Climbing the Walls 2: Faganism

Thanks to David Cairns' blog for this "Castle of Cagliostro" still.

 I had forgotten how much I was hoping to one day see the story of "Michael Fagan (intruder)" dramatised, until I found out in the opening minutes of The Crown that a whole episode would be dedicated to it, and my excitement only built as I watched. Fagan was everything I'd forgotten I wanted. As a Time Traveling Professor from the year 2121 on the old Time Tours, I used to claim that this was the most famous story we twenty-second-century folk had about the current monarch, and happily Peter Morgan's adaptation might yet prove me right. It goes like this: Turning south at Hyde Park Corner after a circuit of the Wellington Arch, and looking left from the top deck to see over the garden wall of Buckingham Palace the Queen's Own Compost Heap, punters would hear how, in 1982, a man called Michael Fagan had made it over this wall more than once, how he'd managed to find his way into the Palace and neck a bottle of wine, how the Queen had woken up to find him sitting on her bed, and how he meant her no harm, and how used she was to meeting strangers, how they'd engaged in coversation for a quarter of an hour, how he'd asked her if she had anything to smoke, and how she'd rung for a maid to bring some ciggies, and finally how Fagan was taken away, and tried for the theft of the wine. (Ken Campbell went to his trial, but I can't remember in which show he talks about it). Fagan was sentenced to three months in a psychiatric institute. And in all that time he only ever had one visitor. It was Prince Philip. He wanted to know where the Queen's bedroom was. I think that joke was nicked from a Duck Tours but the point is that although it's the Royal Wedding episode that bears the title "Fairy Tale", albeit ironically, Michael Fagan's meeting with the Queen really was a fairy tale. Anyone who's grown up with Ben Kenobi nipping behind a space pillar while the Stormtroopers pass probably carries with them a similar dream of sneaking into the echoing places of power and pulling a few levers. I walk at night myself of course, sometimes past the Palace, and fantasise about climbing the walls of this city, and even yell "fuck off" at the radio occassionally. I love that this was the episode of Thatcher's Falklands Victory as well, and hadn't realised, again until I saw it, how much I needed to see the first British Prime Minister ever to suggest that a government has no responsibility to look after its people appear in at least one story that wasn't entirely about her.

 

Still Life with Chicken. Landscape with Milk. (Issues with 1992.)

  On Tuesday I had my first dirty chicken since lockdown. I was in Wandsworth stalking my past, and talking like this because I was reading M. John Harrison. Even that attributes too much motivation though. I was just eating food and walking it off, a toy without an owner, and I wanted some of the elements of this cute process to be new, and the riverside did not disappoint.

 The flashiness north of Clapham has spread west since I was last here, sinuous new flats and fountains I thought would take me all the way to Putney but not quite it turned out. I hit a gate around Wandsworth, and a strong smell of milk, and then five large white patches on the ground which explained the smell but raised more questions. M. John would have approved.

  Whether I approve of M. John is another matter. Like that matters. But The Course of the Heart is not a complete fantasy, and its extrapolations from reality are, itchily, far more identifiably othering. Bullshit old tropes of white men, shadows and prizes. Was 1992 really that long ago? Maybe. And that's the thing about Horror, the unfettered imagination can be a bit careless of its targets. Every description that isn't of a human is extraordinary however, and it's nice to see familiar places written about: Camden, Peckham, Museum Street. Subjects of an earlier walk, Monday's I think.

 I'm sure there used to be an esoteric bookshop on this street. The wizard in Harrison's book lived just above it before moving to the flats in Putney, opposite where I used to get my hair cut. The book reminded me more than anything of Ken Campbell's Furtive Nudist, also published in 1992 - a bumper year for tragicomic, homunculus-themed meta-fiction it turns out... I think this is where Harrison's narrator lived: 

 Oh, and as with Parks and Recreation and Orange Is The New Black, I encountered theme-bleed between this and what I would read next:

'Their faces were drawn into snarls of concentration; they were grunting and sobbing frustratingly. Suddenly I saw my mistake. I put my hands up to my face and laughed. Not murder, then. They were fumbling and ripping at each other's clothes...' The Course of the Heart by M. John Harrison

'"Neato," Kristy said, stopping short. "Those trees look like they're hugging."
"What?" Penn said. "No way, they look like they're fighting each other."' The Legends of Greemulax, by Kimmy Schmidt (with Sarah Mylnowski)

I'm trying to alternate between male and female authors.

