a box of write.

I like to write. I hope I never find out why.

[radmont]

DINNER DATE.

I want to cook an omelette for Raphaelle Standell-Preston more than anything in the world.

We'd sit down and she'd say "Oh, I like what you've done with the mixed peppers!" I'd blush and look down and then say "Yeah, I suppose it was quite imaginative wasn't it?" There'd be a period of silence, interrupted only by our forks scraping along our plates and I'd rack my brains for a fact about peppers. I'd say "Do you know how peppers come to be different colours?" and she'd say "Yeah, it's the stages of ripening right?" and I would inwardly curse myself for being so obvious.

She'd ask me if there was any black pepper and I would remember that I meant to buy more peppercorns from the shop. I'd say "No, sorry. We have salt though?" and she'd explain that she was trying to cut salt out of her diet as she'd recently read an article which said it was really bad for you. I'd think of all of the other condiments in the cupboard and realise that none were suited to omelettes.

Once we'd finished our meal I'd take both plates, place them on the side and ask her if she wanted a drink. She'd say "Have you got any lemon tea?" and I'd say "No, but we have green tea if you want?" She'd acquiesce and I'd rue the fact that her palate was incompatible with the contents of my kitchen. The kettle would noisily boil and I'd ask her if she took sugar even though I could almost guarantee she didn't. She'd say "Yes, one please" and I'd spoon it in wondering whether I knew anything any more.

I'd take the tea over to her and she'd say "Oh are you not having one?" and I'd admit that I don't like tea. She'd express incredulity and I'd say "I know, I know. Believe me, I've tried so many times. I don't know what it is. I used to drink it when I was younger but now I can't stand it." She'd sip from her cup and, suddenly chilly, I'd go to my room to grab a jumper before heading to the toilet.

On my way back into the kitchen I'd notice her looking at the books on the shelf. "Are these yours?" she'd say and I'd say "No, all mine are in my room but they're all still in boxes. I'm waiting to get a bookcase." She'd say "Do you mind if I take a look?" and I'd say "No", inwardly wondering whether my room smells acceptable. We'd enter and to my delight I'd see I'd left the window open. She'd say "Wow, it's really cold in here. Can you shut the window?" so I'd walk over to it and struggle with the top pane which always sticks. Eventually I'd get it down with a bang and then move it left and right until I got the catch to fasten.

I'd turn around and she'd say "You have a lot of books. Do you like reading then?" I'd say "Yeah, I love to read." She'd say "Have you read The Book of Disquiet?" and I'd say "No, but I have it. It's on the list." She'd say "What about Tristram Shandy?" and I'd say "No. Have you?" and she'd laugh and say "But of course!" There would be a brief pause and then she'd say "You MUST have read Ulysses?" and I'd say "No. I will one day though" and wonder whether I'd actually ever read any books.

As she continued to root through the boxes I'd say "Do you want some music on?" and she'd say "Yeah." I'd say "Any preference?" and she'd say "No, I'll leave it to you." I'd go through Spotify trying to find the perfect song for the occasion. I'd settle on 'Paint It Black' by The Rolling Stones and then turn it up. She'd turn to me with her mouth wide open and say "Oh God! I HATE The Stones" and I'd say "You know what Raphaelle, why don't you get the fuck out of here now. Take your tea and leave. Go on. GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW." She'd open the door and just before slamming it shut she'd turn and say "Your omelette was shit by the way. Dicing mixed peppers is NOT imaginative."

I'd walk into my room, put Braids' latest album on and marvel at yet another missed opportunity.

[radmont]

CANONS.

I’m currently reading Robinson Crusoe for the first time (actually I’m writing this but you know what I mean). Strange the impressions we unreasonably form - I always felt it would be archaic and fusty and shit but it’s surprisingly readable. I don’t know, I guess whenever I’ve seen it on those TOP 100 BOOKS OF ALL TIME lists I thought it a token inclusion because it’s one of the first novels ever written (nobody can decide properly honey).

I was wrong. I often am. It’s delightful and makes the whole idea of being alone on an island less dreadful than you might imagine. There’s a meaningless episode involving 60 turtle eggs which had me salivating. Nothing is glorified except God and, although Crusoe’s invoking of Him grates from time to time, it’s entirely reasonable given his predicament.

(Never did a rational being invoke God more than when all else had failed).

I’m not at the end yet but it’s coming toward me in a way that Moby Dick never has and probably never will. I just can’t seem to get into the belly of that whale despite numerous attempts.

You’ll lie there wondering why Crusoe hasn’t thought of A but a few pages later it will come followed by B and C. Like Friday he never lets you down. I guess the length of time everything takes is the most surprising element (he’ll happily wait for the ‘savages’ to return for fifteen months) but then that’s the reality of a situation pressing itself upon you.

