Verb Crawling

Elevated Frustrated - An Ode to an Odious Lift

Wed, 21 Nov 2012 14:02:43 +0000

Never much greater
Has one elevator
Ever frustrated me
So

Although you’re a lift
You don’t recognise fifth
Where you’re headed only you seem
To know

Numbers mean nothing
But numbers and buttons
Yet something we’ve in common
Although

When I press on three
You race past seventeen
It’s straight through the roof
Both of us
Go

NEW BLOG: Post Off Mate

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 14:03:00 +0000

So I decide to spend my lunchtime at the Post Office today - you know that shoppy looking building on the high street where you can send printed emails to people with patience.

I’m obviously completely unprepared for this venture and going somewhat out on a limb. I hold in my hand a piece of paper that must be sent to Essex immediately. But it has no means of transportation. No vessel. It needs an ‘envelope’ - interestingly you may have noticed the design of your email icon is in fact based on these ‘envelopes’.

I look around but encounter only packs of 10, 20, 50 or 100. I only need one but apparently sending tangible stuff out into the ether can be quite moreish.

There’s a long queue for the counters and I know I don’t need, let alone have any desire, to speak to anyone. I have no business here and everybody looks bloody miserable. I just want to post, and go.

Like a gleaming beacon of hope I see there are automated machines for this exact purpose. They are even called Post & Go, huzzah!

There is however no sign on them to suggest I might be able to buy one envelope, one stamp, and send one letter in one fell swoop - per se the whole package, if you’ll excuse the pun.

There are nevertheless heiroglyphs that I must decipher. I squint, concentrate man - you did Latin GCSE I’m sure you can pull this off.

One depicts a ‘£’ sign, which I assume denotes I can pay for something, which is very kind. The ‘envelope’ sign, which, given I doubt these machines allow you to check your email, must mean I can send something - kind of implied by my entering the building. There is a box sign, maybe it’s a cube, which probably means I can send something box-shaped too. Good to know but useless at present. There’s a picture of a man with a box, someone typing on a keypad, and then a man - presumably the same guy - walking away without his box.

All this is interesting but leaves me no wiser as to whether I can buy an envelope at this machine, or whether I need to quickly write several hundred other letters to get my money’s worth. A till is transiently free between two queueing customers and I seize my chance to ask how I might go about buying one measly envelope. The woman behind the till says I need to queue up. Apparently then waiting is unnecessary if you’re mailing an entire country.

Amazingly it takes a fellow customer to tell me, much to the shock of said assistant, that the machine does indeed sell single envelopes. I was grateful and went back to the machine. It didn’t. Rather it would scan the barcode of the pack of envelopes you’ve picked up and charge you. I was now back to square one of huffingly pacing the store like a caged walrus to find one, single, lonely envelope.

I gave up, and opted for a single padded envelope for 89p. Completely unnecessary but at least now my letter can safely take part in Total Wipeout.

I go back to the machine. I scan the barcode and place my letter inside the envelope. I go to write the address on the envelope but realise there is no pen here. Of course, why should there be in a place where people write things most hours of the working day?

So I leave my beloved machine once again to go and find a pen on the other side of the store, by which time someone else presumably saw this baby paying out and jumps on my bandwagon.

By the time I eventually put stamp to ridiculously-oversized envelope and, believe it or not, post it, I’ve lost the will to live.

Mercifully in the corner of my eye I see a touch screen near the exit, with what looks like a survey asking customers what they thought of their experience today. Brilliant, I thought, retribution. Finally this bureaucracy thing might work in my favour.

I punch the screen.

“Were you happy with the service you received today?”

Punch - “No”

Ha, this’ll learn ‘em.

Next screen: “Thank you for your feedback.”

Eh? That’s it? That wasn’t feedback I just told you you’re shit. Did you not want to stop to peruse this inevitability a little now you’ve taken the time to so candidly ask me?

I hate bureaucratic nonsense at the best of times, but I’m not even sure the bureaucrats would have much of a use for this information.

