This evening I went round to my mother’s on the back of an invite for a spot of cold night hot Sunday Roast, which mainly consisted of heated up burnt things like spuds and carrots to eat.
So I expected to walk in to a big spread with loads of meat and veg’...presenting with wispy wet pallid steam rising in snaking random plumes from it all and smelling great...but instead I came in through her side door to find her sitting at the kitchen table with a collage of Dear Deirdre articles that she’d cut outta The Sun spread out in front of her.
She explained to me that she were making up an epic narrative from these Dear Deirdre strips, combining the photo stories with the letter problems. I don’t know why, it must have been my mood, but I embraced this keenly as an inspired though overall-ly original art venture. So much so that the specific particular emotions, palpably yielding a notable chemical movement in my mind, turned up a memory of Outsider Artist Henry Darger and his Vivian Girls epic.
When I went back home I was frightened and disappointed to discover someone had put a banger through my letterbox. All the junk mail that had collected in the corner was burnt up into a black shiny mush and poor Boke the Cat was cowering in the corner licking his tail, which was all singed and baldy at the end.
I closed and double locked the front door and poked about in the big pile of ashes the remains of all the many sad months of junk mail and found amidst it all a day-glo post-it note untouched and perfectly preserved miraculously like a Ark Of The Covenant type divine relic.
It read:
I fucking hate Richard Madeley. Actually I once had an idea for a programme I thought might have a chance of getting made by one of the major networks, called 'Madeley Feeds Africa', where Richard goes to Africa and visits 3 starving townships who are required to put on a show so's to provide him with the utmost entertainment. At the end of each episode Madeley decrees which township put on the best show and for a prize this township receives a free UN food drop for a whole year. The two losing townships however are machine gunned to death by Judy Finnegan in an overflying Apache Helicoptor, while the pineal glands of the still warm corpses are to be extracted and fed to her in a vain attempt to cure her alcoholism.
So I sent it into them.
And still haven't heard back.
So I expected to walk in to a big spread with loads of meat and veg’...presenting with wispy wet pallid steam rising in snaking random plumes from it all and smelling great...but instead I came in through her side door to find her sitting at the kitchen table with a collage of Dear Deirdre articles that she’d cut outta The Sun spread out in front of her.
She explained to me that she were making up an epic narrative from these Dear Deirdre strips, combining the photo stories with the letter problems. I don’t know why, it must have been my mood, but I embraced this keenly as an inspired though overall-ly original art venture. So much so that the specific particular emotions, palpably yielding a notable chemical movement in my mind, turned up a memory of Outsider Artist Henry Darger and his Vivian Girls epic.
When I went back home I was frightened and disappointed to discover someone had put a banger through my letterbox. All the junk mail that had collected in the corner was burnt up into a black shiny mush and poor Boke the Cat was cowering in the corner licking his tail, which was all singed and baldy at the end.
I closed and double locked the front door and poked about in the big pile of ashes the remains of all the many sad months of junk mail and found amidst it all a day-glo post-it note untouched and perfectly preserved miraculously like a Ark Of The Covenant type divine relic.
It read:
“From your intel contact, Rueben.
Gary McKinnon stumbled upon something v.big. US Marines being trained by ET in specially fitted anti-grav’ bases on the moon. Check it out...
PS G.McKinnon was a try-hard pop star in the ‘90’s. Look it up. Then look further.”
I fucking hate Richard Madeley. Actually I once had an idea for a programme I thought might have a chance of getting made by one of the major networks, called 'Madeley Feeds Africa', where Richard goes to Africa and visits 3 starving townships who are required to put on a show so's to provide him with the utmost entertainment. At the end of each episode Madeley decrees which township put on the best show and for a prize this township receives a free UN food drop for a whole year. The two losing townships however are machine gunned to death by Judy Finnegan in an overflying Apache Helicoptor, while the pineal glands of the still warm corpses are to be extracted and fed to her in a vain attempt to cure her alcoholism.
So I sent it into them.
And still haven't heard back.