Showing My Face

 Something about the light on Hackney Marshes reminds me of Seurat. I'd walked here from Camden, invited to a picnic, and for the first time in four months spoke with strangers. There were teachers and doctors and musicians, one of whom pointed out to me that I wasn't wearing walking shoes, which is something to consider. It was midnight by the time I got home.

  Before I headed home though, I took a detour up the Lea, past the filter beds, to visit what I think must have been the marsh office described by Ken Campbell in The Furtive Nudist. Here he'd sit beneath a fishing umbrella, pockets stuffed with stationery, and await "a commission".  The last time I came here was in 2016 just after the first recording of Time Spanner, possibly also awaiting a commission.

 Happily this detour also took me past a friend, Mischa from shunt who was standing at the bend in the river. I wasn't expecting to bump into him, or anyone. It's nice out, I suppose is the moral, but I know nothing's changed. I wore a mask. But also I showed my face.

How Antony found the Goddess and what he did to her when he found her.

Nyan Eris

 I'm glad I looked up Atë, mentioned in Antony's curse below. Daughter of the goddess Discordia (above) whose golden apple sparked the Trojan War, Atë is the goddess of ruinous mistakes. According to wikipedia, she walks upon the heads of men, rather than the earth, possibly another mistake, and like the goddess Brigid she also appears a lot online in paintings by artists who like to use all the colours. No spoilers for Act Three, but I enjoy thinking of Mark Antony as a secret Discordian, a nihilist hedonist, like Charles Manson. There was a time I would have tried to play him less nakedly phoney, but people don't really need to believe a man to follow him, they just need him to give them a role, and it's still astonishing to me how well Shakespeare nailed this. By the way, the inventor of Rory's Story Cubes might also be a secret Discordian, given the cubes bear not one but both of the goddess' symbols: the apple and the wheel of chaos Handy for today's opening title, anyway.

 

Alternative titles: The Reading of the Will, or "Pardon me, Julius"

Exit Bob Hoskins, Pursued by a Salad.

Not one for the coulrophobes.

 Ideally I'd have posted this Christmassy treat on Twelfth Night, sorry, but it's still panto season somewhere, so here's Bob Hoskins as Dickens' favourite clown Joseph Grimaldi displaying a talent for slapstick not employed again until "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" There are also cameos from David Rappaport and Chris Langham, and a giant vegetable mutant whose inclusion can presumably be explained by this cartoon from the Victoria and Albert Museum, depicting Joey "Setting to with a Grotesque Figure which he makes up of a series of Vegetables, Fruit &c. and which becoming Animated beats him off the Stage"...



 ... although there's no such set-up here. The giant All-Seeing Eye on Bob's midriff meanwhile, for which I can't find any precedent in cartoons of Grimaldi, must be explained by the fact that this was directed by Ken Campbell, who'd just finished staging the Illuminati Trilogy and possibly meant the whole Omnibus documentary from which this clip was nicked to serve as a secret Discordian Salute to the Embodiment of Chaos. You can watch "Ken Campbell's History of Panto" in full, complete with further reenactments here. (And you can attend Grimaldi's annual Memorial Service here, but from the look of things you really have to like clowns.) Hail Eris &c!

 "GRIMALDI & the NONDESCRIPT in the Red Dwarf - the Clown kills the Pantaloon and afterwards Dresses him in the Skin of a Lion the Head of an Ass Eagles wings Cats feet & a Fishes tale." Image courtesy of the Lewis Walpole library in Yale.

I do not remember this episode of Red Dwarf.