It’s a book worthy of attention which strikes me as a faintly ridiculous sentence given its reputation as one of the pinnacles of English Literature but I’ve only just tackled it. Its inclusion on those aforementioned lists ISN’T token is what I mean and, though I’ve read many better books, you should try and get it down you. It’s easily digested and hugely enjoyable.

The version I have has small font and after a few hours with eyesight as bad as mine you need respite hence this post. I can’t really believe I’m recommending one of the most famous books of all time but then people ask me if I’ve seen Hollyoaks.

[radmont]

DAD (#3).

Was once in Ladbrokes in town pretending I knew what horses were with two mates when all of a sudden Robert Kilroy-Silk walked in. If that sounds unbelievable then it is. It was, however, the day of local elections and he was running for something or other. As he entered he held his arms out and said "I've heard they've stopped taking bets on me." The old men who were scribbling away at their slips with those small pens you find in bookies looked up and then looked back down again. Kilroy walked to the counter, said a few words to the women behind it then left.

We three put our bets on and walked back to mine. As we got to the top of my street we began to hatch a cunning plan. Plan was this: I pretend to my dad that I have head-butted Kilroy in a fit of rage. We wanted to make it believable and sprinted the last 150 metres so we were out of breath.

We opened the door, slammed it shut and ran into the living room, panting. Dad was on the settee and we proceeded to tell him that we were on the run because I had just nutted Silk. He said "you're joking right?" I said "no, look.." (and here I rubbed my t-shirt on my forehead), "...I've even got some of his fake tan on my bonce." My dad screamed "YOU BLOODY IDIOT, YOU REALISE THE POLICE ARE GOING TO BE ROUND HERE DON'T YOU?"

Me and my two mates proceeded to piss our pants at the hook, line and sinker in front of us. My dad, now realising how absurd the lie was, skulked off to the kitchen to quell his embarrassment.

Silk lost but we won.

[radmont]

HORIZON.

The nurse went red when I said I had no trouble masturbating. Up until that point I’d passed with flying colours; she was particularly pleased with the readings on my liver and kidneys which were – her word – perfect. I was ashamed of the sort-of beard I had inadvertently grown on account of being skint but she didn’t seem to mind; the pulses in both feet were intelligible.

Her blushes took me by surprise. I immediately felt empowered and then realised it was a meaningless advantage (which is no advantage at all). Her eyes shone throughout but the crow’s feet put me off. At least I made her laugh. I was even so bold as to apologise for the sweatiness of my feet and didn’t feel ridiculous when dropping the disclaimer “they’re always like that.”

She asked if I wanted to talk to somebody and I said no, what’s the point. She said she could give me something and I said it wasn’t yet necessary; a fortnight before I’d had to lie in a ‘C’ shape so my hard-on wouldn’t poke a back. It’s always so unnatural when talking to somebody in the medical profession. You have to use an alien language. The times I have fumbled for a word other than ‘bell-end’.

I shall forever think fondly of the nurse who that one time said “oh, you’ve got one on your banjo.” He really put me at ease.

She told me her name but I forget what it was. It doesn’t matter that much anyway – I’d already struck her from the ‘are-you-the-one-to-blow-me-away-immediately-and-spend-the-rest-of-your-life-with-me-as-best-friends-and-lovers?’ list. Besides, she didn’t seem interested.

Towards the end I told her about the vomiting and she said that it can happen but it’s extremely rare. It was only later I thought of the test they had failed to make me undergo. Just another one to add to the list I guess. Not the ‘are-you-the-one-to-blow-me-away-immediately-and-spend-the-rest-of-your-life-with-me-as-best-friends-and-lovers?’ one, a different one.

When I moved out one of the last things I saw of my room were the pieces of paper I had stuck to the back of my door years before. Most of them were images which had lost their meaning long ago. There were a couple though which were A4 sheets with titles like “Things to Prevent a Meaningless Existence” or “Who Wants to be Mundane?” and underneath there were several bullet points. I won’t go into what was written below and not only because I can’t remember but I DO remember, when I was 18 or 19, writing an email from work every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday to my then-girlfriend which laid out ideas for what to do later that evening. Sometimes we stuck to the plan but mostly not. They were amongst the happiest times of my life.

I guess I’ve always needed a plan, a horizon, something to look toward so I don’t go blind.

She told me to come back just before Christmas for another check-up. I thanked her and left. I walked away then turned back around, knocked on her door and opened it.

“Do I need to book an appointment for before Christmas or will I be contacted?” “You’ll be contacted, don’t worry.” “OK. Thanks. See you later.” “Bye.”

On the way back I thought of how the thing I miss the most is having my tummy go over Gallows Bridge.

[radmont]

PERSPECTIVES.

I had the backs of my eyes photographed today on account of being diabetic.