It might as well have asked me if I was considering having a curry for dinner.

At least I know my letter is shatter-proof.

BLOG - Art Deco: Symbol of the Global Get-Go

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 12:48:13 +0000

BLOG - Art Deco: Symbol of the Global Get-Go:

A look at the significance of a resurgence of Art Deco and roaring ’20s retro fashion in the run up to Miami’s 35th Art Deco Weekend…

BLOG: Florida Holidays

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 13:12:38 +0000

BLOG: Florida Holidays:

British men often think they’ll get unequivocal attention from the American ladies when they’re over there, but as this blog post shows…it doesn’t always work out that way…

NEW POEM: Wait Of The World

Thu, 29 Dec 2011 18:11:55 +0000

I’m waiting
Waiting my turn
Waiting for Godot
Waiting with a grin
Waiting for that minor win on the lotto
Waiting to begin sin
Waiting to stop this wait in sorrow
Within which I’m weighted and wallow
Waiting for the rest of the pride so I can finally swallow
Waiting
But why wait if I don’t wait till tomorrow

NEW BLOG POST: The Boxing Way

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 16:11:56 +0000

Phew. It’s over. Finally we can shop again. I must admit the last 24 hours were a bit touch and go. I had considered dumping a tin of haricot beans on a Ryvita, and we nearly ran out of tonic. I had actually contemplated the lesser of two evils: straight gin, or mixed with UHT milk.

I soon realised this was just the dementia setting in. Much less stable men of times past had attempted this same journey and I felt confident I could make it through the night.

And the battle was won. Now, dear friends, we celebrate. Now, we shop.

Boxing day is a funny one, especially for blokes. I actually embrace a bit of retail therapy unlike my Dad who, much like the 90% of men I see, loathe to be anywhere other than in front of a turkey club sandwich today.

Instead myself and the female family contingent target Bristol’s out-of-town retail complex The Mall, tactically figuring the sales crowds would be more inclined to hit the upmarket central area - Cabot Circus - because Cabot Circus has a Harvey Nicholls, which is sort of posh like Harrods and therefore a sales must-do for people who don’t normally shop there.

The Mall has a John Lewis. Which isn’t open and is therefore a sales can’t-do.

Still the rest of it is open. I’ve lived in London for 12 years but as a teenager worked here in John Lewis’ lighting department. Seriously, I know halogen. More to the point I know this shopping centre as my people.

Or at least this is true until we try to get in via the revolving door. The door dramatically stops as we edge closer to entry point.

Who is it this time? Whose foot is blamefully close to the sensor? Everyone glares at each other through the partitioning glass, dismayed at the levels of sheer incompetence. Man puffs out chest as girlfriend snarls. Will we come to blows? No, we must not let Boxing day box us. That’s just what it wants.

And anyway I’m incensed, quite frankly. I’ve been passing through these gates long before you were even a fissure in your father’s prophylactic missy. This isn’t amateur hour.

M&S is first. Specifically, lingerie. The days of being excited by this department in the Littlewoods catalogue have long dissipated, yet womenfolk think we still carry that inherent childishness. And so it is I join the other men who traipse the floor-marked boundaries of the realm of the bra, eyes fixed permanently towards the placemats and coasters section in case we get caught eyeing up the scantily clad mannequins. I can guarantee that we aren’t, they’re just hard not to notice and we men know what you women think you know what we think about.

In any case we see M&S underwear as more utilitarian. It’s the food that’s so fucking sexy.

We exit Marks and all I see are more men. Distraught, weary, shivering, sitting on a faux park bench next to a faux palm tree clutching a caffeinated drink. Oh, and a baby. They do not talk, only despairingly offer sympathetic glances. There is no camaraderie here, no solidarity. I understand your plight mate but I can’t help you now, I’ve got my own probl…oh, crap. We’re going for La Senza.