STATUS UPDATES FROM SUSY (for Susy)... or Work continues on The Git

I'd always imagined myself good in a crisis. I'd always thought, "Yes, I'm not the most proactive person I know, but if suddenly called upon to think quickly and get people out of a hole, that's where I'll shine, that's when – as Rob Webb predicted on the night of February the 7th – the sleeper will wake". I now know, however, this is not the case. Woken in the bath later that night, by a room full of smoke, staggering out onto the landing, clutching towels and dressing gown to find smoke again, drawn to my room by the sound of burning, to find my bed on fire and smoke (which may or may not but basically must have had something to do with this), and now rendered numpty by shame, I run down to the kitchen where, uncharacteristically, there is no smoke, and fill a bowl with water.

We have a fire extinguisher. It is in the bathroom.

Running naked back to my room (totally disregarding, as John Finnemore later pointed out in an email entitled "too soon?" Gareth Edwards' countless announcements before every radio recording to run TOWARDS the green lights in the event of a fire, and AWAY from the red flickering lights) I throw what water has not been spilt onto the bed. This doesn't work. If you've seen the film The Dead Zone it is not like that. It is basically just smoke. I run upstairs and go "Guys? Fire?" I don't know who else is in the house.

Well, it transpired Dan was in the house, shouting out of the window for help, which arrived to wake and walk me naked out of the front door and into an ambulance. Then Dan, having saved my life, and also on his way to hospital, called Tom who had a number for my parents in France, who in turn called my sister. At about five in the morning, having been conscious enough to give my date of birth, and permission to pierce my eardrum so I could be wheeled, anesthetized, into something called a hyperbaric chamber (in fact this very one) where work could indeed continue on the git, I regained consciousness a third time, to find myself wearing a plastic hood, and surrounded by my family over from France PDQ. This was very weird and cheering, as was the news that Dan had already been discharged, and that I hadn't killed anyone... and now I'm going to hand over to my sister, who has kept possibly most of you readers up to date via her status updates, notes, and groups on facebook. I'll butt in once or twice, and illustrate it with a few photos of the Nightingale Ward, but I want to put her account up here first.

 

(Felicity Kendall as Laika on life support, 

from a totally unrelated post I meant to blog before, well, this...)

"Feb 8th
11:57am Susy's brother Simon was in a fire and is in intensive care. Facebook status not best way to let you guys know. Please keep yor fingers crossed, thanks.

11:57pm Susy is tired but relieved. Simon still in intensive care but "out of danger" apparently. Even tried to crack a joke. Thank you so much for all the good wishes.x.

Feb 9th

Simon can't take visitors yet, as he's still in ICU. If/when (fingers crossed) he can see you lot I'll let you know asap. Thanks again, so so much xx.

Simon is out of intensive care but still very ill so can't see visitors yet. They've got the last bits of poison out of his body though. Blood tests tomorrow.

Feb 10th
Simon compos mentis, although still with oxygen and a lot of coughing. He'll get there. We all feel so grateful. Si says he feels very rich with such friends."

(the room in which I spent two and a half weeks)

"Feb 12th
Hi everyone.

Apologies if I've tagged you and you barely know Simon - I'm trying to cover everyone who might know him and/or want to know how he's getting on.

Simon knows I've been updating my Facebook status about him, and so has written a note to send to you all:

'Hello Hello Everyone.

Thank you so much for all your support. I am fine. Well, I'm not, I'm wheezy, but I'm getting better and all the carbon monoxide was pumped out of me two days ago in a weird kind of submarine. My burns are superficial and cool and anyway only on my bum. I am in a bed opposite a woman with swollen legs called Robert. It's all good.

Go Mickey Rourke! Go Susy! Cheers. There'll be updates here as and when...

Thanks everyone.

Simon X'

My update:

Simon seems to be stronger today, although he isn't quite out of the woods. He is still needing oxygen and they'll be doing a series of tests tomorrow to work out how damaged his lungs really are and how fast or slowly they're recovering. Fingers crossed he'll be able to cope without the oxygen soon. His progress in these short four days has been miraculous though. He couldn't speak two days ago. He has a voice now.

