutionalised though and would eat Chinny's shit straight from the source. Chinny was a passive little soul though and would barely swim away when he was pestered in this way. Fishy eventually lost it and, after several attempts, finally killed himself by escaping the bowl.

I kept my promise to Chinny though and when I moved out I took the little guy with me, and bought him a roomy tank with the space for 6 fish. We also got him a friend, Mr Bospangles, whom he loved deeply and they played together all day every day. Mr Bospangles was lost to us too, one tragic morning, and Chinny mourned more than I knew a fish could.

Eventually we got him two more friends, but despite Chinny's wonderful demeanour, they only ever got to achieving a friendly nonchalance. He would rub up against them, or chase them and they would be more freaked out than amused. He never stopped playing with them though, and they miss him too.

Last Sunday see, my first born died after a struggle with his buoyancy gland. He will be missed more than anyone will ever believe.

I loved that fish, and I hope more than anything that the 18 months in which I freed him from his little cell on my mum's table were the happiest he had. I sang to him, I played games with him, and I sometimes hugged his tank. He would get excited when I was near, and I even taught him a trick once, although he forgot it quickly. He was beautiful and wonderful and I will always be deeply saddened by the thought that I may have contributed to his death somehow.

I'll see you around little swimmer. I'll blow some bubbles for you.