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  • A Fable (aka A Suicide Note)

    “Because you’re bored and it’s boring me” The Girl shouted at the mirror. Her reflection went all blotchy so we must assume that her actual face went blotchy too. The Girl was always looking in the mirror…she went there with the intention of smiling and saying positive things to cheer herself up. She had read in a magazine that this practice would ‘alleviate depression and raise the spirits’. The magazine hadn’t said what rowing with yourself and vowing ‘never to speak to yourself ever again’ would do, but The Girl certainly felt very lonely right now.

     

    The Girl had just been explaining to herself that she was planning to go on an adventure, and herself kept saying how she didn’t want to go. “You have to go” The Girl snapped at herself “I’ve booked the train ticket now”.

     

    The Girl has been feeling lonely lately. She figured that this was because all the people she knew had gone away to a festival by the sea. They would all be partying and laughing and no one had invited her. The actual reason she was lonely was because she had been born with it. Like some girls are born with hairy bellies or big eyes. Herself knew this and kept trying to tell The Girl, but she wouldn’t listen.

     

    “My minds made up. We are going on an adventure. We’ll find the others and hang out with them. We’ll read a really clever book on the train and educate our minds. And we’ll eat sandwiches that we have spent ages making and that taste really special. And on the journey, we’ll look out of the windows at the world and its trees rushing past and think to ourselves…’this is it. This is living’! And we’ll feel all brave and happy.”

     

    Herself didn’t bother replying. She knew that The Girl’s mind was made up because she had said so.

     

    And that’s how that afternoon, our heroine (and The Girl) ended up on a train. They ate  sandwiches that were quite nice. They looked out of the window where it was a bit grey. They passed a cow. The Girl tried to feel brave and excited, passing a cow on a train, but it was all a bit silly. Herself was still sulking and not talking to her. “Maybe adventures only start being fun when you arrive” The Girl mused, because right now she had never felt more alone. The world inside the train was rigid and cold, and strangers were loud and her phone had run out of battery.

     

    The Girl opened her eyes really wide and looked upwards because she had read that this exercise made you feel instantly more positive. It didn’t.

     

    “Your eyes are broken” she told herself “that’s why you can’t see all the reasons to be happy that other people can”.

     

    They arrived all in one piece. And what was that? The girl could feel a cloud gently lifting…it was snowing…it had started to snow, the sea was crystal beautiful and…all those people, dancing…laughing…some of them would be her friends. They would drink! They would forget! They would live!

     

    “I AM ALIVE!” The Girl screamed inside her head and started looking.

     

    The first friend the girl found was Peter. He was just inside the gates with a big group and he was all relaxed and smiling. Peter had used to work at The Cinema with The Girl. He was nice, he said it was good to see her, but he didn’t introduce her to the people he was with. The Girl didn’t know them so she said “I’m going to go and find my friends”.

    “What does that make me?” joked Peter. And The Girl knew he was joking because he winked.

     

    The next people The Girl found were Lorna and Claire. They were dancing on a podium, all thin and carefree. “Hey” they mouthed down at her as they danced. The Girl danced on the floor, looking up at them. She smiled as she swung her arms…she was having a nice time. “Who did you come down with?” shouted Lorna.

    “Oh, just some friends” lied The Girl. “I’d better go and find them” she lied some more. The girl couldn’t tell Lorna and Claire that she had come with herself, because then they might guess that she was lonely.

     

    The Girl wandered a bit. A bit like that cloud, in that poem (you know the one, about the wandering cloud that was lonely), and then she talked a bit to a man who she had never met before. She even had a sip of his beer and pretended to flirt with him. “This is it” she said to herself “I’m having a good time”. Herself couldn’t hear because the music was too loud, this was probably a good thing as herself’s reply would only have been facetious, as usual.

     

    Then suddenly, The Girl saw a whole gang of people she knew and she joined them. There was Cheryl and Tony and Vanessa and Greg and Jamie and she knew them. They were from her old school. They were all drunk and screeching but it was fun for a bit. She danced with them and chatted for a while, but she thought she had probably best keep moving because she hadn’t found her real friends yet.

     

    The Girl walked again. She saw Lorna in the queue for the toilets, but she was on the phone so The Girl didn’t interrupt her.

     

    Then, oh my god, The Girl bumped into Tommy, her ex boyfriend. He was on his own too, but he looked like he was waiting for someone. It was quite awkward. “Hello” “hello” they said. “How are you?” “How are you?” they asked. And then Lorna approached from behind Tommy. She put her arms around his waist, and kissed his neck, and then looked to see who he was talking to. “Oh” thought The Girl’s heart, and she walked away quickly.

