Jonathan O'Brien

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[jonathanob1]

Updated. I rarely post here. Few of you will care. If you do, this is now jonathanob1.tumblr.com. I have moved to jonathanob.tumblr.com.

[jonathanob1]

Electric Brae - Synthesizer Patel / Far In Jim

[jonathanob1]

Best known for his invention of television’s Due South, Roger Hargreaves took a break from drawing the incredibly intricate storyboards he insisted on to have this picture taken with me when I was five years old. He was a nice man, I remember him fondly. His wife made me a cake with my name on it. ‘Peter,’ it said. My name is Jonathan but I felt that it was wrong to complain after such a kind gesture.

[jonathanob1]

I love meeting celebrities like David Fincher here. I have met many other celebrities and, thanks to knowing where to go, I plan to meet more in the future.

http://famouspeopleivedefinitelymet.tumblr.com/

[jonathanob1]

Like Father, Like Son

As I've mentioned before, the relationship between my father and I remains sparse to this very day. We rarely communicate and if we do it hardly goes beyond the standard nod of recognition we allow ourselves should we pass in the hallway. Luckily, since moving out this hasn’t happened at all but, due to my striking resemblance to him, I occasionally pass the mirror in my room and nod at myself to relive the old times. Having had no father figure for the last twenty years I have had nobody to discuss the matters of my life and consequently I’ve been making all the mistakes that he once made. Last week this particular point came to a climax when I married my mother and had three children. The third child, my only son, bears a striking resemblance to myself and we’ve already started nodding at each other should we pass in the hallway. I do not know what became of my father.

I write this paragraph two days after the one above and the inevitable has happened. My bags are packed with the necessary clothes and nutrients and I’m ready to go out into the world. I haven’t left this house for three years because I’ve been keeping an eye on him, especially when we passed in the hallway, but I’ve said enough of that already.

I left the house two days ago. I can’t remember where I’ve been sleeping. Everybody looks very familiar. On the first day outside the house I saw a man staring at his reflection in a shop window and nodding constantly. Yesterday I saw his body being taken away. Someone was watching it being removed. I think I saw my father in the park.

It was my father; we sat down on a bench and talked about old times. We remembered my mother and the things she used to say that made us laugh. It’s incredible how when I was young I was doing similar things to what my own son did at the same age. I saw another body being taken away today and mentioned this to my father who had noticed the same thing. The last I saw he was going to take a closer look. I think I saw my son just outside the park.

It was my son. We sat down on a bench and talked about old times. We remembered my wife and the things she used to say that made us laugh. It turns out that he’s had a son who seems much like him when he was young. He mentioned that he saw a body being taken away which I had also seen. I assume it’s my father. I might go and pay my respects.

I’m standing outside the shop now. I saw my father’s body being taken away about twenty minutes ago and began to follow when something caught my eye. It was my father so I nodded in recognition. He responded simultaneously. I nodded again. So did he. I am still nodding.

[jonathanob1]

Sexual Fantasy #4

When I am twenty-eight I will realise I don't have long left to work it out. Probably five years, at best, until I am too old. It takes me almost twelve years. I am close to turn forty when I finally learn how to time travel and nearly forty-four before I am able to travel back to 1978. I decide that I have to try anyway. I will regret it if I don't.

I'll wake up in 1978, London, and start my search for the twenty-year-old Kate Bush. It will take me weeks but eventually I will see her crossing the street somewhere in Soho. I introduce myself by telling her I am from the future. It is a good line, especially when you can prove it. I will tell her the football results and ask her to meet me again the next week if they are all correct. They will all be correct, she will already be waiting for me.

We become friends and I soon take her out for dinner. Upon leaving the restaurant she takes my arm in hers and we walk the streets of late 70s London. Down by the river I finally make my move. She steps back.

'Jonathan,' she says. 'I can't. It's not that I'm not fond of you. I am. But...well...'

I catch my reflection in the water. I am not as thin as I was when I was her age. My hair is thinner. I'm not even sure whether I have cheekbones anymore.

'It's ok, Kate,' I say. 'I understand. Look, I'm going to go. You are going to have a wonderful life without me.' And I will leave Kate Bush down at the side of the river, go back to my hotel, lie down and think about my inevitable future.