From my entirely non-scientific perspective he can talk for far longer than yesterday before getting tired, which says to me he's getting stronger. He is coughing almost constantly but that is essential to get the shit up out of his lungs, which he seems to be. His friends Rufus and Ella visited him today which cheered him up no end.

As long as he isn't totally bombarded, and people realise he may get tired (and will cough constantly) he is happy for anyone else who wants to visit him to do so.

He is positive, determined to get better, philosophical, in good humour (he doesn't know any other kind of course) and relieved beyond belief about... everything. He is also moved beyond words and so very grateful for the support both he and my family have been given by you all. As are we.

Special shout out to his housemates, and Tom Brodie (stage name Lyall) in particular, who was still laying out individual drawings, letters, paintings and photos all over his new flat once we'd left him this evening that he had rescued from days of sifting through the - frankly destroyed - room. Many personal and irreplaceable items are damp, charred, but OK and safe purely thanks to Tom, and without him Simon really would have lost everything. If you know him, please give him a hug. Or a manly pint. Or five."

(To which it's only fair to say Tom then added "You're awfully sweet about me but, really, clearing the house has been a group effort and as much and more credit must go to Dan, Seb, Jamie, Wendy, Naomi, Selina, Lucy, Tom F. and other friends, family and neighbours, who have faced up to a truly horrible job with amazing strength and good humour." Back to Susy:)

"As per the last few days (do look back over them if this is all news to you!) I'll keep updating my status on his progress. The recovery curve will be less steep now, as the hardest fight of all - ie not dying - is over and Si's into the long boring slog of recuperating. He's very positive about the future though - he's seeing it as an exciting new start. We also have photos of various stages of the last few days, as macabre as that is - but they're not for the faint hearted so I'll let him post them when he's back on his 'blog'. As you'll see Simon remained hilarious even when smacked out on drugs and his brain was 40% carbon monoxide. Amazing stuff." (LATE POST: Yeah I've now put up one of those photos just before the 9th, me in the hood as a human USB port.) "Thank you all again. I'll keep you posted via my status. Mum and me (Dad's gone back to France to prepare for his heart surgery - brilliant) will be in every day but may miss you... Simon likes grapes. And there is indeed a large woman opposite him called Robert."

(Not true actually. I later learnt Robert was a man. My first night on the ward was weirdly punctuated by him quoting almost verbatim a Dungeon script: 'Can you smell it? Have a whiff! Go on, have a whiff!' On Friday I learn they're going to 'keep me in over the weekend'. Back to Susy:)

"Love and thanks to you all,

Susy xxxx"

"Feb16th
Hi all,

Sorry for not updating sooner. Simon went in for tests today, where they sent a camera and sample taker (I may have made that term up) into his lungs and his throat to have a proper look at the extent of the damage. The good news is his lungs look like there won't be too much lasting damage and will, in time, recover by themselves, which of course is amazing.

The not so great news is he's had a fever now for nearly four days. Simon was forcing himself to cough and cough to try and get the stuff up out of his lungs, which has gone from black to red to green, and is very possibly the reason his lungs look set to eventually repair. But in so doing - and he had been trying to talk too much to us and visitors too - he made his throat red raw and inflamed, or even more so as he had an oxygen tube down there, and now today with the tests further things going down there which hasn't helped.

After the tests today Simon was put on extra strong antibiotics, but he had an allergic reaction which was pretty scary and very 'House' and immediately had to be taken off them. He's very red. He's back on heavy oxygen too to try and open his lungs back up after the tests. After he had recovered from the reaction and the crisis calmed down he looked at my Mum's tear stained face and did manage to croak : 'Well at least it's alleviated the boredom'.

