John drives the boat/Snagglepuss has the vapours.
Welcome to GRAPES, a fortnightly (no pressure) collection of short writings by a silly billy. Some GRAPES are sour :( but some are sweet :) and some contain pesticides.
Welcome. Shudder with me as I write this introduction:
Before your Twitters and your Facebooks and The Tumblr (RIP, I think), before Medium and self-publishing websites that promise riches if you can just make it to One Hundred Subscribers, I was (here’s the chiller bit) blogging. One of those Livejournal kids. A real ‘pussy magnet’. Thankfully none of that is still online, and if you do find it: name your price, Wonka.
It’s been a long hard minute since those days. I’ve grown old and weary and yet, especially in this last year, I feel like I’ve let my voice fade away. Of course, in-person I’m a hoot - possibly ‘too much’ - and while I’ll happily treat my OGs on IG to a 5 story post about pure bollocks gnawing at my brain worm, I’ve tended to reduce my written output, for a number of reasons. Juggling three freelance gigs, as well as undergoing a major life change, and my usual depression, hasn’t helped matters. I’ve often struggled to ‘play the game’, wether thats interacting with 200 weirdos a day on Twitter in the hope I’ll get a crumb of interaction off someone with a bit of cred, writing targeted Medium posts about shit I don’t like in the hope of making $1, or pitching my ‘style’ to publishers - I’m not sure where my non-scripted pieces belong, so I just stopped writing.
But now I’ve started a Substack - and I’m going to write what I like - and if someone doesn’t like it - I don’t care. And if you do - I appreciate it. You can subscribe and it’ll go to your inbox, I believe. And there will be none of that “we did it gang” “we made this” - no, I made this. This is my little hole in the ground, and I appreciate you looking down at me like Buffalo Bill as I scream up at you. You may walk away at any time, and I’ll still be defecating in the corner. And one day, this website will be taken over by some right wing loser, and I’ll pack up the bindle and move on.
It’ll be a mixture of this 👆 and that 👇 . And that’s how we’ll approach 2023, because 2022 was dreadful. Let’s crack on.
This fucker:
Old people who write children’s books are big weirdos. Being over 30 and still vying to posses an air of 'whimsical' is so odd. Did the New Girl-ification of whimsy morph into something else? Ahh yes, you like pumpkin spiced latte stuff but only in October - sorry, ‘spooky season’ - oy vey! An alarm bell has rung for thee in an intelligence bureau. 60 year old trying to write stories for kids. How do they know what kids like? Ol’ John there on the old Rag Doll with Rosie and Jim - this man sits on his little tugboat, tugging his little boat, thinking “what do children like?” - get a bird lad! And no, I’m not talking about Ducky. Quack once for yes, twice for no: Ducky, does John abuse you? *honk honk* Hey who let that goose in here?
Do you even own a computer? This is not ageist, if this was 1822 and books were written on a typewriter I'd be within my right to ask if they even owned one, under the presumption that once you reach a certain age, you no longer have the ability to grasp new technology. So - pushing 75, can’t send an email - knows what appeals to kids. Gotcha. Their houses stink.
I can already sniff someone reading the above and telling me some tech guy once built a dildo to fuck himself at 72 and he wears a turtleneck and that anyone can do anything, and to you, Mr or Miss. Strawman I say: name your price, Wonka (a callback - I’ll explain another time).
Imagine spending all your money for a boat trip and it ends up being the Titanic. Sat in 3rd Class, water bubbling under the door and you PAID for it! ATOL was NOT protected! You know what’s morbid? Watching videos from that Korean ferry disaster. Ah that one was horrible. Won’t even share the link. Just use the AOL keyword ‘goatse’ xoxo
I hate that the term 'only child' comes with a lot of weight, almost like a tee-up for some upcoming nonsense. “Oh sorry I don't know how to share, I'm an only child!”
Everyone is only a child. We're all like, alone in our heads, aren't we (Mr Goose, honk once for yes, twice for no. *quack* oh Ducky, you’re back! Wait a minute, did John…)? And as we get older we learn to deal with it. But as a kid, you're experiencing life alone of sorts, and with no prior experience. No matter if you had a sibling or not. It’s been about 5 months since I wrote that point and I won’t elaborate any more - if you get me, roll tide. If you don’t, roll away.
I do think if you grew up alone vs. having siblings, there will be a marked difference in your approach to life. I understand child psychology is a thing. But this train of thought, I’m yanking the crank (like John) and diverting us - because it’s not fun. So:
You mean you had 2 or 1 parent(s) who didn't have any other kids to focus on, just you, and they still didn't teach you manners? If someone was 1 of 5 kids, how'd they grow up knowing how to share when they probably don't get any 1 on 1 time from folks. My grandma was one of EIGHTEEN. And she was an angel. Now a literal one.
WARNING: Low hanging fruit.
YOU KNOW WHAT DOESN'T SIT RIGHT WITH ME? Reclining seats in cinemas. Yes, I've indulged in them. I've even sat in the 'couples' seats (If you can believe). I've had access to a private pre-film lounge with free drinks and canapés, followed by a large pleather chair, with a free blanket, and delivered-to-your-seat popcorn ('spicy mala' and 'cheddar cheese').
But going the cinema should be kind of uncomfortable. And rough. And you should just be sat bolt-upright, eyes focused on the screen. Not like - do you know what I fear? - someone just turns the light on while you're in a recliner. You realise what a blob you are, like those humans in Wall-E. Hope no one takes my photo.
Going the cinema should be like going to Goodison Park. You should not enjoy it. But love it! And you should be able to boo. Uncomfortable is fun. Like every conversation I’m a part of.
How many days do you reckon you could get off work if you called in to the HR department and explained you had a 'case of the vapours'? Bare in mind, it's not pre-American Civil War, and you and your fine young lady friend don't traverse the frontier in a private carriage? Do you need a doctor's note for 'the vapours'? Will consult Snagglepuss, PhD.
Couples Tiktok accounts. Putrid.
I know it's bollocks like, the famous hieroglyph of a helicopter, but how fuckin’ sadistically fun would it be going back in time with an attack chopper and just fly dead close to the ground in the time of the Pharaohs. Imagine their faces! Sand flying everywhere. You'd probably try and grind one like. I know!!! Shouldn't say that but you'd be tempted. Sorry - grind with the helicopter, not like sexual! No sax please, we're Egyptian! iykyk
Cee You Next Time, where we’ll have a delightful little bit about wanting to blow your head off in the Arndale. RIP Ducky.