sex toys and terror
Mat has gone to Spain for two weeks, leaving our lives strangely fragmented. Here are some of the fragments.
Wednesday Dave and I watched Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks, an Italian horror film in which Count Frankenstein puts a woman’s brain into the body of a Neanderthal man who looks a bit like Paul Whitehouse, only bigger. Eventually the villagers all quit the pub to take up flaming torches and destroy the monster, all except one guy who says he’s ‘too pissed.’ The DVD includes the U.S. trailer: ‘See the underground rock pool!’, the voiceover booms, oddly neglecting to mention the two women cavorting in its waters, their own natural formations proudly on display.
Thursday I went to see friends in Maldon who are heavily into gardening. They had some produce to offload, which is why I ended up getting home at midnight, a little the worse for wear, wielding an organic cucumber.
The next day, Dave left to visit his parents. I haven’t seen him since.
Friday, I went ‘home’ for dinner. My Mum’s friend Maureen, from Canada, was there. We ended up watching a DVD about Alzheimer’s because Maureen is in it, as a number of different characters, sporting a number of different wigs. It was scarier than Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks. I already have most of the symptoms. And then there’s the bit where a woman describes changing her mother’s nappy, and how she enjoyed it because it brought them closer together. ‘She did it for me, and now I can do it for her.’ David Cronenberg is remaking this as we speak.
Saturday I used part of the organic cucumber in that classic of English teatime cuisine, the cucumber sandwich. Normally I find cucumbers boring, but surely, I felt, an organic cucumber would be full of the flavour the supermarkets breed out of it. It would probably taste like salami or something. It certainly looked different. Less reptilian. Neither had I ever, to my knowledge, had a cucumber sandwich before. The excitement was just piling up.
Sadly, I have to report that organic cucumbers taste very similar to shop-bought ones, though no doubt they are far better in every way. In the context of a sandwich, they mainly serve to make bread and butter seem exciting in comparison.
Later, we were in the Terriss Bar. A man had a blow-up doll called Philippa handcuffed to him. I know the doll’s name because we got introduced. The doll’s face bore a pronounced resemblance to that of the shrieking figure in Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream. People had written all over it, like it was a plaster cast. One person had written: ‘My mother sucks dead dogs’ cocks in Hell.’
Dave has returned since I wrote that. It wasn’t the cucumber that scared him away after all. I haven’t yet told him I ‘scored’ last night. I want to see his face when he meets Philippa…
Wednesday Dave and I watched Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks, an Italian horror film in which Count Frankenstein puts a woman’s brain into the body of a Neanderthal man who looks a bit like Paul Whitehouse, only bigger. Eventually the villagers all quit the pub to take up flaming torches and destroy the monster, all except one guy who says he’s ‘too pissed.’ The DVD includes the U.S. trailer: ‘See the underground rock pool!’, the voiceover booms, oddly neglecting to mention the two women cavorting in its waters, their own natural formations proudly on display.
Thursday I went to see friends in Maldon who are heavily into gardening. They had some produce to offload, which is why I ended up getting home at midnight, a little the worse for wear, wielding an organic cucumber.
The next day, Dave left to visit his parents. I haven’t seen him since.
Friday, I went ‘home’ for dinner. My Mum’s friend Maureen, from Canada, was there. We ended up watching a DVD about Alzheimer’s because Maureen is in it, as a number of different characters, sporting a number of different wigs. It was scarier than Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks. I already have most of the symptoms. And then there’s the bit where a woman describes changing her mother’s nappy, and how she enjoyed it because it brought them closer together. ‘She did it for me, and now I can do it for her.’ David Cronenberg is remaking this as we speak.
Saturday I used part of the organic cucumber in that classic of English teatime cuisine, the cucumber sandwich. Normally I find cucumbers boring, but surely, I felt, an organic cucumber would be full of the flavour the supermarkets breed out of it. It would probably taste like salami or something. It certainly looked different. Less reptilian. Neither had I ever, to my knowledge, had a cucumber sandwich before. The excitement was just piling up.
Sadly, I have to report that organic cucumbers taste very similar to shop-bought ones, though no doubt they are far better in every way. In the context of a sandwich, they mainly serve to make bread and butter seem exciting in comparison.
Later, we were in the Terriss Bar. A man had a blow-up doll called Philippa handcuffed to him. I know the doll’s name because we got introduced. The doll’s face bore a pronounced resemblance to that of the shrieking figure in Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream. People had written all over it, like it was a plaster cast. One person had written: ‘My mother sucks dead dogs’ cocks in Hell.’
Dave has returned since I wrote that. It wasn’t the cucumber that scared him away after all. I haven’t yet told him I ‘scored’ last night. I want to see his face when he meets Philippa…
posted by martin at 9:37 AM
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