(Hmm, the thing is it genuinely DID alleviate the boredom, at least SOMETHING was happening to my body. I wasn't being brave. And it's not like I flat-lined or anything. No I was clearly having a better time of this than anyone else. Back to Susy:)

"So we sit and wait and hope the fever comes down. Meanwhile we're telling only good bits of news to Dad who is down in France waiting to go in for heart surgery on Monday. We want to keep him calm obviously so if you know him please only mention you hear Si's doing well and his lungs will recover. Mum will have to go down this weekend to look after him so I'll be looking after Si alone after that, and God willing he gets over this fever and gets back on his feet he'll probably stay with me at mine while he reaclimatises to the outside world again, and while Dad recovers we hope back at Mum and Dad's. That's the plan anyway. Fingers crossed/pray it happens, and that you can all come visit and play offensively named card games with the two of us round at mine.

Sorry for the unbouncey tone. Mum and I were far bouncier yesterday. It goes in waves. I'll update with a new note if/when there's changes or more news. For now though any positive vibes sent Si (and my Dad)'s way much appreciated.

Thanks so much again for all your messages of support,

Susy
x"

"Feb 18th
Simon's fever came down today, although he still has the infection (Fungi, apparently, possibly from the carbon monoxide poisoning but also possibly from flowers, grapes or cherries. So no more flowers for now, I'm afraid, although they all look lovely now in the day room.)

So he is a lot more comfortable today, and has started to be able to concentrate a little, enough to read a short article, or write a short TEXT (yes he now has a phone. But no voice. DON'T CALL him! OR email him as he can't concentrate long enough. But you can now text him, which is splendid. Don't overload him though or his brain will melt). But multi-tasking is even more of a no-no for him at present than it was before the fire.

He is still too vulnerable for visitors at present, but as I said he can write texts now - please be frugal at first while he gets his brain in gear - and do bear in mind he is very weak and exhausted, so keep things brief for now if possible. He is, wonderfully, still absolutely Simon though.

One thing he's found is that the Carry On films and Only When I Laugh and the like are big fat liars. Simon always thought being in hospital would mean debonairing it about and holding court like David Niven in A Matter of Life and Death. Apparently it isn't like that at all. It's just shit.

 

They were selling us a LIE.

Simon IS starting to get quite Niven like today though, in my opinion, and the nurses seem to agree. So I've posted these photos me and my Mum took today. We are now thinking of hiring him out.

Much much love to you all and, for now, much momentary relief,

Susy xxx"

(Susy then set up the SIMON KANE IN HOSPITAL group, while I had a psychotic episode.)

"Feb 19th
Simon has asked me to set up this group, so people can talk, post, and he can hopefully take over from me when he is a bit better and out of hospital. Do let people know - it will mean I can be more self-indulgent with my own status updates, and we can liaise about visits/what to do when you're there/not going in when ill/WASHING YOUR HANDS that sort of thing.

Leave messages for Simon here too and I will pass them on (or get in touch personally if your message is more poysonel).

Recent News:
Simon had a wobble today as he is allergic to the steroids they put him on (like he was with the antibiotics two days ago, poor chap). But he's off them now and has calmed back down again. Still weak, still no voice, and must still rest...
He's recorded a video I will try and post up, although it's hard to hear so I may have to transcribe it.
And today he wrote this note for you all:

'Little Note from Simon'
This is incredibly selfish of me - I am still weak and mad off steroids which they have happily stopped - but it would be WONDERFUL to see people. BUT I may not be able to speak.

Have you seen that episode of "Fawlty Towers" where Connie Booth Stuffs cotton wool in her cheeks and Ken Campbell says "What about a choc ice?" It might be as disappointing as that. But seeing friends may keep me from going completely Christian Bale. Check with Sis.

Thankyou everyone. Do come.'

"Feb20th
Hi all.

Sorry about this, but...

This is the situation with Simon's throat. The bacterial (fungal) infection hasn't gone away." (This is because I was shouting a lot because I'd gone mad.) "The series of drugs they have been trying to combat it have all so far had adverse effects, some quite dramatic, and these have set back Simon's progress. There is already a danger of long term scarring on his vocal chords which could in turn lead to lifetime respiratory problems. If Simon's infection doesn't clear up soon this could be much much worse.

BUT... when Simon sees his friends, he wants to talk to them. He was still 'up' from the steroid psychosis today and talked/croaked for a couple of hours to visitors. The Sister is very concerned about this, and although Si doesn't want to worry people, or not have visitors, as his sister I kinda have to do what's best long term for Simon.

