Motherisms Feat. Daughter …

Twenty-five years ago today I arrived on this planet with no idea what it had in store for me, or what the hundreds of other little people on it had in store for me. With no notion of what an idea even was, the sole thing I knew was my mother. So,  fresh out of a week in the womb, what better day for some Motherisms ….

We’ve had a birthday bottle of wine, I am rather pissed in the shop  …

Me: I need dried fruit, then I wont bemoan the lack of chocolate.

Mum: You can have chocolate.

Me: Not today! As of today I am an icon of health, albeit a completely trollied one.

I stride off towards the figs.

Mum: Darling, do try not to look like a mad person.

My mother is talking about what I should do with her flat when she dies ..

Me: Must we always talk about your demise?

Mum: We’re not talking about my demise, we’re planning ahead.

Bob Dylan is on, we’ve had an arduous day ….

Bob Dylan: The answers my friend …

Mum: Are blowing in the wind? Yeah, sorry Bob. Not good enough anymore.

Kingsford The Great hits the nail on the head as usual …

“It does not matter what you do, as long as you behave honourably to those who love you.”

Mother is talking about me possibly being a boy …

Mum: I thought you were a boy for a while, then you weren’t. Still a tenacious little thing. Survived that car crash. I think it’s why you’ve got anxiety problems.

Me: Because of the crash or because I survived?

We are at lunch, it is time for dessert and my mother is eyeing the trifle suspiciously, the waitress comes over …

Mum: Does the trifle have sherry?

Waitress: Let me check ……… Yes it does.

Mum: I’ll take it.

I had been upset to the point of anger earlier in the day …

Mum: How’s the rage darling?

Me: I’ve moved on to apathetic desolation.

Mum: Impotent despair.

Me: It’s the same thing.

Mum: Sounds better.

In regards to me wanting to be a writer, it is later in the day of rage, I have gone full circle and am back at rage ...

Mum: What do you want to say?

Me: A lot. Mostly I want the people who have fucked me over to be aware that, though I may not have said anything, I know what they’ve done. And make them laugh while I’m telling them.

Mum: Riiiiiiight …. You need to make a list of these people.

Me: How’s that going to help what I write?

Mum: It wont. It’ll help me track them down.

Mum about our old house ….

“Now the garden looks like a horrible little park in Woking. The weeping willow has gone, just nasty little conifers in situ.”

It’s pissing with rain, we are zipping across the hills, my mother shouts over Bob Marley ..

“Go crap car! Go!”

Debating whether we should do the Euromillions in the hope of aiding our imminent financial crisis …

Mum: Euro millions, we should do it, I’ve won it before.

I look at mother in bemusement.

Me: You’ve won it before? The Euromillions?

Mum: Yes, £2.75.

We’re listening to the radio, the Sugarbabes come on …

Me: What does that even mean?

Mum: What?

Me: “We’ll rastafi gonna be down low.”

Mum: Only God knows darling, and even he’s not sure.

A pissed old man reverses his old 4×4 for us with verve ….

Mum: That’s what I love about Devon, it’s wild. It’s where the fairies and the gypsies live ………..

We keep driving for a few seconds then mum points ….

Mum: … and there’s where Rupert Harvey pissed in the tank of the kamikaze car, got us all the way to Iddesleigh somehow.

Me: Okkkk …. What’s the kamikaze car?

Mum: Long story, his father was an authority on dromedaries.

A woman of around 90 walks across the road …

Me: Watch out! Old woman wandering.

Mum: She’s the same age as me!

Me: She’s got a good 20 years on you mum.

Mum: Is that what I’m going to look like? I want to die.

The adverts come on ...

TV: Tampax with pearl extract. Pearl, by Tampax.

Mum: Oh wow man. That’s going to make me buy it.

Me: Mmm … complete with sea creatures.

We stride in to the cinema full of gusto, ready to watch Jane Eyre …

Mum: I will have one human and one over sixty.

Ticket man: It’s not on ’til tomorrow.

Mum: Righty ho … See you tomorrow ..

Mother bemoaning the pitfalls of writing, again …

Mum: But you won’t earn enough money doing it. See, in my day, if you were in a relationship, you were a unit and usually got a house.

Me: Times are not so simple now mother,  you can’t just expect a house. We asked for equality, we got something in-between. We’re stuck in a horrible sort of limbo.

Mum has stopped listening …

Mum: AA Gil’s very good in The Sunday Times …

About her friend taking her in his Porsche Boxster …

“Incredible thing. Like a giants ejaculation.”

Need I say more ….

15 Ways To Leave Your Lover ….

If you have been embroiled in a love malais this may help you. Once an admirer of la doleur esquise, I am now jaded by it. As a sage fishwife once said to me “all this romantic melancholy is well and good, but it doesn’t butter the parsnips.”

This how to leave, taking pain in your stride and butter those parsnips …

 

Marilyn monroe once said “A wise girl kisses but doesn’t love, listens but doesn’t believe, and leaves before she is left.”

Man or woman, if you failed on the first two counts make sure you don’t on the last. Even the smart can be fooled a couple of times, but only the stupid wouldn’t notice the pattern. The leopard doesn’t change its spots.

When faced with someone who only wants you to have done wrong, you can do nothing right ...

Let them satisfy their martyr complex with false injustice. No point crying over milk you never spilled.

Don’t make a scene …

If ‘The Pocket Oracle and Art Of Prudence’ has taught me anything. You gain nothing from retaliation. The dissemination of a love should not be witnessed by the rabble. When gauded, hold your tongue, for it can be ferocious. Keep it clean to lick your wounds later.

Wear a hazmat suit …

To protect yourself from the fallout.

Treat them mean, keep them keen …

… Works a a couple of times times. Beware the game of cat and mouse. Triumph is not synonymous with power.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

If it’s never been you, at least this time it is.

Midnight break up and a dawn raid …

If for whatever reason you’ve had to leave someone you still loved, do it late and have something to distract you, the loneliness of walking the dark streets home is sweetly complimented by a battering ram through the door at 5am. 15 armed police officers should distract you from the pain, momentarily.

Dutch courage …

… Is sometimes necessary. Have a pancake, sorry whiskey, calm your nerves and say what you have to say. Don’t have too many or you will say too much.

If struggling to do what you know is best for you and what everyone else seems to know is best for you (run for the hills and never turn back) …

Think again of all they have done, and then of all they are not telling you.

Mirror, signal, maneuver …

Mirror …. Do exactly the opposite of those who’ve had their heart broken.
Signal …. People playing games always have a tell, observe the signs, they aren’t indicating anywhere pretty.
Maneuver … Now turn around and put your foot down.

If it’s as simple as you just want out  …

Don’t make it someone else’s fault if it’s not. Don’t pick holes in someone and chip away at them to dig your own way out.

Do to others as you would have done to yourself …

Force yourself to be empathetic at your most enraged. Put yourself in their shoes; if you could not forgive yourself and still think they have truly sinned, let all hell break losoe.

Hold on tightly to hope …

… There is a lot you will have to let go.

Don’t spend your life sewing a shadow on Peter Pan …

…He never grew up, and she died alone.

Close the door, raise your head and feel the breeze. It might hurt, but it’s still beating.