     

    The Girl walked for a while. Only looking inside at her upset. Not looking for people anymore. She noted that it was getting foggy. The Girl narrated in her head to stop Herself from crying. “okay, so it’s getting foggy and your feet are getting cold, and look, that girl is a good dancer and Lorna is a fucking bitch and hello, they’ve brought a dog with them what a nice dog and I wish I hadn’t given up smoking.”

     

    And then The Girl bumped into John and Nick and Katie, and they gave her a beer and a cigarette and they weren’t that chatty but they did smile when she caught their eye and they seemed really nice but The Girl wasn’t really having fun anymore. “I think I had more fun with the guys from school” The Girl thought, and went off to find them.

     

    The Girl weaved in and out of people. She separated kissing couples, and blundered through sitting circles and she saw fires in the distance and knew that she was getting cold. The Girl saw Dan, who she had worked with at a different cinema. She said “hi” but he didn’t seem to know who she was so The Girl kept walking. She looked for the gang of school friends, but they had moved. She went back to find Katie and that lot, but she couldn’t see them. There were less and less people dancing.

     

    “This isn’t fun” The Girl thought. “This is just searching…I will stay where I am, and then maybe somebody will find me”.

     

    So The Girl danced with Herself. On some sand. Near some people. “Now I’m really living” She told herself. “Dancing in the mist with strangers”. And then it started to snow!

     

    “Snow!”

     

    “SNOW!” everyone around was saying. And people put out their hands and watched the snow flakes land and melt and they laughed.

     

    “How joyous!” The Girl lied to herself. “Snow” She shouted to no one, and no-one listened as the snow continued to fall.

     

    The Girl wanted to dance again, but her feet were too cold now. It was dark when she looked around. And foggy. And there was no one that she knew. The Girl chased a figure in the distance that she thought was Peter, but it wasn’t Peter.

     

    “I’d better go back to the station” The Girl thought, admitting defeat finally. “You tried your best” she told herself. “You did” said Herself, feeling sorry for The Girl now.

    “I gave it my best shot, but I’m giving up now” said The Girl.

    “We had a good time though didn’t we? It was worth it? Wasn’t it?” asked Herself, who was always trying to see the positive in things.

     

    The Girl wanted to be honest. “Not really, no.” she thought. “I was only ever just pretending”.

     

    “Sometimes you even tricked me” Herself said.

     

    The Girl sat down and wondered if to trick one’s self was a good or a bad thing. She sat on her own. She felt cold and the absence of others.  Where were all the others?

     

    Peter was in a hotel doing sex with a girl called Helen who would regret it as soon as she was sober. And Katie was with Ben, singing Bob Dylan songs round a fire with some older people. Nick was having a wee. Lorna and Tom were slow dancing in the snow-it was a very romantic for them. Cheryl and Vanessa and all the school gang were back on the train. They had work in the morning and thought that snow was for babies.

     

    There were lots of people around, all over the place, and all doing all kinds of different things and nobody really realised that The Girl was dying.

     

    2:59 PM

  • April Fools Day

    Many people are unaware of the history of April Fools day, traditionally celebrated on April 1st, which is a shame because its origins are very interesting. In the 13th Century France there lived a girl called April Faule who suffered from terrible amnesia.  This condition caused her to be distrustful of everybody that she met, holding the belief that they were trying to trick her.  April was thus very annoying to those around her, and all her village despised her, until one day her suspicions led to a travelling paedophile being caught and stoned to death.  After this everybody loved her, so they had her martyred and named a month after her.  In the 15th century, April was given Saint status by the Roman Catholic Church and The 1st of April allocated as her Saints day.  Since that time, it has been traditional to tell lies, be mischievous and play tricks on this day, in April’s honour.

     

    Unfortunately, many people find it difficult to mislead and embarrass their friends and fellows, which can lead to you going to hell, just like if you forget to send Christmas Cards or eat Easter eggs.  For such people, I have written a list of pranks that you can use next year:

    1)      Run for buses that you do not need to catch, and when the driver pulls over and opens the doors shout "you gullible idiot" at him/her.

    2)      Telephone Nietzsche and tell him you have found definitive proof for God’s existence (nb. this MUST be a bluff.)  When Nietzsche asks to hear this proof, say you will ring him back and go get a phrase book to find out how to say ’April Fool you gullible idiot’ in German.

    3)      Go to Waitrose and swap over all of the eggs.  Put free-range eggs into the battery egg cartons and vice versa.  Not only will consumers get the wrong eggs, but they will also receive the wrong karma.  Good eco-vibes will go to the evil people, and eco-badness will go to the good. Ha ha ha ha.