They (a nurse) drop drops into your (my) eyes and you (I) feel similar to when you (I) used to drop pills into your (my) mouth. That whole early-morning-leaving-party-vibe where you (I) guiltily hear (d) the birds cheeping and see (saw) the sun showing off and then clamber (ed) into bed to count the motorcycles which make (de) up your (my) wallpaper.

I wasn't a fan of motorbikes then and I'm not now - my parents were unable to get the racing cars I wanted (despite not really liking them either).

Strange how the brain remembers the time when the pupils were that dilated and conjures the feelings thoughts emotions connected to that period in (your/my) life. There I am, mid-afternoon, walking back to the flat from Montpelier and I feel as if I am coming down from a Mitsubishi Turbo or two.

Your (my) brain is fascinatingly complex (fucked up).

[radmont]

DAD (#2).

My dad once capped off school to buy 'Let it Be' on vinyl. The single, not the album. He would have been 14. On the way back home he saw his mum who pretended not to see him. I said to him "Did you like it?" He said "No. Not at first. But I knew I would eventually."

[radmont]

ORIGINAL APPROACH.

Yesterday a youth down on his luck approached me and said "Excuse me mate, can I be honest?" I said "Err, yeah." He said "I need some money because I want to get a can of beer." Appreciating this original approach I handed over a pound. He thanked me and left.

I wouldn't be surprised if he went straight round the corner and bought a fucking hot meal with it.

[radmont]

FIRST LINE. FIRST NOVEL.

Somebody has no doubt opined that you should never share an incomplete work but after three weeks of solid rewrites I thought I'd let you all have a read of where I've got to with my novel. While it's not that long it does nothing to diminish the feeling that I'm really getting somewhere with it:

"He was exceptionally unlucky; he once bought a sofa from DFS when there wasn't a sale on."

The hope is that it will one day form part of the English literary canon.

[radmont]

UBERBULLSHIT.

Is it common knowledge that UberFacts often post UBERBULLSHIT? I see them in my Tumblr feed from time to time and am amazed that they've stated what they have. I've searched Google ("am I a twat for not understanding that UberFacts is a joke?") and there are a few articles regarding the nonsense they post but in the main it seems people take it as gospel.

Two recent examples:

"Kids who try to act cool in early adolescence are more likely to have issues with drugs and alcohol later in life."

1. How can you quantify what it means to try and act cool? 2. What if they ARE cool instead of merely trying? 3. What does 'acting cool' even mean?

"Most people barely realise when they've been hit on - guys realise it only 36% of the time and women just 18%."

1. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?! 2. How can you be aware of not being aware of something? 3. Do the people who were hitting on them go up to them at a later date and say "I was hitting on you. Did you realise?" 4. Is this 'fact' generated by polling the people doing the 'hitting' or the people who didn't realise? Or both?

It's possible that it's all one big joke that I'm not part of although the creator Kris Sanchez once said "Any fact that is submitted that I do consider using is always verified before it’s posted." HOW DO YOU VERIFY THE UNVERIFIABLE?

If he's one massive troll then I'm a bigger fairy.

Here's an UberFact for you which I promise I have personally verified:

I can remember when I cared about important things.

[radmont]

BRISTOL (part whatever).

Since Saturday I have been resting my head in a place with a postcode beginning BS. This is not bullshit. Folk keep texting me asking me how it’s going but the phrase “absolutely fucking shit hot” is becoming a cliché I can be doing without – even if each individual is unaware of my stock response – so I thought I would write some words by way of an update. I live in a yellow house on the LOUDEST street (road) in the world. The hustle and bustle is real hustly and bustly and if it takes several cans of alcohol to put me to sleep then I guess some things never change. I have moved all of my worldly possessions into my room but they still rest in boxes. The more this continues the more I wonder just how important it is that I have books/notepads on display and if that sounds like I am showing off that the bulk of my possessions are books and pieces of paper I have written on then that’s only because I am. It is hotter than a mother fucker up in here and I spend 83.2% of my days with no top on. I don’t know what the weather is like back home but Jesus Holy Mary Mother of God it is like traversing the length of Gandhi’s flip-flop wherever I go. My favourite thing to do in the world is sit in my room, cross-legged in front of my window and absorb everything in front of me. My least favourite thing to do in the world is to uncross my legs after sitting in front of my window, absorbing everything in front of me. I never knew just how much I like to ‘people-watch’ prior to moving down here. It’s a curious mixture of tramps, sound people, creatives and those people with dreadlocks you see from time to time. None of the above are mutually exclusive. So many boxes are ticked in Brizzle. Tom has done rather a lot to help show me some of what Bristol has to offer. There’s still so much to see and make and do that I really don’t even feel as if it’s truly started. I also go back to work tomorrow which is a cloud I one day hope to distil. Everything’s so novel and joyful and relaxed that I am extremely glad that I have done this. I change like the weather (THIS IS A LIE, THE WEATHER DOESN’T CHANGE, IT’S UNBEARABLY HOT EVERY FUCKING DAY), so may feel differently in the coming days/weeks/months. But I doubt it. Last night there were seagulls going more mental than Bob Hoskins in a dustbin. You had to see it to believe it. They ruled the land for an hour, swooping down, cockier than something unbelievably cocky, picking up food, dining on the carcasses of smaller, less fortunate birds. Seagulls make me wince. Their cold, dead eyes see all and know all. I just sat there, recovering from a particularly bad hypo, the air still balmy at four am, watching them. I never knew just how much I like to ‘seagull-watch’ prior to moving down here.