Licensed To Rewrite History …

For Gorilla Film Magazine

Feats of human achievement have been retold since, well, since there were
humans. We have always found a way of re-telling our stories, from cave paintings to ancient hieroglyphs. Our need to be remembered and feel significant in this vast expanse demands that we leave our mark while we’re passing through.
But ever since we have retold stories the human need to further better ourselves and be remembered as the best we possibly can be, has lead to the desire to exaggerate and fabricate actual events. Let’s take Jesus of Nazareth, not sure if you’ve heard of this guy but apparently he did quite a lot of good, so much good that 12 of his groupies rewrote and exaggerated his stories to the point where he became a God and published them in a book called the Bible, which I’m yet to read but have heard is excellent.

Dramatic license is more often than not about the storyteller rather than the story itself, the pressure to entertain and be entertaining while re-telling the story leads to what is defined as “the distortion of fact ….. the improvement of a piece of art.”

But it begs the question, is it really necessary? Does it need improving?

Granted the story of “I went to the shops this morning and bought some tea bags” may require a bit of dramatic license to engage your friends, but this is not a story of great human achievement and is essentially very dull. In this instance I can understand the need for a bit of hyperbole, but why feel the need when we’re already talking about something incredible, something worth re-telling?

Take Lawrence of Arabia. A truly brilliant film about a truly remarkable man. Laurence of Arabia is based on the life of T.E Lawrence during his service to the English army in the first world war. Lawrence was fluent in 8 languages, had worked as an archeologist excavating ancient Mesopotamian sites for the British Museum and thanks to his travels during university already knew the ins and outs of the Ottoman Empire and it’s German built and funded railway systems by the time he volunteered his services to the British army at the age
of 26. Not bad huh? But it gets better …. Lawrence was enlisted to pioneer an internal insurgence and Arab revolt against the Ottoman Empire in the hope of weakening the German ally. Lawrence single handedly advised the Arab irregular troops on the plans of their attack, gaining their trust and respect. From the bottom to the top, and became the adviser of Emir Faisal (son of the Sharif of
Mecca.) He masterminded the capture of Acababa and subsequently the capture of Damascus and ensured that Damascus was under Faisel’s government. So,
why was a lone white Englishman who headed out in to the desert to infiltrate and persuade guerilla fractions of the Arab army to help destroy an empire and
take over vital towns not quite good enough?
The film has various elements of fiction running through it but one of the most notable is the crossing of the Nefud Desert. The Nefud Desert as told in the film
is considered impassible, even by Bedouins and in the film this is how Lawrence really gains the respect of the Arabs. He does what none of them have been able
(or stupid enough) to do. This is an incredibly important part of the film as he becomes an almost Jesus-esque character, which yes, it’s great, who doesn’t love
Jesus, but would we not be entertained by his story without this superhuman feat?

Well, for argument’s sake I would agree that this cherry on the fictional character cake of Lawrence is of great assistance to the film. He is super human, this God- like man struggling with incredibly human issues. Lawrence struggles with the violent acts the war forces him to commit, he in the same breath relishes and loathes the acts of killing other men, the nihilism involved in the act of killing is then contrasted by guilt afterwards. He struggles with his own identity as a man. Employed by the British government but feeling more affinity with the Arabs, he struggles with the knowledge that England will eventually, to put it lightly, fuck them over.
The film received criticism from Lawrence’s family for not being a faithful account of this period of Lawrence’s life but one of Lawrence’s biographers
argued “the object was not to produce a faithful docu-drama, but a hit picture”, in which respect they definitely succeeded. Though I do think it rather odd
to essentially take a man’s identity and say “this is great, but I’m just going to improve on it.” Like it could never have been a “hit” without these fabrications or “improvements.”

The Pursuit Of Happiness, uses dramatic licensee for the same effect, but instead of additions it is by omittance. Based on the life of Chris Gardner it is the age-old tale of triumph over misery, which is always a winner. Chris Gardner had an unsuccessful stint selling medical equipment, leaving his wife working double
shifts at a laundry company, unable to pay rent and his son in a shitty day care center. The story tells how Gardner loses his house, his wife and all his money but after a year of homelessness with his son lands a job as a stockbroker, sets up his own company and makes his first million by the time he is 34.
Gardner is by no means perfect in the film but he was a little more naughty than they made out. Though Gardner was an executive producer on the film, Will Smith’s portrayal of Gardner was something of a selective memory, to make it more appealing to the larger audience. Gardner in his more truthful
autobiography admits that he wasn’t quite the father he was made out to be in the film, neglecting his son for 9 months and having no idea of his whereabouts, selling drugs and taking coke, PCP and Marijuana. These things I would have thought are quite important, they may not be admirable, but they are important parts of his story; they don’t change it’s outcome. Surely the further you’ve fallen, the further you have to climb to succeed makes it all the more incredible.

The thing with dramatic license is, I can’t help but feel that we, as an audience are being underestimated. It feels like we are allowing other peoples need to entertain distort already incredible achievements. To get someone’s life as a script and in red, cross out and annotate their history. We are all human, we have all done wrong, we know what life is like, we have all had moments of triumph be they small or large, but none of us are super human. Do we need to be patronized by omittance and addition to enjoy the tales of truly remarkable
human beings? Are the stories of these people not exceptional enough without fabrication? I thought the whole point was that these amazing things had
happened; these people had done something worthy of remembrance. They are worthy of remembrance because they are a rarity, they are already exceptional.
So, as Robert Lowell aptly put it “why not say what happened?”

Satisfy your need for fantasy with Studio Ghibli.

How To Play The Game …..

I’m starting to worry about myself, more than normal; because normally it’s ..

“Why is the light so bright? Maybe I have meningitis ..”

“Why am I so hungry? Maybe I have tape worm.”

“Why is this eczema so bad? Maybe I have necrotizing faciitis.”

I’m worried because it appears (though I am sweetness and light most of the time,) I am angry at the world. If I was 16, this would make me cool, a rebel, a lone wolf if you will. I’m 24 going on 68, so it makes me bitter and slightly immature.

Things I really struggle with are death, misogyny and well; that’s about it. I can appreciate a smart joke about them, but the jokes are rarely smart so more often than not I fail to have a sense of humor about them. Whatsoever. And as the world is filled with death and misogyny it is proving to make me a pretty grumpy person. It’s not a glamorous grumpy either – it’s not a Poe-like melancholy, it is, what I think it’s called “ansty” in some circles.

A recent example of this is when my partner in crime said he was going to become more and more misogynistic the older he got. He was joking, but being a couple of glasses of wine in and having had a whole life of it, I failed to see the hilarious side and instead went on a mission to prove a point. We went to the local corner shop so he could collect some mead and pipe tobacco. I walked in and proceeded to objectify the male clerks. To be fair it was quite a brutal objectification and as my partner pointed out afterwards, they were quite probably Muslims.

Guilt was quick off the mark, but pride was faster as I hastened to add …

“When has misogyny ever taken in to account your race, your religion or your creed? It doesn’t.”

Point proven, with unintentional irony, I decided it was time to stop wasting time going around proving points because there’s always going to be something, and start taking steps to enjoying what’s good.

Having previously written a step by step guide to coming to terms with your mortality – what better time to write a step by step guide to start enjoying your mortality?

There isn’t one. It is now, bitch.

 

Know when to leave …

Whether it be a party, a job or a relationship. If you feel it’s time to leave, it probably is. Get out while you still can.