SO... if I could please ask the following: before you go in to visit Simon, please call me first. This way I can stagger visits so he doesn't have too much on one day (I'm thinking one to two visits per day for the next crucial three days). The gelling of hands, not going in with any lurgy, and now not bringing in any fruit or flowers or any unpackaged food goes without saying.

But most of all, if/when you do visit him, you MUST insist he hardly speaks, if at all. This is imperative. If possible, have some reason why you can only stay 15/20 minutes mx. This will keep his speaking to a minimum, and will also mean he gets a rest between visits. It's a hell of a trek out there so you may well feel it's not worth it until his infection has gone, or until he's out and staying at mine. In which case you can always write to him, or send him books, mix CDs, audio book CDs etc, or just a card. Or even a text (NO CALLS though, obviously!)

Sorry for being so Nurse Ratchety. The next few days are crucial though. I'll be in every day until our Dad's op so can relay messages and organise visits. Do get in touch with me first though, just for the next three or so days.

Thanks. Sorry. But thanks.

Nursey xxx

(To which Ned added: "He needs drink. He told me in a dream." to which Susy added: "That's reliable enough evidence for me, Neil. I'll leave it to you to smuggle it in.")

 

(I'd get through three of these a day, then gave up replacing them and just emptied the contents down the sink. Said contents always departed as one slow, almost sentient blob.)

"Feb 21st
So Mum's gone back to France now to look after Dad and I am officially Big Mamma now.

The great news today was that they halved the amount of oxygen Simon is dependent on and he is coping with that fine. It's a moral boost for him especially as it's tangible evidence of his improvement. And once he's off the oxygen entirely he'll be able to stray away from one corner of one long ward, which will be brilliant for him. That and getting rid of the infection are the main things keeping him in hospital, so it's a great step forward for now.

He's being very good though at present and whispering instead of trying to talk - if you do visit him do make sure he keeps this up, even if his throat feels a bit better.

The main thing at present though for potential visitors is keeping him CALM. The steroids had an adverse effect and that is still working its way out of his body, so if you overload him with information, talk too animatedly, get him too excited/passionate/angry/amused etc he will start to go a bit manic again. You'll see when it starts to happen."

(I was not aware of this. Or at least I was not aware Susy was aware of this.)

"Try and remember to act very chilled, laid back, and gentle when you see him. He may well be back to normal by tomorrow but his heart rate has been raised and he mustn't get too agitated, which is tricky when he sees his lovely pals. Just talk gently, calm him back down, take the conversation slowly and just be a soothing, warm presence for him. The Dude abides.

I'll be in every day quietly watching films with him so do get in touch. I may not be in til 4 some days though. (visiting hours 2:30 - 7:30). And of course we do need to stagger visits so liaise with me if you can.

Tonight though, Mum is back safely with Dad in France, and Simon was looking good. Blood test/infection results to follow. I'm off for that threesome with Messrs Pinot and Nitol."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(To which Ned added: "That time when they thought I had AIDS but it turned out to be weird pneumonia that escaped my lungs into my skin, I was on steroids for three months. On my first day out of hospital - as soon as my girlfriend had gone to work - I picked up a lump hammer and demolished a ramshackle conservatory. In my pyjamas. Steroids are DIY hulkage." I'm going to write more about this psychotic episode later. My episode. Not Ned's. I took notes.)

(my little morning manga face of pills)

"Simon is on half the oxygen he was on, and finding that fine, and is hoping to be off oxygen entirely pretty soon. This may even coincide with him coming off his (two) antibiotics. Once he's off oxygen he'll be able to leave the ward for a bit and take a stroll, hurrah (there's a small duck pond which is very nice I want to show him), and then if he's doing ok after all that he will soon be able to leave and come to mine to recuperate there for a bit. From my POV he's looking SO so much better. He must still whisper for now though. Thankyou.