    This list is by no means exhaustive, if you wish to read more, please go to my website www.ilovefunandhatehell.com

     

     

    3:20 AM

  • Mrs Noodie’s Conspiracy Theories

     

    Within my role as female Detective, I am most often to be found detecting crimes and mysteries that affect the individual.  However, as my fame and renown has grown, I have been called upon more and more to solve the mysteries that affect more than one person, the mysteries that affect the whole of cognisant society.

     

    Royal Breeding.

    There are many conspiracies in this area; I have managed to solve just one of them.  The shocking claims that question the paternity of an heir to the throne.

    I spent four days undercover in the Administration department of the Royal palaces and can confirm that, unfortunately the outlandish claims are true.  Princess Beatrice is indeed the result of an extra-marital coupling between Fergie and a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

     

    Princess Diana's Death

    While I was there, I also found a folder labelled 'The Truth behind the Queen of Hearts Death'.  I left it there unread because that wasn't the conspiracy I was there to uncover, and then I heard my mind thinking 'don't stick too adherently to your list you dippy old fool' so I went back and read the file.  I didn't go straight back, first I punished my mind for its insolence by drinking a cold drink very quickly. Anyway, the file did exactly what it said on the tin cover, it told the story of HOW and WHY Princess Diana died.

     

    I shall quote from it now:

     

    "The Queen of Hearts was in the garden telling off some footmen who were painting roses, she was shouting "off with his head" to everyone she could see, and then she played a particularly frantic game of croquet which brought on an asthma attack which unfortunately proved fatal"

    Interesting stuff yes?  Oh, what would the Daily Express do if they got their hands on this?!

     

    Print it I imagine. 

     

     

    Ancient Egyptians

    In a nutshell, the Ancient Egyptians were not aliens, but I did unearth evidence, which suggests they didn't like boy bands, in case any one was wondering, "Why didn't the Ancient Egyptians have any boy bands"?

     

    Paul McCartney

    Now, all of us from time to time question the viability of Sir Paul McCartney, and rightly so, but some people go even further, some people go all he way and claim that the REAL Paul McCartney dies in a scooter accident in 1966.

    What the hell? I hear you say.  Yes, Paul was replaced by a man called William Shears who cam top in a 'who can look the most like Paul McCartney competition'.  I managed to unearth evidence on this firstly by scrutinising hard the lyrics of The Beatles 1967 album 'Do You Think Anyone Will Notice That Paul's Gone?' but my final proof came when I managed to blag my way into London Fashion week by wanking off Donald the doorman and when standing next to Paul McCartney and discretely comparing his face with a pre 1966 McCartney picture I had drawn, I found they looked very different indeed.

    It was a clever ruse, maybe the cleverest I've ever seen, but they used a man far too old to be Sir Paul.  Far too old.

    I have detailed some of my successes ladies and gentleman, now I must be a real man and delineate perhaps my biggest failure.

     

    September the Eleventh.

    People get very excited about September 11th and imagine that the evil American Government orchestrated the whole event to cause outrage and trick the western world into a war with the Middle East. Other people believe that the naughty twin towers intentionally moved in front of the planes and so the whole skufuffle was an architectural prank that got very out of hand.

    Even a detective of my comely calibre is out of her depth here.  There is only one man that can really know the truth, and unfortunately, he died.

    12:33 PM

  • Mrs Noodie and Mr Snuffly Tickles

     

    'Brring Brring' said the Alarm clock. 

    Mrs Noodie, the comely female detective prised open her eyes and turned upon her dusty pillow; she could read between the lines, it was time to get up.  It was Tuesday as Mrs Noodie pulled herself up out of the extra-large dog basket she slept in, took off her pyjamas and paced around her bedroom waiting for her thoughts to come.

    They were very reticent. 

    The only sort of thought that arrived was 'do I need a wee?' Mrs Noodie punched that thought back to Smutsville were it belonged, and after a few more fruitless moments realised that her thoughts probably needed an enticing cup of caffeine before they would be of any use to her. 

    And so Mrs Noodie's legs started walking one by one downstairs towards the kitchen.  Suddenly, Mrs Noodie's heart started pounding like a pound cake.  This is why: A small white and red card lay on the doormat.

    'I know that card', thought Mrs Noodie's mind. 'And I recognise that handwriting' chipped in Mrs Noodie's memory. "I detect inconvenience" said Mrs Noodie quite loudly, forgetting that it was this kind of talking-aloud-when-no-one-can-hear-you behaviour that led to Mistress Niceface calling her mental.  Mrs Noodie bent down and picked up the card, ignoring the ticked box and going straight for the message. "We tried to deliver a parcel but you were out, please come and collect it after ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />three pm from our inconveniently far away depot, lots of love Mr Postman".