 

It is all significant, until you say it’s not ….

Shakespear, the old sexbot, wrote a wonderful quote …

“Good Lord how bright and goodly shines the moon. I say it is the moon.”

“I know it is the moon.”

“Why then you lie, it is the blessed sun.”

“Then, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun: But sun it is not, when you say it is not: And the moon changes even as your mind. What you will have it nam’d, even that it is.”

It is believed in certain circles (cool existentialist ones) that the meaning of life, is the meaning that you give your life. Your existence holds significance, the people around you’s influence is significant, the songs you love are significant, the things that move you are significant, everything influences everything else and it is all significant, until you say it is not. Because it is all up to you, there is no right or wrong answer collectively, only individually.  How you perceive it. So, pick whatever helps you sleep at night and don’t fucking go on about it. If you chose to decide we are all insignificant, understand that is only in your eyes; and visa versa.

 

Never trust the masses ….

Because the majority of people are idiots. And idiots don’t make for a happy life.

 

Don’t be a Martyr …

If you’re still here, you aren’t one.  The funny thing I’ve noticed is the people who have been through the most are the least likely to have a martyr complex. Funny that.

However hard done by you are, you should never be the judge of your own hardship. You will more often than not, get it wrong. We’ve all had bad things happen to us, they vary in their degrees but you should never feel worse off than any one else. Because thanks to life’s abrupt ends, everyone will experience an enormous amount of pain in their lives, it is inevitable, it just depends on when. So, whatever you’ve been through, remain safe in the knowledge that hardship does not make you great, how you deal with it does.

 

When you feel that all is lost, put ‘Metronomy – The Look’ on …

You will feel inexplicably happy, whatever’s happening. Put it on a loop if times are really bad.

 

Appreciate your friends …

And appreciate those people who are more than just friends (no, not like that) I mean those people whose true love for you makes your heart ache. Those people who forgive you for behaving like an unstable tornado, for saying things you shouldn’t have said, for treating you with nothing but kindness when you are at your lowest ebb, who feed you when you cannot afford to eat, who support you in whatever you do – however irrational, who are there when you call, who appreciate you. Because they are few and far between and you will miss them when they’re gone because you feel exactly the same way about them. So make sure they’re always close by and keep them close; restraining orders are nothing but paper.

 

Keep your wits about you …

If you don’t have sense of humor about all of this, you’re fucked. To put it lightly.

 

You are an animal ….

As cerebral as you are it’s important to remember this, wild thing. The best way to get down with your inner beast is through physicality, to be disconnected to your mind. I experience a great amount of pleasure going running and pushing my body, because it feels like something your body should be doing, you should be pushing your sallow limbs to move. We went around hunting and running and climbing once upon a time and that is still a part of you, your body is still designed to do that and what an incredible thing it is. What a waste for all it to do but plod from seat to seat.  Also allow it to feel some pain once in a while. In small doses it’s a comforting reminder you’re still alive. I can highly recommend a 60% slap round the face after some home made ravioli. Delicious.

 

No one you loved ever wasted your time …

Bob Dylan has a brilliant line “You just kind of wasted my precious time, don’t think twice it’s alright.”

Bob, the legend, might have got it wrong on this occasion. Our time on this earth is fleeting and precious but no one you loved will ever have wasted it. No matter how bitterly it ended. Yeah it would have been great to have spent that time with someone with who it would have lasted, you’d have saved some heartache but you’d have missed out on quite a lot. These loves may not have been the right loves and they may have had their pitfalls but it was the nuances of them as a person that you adored and these nuances will have influenced you in some capacity whether you like it or not.  You might have been introduced to incredible music, bizarre and hilarious experiences, new ways of thinking, you might have been told wonderful things, stories, met amazing people and you will have vicariously experienced different ways of living. And whatever happened at the end, you came out the other side. Though you may have experienced a sense of loss, trust me, you came out richer.

 

If you’re going to walk on thin ice, you might as well dance …

 Being the icons of responsibility and good time-keeping most of the time, we all have days when we need to go out, get a little wild, a little out of control. And if you’re going to do wrong you might as well do it right. Go all out, forget about everything and enjoy every minute of it. Just keep enough decorum not to vomit and reserved for blue moons.

 

Hope for a lot, but expect very little …

It’s nicer to be surprised in a good way.

 

See the wood for the trees …

Learn to see and appreciate what’s right infront of you. It’s incredibly important to have ambitions and goals, that’s part of what drives you, what makes you you. But don’t let this blinker you. Take a step back from time to time and take heed of what’s happening on the way, or you’ll miss it.

 

Dance, dance, dance …

You can dance. All you’re doing is moving your body. Fuck everyone elses ‘on-the-beat-slow-grinds’. You’re supposed to be having a good time, so have one. Just shake that little thing  like there’s no one around and no tomorrow. I was told by my 6ft2 Nigerian ex-boyfriend I couldn’t dance, but I still like to think I gave him a run for his money at the running man.

Bond with your blood ….

Your family are variations of you. You are bonded by something very precious.. Get to know, they can tell you a lot about you.

 

Learn to relish nostalgia like a good Turkish Delight ….

 It is hard to truly enjoy pleasant memories because of their transience. They were not necessarily generally happy times, but they are times that are lost to the ether. So because few of us are naturally good losers it stings a little. You will never be able to recreate it in it’s indescribable exactness. It’s sad, because it’s gone, but get over it and appreciate the romance of a pain that only life and love can bring about. It’s part of it. Better to appreciate it sooner rather than later. All of it, including the pain will be gone sooner than you know.

 

Follow your insects, sorry instincts …

Your instincts are usually right and if you don’t do what you think is right, you will never truly be happy. This isn’t to say you shouldn’t always be considerate of other peoples feelings and how your actions affect other people, because they do, but to be happy you ultimately need to be a little selfish. If your mum says you can’t be the next Chuck Norris but you truly believe you can be, then boy, you start getting so tough you make onions cry and tell your mum to bare with you. Because when all is said and done, you’re the only person living your life and it’s ultimately up to you to make it one you want to live.

 

Don’t be dickhead ..

Unless you actually have a penis on your face, there is no excuse. And even then, no need to be a cock about it.

 

Women! Stop buying cats …

 You gotta get a goldfish. Trust. Cats are selfish, self engrossed, arrogant and couldn’t give a toss about you. Do you really need more of that in your life? Goldfish have no idea who you are but don’t take it personally, they have no idea who they are either. Enjoy their incandescent goldness and take advantage of their short-term memories. They serve as wonderful confidents.

 

Get out of the city …

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Get in to the rural expanse. Living in the City all you see is other people, they are your only reflection of the world and you start to lose perspective on it. Step outside, there’s a lot more to it. And by gum is that a relaxing feeling.

 

Don’t take yourself too seriously …

No one else is.

 

Love Larkin about ….

At the end of Philip Larkin’s ‘Arundel Tomb’ is the line “All that remains of us is love.” It’s pretty self explanatory really. When you’re gone, all you leave behind is love and the products of your love, your children, your friends, your achievements, your keepsakes, your memories shared with other people. Love is a wonderfully complex thing, but ultimately should be pleasurable and held in high regard. It doesn’t come around twice. I’ve tried not to sound too sentimental throughout this, but now I’m going to throw caution to the wind … I genuinely can’t think of a more beautiful way to think about your death than what you leave behind, and when what you leave behind is an incarnation of your love. That’s big.

