Sunday, July 03, 2005

Scroll (part eight of nine)

One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.

'Uuurgh whats this disgusting jar in the back of the fridge mum?'
'What let me see ... Oh that's dripping.'
'Its gross, its like wax. What is it?'
'Its the fat from the pork chops. I pour it out of the pan into the jar and it solidifies, then I can use it again to fry up more food.'
'Is that why I feel dizzy? Is that why I'm dancing like a crazed loon? Is that why I'm smiling at all the girls? Is that why their arses all look so fantastic in their skirts? Is that why I can feel the blood pumping into my fingers and toes and then back up my arms and legs? Is it? Is it? Is it? ... Is it? ... Is it? ...'


'Are you alright darling? You must have feinted in the kitchen, I'll tuck you up in bed. Come on now give me a cuddle. No? Oh please. No? You used to be such a cuddler. So affectionate. Remember I said to Chrissie that you'd be popular with the girls when you grew up? Alright then just a kiss. Night night see you in the morning.'
'Night night.' ... (shouts) 'Mum can I have Fluffy?'
'Sorry darling I think she's out in the garden.'

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