Once more I join the manfolk in icy exile. We stand in a semi-circle around the entrance to La Senza, able only to observe the horror within. But there is nothing we can do now. Superdrug offers temporary solace with a banquet of chicken and bacon and prawn mayonnaise, and Lynx. Which is apparently the final one. Indeed, our last bastion of hope.

One brave soul gingerly crosses the boundary into La Senza. He encounters hostile terrain and battles with flailing polyester. He has a message for his womenfolk - “I shall be in JD Sports if you need me” - and leaves confidently.

Surely he is the chosen one.

The rest of us run upstairs to study the revolving door. At least with a clean escape we can hold our heads high.

NEW BLOG POST: Bristmas shopping

Sat, 24 Dec 2011 16:57:22 +0000

It’s beginning to look a lot like Hannover, ish. Seems for lack of any better ideas Bristol has turned to its twin city for inspiration and set up a ‘German Christmas market’ in the centre. Quite why we needed a German one is beyond me, the South West’s hardly devoid of English country fare the rest of the year round for grilled meats and useless craft, and at least you can sure their sausages weren’t bought from Lidl.

Still, the council obviously felt the Germans do it better, log cabins - selling gimmick-sized Bratwurst and that staple Bavarian classic, the donut-waffle - are much more the festive picture of perfection. This would be true if said log cabins were dripping with thick snow, surrounded by deep green pine trees, tightly perched together on the village cobbles as people pass by carrying firedancing lanterns.

But they’re not, they sit metres of wet concrete apart, perched over what I wishfully hope isn’t piss, basking in the heavenly glow of Sports Direct. People pass by with Sports Direct bags.

These lonely Homebase wendy houses are arranged sequentially. It goes: enormous sausage swimming in seaweed that has had all of its life and colour sapped; the aforementioned donut-waffle covered in, I don’t know, gravy probably; useless trinket shop, the sort of stuff that dangles, spins, spins and dangles, or tells the time until July.

I can see what they were trying to do here but quite honestly I couldn’t think of anything more unfestive. Well, that and the despairingly sombre clipboard-carrying lady who asked me if I thought I should take a second to fill out my will.

“Isn’t that something you think you should do for your family?” she solemnly asked.

“I’m sure they could do without my overdraft,” I replied. “Anyway I just bought them three golf umbrellas, what more do they want?”

Spoken Word rap about a nightmare set-up, when you really...

Fri, 16 Dec 2011 14:05:51 +0000

Spoken Word rap about a nightmare set-up, when you really didn’t want to get set-up…

Dad Breaks - Mixed By Jimmy Green - BIG Download free this...

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 23:28:38 +0000

Dad Breaks - Mixed By Jimmy Green - BIG

Download free this classic funk, soul, rock and hip hop master mix from master mixologist Jimmy Green. In short - this is music to watch your Dad dance to.

A perfect Christmas treat. Add pigs-in-blankets, a shitload of red wine, and watch your old man go. Delightful!

Operators implement blanket policy change after hearing...

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 15:37:13 +0000

Operators implement blanket policy change after hearing passengers complaining: “trains in this country are completely nuts”

DJ Roman ft Gabble - Give Me Your Tears Classic gypsy tale of...

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 13:04:33 +0000

DJ Roman ft Gabble - Give Me Your Tears

Classic gypsy tale of woe about three hapless bank robbers. Hip hop beats for Balkan streets.

Quickly constructed verse on a quickly constructed beat,...

Thu, 08 Dec 2011 20:51:05 +0000

Quickly constructed verse on a quickly constructed beat, recorded as a quick voice memo (hence the awful quality). That’s pretty much it really…

Beth Rowley & Band (2) - Jazz@Pizza Express London - Dec 11

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 22:38:22 +0000

Beth Rowley & Band (2) - Jazz@Pizza Express London - Dec 11

Beth Rowley & Band (1) - Jazz@Pizza Express London - Dec 11

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 22:34:03 +0000

Beth Rowley & Band (1) - Jazz@Pizza Express London - Dec 11

Text Post

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 22:18:17 +0000

This is a text post I’ve submitted

Please don’t crit it

It’s shit

It is