 

Smoke while cycling …

 …. Seriously. It’s just got to be done. James Dean knows what I mean.

I’m aware I may sound like a smart arse, but I’ve learnt all of this through my own mistakes (there have been many) and through other peoples; which doesn’t for a second make me clever, it just means I’ve learned ….

Motherisms ….

 

Well, here we are again. Motherisms on Mothering Sunday I hear you chortle. How apt of you Jade.

It is rather isn’t it.

Today is a day we should all be thinking about our mothers, be they passed or still alive and worrying. It’s also a day we should be thinking about any of our friends or family who have become mothers, you are incredible, I admire you beyond words. But because words make up this page, on this hallowed, hallmark day I have selected a few words from some lexical dons to help me describe mothers ….

Mothers are a testament to men and women, to loving when sanity would have intervened way before. They are stronger than any man I know (except Chuck Norris) and will risk their life to save yours. We are all guilty of neglecting our mothers from time to time, allowing them to support us, when really it should have been the other way around but make sure that you do not do that today. Life is short, this includes your mothers, make sure she knows you’re thinking of her.

So, let’s all pat ourselves on the backs for being good mothers and children, make a cup of tea and snuggle down to read some examples from another lexical don, my mother. Here are two days worth of her quips – which are all, slightly insane  ….

We are in the car, my mum is congratulating me on my writing, I am whinging, she dishes out words of encouragement. ….

Mum: This is how Sylvia Plath started.

Me: Yeah but did she make any money?

Mum: She killed herself.

Part of the fridge falls off …

Mum: Oh great, I’d been waiting for that bit to come of since you broke it at Christmas. When I make some money I’ll buy a new fridge, a new washing machine. In the mean time I rather enjoy living in squalor. Very down with the people, we’re all in it together. Though I don’t really get that feeling ….

Talking about going to Cambridge and watching a film …

Mum: Didn’t we watch that in Cambridge?

Me: Watch what?

Mum: That film about Hugh Hefner?

Me: Um … I don’t think that was me.

Mum: No! No! Sorry, Howard Hughs. Different guy.

Mum is leaning on the windowsill watching cars go over the new bridge ..

Look at all those people zipping backwards and forwards over that thing. Going nowhere.

Mum puts the cheese away without offering me any.

Me: Can I not have some?

Mum: Yes sorry, darling. I’ve been living alone so long I’ve …

Me: Forgotten common courtesies?

Mum: Yeah, pretty much.

Mum does (of course) trump my wisdom tooth story …

I had my wisdom teeth out while Ringo Star’s surgeon did my knees. My face swelled to an enormous size. My vanity took a real blow. And then the Sharon Tate murders happened. I got very depressed.

Mum and I are both holding pens.

You have a pen, I have a pen.

Mum talking about all the Syd Barrett stuff that’s going on at the moment …

I think it’s all very strange, Syd would’ve run a mile. But it’s good. This is how we’ll make our money, out my memories. When I’m dead you can publish all this stuff. People like the past. They know what happens.

My mother talking about various people …

You know, they say the hardest thing to get over’s a good childhood.

Mum shouts from the other room …

Mum: Scientists have genetically modify cows that can produces human breast milk.

Me: Oh my God, that’s not good.

Mum: Very little is.

Mum is reading while half listening to the TV, she mishears  …

TV: The Paralympics next week on Four

Mum: Oh is that that comedy thing? That was quite funny.

I’ve scolded mum for getting worked up about nothing …

Mum: I have impotent rage, but Barnaby tells me it will dissolve into passive cynicism.

Me: Way ahead of you mum.

Mum: That’s a bit worrying.

Mum and I reveling in Ferrero Rocher …

Mum: They’re absolutely disgusting little things, but at least I know what’s in them.

Me: I think they’re wonderful.

Mum: Oh, I love them!

Mum talking about me getting my act together ..

Mum: Yes, but you’re very punctual.

Me: I’m not punctual.

Mum: You’re going to have to be punctual.

Mother giving some delicious advice …

This romantic melancholy is all well and good, but it doesn’t butter the parsnips.

I love you ever so much mum. Enjoy those daffodils while you can – next door will probably want them back ……

How To Get Fresh With Death …..

Recently I was struck with, what was initially the horror of my mortality, and what is now a sort of schoolgirl reluctance to accept that in this instance, I am no exception.

Bugger.

I think it came as such as a surprise because for the last 20 odd years I’ve been blinkered by the preoccupation of preventing a premature death (my only slip-up here was accidentally swimming with sharks – needless to say, I didn’t do it twice.) So I had never really contemplated a natural one, growing old and slowly having to accept it. It came as quite a shock. But now the shockwaves have passed, I am no longer at the epicentre of this bombshell. Now it’s just something else fucking annoying I have to accept and deal with, like tax or water bills ….

“Really? I have to?”

“Yeah there’s no way out.”

“But people told me I was special.”

“People told Martin Luther King and the cat bin lady they were special. Still got to pay tax.”

“Fuck man. And there isn’t a loop hole out of this whole death thing?”

“No. And if there is, we’re keeping it very quiet.”

It’s not really death I have a problem with and the aging process I can get over, wrinkles are set to trend in 2040.

It’s the frustration of trying to contemplate and understand nothingness, what it is and how my consciousness is going to be nothing.

This thought BLEW MY MIND.

So I’ve decided it’s impossible; as everything I know or everything I can comprehend is something. Even the expanse of space, which I am yet to be introduced to (but I’ve heard is lovely) is something. Nothing is not blackness or silence or white or white noise. It’s nothing. So, learn from my mistakes people, don’t bother trying to contemplate what nothingness is, you wont be able to and your friends will get bored of your mortality crisis very quickly, as it does tend to put a bit of a downer on the evening.

The other day I (wasn’t following my own advice) and was discussing this with a friend. She is quite remarkable and has far more scope on what mortality is than me and it made me realise that this is something that you can only, not necessarily understand, but accept through experience; not through thinking or reading.

This was when I realised, unlike in matters of the heart, in matters of mortality one should never punch above one’s weight. So, with this in mind, I have created some baby steps to help you obtain marital, sorry wrong blog, mortal bliss with a sense of humour (mine failed, and it wasn’t very funny …)

Go out with someone who takes themselves very seriously …

You will never match up to the idea they have of themselves – a nice reminder of your general irrelevance, which is important. This information will be very useful later in life when you’re old and in a nursing home. It wont come as such as surprise when no-one calls and you’re treated like a degenerate.

Turn yourself into a diamond …

I’m aware this is something Paris Hilton might suggest but there is something quite beautiful in making your whole life crystal clear.

WARNING: Do not attempt while alive.

When faced with ‘The Fear’ make sure you’ve taken the acid …

A terrible consequence of thinking about mortality to an unhealthy extent can be as in ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’ to see people as animals. Though, not lizards or Moray Eels, but seeing people as humans and realising that humans are nothing but animals, no matter how many sun blushed tomatoes you put in your pasta. Public transport becomes a nightmare. If you’re going to freak out and see people as animals make sure you’ve taken some sort of psychedelic first and that it’s not your own psyche. That’s when it really starts to get trippy.

