Sunday, August 19, 2007


Bit of a tough night at the club. A hen party had block booked and I performed my balloon dance. Normally there's not much to be said. I’ve done the routine a hundred times. I cover my lower half in balloons and pop them to the music, sometimes handing a member of the audience a pin to pop the last couple. Unfortunately, one of the bridesmaids burst out in tears when I picked her out for this honour. It seems I'd unfortunately chosen a poor girl whose boyfriend is currently suffering from giganticism in his loins. It was the sort of thing that pours a bucket of cold water over the whole evening.

I wouldn’t mind but I’d been having a good day. I got up at lunchtime and stayed in my dressing gown for the whole afternoon, squeezed in the armchair by the fire. I’m reading H.G. Wells’ The War in the Air and recommend it to anybody who wants a bit of well written escapist fare. It's probably what put balloons in my mind in the first place. With his reputation as a visionary and prophet of technology (a self-heating can of hot chocolate stood out in this respect) it’s easy to forget that Wells writes some wonderfully twisted prose. I do like writing that can appear florid yet controlled. It’s like a well trimmed privet hedge, a perfect embodiment of the early 20th century England. Just picking something fairly randomly,

Of all the productions of the human imagination that makes the world in which Mr. Bert Smallways lived confusingly wonderful, there was none quite so strange, so headlong and disturbing, so noisy and persuasive and dangerous, as the modernizations of patriotism produced by imperial and international politics.
I particularly like the awkward ‘confusingly wonderful’ and the repeated use of ‘and’ lodged between the commas. It’s a bit long winded but has a charm that even now, cheers me up despite the trials of my evening.

Now there you go: a man with giant testicles and an analysis of H.G. Wells’ use of the comma and comparing it to hedge trimming. How many blogs give you that on a Saturday night?


Reading the Signs said...

You're a pretty unusual combination, Mr. C.D. But I guess you already know that.

Edwina Currie said...

Take no shit form that day-time tv buffoon, Chip, Madeley, or you'll lose all my respect. And it's not often a Welshman gains the respect of Edwina Fucking Currie. Polite truces are a disgrace to manhood, something I know all about. Make him wish he'd never left the womb.

Big Chip Dale said...

Reading the signs, I'm a very odd combination. Unfortunately, some might say too odd.

Edwina, I feel bad about giving in to Madeley but it was taking too much time replying to his taunts. The man clearly has issues he needs resolving.

Edwina said...

Surely with your Romanian connections, a hit-man could be employed in exchange for a crate of high strength low quality beer.