Oliver Twist opens his windows as the morning breeze beats outside, the sun punches him in the face with a glare far removed from the soot ridden shag rug that we’re used to, with the occasional bursts of fleeting yellow, like a squatters arse above us as he periodically farts out sunny delight....so yeah, it’s a nice morning. This morning is a bastion of utter emotion tickling joy, in a world devoid of hopeless feebs and Jersey Shore. Oliver Twist looks outside and sees all manner of passerby and whimsical salesperson, and then BAM, they all start dancing, not as if some hilariously inappropriate coincidence, but a full on Broadway chorus with impressive simultaneous choreography as if such giddy moves are a natural part of everybody’s DNA; as opposed to the image of an ironic dictator forcing the populous to perform these routines vigorously at gunpoint...that’s a tad bleak for Oliver Twist’s BLOODY AWESOME MORNING. But amongst this saccharine drenched cascade there’s presumably one solitary individual who stands taken aback, shrugging their shoulders as they walk awkwardly past and muttering to themselves ‘Shutup...shutup...shutup’.
"Shut your goddamn mouths you whimsical shits"
That bedraggled ‘fish-out-of-water’ of ineptitude is usually me when I’m out.
I’m not saying that any town I’m in is a whimsical carousal of sugar-coated fun, but it may aswell be when I’m there.
This general dislike isn’t based on anything other than my own beleaguered awkwardness, which I’m sure quite a few people get, the sort of feeling you get around large groups of people that deflate your self esteem and give you the demeanour of a tight-lipped serial killer amongst a crowd or a midget at a stilt convention.
Perhaps it’s to do with own awkwardness around people, put me in a room full of folks and I’ll become some awful guffawing ‘aw-shucks’ bullshit ‘class clown’, all the while wanting to punch myself in the face. I hate the term class clown; it often denies some ‘zany’ prick that won’t shut his mouth and farts loudly before blaming somebody else to chorus of idiotic applause. But as is my personality, I’ll automatically put on a completely different front because I’m ‘delightfully befuddled and as self criticising as any neurotic Woody Allen character.’...urgh. CHARMING STUFF INNIT?
Anyway, yeah back to town. I was about 4 minutes off the bus when I saw a man that can only be described by the term ‘brick shithouse’, he must have been as wide as a garden shed and as tall as one of the smaller idols of an Egyptian god. Alongside him, off a leash was perhaps the largest dog I’ll ever see, it was essentially an Alsatian bred with a bloody panzer tank, it’s teeth were the size of dinner plates and I’m pretty sure it had a small boy wedged between its mouth. But somehow, nobody apart from me found this as slightly out of place, everybody took it in stride as if this was a swords-and-sandals Schwarzenegger movie.
It was also October the 30th yet I saw plenty of people dressed in Halloween costumes, when did this happen? When did we start celebrating an event the day before, thus ruining the actual ‘specialness’ of the day due to our own impatience? As I was queuing in McDonalds (It’s as if somebody constructed a building out of a nervous breakdown and seething hate) somebody came up behind me dressed as a vampire and proceeded to be a complete and utter tit in the queue; odd, I don’t recall McDonalds ever selling pints of blood or fair haired virgins. Something that got my attention though, was when McCount Dracula lamented to his friend‘I wish it was Halloween everyday!’ which, ignoring what a logistical nightmare it would be, opened up plenty of bloody amusing scenarios in my head whilst I queued. Imagine David Cameron addressing the nation as Worzel Gummidge or JFK getting shot whilst dressed as the ham-burgler by a ‘Charlie Brown’ attired Lee Harvey Oswald, it’d certainly make crime-watch far more unintentionally hilarious than it already is, no mean feat.
"Let's take the open roof today Jackie"
Speaking of Halloween, the cash point I needed to use was surrounding by a group of awful 14 year olds as, presumably, one of them had got their first debit card and they were apparently so ‘like totally stoked man’. They cordoned it off for about 5 minutes wailing and flailing their arms like some pre-pubescent un-dead horde fighting over the entrails of some poor bastard. It’s a tad depressing though to see their exuberance over this; unaware of the incredibly stressful emotional synapses that will break and tear in later years due to the very thing they were so excited over, money. This of course made me chuckle.
To be honest I don’t know where this rant’s going, I’m probably like one of those crotchety old men who yell at pigeons for no discernable reason other than the fact they exist. So yeah, town makes me awkward, people make me awkward, and any activities that don’t involve breathing out of my nostrils make me awkward. And to be honest there’s a small part of me that thinks everybody else feels the same, everybody and their horrifyingly large dog.
Why are you even reading this? It’s a lovely day go outside.