Take a walk through Shoreditch on a Friday night at 2 am – nothing puts life into perspective like that …

This is only advisable once in a stable mental state. If suffering from ‘The Fear’ this could push you over the edge.

N.B Also avoid Clapham Common at this time if suffering from ‘The Fear’.

Go and stay with your French friend in Paris without any moisturizer …

… Your gay french friend. Be you man or woman, he will hand you expensive anti-wrinkle cream. This will instil a fear of smiling in you while you’re there (for fear of losing your lovely eyes to wrinkly flaps of skin) creating an aloof lugubriousness that goes down very well in Paris. It will also remind you, you’re getting old, you hadn’t realized, but you are.

Now, there’s no point getting your knickers in a twist and crying over spilt milk (you messy bitch,) start writing that will and picking out funky funeral songs. I recommend a healthy mix of uplifting soul aka Aretha Franklin and James Brown, then a bit of sad, ‘The Stranglers – Golden Brown’ (It’s about heroin it turns out, but I could’ve just been on holiday) then really bring them dooooown with ‘The Smiths – Well I Wonder.’

Having said this, also balance up how much of a dick you’ll look for playing ‘The Smiths’ at your funeral, I’ve weighed it up and I’m happy with the odds.

N.B. Once home avoid texting your mother asking for best anti-wrinkle recommendations, some things are just too depressing.

Hang around with other people’s children – all of the perspective, none of the mess ….

You realise they aren’t terrifying little aliens but an amalgamation of two people, which is quite lovely (and only slightly odd.) Children are little people who can have a sense of humour. I advise hanging out with 2 years plus, otherwise it’s like talking to a fleshy brick wall. This is only really enjoyable if it’s your fleshy brick wall.

Wear Skulls Don’t Think About Them ….

Thinking about skulls doesn’t get anyone anywhere – unless it’s part of your job, then it has furthered medical science exponentially. Well done you. But if you’re a regular Joe thinking about it too much is not going to make you a happy bunny. I remember watching Scrubs in the throws of my crisis and bursting into tears at the sight of a skeleton. Ridiculous, but true.

Thanks to Alexander McQueen wearing skulls is no longer just for the cheesy rocksters, the punks, the goths. This is now beautifully fashionable. We can throw these fleshless heads around our necks in wonderful colours and patterns, like it’s never going to happen to us. Magnifique!

If skulls on clothing seems like an easy way out to you and you’d like more of a challenge, why not follow the Alice Dellal crew and wear your own. Shave your head. This is one of a couple of areas where men are still ahead of women, they have probably already shaved their heads, but rest assured most of them looked hideous. You look edgy and deadly, but probably should’ve done it 2 years ago. If anyone in Devon’s reading this, now’s the time.

Never believe your own hype, it’s called hubris …

… and it’s only downhill from there. Poor old Edward II had a red hot poker shoved up his bum for being an arrogant arse. Ouch, the irony.

Be a bull in a china shop …

Go to Antiquarius on the Kings Road and fall face first on the floor. Physical pain is an essential reminder of your humanity. At the same time it’s comforting to know you’re not made of glass. So you might as well discover this in a really good china shop. Trust me, I did it on hard, cold terracotta. Ancient china would have softened the blow.

Do a Zeta Jones – marry an over 60 …

You’ll have insider and in-depth knowledge of the aging process – be ahead of the game. Mentally prepare yourself.

Fly alone ….

First Class if you can blag it and while there sipping champagne, contemplating whether the seat is real leather or not, contemplate a crash. Hey, why the fuck not – you got hours to kill. It’s quite stressful and a tad melodramatic but an interesting exercise nonetheless as there will probably at least be 4 or 5 people who spring to mind and spring tears to your eyes that you are not with – if not, where have you been? If so, take heed of this, know how much you love them, and attempt to show them. This will probably only last a day or two before they piss you off, but it’s better than none. The one anomaly in this exercise is if a new “love” pops in to your head. Like a pop-up she/he will in time, when the crash doesn’t happen, probably prove to be irritating. Shut it down and replace it with a more deserving friend.

If your Grandmother’s passed away go to Liberty or somewhere else with a nice parfumerie and spray on some of her perfume …

The only grandmother I knew died when I was 2. But she used to wear Anais, Anais. Recently I sprayed some and instantly hundreds of memories flooded back. None that I could really pin point, but it was a nice hazy place for a few seconds.

Throw salt over your shoulder not a Mulberry bag  …

The world and it’s mother has a Mulberry, not everyone has superstition (it’s so exclusive). Superstition I think of like an engrained, sage form of OCD and a more sensible form of religion. It’s a very comforting routine while you’re alive, and it’s logic is that it will aid good fortune and help prevent death (unlike a Mulberry.) However, superstition is not going to help you when you’re dead (unlike religion).

Oh, sorry. My bad, neither’s religion.

Listen to early 90s hip hop ….

Not only will you be down with the kids, but most of these cats have died, giving a certain reverence to those lyrical dons. Biggy saying “fuck all you hoes” suddenly sounds insightful. Sort of.

Keep keepsakes and take photos …

… Throughout your life. Some call it hoarding, some are wrong. It is amazing what you forget. Especially if you like the odd doobster.

Smoking …

Now if we learned anything from Grease, we learned smoking’s cool and John Travolta’s chin is a distraction. But again, that’s distracting from the point. Smoking’s cool not because it’s sticking two fingers up at death, that’s just being ignorant about it.  Nothing cool about cancer. Smoking has always been inexplicably cool even when it was thought of as healthy, from peace pipes to Lucky Strikes. It has little to do with the masochism involved and if it does, mo’ fool you.

Paint your nails blue – they’ll look like that one day …

Aesthetically, I’d recommend a deep midnight blue, but for a more realistic un-dead look go for a nice cornflower blue.

Have close male friends and keep them close …

This is obviously alongside your close female friends, but that goes without saying. Male companionship I believe to be very important and sobering (when they’re not pissed.) I have a few male friends that I consider to be very close. These male friends should be kept close throughout your life, no matter what your husband says because they will inevitably out live your marriage and/or your husband.

(Men, I’d say flip reverse this but it doesn’t work. Statistically, your wife will out-live you  – so I advise being one of her friends instead…not sure how that works, but not my problem.)

Go for a walk in the park ….

Or preferably the countryside. If I spend too long in London as much as I love it and consider it home, I start to feel claustrophobic. I was listening to Radio 4 the other day (no surprises there) and KT Tunstall explained it better than I can. “I loved growing up where you compare yourself to your landscape; and then now, I live in London where really all you can do is compare yourself to other people, that’s all you can see. And I think that’s really unhealthy, where people just constantly, well, their only mirror is another person. I think it’s great and humbling to be in a landscape that can make you feel small and inconsequential. I think it’s good for you.” I couldn’t agree more KT, and for that I forgive you the spelling of your name.

Turn up to an after, after party totally sober – there you will encounter the walking dead …

Nothing will make you feel more alive.

 

 

Motherisms …

 

It’s Christmas, time to hang out with the mother. She’s a smart lady and I don’t think realizes how funny she is. So it’s time take note of all the bizarre and strangely insightful things she says over the festive period, then publish them on my blog, cheers mum xx ….

My first night down there, while watching Northern Exposure …

Mum: Ahhh yes Jewish doctors. Why can’t you find a nice Jewish doctor?

Me: I don’t know mum.