[jonathanob1]

Flappy Bird - The Novelisation

Flappy Bird

Chapter One

There is a gap in the pipe which I think I can fit through, I just need to time my flight properly. As I fly through I can see the bodies below it. Hundreds of birds like me just lying there, unmoving. The edge of the pipe is covered in feathers. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I turn my eyes forward and then I see it. Another pipe, another batch of birds at the base. Through the gap of the second pipe I can see a third and then, further ahead, a fourth. As I squeeze my way through I leave more of my kind behind. The piles of birds seem to be getting smaller at each pipe.

The pipes feel familiar, half-forgotten memories of my childhood. The excitement of my father unexpectedly bringing home a Super Nintendo. Once friendly green passageways to underground riches have become barriers to my future. I shake my head to clear my mind of the thoughts. I cannot be distracted, I have to finally leave these pipes behind.

Ten pipes. Twenty pipes. Thirty pipes. Is there no end? Why isn’t the sun moving? The city seems endless, there must be millions of people living in those buildings. Each of them living their lives, flying through their own pipes. All of us on a journey that ends at the base of a pipe.

Flap.

[jonathanob1]

Lucky Dates to Play Monopoly 2014

The first time you play Monopoly will be in the first week of January as part of a monthly board game night at a local bookshop. You will play with your partner, your best friend and their partner. After three trips around the board you will have lost or spent all of your money. You continue to drink while they play, you get too drunk and start to call them all ‘capitalist pigs.’ Everyone knows you don’t mean it but the insults bring an unfortunate edge to the atmosphere. You and your partner go home early, the next day you apologise for being so drunk. They say it’s ok, you want to believe them.

March. The monthly board game night. Your partner asks if you’re sure you want to go, wouldn’t you rather sit in and watch a few episodes of The Wire instead? You say that it’s fine, that it’s all under control. That you won’t let the evening be ruined just because you lost at Monopoly. They reluctantly agree. Your best friend, who you haven’t spoken to since last month, welcomes you warmly. They kiss your partner on the cheek. Did that kiss go on a bit too long? Is that level of eye contact indicative of something else? You push it to the back of your mind. You’re being ridiculous. You play Monopoly. This time, thanks to some particularly shrewd and clever play by your best friend, you’re bankrupt before you can even pass ‘Go’ for a third time. The evening pans out as before. They play, you drink. Nobody says anything that isn’t necessary for the game. You go home early, your partner stays behind. They arrive home late and don’t say a word as they get into bed.

In April you decide to invite your best friend and his partner over for dinner and, to put it to rest once and for all, another game of Monopoly. The dinner goes well, the evening becomes relaxed and happy. Nobody even thinks twice when you bring out the game and start to set it up as your partner cleans the table. Your friend helps as you arrange the pieces before offering to go through and give a hand doing the dishes. Once the board is ready you go through to the kitchen to tell the others only to find your partner and your friend kissing in the kitchen. They leap back suddenly, they apologise, they try to explain. You cannot think. You leave the house and go to stay with your parents.

May. You have successfully destroyed the Parker Brothers factory and are now sitting in a tree outside your once friend’s house. Your dog is barking. Your top hat is tattered and worn. You do not have a car. Your now ex is in the house. Your friend’s partner is also there. From your vantage point you can see that they’re playing Happy Families. You barge in and demand to play. Terrified, they deal the cards and, until the sirens come, you win hand after hand after hand after hand after hand.

[jonathanob1]

Sexual Fantasy #3

In a few weeks time I will be looking through a junk shop somewhere in Islington where I come across an old and dusty lamp. Knowing how these things go, I'll give it a rub with my shirt sleeve (it is an old shirt, it doesn't matter if the cuffs get dusty) and a genie will appear. Large and imposing, it will say, in a voice like a passing bus, that I have three wishes to take. I have thought about this before and I know immediately what I will wish for.

1. For Pokemon to be real and for me to have a box that contains all 151 of the original, and good, Pokemon.

2. For Triffids to be real (although the Pokemon Bellsprout may be close enough to Triffids meaning I don't have to make this wish, we'll see).

and

3. To have the ability to make any woman appear in my bedroom whenever I want.

The genie will grant my wishes and disappear back into the lamp. I will hurriedly return home to play with my Pokemon, dodging the Triffid stings that come from Stoke Newington Common.