Feb 23rd
Hi all. Confused new members, in brief: Simon was in a fire at his house, it was very bad, he's lost all his stuff and he was very very ill, but now he's out of intensive care and has been slowly recovering with a couple of scary setbacks. There. Now you're all up to date. Here's the latest news as of this morning:

Simon saw the doctor today who said his infection is clearing up, according to his recent blood tests, his chest is sounding pretty good and they have halved his oxygen to only one point, which is, obviously, one away from no points, which is none. So if all continues Simon may be out LATER THIS WEEK. Which is brilliant brilliant news.

He'll be staying at mine in Hampstead for a bit once he's out so you'll be forced to liaise with Nursey if you want to visit. My mobile is ------ --- ---. Don't pass that around willy nilly though. I'm not a strumpet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

 

(One of two views of Leytonstone afforded by the Nightingale Ward. The other was a car park. Both looked wonderful.)

"Feb 24th
Hello all. Simon has come off the oxygen, and the heavy antibiotics, and is being discharged TOMORROW. HUZZAH!

I have to manically tidy my flat now and set up a room for him, so give him a couple of days to get used to being out of hospital and then perhaps people can pop by if they wish to say hi. Drop us a line.

And for those that know our Dad, he's out of heart surgery and in intensive care, but it went smoothly. Next 24 hours crucial but they're not foreseeing any problems touch wood. So fingers crossed.

Oh, and if anyone wants to take NURSEY out for a drink after all this Kane men shit that would be much appreciated too."


And so yes I'm back on f*c*b**k until my life reboots. Thank you Susy, and thank you everyone, to be continued but while I'm here, here are some answers:
FUN PAGE - My understanding of what an Olympic village should look like in 2012...
FUN PAGE 3.1 - The famous "Montauk Robert Palmer Hoax" which can still be seen lying unswept in the corner of the Instruments Room of the Horniman...
FUN PAGE 3.2 - Rhetorical question.

 

 

(Not Susy and me. But very nearby.)

HATS, FACES, BRAINS AND BODIES - Day 2

 

 Last night, my assistants sent me drama students, philosophers, and sex therapists. None of them played the piano. All of the women wanted to try on my hat. Why? In films, Nazi Germany seems full of parties with women doing nothing but trying on soldiers' hats. Maybe that's why we wear them. Actually, I wasn't at my desk much, it gets hot under that bulb. I hung around the bar and the doorways to lecture halls, quiet and inherently objectionable. Somebody was presenting a pretty crappily-prepared argument with a lot of clips from youtube about the future of privacy ("Here is Tom Cruise's eyes, in the future, being scanned in GAP, and that is in the future, and will happen in ten... twenty years, yes") but his central idea – that most of us don't actually WANT privacy – I found pretty interesting, particularly as I've just left facebook.

 

 (Heather made these out of industrial concrete, using sex dolls as moulds. They've been removed now to make way for the People's Republic.) Quite early into this second evening of interviews, I realized I had to make more of an effort to curb my automatic impulse to GENUINELY engage with the interviewees. There has to be a distance. So I introduced a little monologue from a later draft from "Iago's Little Book of Calm" about confusing the need to weep with the need to pee – just threw it into the interview, like the kind of thing Derren Brown might hold your attention with while making you forget your own name. And two of the interviewees started weeping. Not sobbing, just weeping, and they smiled as they wept. But it wasn't really the pay-off I was looking for... I don't know what I'm looking for. I should probably read the KUBARK files for some tips, although I'm beginning to doubt their authenticity – Oh! By the way! Googling "kubark" and "hoax" (good Martian law firm: Googling, Kubark and Hoax) I found this: another crappily-assembled non-argument using a lot of clips from youtube, but stuffed with esoteric government goodies for those of you who like that sort of thing, particularly the CHARMING Russian cover of "Let It Be" at the end (the more astute might recognize the humming lady from Ken Campbell's "Brainspotting"):

 

 

 When I got home, there was was a late-night movie I hadn't heard of before, called "The Final Cut", in which Robin Williams in his underrated "wrong 'un" mode,  plays a futuristic funeral director charged with splicing together compilation reels of dead people's memories, using footage from the cameras implanted in their heads at birth by rich parents. It was good, and made me think some more. Then I bunged on Christopher Hampton's mainly not-good adaptation of "The Secret Agent", in which Robin Williams turns up again, uncredited, as a greyish, Victorian suicide bomber. He's the best thing in it, which is one of the reasons I want to see it remade (I'm also keen on the idea of steampunk brainwashing). Here's some more of Heather's concrete sex dolls, now destroyed:

Protect the Revolution! Try on My Hat!

