Avatar Happy Death Day, Mr R. Brek!

It was exactly four years ago that a very good friend of mine died.

Not a lot happened on 24 June 2010, at least for the rest of the world. It was a Thursday. Apparently in some minor tennis tournament some guy beat some other guy in a really long match. Does anyone remember it though? Of course not. It is confined to the annals of history.

What unraveled for me though was the beginning of something special. In life Mr R Brek was, in all honesty, disgusting. A colleague at work had passed me him because they didn’t want him anymore and thought I would prefer his company. So in order to not waste him and his good name I knocked up a batch. It tasted akin to the material they line hamster cages with. I’ve sampled better food off the bathroom floor. One bowl was enough to put me off for the rest of my life.

Sometimes good things come out of bad things though. In life he could bring no joy but shortly afterwards we became great friends. He sat on my desk, smiling away without a care in the world, ready to lift my spirits whenever times were hardest. If there was a joke to be made he was the first to make it. It seemed appropriate to place a ‘Parental Advisory Explicit Content’ sticker on his face given how risque and daring he could be at times. When I changed jobs I brought him home to carry on the good vibes, besides not everyone appreciated his particular brand of humour. It made sense to put his feet up and enjoy life a little.

When I first gave him the idea of a ‘Newsboost’ Twitter feed he scoffed and threw apples at my flat cap, however eventually he came around to my way of thinking. It was at his instance, and his enthusiasm, that I gave him the ‘entertainment’ side wherein he flourished in a manner I would not have imagined four years ago.

So here we are, in 2014, still knocking around like a couple of twenty year olds. I wish him all the best on this day of days and trust that you will all raise a glass in his honour.

Ladies and Gentlemen, to the memory of Mr R. Brek who gave more in death than he ever did in life.

Avatar Ode to a Broken Spoon

Some months ago, while stirring a particularly stiff risotto – which, really, needed more liquid as it was far too solid in that state – I applied too much pressure and snapped the wooden spoon in half.

It’s only now, with the passage of time, that I feel able to begin to come to terms with this tragic event and to put some of my feelings into words.

I have now written a poem about this incident. I’m sure you understand how difficult this is for me and I’d be incredibly grateful to have your support.

Broken wooden spoon

Wooden spoon, wooden spoon
Hardwood utensil
For my cookery a boon
In rice-filled pan
You tried your best
But perished when you faced the test

Your shaft bore the scars
Of previous mistreatment
Of singes and overheating
At my behest

I feel
I regret
I cry
To the moon
For you
For you
My spoon

Avatar Words I Hate, Part 4

Words are the foundation of our language, the tools of our communication. As well as being useful to us, they can also be beautiful: the sounds they make and the feelings they evoke are all a fundamental part of the experience of human interaction.

Not all words are like this. Some words are stupid. Like this one.

Tinsel

I like Christmas. I like it an awful lot. I like presents and Christmas dinner and having a tree in the house. Given the warm, pleasant weather we’ve been having lately, with the sun high in the sky and the gentle breeze just keeping it cool enough to go out and enjoy yourself (or, conversely, to stay in and suffer sun guilt), my thoughts have naturally been turning to Christmas lately, and all these things I like about it.

I even like the shiny spangly ropes of gaudy plastic frill that get draped everywhere. I just hate their name. Tinsel. Written down it’s fine, but said out loud it has an unfortunate pairing of a T and an S that give the whole word the irritating sound of someone whispering nearby, or possibly a high-pitched whistling noise made by air escaping from a perished rubber seal on the back of an old fridge. For example. That’s not Christmassy at all. That’s just stupid. And that’s why we need to rename this delightful substance to something better. My suggestion is “spanglestrands”, a word that describes the article in question without making me want to scratch my ears. Perfect.

Avatar Missing a Bean

I was all set. All on track to get my full bean on the Bean Counter for May. Three in the bag, one post still to make on the 31st to bring me up to the requisite number. Had my topic lined up and everything.

All on track, that is, until I got a text to say that there was a free screening of Labyrinth, the David Bowie goblin king spectacular, in a park near me and did I want to go? Well of course I wanted to go, and go I did, forgetting all about my post and my perilously low post count for May.

I’m not telling you I didn’t enjoy Labyrinth. I did. I enjoyed every moment of it. I cheered along with the crowd whenever Bowie’s leggings were on screen (seriously, he might as well be naked from the waist down) and waved my arms in the air through the voodoo song. I shouted “double yellow lorry” at an appropriate moment. It was great. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it at all.

I’m just saying that waking up this morning and realising that another pea would be permanently added to my record on the Beans has soured it for me, just a little bit. That’s all.

Avatar Strange Adventures in the City

One more for the road before the end of the month hits.

So it’s relatively early on a Thursday morning. It’s half term so I don’t need to take Reuben to school and decide to take it easy. I waltz into the city centre just after nine and help myself to an inexpensive coffee. Whilst I’m stood outside taking it all in I notice someone approaching from my left and I look up. It’s a young lady dressed as though she is returning from a night out with admittedly the worst fake eyelashes I’ve ever seen. She asks for a cigarette so I do the nice thing and pass her one of my spares. This automatically guarantees about three minutes of conversation; that’s what you get when you hand someone a tab these days.

She makes a point of stating that it would take far too long to explain just what is going on so I ask for a shortened version. As it turns out she is just returning from a night out and she is still very much drunk to the point where she can’t stand still stood up and leans against the wall. Her friend has received some excellent news, even though she lives in a different part of the country, and she has been out celebrating with some people for about twelve hours.

It is at this moment I should point out that she is clutching two plastic bags, one of which contains her effects and the other is over-flowing with crisps.

So I listen a little more and offer my opinion on what she should do. She’s tired; I suggest going home to bed. She’s cold; I suggest going home to bed. She wants another cigarette; I’ve only got a Vype vape with me. I’m not trying to get rid of her but it seems like that is the best thing for her at the moment. In her broad Irish accent she asks if I could phone for a taxi and because I’m running out of time to get to work I help her out again. She doesn’t want to be left alone so I stay with her until the taxi arrives. Most of her conversation revolves around how much she is looking forward to going home and that nettle cheese is one of the best cheeses she’s ever tasted. I get that about five or six times, the recommendation and where to purchase it from. I’m also told that pesto goes very well with pasta.

For all my assistance I get a hug and a fond farewell. Was I looking for anything else? My coffee has gone cold. The time has just gone half nine so I need to be on my way. I wasn’t looking for anything else, and I got a cheese recommendation to boot. That suits me fine.