Mum: No … shame. You should.

Me: I’m trying!

I get ready to go out, admittedly looking a little odd , complete with my new tweed grandpa hat ….

Mum: Oh. You look like a latter-day Annie Hall, crossed with Madonna’s ex-husband.

Me: Guy Ritchie?

Mum: Yes him.

Me: Thanks.

Christmas Day, mum looks wistfully out the window at the snow and silent streets ….

Mum: It’s so lovely and quiet out there – there’s a lot to be said for the neutron bomb.

Doing the Observer Boxing Day quiz, trying to find the answers to the questions about songs …

1) Observer Clue: We meet a young lady recovering from an abusive relationship. Confused and lonely, she seeks solace in an all-too-familiar cycle of sexualty and victimhood, inviting back into her life the very man who left her blinded.

Me: That’s …

Mum: That’s life darling.

Answer: Britney Spears ‘Baby One More Time’

2) Observer: This plucky chap was born during a spell of terrible weather and it’s all downhill from there – he’s abused by his bearded toothless mum and nobody cares when he nearly drowns. But, with irrepressible spirit, he can look back at the hard times and laugh.

Mum: Jesus.

Answer: Irrelevant after that clanger.

I ask mum to heat up my coffee, she huffs about it ..

Me: There’s no need to looks so pissed off.

Mum: I don’t look pissed off this is my natural face now.

Mum looks up from making an omelette ….

Mum: I’m an anorcho-syndaclist.

Me: What’s that?

Mum: Look it up.

Me: Why are you talking in a German accent?

Mum’s listening to the radio…

Mum: What’s R Kelly?

Sitting down, watching a wildlife documentary – one humming bird is eating nectar but another larger one turns up, the smaller one must stand his ground. Mum’s words of encouragement to the little hummingbird …

Mum: Go on babe, don’t let him piss on your parade.

Mum buys a copy of Life of Brian from a charity shop, it was £1.99.

“I can’t believe it. £1.99, for such genius!”

In reference to God ..

Yes, well, I haven’t seen much of this heavenly compassion lately mate.

Mum has the camera, I strike a pose ..

Mum: Try not to look so arrogant in photos darling.

Mum talking about someone useless she knows …

Mum: He couldn’t slide shit down a shovel.

Just about to leave the house I am asked out of the blue …

Mum: What country in Europe has the highest crime rate?

Me: I don’t know …

Mum: The Vatican City.

Me: Really? Are you sure?

Mum: Yeup. And the youngest age of consent.

Me: How young?

Mum: 13.

Me: That’s pretty odd.

Mum: It’s very odd.

Mother speaking words of wisdom…

” Loyalty, it’s a great quality – not just in spies.”

And some more…

“If in doubt – call an ambulance.”

In reference to me breaking things …

Mum: Like that bloody computer you had that Jack chose, that was over a grand … Didn’t last three years.

Me: It lasted from before college to my third flat it Brixton.

Mum: You could’ve got a car for that money.

Me: No I couldn’t and that was 7 years, it lasted 7 years.

Mum: Car would have lasted longer.

Me: What car of yours has ever lasted 7 years?

Mum: This one.

Me: No it hasn’t.

Paolo Nutini comes on …

Mum: Oh this is Louis Nutini!

Me: Paolo Nutini?

Mum: Yeah – I thought he was a shrivelled old Jamaican.

Mum admires her fruit bowl…

“The fruit looks good, I hope you noticed I picked lemons and limes, Caravaggio would’ve liked that.”

Mum asking Jesus…

What would Bob Marley do?

Mum get’s her fill of choirs while watching the young boys choir at King’s College …

 “That’s the thing about choirs and tv – the close ups. They sound like angels and you don’t want to see they don’t look like them.”

Later in the day when another beard has been thrust in mums face …

Mum: It’s the time of year for men with beards, every time I look up there’s a man with a beard. I blame Jesus.

Mum’s been out for a walk…

Walking does seem a purposeless activity unless you’ve got a dog.

Mum eating stilton and crackers …

“Oh chutney. Yeah, man.”

A friend has contested that I go to the loo more than is normal. I put this to my mother.

Mum: Well darling, I think it’s the same as with everything, you’ve got to get it while it’s there.

Mum loses the pepper …

Mum: That’s the trouble, you’ve got to know where you’ve put things.

Me furiously tidying, try to force mum to join in …

Mum: Haven’t I told you I’m an anarcho-syndicalist?

Me: I’m an anarcho-syndicalist on facebook now – ner.

Mum: You didn’t even know what an anarcho-syndicalist was!

Me: Doesn’t mean I wasn’t one.

Mum: You’d never stand up in interrogation. Your knowledge of the unions is very dodgy.

Me: So is yours.

Mum: No its not, I used to hoot for the firemen.

 

Motherism

Happy Happy Joy Joy  ….

 

I was going to write a blog about coming to terms with my mortality, but I decided it wasn’t all that festive so I’ll save that gem until after Christmas. You lucky things.

Instead I’m writing about that one big thing that everyone’s talking about, no, not Christmas, but the wikileaks scandal.

 

Just fucking with you, I’m going to write about Christmas. And for once I’m going to keep it very brief because for me the message is pretty simple (and I’m late for my swim) ….

Make a conservative effort to be genuinely happy. For a day or two forget about what you lack, what’s making you worried, stressed or sad. Remember what you have and who you have. And remember that they want to see you happy.

To aid you on this journey to euphoria, I have a step by step guide for mind blowing Christmas fun ….

 

Things to do …… (because Christmas is extreme, like in Spinal Tap it goes up to 11 …)

1)   Put up and look at fairy lights – never underestimate how festive they will make you feel – providing they’re clear. If they’re coloured and flashing they’ll make you feel depressed.

2)   Go for walks, that don’t involve shops.

3)   Contemplate and talk about going to midnight mass, whether you go or not is arbitrary.

4)   Take a moment to appreciate the people in your life and a moment to appreciate the people who aren’t any more.

5)   Give Mariah Carey the respect she’s due.

6)   Read. I hate Catcher in the Rye – the guy in it’s a dick, but it’s a nice book to read this time of year. He mentions hot chocolate and snow – among other things.

7)    Watch films – see below.

8 )   Give monks props – nothing spells Christmas like singing monks.

9)   Get tipsy but not totally pissed – Christmas is not the time people. It’s not about you.

10) Eat stuff – I don’t really like Christmassy food but have a mice pie and smile through the pain.

11) Be happy. You’ll have a better time.

 

Things to watch …

 

1)   Mrs Doubtfire

2)   The Snowman

3)   Life of Brian

4)   The Queens Speech – not the alternative one, you’re not a try-hard, pre-pubescent rock band

5)   Black Adder

6)   Lord of The Rings

7)  Background noise – whatever’s on tv at Christmas

8 )  The Red Shoes

9) An old Simpsons episode

10) Great Expectations

11)  The turkey, don’t want to burn it …….. ahhohoho.

 

And remember, Jesus isn’t just for the religious, that’s why he comes from an unconventional family, he’s fun for everyone. Yay for Jesus!

 

Shock, horror! We’ve created a monster …

Horrorsville is a town I haven’t been to in a while. I’ve been avoiding it. Something bad has happened there ….

