Matt The Drummer returns.
'I woke up this morning with big ambitions. “I shall take this day by the proverbial horns and make it my own.” I thought. “I am an achiever! A winner! A Super Alpha Male with both a large and virile appendage! Here me roar world! RAH!” Unfortunately this state was disappointingly short-lived (lasting approximately between 50 seconds and a minute). I awoke, and just I was whipping myself up into a state of bulletproof egotism, one that any world conqueror would have been proud, I opened my blinds. There really is nothing on this earth that is more uninspiring, nothing that is more guaranteed to stop all optimism its track than a grey winter morning in
London. The mood that hangs over this city on such occasions is unique; nowhere else on this planet is a grey more morbidly depressing and life sucking. If Dulux had to give it a name it would be descried as “suicide grey” and it’s the only time I agree with the seemingly unanimous decision of travelling Australians who come to London for the first time and deduce that it’s “shit.” So my over blown plans of greatness quickly turned to plans of staying in and cooking comfort food (which currently feels like an excellent substitute).
The last couple of weeks in Matthew World have been somewhat fraught. Rather than combat difficulty in my usual style, which apart from being generally tetchy also involves tutting loudly at inanimate objects, a female friend suggested I tried the more feminine route of a haircut followed by lots of bubble baths. In a bid to shift the blues I followed her advice and, after purchasing some bath salt that sounded good enough to eat, made my way to Soho to a salon that was both painfully expensive and laughably trendy. Such emporiums of retro clothing, tattoos and hairstyles that look like they have been chewed rather than cut always make me feel slightly on edge (I think it may be all the unnecessary pouting). Things got off to a bad start for, as I was being led to a vacant sink by the mandatory very-cute-but-highly-stand-off-ish Saturday hair washing girl, I attempted to break the ice with the following comment: “My hair’s in terrible condition. In fact I feel like I’m visiting a chiropodist with chronic athletes foot.” The silence that followed would have supplied a lengthy Spaghetti Western with ample tumbleweed. I then mumbled something to the stylist about making me look cool and after about forty-five minutes, £34 and a thorough dissection of my plans for my next holiday, the new me emerged. I now look like Maths teacher in his late 20’s who still thinks he’s a bit funky.
My thoughts keep being interrupted by my flatmate Paul’s urgent tones coming from the living room. He’s just discovered how to play computer games with people from around the world. That’s right, the technological-no-girl-friend-gamer-revolution has truly gone global and check this out, they can talk to each other whilst playing. Earlier on Paul was shouting at some bloke from Ontario that calls himself “The Quest”. I don’t mean to stereotype unfairly but I can’t help thinking of “The Quest” as some balding middle-aged accountant who lives with his mother and likes to play war games in full combat gear whilst in a state in minor sexual arousal. I hope I’m wrong and he’s a professional triathelete or something, this however seems unlikely.
The world really is becoming a frightening place and it was last week, during a conversation with my Grandmother that made me realise how far we’ve gone in the direction of lunacy. She was describing a programme she watched about plastic surgery, the protagonist of which was a man who had endured many painful and expensive operations to make his flaccid (get that; flaccid) penis appear bigger (apparently there is no current medical procedure for an enlarged woody). This was alarming on two fronts; firstly that I was talking to an 82 year old relative about a stranger’s sexual organs, but more importantly what would possess someone to go through such an ordeal for no real reason (other a little more cred in a communal shower). This man needs serious help. The world’s truly buggered and it seems to be happening from LA outwards. Friends, if we ever live to see the day where such procedures become acceptable common practice, I hope you will join me in prayer for a swift Apocalypse.
This brings me nicely on to recent thoughts to my religious upbringing which was firmly, although not excessively Catholic. Until recently I looked back at my spiritual education with distain. All the memories of seemingly endless hours in church listening to mundane and hypercritical sermons delivered by monks who simultaneously managed to be both overly zealous and slightly pervy. It’s not until now I’ve realised the one thing, probably the best thing that Catholic school teaches, and that’s a sense of humility. There are few things worse than being faced by someone who thinks that they are truly fantastic. I’m all up for feeling good, for personal happiness, for inner joy etc. But the unquestioning self-love seen through the contented glazed eyes of some West London inhabitants is just too much for to me to humour. Also pre 20th Century Catholic music is fantastic. What were they thinking when they substituted 300 years of stunning musical composition sung in Latin with enthusiastic New Age Geography teachers accompanied by acoustic guitars and halitosis. The fools! If you could still hear Bach chorales every Sunday I’d certainly be a much more regular church attendee.
Before I go just one piece of advise for you all. Do not, UNDER ANY CIRUMSTANCES get into an argument (particularly an ethical one) with a lawyer when you get drunk. These people argue for a living and you will most likely look like an arse, even if you are in the right. I did anyway.
Matt x
I have just read this and have realised that there is lot of sex and knob references. My apologies to any of the more sensitive readers.
Matt x
Actually thinking about it anyone who is offended by any of the above is the sort of person who would write a letter of complaint to the BBC because of footage showing Otters shagging before the watershed. If you are such a person then you should re-read all of this and just learn to get some perspective. Just think, there’s some poor sod out there who’s spent over $10,000, endured untold physical pain and now his penis look like an aubergine.
Have a very Merry Christmas all.
Matt x'