    Mrs Noodie felt livid about this, really livid.  It was a massive walk to the depot, and that parcel had contained the only shoes she owned. And how dare Mr Postman write lots of love?  They had only been on one date and she had NOT enjoyed herself at all; he had only talked about rectangular things and smelt of envelopes.  'Oh well, take it as a compliment' thought Mrs Noodie positively and with this she looked up into the hall mirror to admire her pretty reflection.

    "Oh my shitting Jesus!" blasphemed Mrs Noodie forgetting that she rarely swore, "Who the hell has done this?"  Mrs Noodie's face was about thirty years older than it had been yesterday, and it was grey, dry, and covered with millions of deep-set lines.  Mrs Noodie looked like a mouldy globe and she knew it. 

    "I need to detect who is at the bottom of this" Noodie screamed as she ran to put on her mac and started putting two and two together as quickly as she could.

    Mrs Noodie's precise and intelligent thinking went a little bit like this:

    "Right, first a list of people that wish me harm… Lord Talleram, Mr Sniffly Tickles, Mr Tiptree Jam and Cousin Harry.  Okay, which of these four rogues has a key to my house and know where my bedroom is?  Answer? All four." 

    'Oh dear, am I a hussy?' mused Mrs Noodie tangentially.

    "Okay, all four, but Cousin Harry lacks the opposable thumbs to use the door key due to his being a Jack Russell.  Suspect eliminated."

    "Next, Mr Tiptree Jam, although Mr Jam may have the best motive for ageing me thirty years into the future, his means are limited due to the fact that he is currently under arrest thanks to my exposing him as being Satan last week.  Or should that be currant-ly under arrest?" Mrs Noodie punned even at this time of fraught investigation.

    "So it is down to either Lord Talleram or Mr Sniffly Tickles.  They both have their motives; Talleram for suspecting me of lesbionic practices with his fiancée Mistress Niceface, and Mr Sniffly Tickles for that cold November night last year when I informed him his catch phrase was boring."

    "Brring Brring" said Mrs Noodie's immobile telephone.

    "Hello" Said our vixen into the receiver "who is it please?"

    "You can't resist the sniffles, you can't resist the tickles" a spooky voice replied.

    "Mr Tickles! I thought I told you to get a new catchphrase" said Mrs Noodie, before she even realised that she had been mean-AGAIN.

    "I'm coming round" said Mr Sniffly Tickles.

    "Beeeeeeeep" said the phone.

    Now Mrs Noodie was worried.  After already ageing her thirty years, what would her arch nemesis Tickles do to her now?  She waited for about twenty-five minutes for Mr Sniffly Tickles to arrive, just sitting on the bottom stair, looking at the door.

    'Knock Knock' said the doorbell disparagingly when the tense climax and Mr Sniffly Tickles arrived simultaneously.

    "Right" started Mrs Noodie, letting the handsomely blonde gent in "you've got some explaining to do".

    "Actually Mrs Noodie, you have got some apologising to do!" retorted Tickles reaching a sly hand for Noodie's armpit. "You have been falsely accusing me all afternoon…your neighbours heard you through the walls and texted me".

    "Damn thinking out loud" thought Mrs Noodie aloud without realising.  Hang on a minute, "afternoon?" she questioned?  "I've not even had breakfast yet".

    "That's because you have overslept you silly bint, and in your face mask from the looks of things"

    Mrs Noodie, detective extraordinaire checked in the mirror and now, of course it was clear…she had slept in her facemask…that was why her face was so wrinkly and her pillow so dusty.  "I am sorry, I seem to have been a bit of a fool" thought Mrs Noodie in her head.  She did not apologise aloud because no one likes doing that. 

    "But what about my alarm?" quizzed Noodie

    "That was actually your telephone, you can tell by the 'Brring' sound it makes.  Your alarm plays 'Respect' by Aretha Franklin" replied the omniscient Mr Sniffly Tickles smugly.

    "And I suppose that is why I missed the post" snapped Mrs Noodie to show that she could know things as well.

    "That's right" said Tickles. "And it was me ringing that woke you up, I wanted to see if you wanted to stop being my arch nemesis and start being my friend again.  Well, do you?"

    Mrs Noodie kept Mr Sniffly Tickles waiting while she pondered the pros and cons of being friends again.  "Alright" she relented, "as long as you change that boring theme tune of yours!"  And they both laughed for ages while Mrs Noodie fixed them a tasty lasagne.  

     

        

    1:32 PM

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