Thursday, May 03, 2007

My Day In Butter

‘And when he pulled it out, it had butter on it.’

It might not mean much to you but I think it’s the funniest line I’ve written so far.

Another day typing up my novel and a thousand words to the cause. A thousand buttery words at that. This novel is becoming something quite special, though I worry about revealing too many of my professional secrets. And do people really want to know what a professional stripper uses to clean his thong? Should I really describe how I was introduced to stripping by a ex-Lib Dem councillor’s secretary who caught me eating a mutton sandwich in her stock cupboard?

I await expert opinion on these matters but, for the time being, I’m pressing on with my first draft. I expect it to be ready for the end of Summer.

Speaking of literature, in today’s FE lesson we read ‘King Lear’, which Mrs. Rust insists in one of the better plays. I couldn’t understand a word of it but I enjoyed the chance to shout loudly in rhyme. Should you be wondering: I was Lear. Probably the first thonged Lear in the history of the play.

Alongside all this hard work, I’ve been indulging myself by watching the football. I’m more of a football fan than I am the rugby, which again goes to prove that a man with English genes can’t ignore the game of his forefathers. I was looking forward to the all English final, though now I’ll swing my heavily loaded thong behind Liverpool. As with stripping, effort means more than ability so it was reassuring to see the big guys lose for a change.

Tomorrow I’ll be back at the coffee shop early, another session in the dance studio, before I spend the evening watching the election results come in. I’ve grown a little disillusioned with the whole business of politics in the last few months. I think it’s when the Lib Dems refused to consider my proposals to ban thong use for anybody under the age of 21. A poorly fitting thong leads to sub-standard thong experience and it really takes a mature outlook on life to truly experience what a thong means. Which, coincidentally, is Mrs. Rust’s attitude to Shakespeare. Or as she told me: ‘Shakespeare and thongs; thongs, Shakespeare – that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’


Ms Baroque said...

Chippy, it sounds as if you've got a great teacher there. And she managed to get Shaeksepare, thongs and Keats into one handy - ahem - package! (I think you'll agree with me that Keats was a bit of a thonglateer himself. He grew up in a stableyard, probably learning how to fashion leather pouches; after that he was away! I think you two would have seen eye to eye. Or maybe not quite. He was about 5'1".)

I can certainly understand your disillusionment with politics, but I think yu have found a great consolation in literature. Perhaps you should send a copy of "King Lear" to the Welsh Assembly?

Chip Dale said...

Keats is very thongtastic! He's like the exotic underwear of poets; frilly, often full of lace, and not without an occasional whiff of some strong and heavy fragrance.

Alas, I think politicians aren't suitable for the part of Lear. He was written for much younger men, in spirit if not body, and who occasionally question what they do.