[radmont]

( )

Everyone said goodbye today. I hated being the reason everyone was there but I was also proud they had all shown up. When they were going Luke said "I'll see you in two months." I forget what anyone else said.

[radmont]

SONNET(S).

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" "No. Besides, I hate the sun anyway." "Thou art more lovely and more temperate." "Than what you fool? Jesus, you're desperate!" "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May." "Hated the programme...Zeta-Jones was OK." "And summer's lease hath all too short a date." "Summer hasn't even started yet mate." "Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines." "What the fuck do you mean? Quit your whines." "And often is his gold complexion dimm'd." "You still on about the sun? I think you mean 'dimmed'." "And every fair from fair sometimes declines." "I only know Ilson fair, that's not for some time." "By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd." "You mean Global Warming? Well, we're all doomed." "But thy eternal summer shall not fade." "Eternal summer is hell; get me to the shade." "Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st." "I've bitten more than I can chew and now I'm roused." "Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade." "I wander in life, that's how I was made." "When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st." "I believe I am starting to regret this post." "So long as men can breathe or eyes can see." "Yes, what then? For the love of god tell me!" "So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." "What an anti-climax! That's not poetry."

[radmont]

DAD (#1).

I was six or seven and me and my Dad were playing pool at The Bell Inn in Ingoldmells. I was pretty good at that age and, although my position was nothing, I could pot from anywhere. I beat my Dad and it was winner stops on. I played the next guy and produced an outrageous fluke. Instead of apologising like I would do now I became incredibly animated at the fluke and said "DID YOU SEE THAT DAD?" I was young and rejoiced in the randomness of it all. I don't remember whether I won the game but later that night my Dad said "in future if you fluke a shot just act casual, take it in your stride, like you meant to do it." I asked him why but forget his response. I distinctly remember this sitting uncomfortably with me though, the pretence of it all. It was less a moral factor and more to do with the potential of diluting the outrageous shots I actually intended. If you make out you meant to do every shot it's like you didn't mean any shot. Later that same night my Dad came up to me and said "you know what I told you earlier Paul, about pretending you meant a fluke? Ignore me. I was wrong. Carry on as you were." This sticks in my mind so very much and I will remember it on my deathbed. I do not know why. My pops is sound when he does shit like that though.

[radmont]

PENCILLED IN.

Sheer simplicity through lines of lead; the unadulterated truth of another's head.

[radmont]

SOFT.

A soft and sultry Wednesday afternoon and I make my way towards the back of the bus. I take my bag off, place it in the footwell and pop my headphones in my ears. Holy Other is something else. We journey a while, picking people up, dropping people off and I get to thinking how sometimes things aren’t so bad. A girl gets on. She has a kind face and a healthy amount of hair. Seeing there is nowhere else to sit she rides beside me. I continue listening to my ears and she starts playing with her phone. Her elbow keeps gently nudging my arm, eventually coming to rest against it. I don’t feel bothered or uncomfortable like you usually do when a stranger enters your bubble. And the bus continues. Whether it is the warmth in the air or the dulcet tones of the engine (or something else entirely), I don’t know, but I can see her head lolling out the corner of one of my eyes. Eventually it sags deeper and leans against my shoulder. She is asleep. I can smell her hair; pleasant and sweet. For five minutes we share the journey, people getting on and people getting off. I turn the volume down in my ears lest I wake her. Things end – that’s what they do – and I am increasingly aware that we are approaching my stop. I decide to let her rest awhile. I can always walk. Then I think of how she might miss her stop because I have let her sleep instead of disturbing her. I move to press the bell and as I do, she stirs and looks at me. She rubs her eyes and stands slowly so that I can pass her. I am only a few stops past mine so it really isn’t much bother. The bus gently lulls to a halt and I step off into the world. The air is balmy now. I look up and see the bus pull away and continue onwards. I turn around and begin walking. “I hope she doesn’t fall asleep again and miss her stop” I think. She must have been about thirteen.

[radmont]

WORK.

Work beckons Work won't fuck off Troubled bowels An irrelevant cough For no matter what I end up doing Be it producing mucus Or explosively pooing At five pm Somewhere near the dot I'll be with them All full of shit  And full of snot.