In my room I will find the Pokemon box, see that they're all there and then turn my mind to women. With a tiny bit of thought, Kelly Brook will appear at the foot of my bed. She immediately screams.

'Who are you?' she will say. "What am I doing here? Let me go, please. Please don't hurt me. I just want to go back home. What's happening? How did I get here?'

I will be mortified. The last thing I want to do is scare her. I will apologise completely, explain the situation as best as I can, give her what money I have (for a taxi) and show her the front door.

[jonathanob1]

Sexual Fantasy #2 - Karen Gillan

In two years time, once I have quit my job in the last remaining Highlander of chain bookshops and found regular paid work as a writer of warning signs for building sites, I will be walking through the streets of London. Swathing through the crowds, cutting a fine profile, I will become aware of a woman walking beside me. Tall, her hair daring to set the sun itself alight, I recognise her from the television. Since leaving Doctor Who she has rarely been seen, there are rumours that she has retreated from public life and opened a sanctuary for the lost animals of London. I have no idea whether the stories are true, all I know is that Karen Gillan is walking beside me, throwing glances in my direction. I return them. We walk down a side road and stop.

Suddenly we have embraced, fumbling hurriedly with a steadfast determination. She breathlessly asked whether I have protection on me and from my pause she knows that I don’t. The brief gap in our actions destroys the heated moment and we both realise that this was the one-off that can never happen.

She straightens her hair, I stand there sullen. Without a word she leaves. I will never see her again.

[jonathanob1]

Famous People I've Definitely Met

If you're following this, the 13 of you (I should do more here really, I will soon), then you might like my other Tumblr account over at http://famouspeopleivedefinitelymet.tumblr.com/

[mlarson-deactivated20200901]

This continuous modification of man by his own technology stimulates him to find continuous means of modifying it; man thus becomes the sex organs of the machine world just as the bee is of the plant world, permitting it to reproduce and constantly evolve to higher forms. The machine world reciprocates man’s devotion by rewarding him with goods and services and bounty.

Marshall McLuhan in a March 1968 Playboy interview, quoted by Mark Larson. Do bees resent flowers? Do they bemoan the ubiquity of beckoning floral distractions? (via mills)

[jonathanob1]

Vivaldi died of no one knows what. Of internal fire, the 1741 Vienna church registry having poetically settled for.

This is Not a Novel - David Markson

[jonathanob1]

'Composer Dave Soldier and artists Komar & Melamid took an online poll on their website, and then used the data to scientifically compose The Most Unwanted Song of all time. The song is twenty-two minutes and features instruments like bagpipes, tubas and the banjo, with political slogans, advertising jingles and cowboy lyrics. They manage to translate into orchestral rock-band church-music punctuated with high pitched sounds and abrupt changes in pace and mood that they claim: "Fewer than 200 individuals of the worlds total population will enjoy this.'

I have listened to this so many times over the last few years that I know pretty much the entire thing inside out. Please do listen to the whole song, it is easily one of my favourites.

It's worth listening to the 'most wanted song' as well if only to hear the Eternal track that never was.

[jonathanob1]

Homecoming

Andrew had gone on holiday for a few months and not got round to having his hair properly cut whilst he was away.

Upon his return, his friends, lovers, family, acquaintances and even strangers refused to recognise him.

“But Andrew’s hair is shorter,” said his best friend.

“No no, your hair isn’t right. You can’t be Andrew,” his girlfriend said.

His parents closed the door on him shouting that they would recognise their son after not seeing him for such a long time.

The postman wouldn’t let him sign for parcels he had ordered having heard rumours that a man with long hair was pretending to be Andrew.

When he had unpacked his belongings and found suitable identification he went around everybody showing them his proof but it only served to intensify their belief.

“Look,” they said, “this picture of Andrew here is obviously not you. His hair is short, neat, cut twice weekly by a barber glad to have the custom.” Then they called the police. It was difficult to process his arrest as they weren’t sure who he was but an identity was soon given to him and now he is in prison awaiting trial for identity theft.

[jonathanob1]

Famous People I've Definitely Met

I've started another account. This one has pictures of me meeting the famous people I've definitely met. I photograph terribly but that is out of my hands.

http://famouspeopleivedefinitelymet.tumblr.com/

[jonathanob1]

As promised, The New Escapologist. Take out a subscription and read nothing else I write, being unable to think of any ideas for articles that don't involve my own life.