I’d been wondering recently why I had been avoiding it, why my horrorence (horror tolerance) had decreased so dramatically. If one were to put it on a scale it’s gone from about an 8.5 to a 1, or a 2 at best. As an over thinker, I started to think. I wondered if it’s because as you get older, thanks to an experience called life, you feel more empathy towards the idiots who go to psycho’s houses. You’re aware it’s probably been you at the psycho’s house once or twice – but you made the whole situation so awkward the psycho decided to wait for someone more breezy. By you, I mean me. Or is it possible that you can overload on horror? Can you watch so much you reach your limit and then BOOM in the middle of ‘Saw II’ – your threshold is reduced to zero. And you’re in tears. You had a horror quota, you watched too much so now you can’t even watch ‘I Am Legend’ without covering your eyes. Again, by yours, I mean mine.

But I think there’s more to it than that. Well, not more, just the fact that I don’t think it’s me. I think horror, generally speaking’s, got shit.

What right do I have to say any of this? Firstly, I am a girl or in horror films also known as – Victim 2 (usually second to go after the black guy) and on top of that, I’ve already admitted I’m a scaredy-cat.

But everyone is entitled to their opinion; providing it’s an informed one. So can I get a Craig David “REWIND” on this and I will tell you what right I have to say this …..
My first foray in to horror started at the Devonshire Film Mecca, also known as Spar in South Moleton – it’s where all the ‘industry’ people go. I rented out classics like ‘The Relic’, ‘The Exorcist’ ‘The Birds’ and ‘House IV – The Repossession’. Life was sweet, I couldn’t get enough. I got so scared the first time I watched ‘The Exorcist’ with my friend we ended up in hysterics – you know the kind of insane laughter you get when you have just been through a truly terrifying ordeal? The only other time I’ve laughed like that was in the South of France, after we got chased through a cornfield late at night by a group of men in a car. We ran back home after escaping, ended up in fits of hysterics and covered our faces in chocolate mouse. As you may have guessed there was something strangely fun about it, the fear, the risk and in turn the survival. I think they call it adrenaline. Like the rest of my species I am programmed to want more.

So I gorged. I grew to really appreciate the horror genre and it’s sub genres, the subtleties that split each in to their own little genre. I’ve broken a few of my (self-named) favourites down for your reading pleasure …

Arty Horror:

While trawling through amazons DVD selection I stumbled across a director called Dario Argento, recommended to me by Amazon (thank you Amazon – you are eternally thoughtful.) So I bought a couple of his DVDs and watched ‘Suspiria’. Which is cinematically very beautiful. The lighting, the framing, the music, the chiffon, it’s look is all very calculated, it’s not just there to make you scared, it’s there to make you want to frame screen grabs on your wall. Think Fellini with horror. This kind of film has it’s own official sub genre, known as Giallo, “Giallo films are typically Italian and are characterized by extended murder sequences featuring excessive bloodletting, stylish camerawork and unusual musical arrangements.” Though, ‘Suspiria’ adhered less to these rules than some of his other films like ‘Deep Red/Profundo Rosso’ and allowed it to get a bit more surreal, letting styling and music take over from narrative. Other great films like this include ‘Don’t Look Now’, based on a short story by Daphne DuMaurier it’s a British and Italian collaboration using beautiful imagery of a haunting little girl in a red coat in front of various iconic backgrounds in Venice and other locations (and also the reason for a minor freak-out of mine in Amsterdam at the sight of a little child in a red coat, after one too many hash cakes.) There’s ‘Rosemary’s Baby’, though not subject to the Giallo genre, written and directed by Roman Polanski it was always going to be a stylish horror. Based on Ira Levins 1967 novel it follows a pregnant Mia Farrow’s decent into madness as she approaches her due date of 26 June 1966 (6/66) and increasing suspicion that the baby inside her is evil. The shots of Manhattan, lonely prams and lingering shots on candles make for a wonderful watch, as it scares you shitless.
As an after thought, I would also like ‘Jason and the Argonauts’ added to this category if only for the wonderful and freaky stop motion skeletons.

Next came ….

Horror Comedy:

Now this was a revelation. Discovering that horror can not only be scary, but funny too? Laughter and fear are two emotions that aren’t easy to combine simultaneously. People seem to assume that because something’s funny it’s not as good as something sad. People are stupid. It’s easy to make someone cry – watch the ‘Notebook’ for a step-by-step guide on how to do this. It’s much harder to make someone genuinely laugh and to do it while freaking them out is no mean feat. Comedy horror is traced to ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ not the film but the novel by Washington Irving all the way back in 1820. Through a shaky period of miss-balanced films between the 1920s and 50s, the 60s through to the 80s is where they got this genre down to a fine art. My favourites of the comedy horror genre vary in their artistic credibility but all do the job I think.
I was first alerted to this genre at very young age (7/8) and missed the satire in ‘Beware! The Blob’ it was to me at that point, just terrifying. A few years later I remember watching it again and seeing the funny side; I got the melodramatic acting and the futility of the giant red jam ball. But when I really felt I got this genre was when I watched Sam Raimi’s ‘Evil Deads’ – the already great script’s are aided massively by the dead pan humour (and damn fine face) of Bruce Campbell, the ‘Evil Deads’ will in turn scare you and make you laugh and do it very well. Other wonders of comedy horror are courtesy of Peter Jackson (director of ‘Lord of the Rings’) who in no way compromised the gore fest in ‘Bad Taste’ or ‘Brain Dead’ – a classic moment is when someone’s boil puss goes in to custard, which the freaky mother proceeds to eat – it is also, somehow, funny. Then came Matt Stone and Trey Parkers ‘Cannibal! The Musical’ I mean, the title gives the game away. Loosely based on the adventures of Alfred Packer on his trip from Colorado to Utah, in which 5 of his friends were left dead and partially eaten. The story adapted and sung by two comedy geniuses is well worth a watch.
My all time favourites of this genre are ‘Toxic Avenger’ and ‘Toxic Avenger 2’. Smoke a doobie with these bad boys and you’ll laugh harder than you did at Braveheart. Need I say more?
It’s all got a bit boring now with zombie comedy (sorry Simon Pegg, it’s just not very good …) Out of the hundreds of detritus in recent history from this genre two comedy horrors have emerged that have done the genre justice. These in my opinion are the first “Scary Movie’ and ‘Zombieland’, with Bill Murray’s cameo among the best I’ve ever seen.
There’s a fine line though with comedy horror, as those two emotions are such juxtapositions as it is, it’s very easy to get just a little confused. ‘Meet the Feebles’ – a puppet, sex, gore fest, and the wonderful John Waters’ ‘Pink Flamingos’ – in which a transvestite called Divine eats dog shit … were just over that line.

Then there’s Horror Horror ….

The Japanese are really good at this, the original ‘Ring’, ‘Dark Waters’ and ‘Battle Royal’ are all triumphs of truly terrifying horror. Mixing twisted psychology, and often the paranormal with amazing effect. A possible reason for the Japanese being so good at this is that ghosts and spirits also known as Yokai (creatures in Japanese folk law varying from the evil to the mischievous) are engrained in Japanese tradition. And a good explanation as to why they are so masterful at possession, exorcism, ghosts and tension building. But it isn’t just the Japanese who were good at this, back in the good old days when they lacked CGI, having built the tension to a certain degree, they relied on your imagination. With CGI, like Frankenstein, they created a monster, and it’s a lazy one. There’s less need to build the tension and that aside horror should feel tangible, not computer generated. Forty years ago zombie horrors were pretty terrifying. Think ‘Night of the Living Dead’ in which it’s actors actually eat raw livers, which is pretty disgusting anyway, but put in to the context that they’re zombies and have just ripped this real raw liver out of someone’s stomach is really gross. Because of films limitations back then if there weren’t visual effects, there were sound effects (think Texas Chainsaw Massacre) and your own imagination. A very effective combination. Where I felt I’d maybe delved a little too deep in the horror horror genre was when I watched ‘Salo, or 120 Days of Sodomy’. As my mother always told me, know when to leave.