Hello, Goodbyes (status update)

(originally posted on myspace here)

love is all i can bring and ting

Oops, wrong paste. That's something I pasted into Google trying to find out the name of that song (turns out it's "Uptown Top Ranking" by Althea and Donna). Hang on, this is what I meant to paste:

It hangs in Uncle David's House, or did a year ago.

But I can't pretend to any continuity with my last post really. It's been almost a month. Of course this always happens when I end a previous post on a cliffhanger - Jonah, Contains Violence, Hamlet, the funeral... Every time I go "So this important thing is happening next and I'll tell you about that - " like I'm writing some book or, worse, like I'm living some bloody book... Well of course I had no idea what to write about Uncle David's funeral: the Garden of Remembrance was nice, rose bushes and wind chimes and little terra cotta figures and space for many more bushes and chimes, I don't know, David's life was extraordinary, well no it wasn't, just exquisitely-lived, he lived through the Blitz as a child but so did everyone, do I rattle on about church some more, or numbers, or the eclipse of '9(9?) that he'd waited to see ever since he was seven - No I had no idea what to write about, or at least what to write about HERE. Sorry... here. Anyway there's the dear man, standing on the right.

And since, Geoffrey Perkins has died, and I'll never get to work with him, and Ken Cambpell has died, and I'll never get to work with him (and feel a little like the world's been expelled). Since, the switch has been flicked on the Hadron Collider at CERN (or the voice-command given or the knob turned or the button pushed and held down for two seconds or whatever it was. "THAT was a nice day!" to quote Bill Murray). Since, I've seen every episode of "Arrested Development". And "Xanadu". Since, I've visited my parents again in Languedoc (it was through Ken Campbell's stuff in fact that I first learnt of the existence of either CERN or Languedoc - SEE "Reality on the Rocks"! READ "Violin Time"! - you see, that would have been a good post - most of the more interesting ideas posited on this blog I'm pretty sure are trains of thought set into motion by that man). Since, Zoe's visited from LA where she writes movie scripts now for Stan Lee (it's fine that I felt so little at Uncle David's funeral, that doesn't make me a sociopath, she said, maybe just a narcissist, and suggested I look it up, which I did, and I am, look it up). Since, the Republicans have wisely plumped for a Despair ticket yet again (the WHOLE POINT being to find a candidate who stands for everything worst in America to terrify the Democrats into another coma). Since, I've learnt that the Mitchell and Webbs will be filming a whopping four sketches of mine for the new series (three of which I have written about here, which is pleasing to me). Since, I've played a magic baker on Southwark Bridge.

What else, since, in the public domain? I've given up smoking for a month. And I've given up drinking until I finish a screenplay (I wanted to write something about Joseph Conrad's "The Secret Agent" I said to Zoe. Oh, she said, Warners want to make a film of that. Write it.) And also, as of tonight, I've given up

facebook

No more "friend requests", "relationship status", cryptic misreadable messages snuck into "status updates", not for the time being. This isn't the fucking sci-fi channel. Actually it's me that's the problem, not it. I am a newly self-diagnosed narcissist and the last thing I need is another empty inbox. If I feel like issuing a status update I'll just have to post it here now, which is as it should be. Status update: Simon Kane has a new phone fit only for happy-slapping. That kind of thing. Let's see if my next post is any more pleasant. I found this great A Team colouring book today for 5p on a stall at the Thames Festival so maybe I'll just put up some NO! NO CLIFFHANGERS!!!

Hh. Still, hello. Oh it's just not been the same since they got rid of the Scrabble. Night.