We are now entering a new(ish) age that goes hand in hand with good old CGI known as ‘Gore Porn.’ Can you guess what it is yet?

Let’s use good old-fashioned porn as an example – porn is basically a rom-com/chick flic lacking any of the (probably dwindling) subtleties and intelligence. Porn’s taken the sex element of a rom-com and run with it. And people love it. It’s the most carnal element of a rom-com, the easiest to compute. This is what ‘gore porn’ has done with horror, it’s taken the gore element, the most carnal, and run with it, leaving behind anything that would make it a worthy piece of filmmaking. And this is why I think horror’s got shit. It’s in your face, it’s obvious and it’s not very clever. But of course, people love it. You’ve got ‘Saw 1, 2, 3, 4’ and if that wasn’t enough you can have guts all over your face and watch it in 3D. Oh joy. There was Hostel – pretty much just ‘Saw’ in Europe, and Hostel II, which I wont waste my time going in to. Sorry Eli. Then I accidentally discovered a trailer for something called ‘The Human Centipede’ (100% scientifically accurate by the way, in case they hadn’t drilled that in enough in the trailer.) I was scarred by those 2 minutes of pure revulsion. What the hell kind of shit is this? Why the fuck do I want to watch a group of Americans go round to Bob the surgeons house and get their mouths and guts sewn to someone else’s anus until they’re in a long chain of shit eating (100% scientifically accurate by the way…) things. There’s no plot, it’s just gore. I don’t want to watch it. I’m eating. You want to see a mad science experiment go wrong that actually challenges you? Watch ‘Oh, Lucky Man,’ then come back to me and say that shit’s good.

But gore porn or not, what is it about horror that we enjoy? I remember reading a quote that said, “We don’t watch films to see the actors we watch films to see ourselves.” I really connected with that, I want to watch me be hilarious, make the same mistakes, blow up a building, marry Richard Gear; so why do we want to watch ourselves get torn apart and tortured? Is it the voyeuristic ability to toy with our natural relationship with life and death and laugh at things that in real life are just truly abhorrent? Why do we enjoy this? Is it like hiding behind the door and waiting for your friend to come in, you jump out and they scream in terror – you’re both fine so you laugh. “Haha I thought I was scared but I’ve checked my body for wounds and I’m fine. How hilarious.”
I thought I’d see what psychologists had to say about this …. They did of course agree. The logic being that “The hormonal reaction we humans get from responding to a threat or crisis is what motivates us to “like to be scared”. This is the same “fight or flight” syndrome which guaranteed our survival in more primitive times. At the moment we are threatened, we have increased strength, power, heightened senses and intuition. This increase in mental and physical capacity is commonly referred as an “adrenaline rush.”
No shit lady. Tell me more ….
“Basically, you can get this feeling defending yourself against a lion in the jungle or sitting in a theatre showing a horror flick.” It makes sense. I could relate to that feeling, it’s fun, because I won. Because I didn’t die, because I turned off the TV. This then lead me on to thinking “Is there anything else with which you can get this feeling, of being truly terrified and enjoy it at the same time, to be risking everything but kind of liking it?” Of course there is, there is love. You can be walking down the street, or if you’re really bloody happy, skipping down the street and the next moment you’re having your heart ripped out. So what happens when you merge these two most powerful of emotions. What happens when the person you love could literally rip your heart out?

Hello Romantic Horror:

… and all hail the immense force that is ‘Twilight’. They’re pale, they’re interesting, he’s troubled, she’s troubled, they love each other, but he might eat her. Oh God it’s so dangerous. She is literally risking everything to be with him. And people love this, by people, I mean ladies. Because? Well, I think women have a slightly masochistic attitude towards love (thank you childbirth) so when this girl is risking not only her heart but also her life by loving this man there is something so wonderfully absorbed and romantic about it. I, unfortunately found the whole thing a little OTT, too many swirling steady cam shots and too much emo/manga rock music.
A film I think combined these two emotions really well, and an exception to my ‘new horror is shit consensus’ was the Swedish ‘Let The Right One In.’ A story about two kids, a boy of about 12 and a girl, a vampire of about 200, they live in the same estate and they fall in love. It’s so wonderfully sweet but there are so many opportunities to get hurt. As with many good horrors ‘Let The Right One In’ doesn’t just thrust the paranormal on you, it doesn’t even just deal with the nuances of their troubled relationship, like ‘Carrie’ did very well it also focuses on bullying and everyday struggles. Things we can relate to, which as we’ve gathered, is very important in cinema. It’s a really interesting take on the sub genre, that is by no means new, but is definitely a new phenomenon.

Why then do I find myself unable to watch the majority of modern horror?

Because as you can see, it’s going through a phase, and with a couple of exceptions it’s a dumb phase, on a par with Lindsey Lohans post ‘Mean Girls’ career decisions. Horror has been through so many wonderful and bizarre stages I think it would be incredibly sad for it to end in Saw 3D or Twilight 4, it’s so lazy; when the art of horror and our confused relationship with it is anything but. We are however, unfortunately, simple beings, we enjoy easy things, we are naturally lazy, we strive to find the short cuts to the pleasure centres and with advances in technology, film making is becoming less precious and far more disposable (“let’s do it in post,”) it’s become far too easy to take a short cut and make a shit film.
I doubt horror would have ever become so popular if it hadn’t had to evolve from intellect and good story telling. As early as and earlier than Mary Shelly a decent plot has always been vital to a good scare. Do your adrenal gland justice. Watch ’The Fly’, go the long way round.

So as a plea to any film makers considering making a horror, please hear my cry because I would like to start watching them again …. no more zombie comedies, no more gore porn, less surgeons, more thought. Please sit down and think about it for it a minute.

If it only takes you a minute to think about, don’t bother.


Jobless Wonder

 

Jobless Wonder

It’s been two weeks since I last had work,

My mother keeps telling me it’s a vocational burp.

You’re freelance she cries, it’s no surprise.

You’re on the right track, cut yourself some slack.

But I dislike my work, why would I want more?

You’re a broken record darling, you’re becoming a bore.

So, what’s left for me JobSeekers Allowance?

I can picture the scene, imagine the glowers.

Please fill in your National Insurance number not your name.

Then pull up your hood to hide your shame.

So I sit and I write and I go to edits.

Check my bank balance, I’m still in credit.

I used to get up at half past seven,

Today I didn’t get up until a quarter to eleven.

In sleep I dream and I pass the hours.

Missing the dawn chorus, lazy as Dane Bowers.

It was only today, why all the guilt?

Because it is with lack of self discipline we start to wilt.

So I sit and I write and I got to edits.

Thank God for tomorrow’s meeting where I can regain my merit.