So there has been quite a mass of commentary, media coverage and blogging on the Death of Maggie Thatcher this week. Not one for missing a band waggon I thought I should add to this mire.
Thatcher polarised political thinking and caused as much anger as approval for her policies by the people of Britain. By sheer number of years of her premiership, a British era was coined in her name: Thatcher's Children.
Some of what I have read has been personal accounts of how Thatcher affected the writer of the piece. And for mine, I will be no different.
For me, given my generation, Margaret Thatcher affected me in my formative years. And it was a profound shaping by her. Mrs. Thatcher gave me my first complex joke. Not one of these Question / "I don't know" / Punchline jingles. A proper stripped down "garden path" joke.
And now, more than ever, at the most poignant/happy time this seems right to tell it again.
Another boy in the classroom told me it. Having possibly just heard it himself, he hurried accross to where I sat.
"Whatever I say, you say 'Inspector Boobs' after it, OK?"
Others gathered round my desk. They knew what was going down here.
"Who got you into the Army?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who got you out the Army?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who got you in the Navy?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who got you out the Navy?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who got you in the Police force?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who drives you in the police car?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who solves the murders?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who solves the robberies?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who arrests drug dealers?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who files all their paperwork the neatest?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"Who is the highest goal scorer in the local Force football team?"
"Inspector Boobs"
"What would you do if you met Maggie Thatcher?"
"Inspector Boobs"
Ha! Brilliant.
Inspect her boobs.
It could have been The Queen in the joke. It could have been Samantha Fox. But it wasn't. It was Margaret Thatcher.
And for that, I will always remember Margaret Thatcher.
Friday, 12 April 2013
Saturday, 6 April 2013
This blog contains images of a masked nature - consider you warned
Call me old fashioned. Call me quaint in my views. Call me coy.
But I thought the activity of dogging was couples driving to quiet car parks at night, getting into their back seats and pleasuring each other in various sexually deviant means whilst other couples wandered round trying to glimpse a little flesh through cracked open otherwise steamed up windows. A bit like a weekend car show in some stately ground, only with less interest in the polished carburettors. So to speak.
Turns out my Edwardian views are laughably way off.
Watching Dogging Tales (C4) the other night pulled my eyes into the 21st century meaning of the term with hooks attached to my pupils. I learnt a number of details about this adult pastime from the protagonists.
The documentary followed a selective number of folk who all partook in this nocturnal activity. The voice over warned of scenes of an adult nature beforehand. But did not warn of scenes of a masked nature. I mean, jeezus! Surely this scene needs a warning?!
It turns out dogging involves rather broken people in pretty unsettling woodland animal masks wandering off into the nearest forest and having a grim evening of loveless touching with anonymous strangers who happen to pass through the clearing and spot them.
One countryside vermin masked man summed up dogging: "I used to be a DJ, and this is the same thing - we are providing entertainment for others. I am an entertainer" then he asked his wife, dressed in a super-hero cape, sat on a tree stump, to lift her dress for a photo. It didn't seem much like entertainment. And I wasn't the only one - 2 men doggers stood at a distance, arms folded in indifference.
A cat faced lady on screen posed the question: "How many viewers watching will want to try dogging after seeing this?" I guess she was going for "loads" I willing to bet it was less.
The documentary was shot with very little of the actual dogging being filmed. What was, was filmed hand-held and illuminated by virtue of mobile phone flashlights and torch apps or break lights bouncing of nearby branches and legs. Most of the documentary - on location - concentrated on the trees, the moon, the wildlife, an open car door swinging rhythmically.
All the women involved promoted dogging as a way to crawl back some confidence from a life of disappointment and rejection through multiple nameless physical brief moments of being wanted beside some trees. All the men enjoyed dogging because it made them feel as if their wives and partner's were coveted by other men and also a proof of their own masculinity.
I learnt dogging is not glamorous.
Listening to a fox faced truck driver I learnt, by his calculation, 70% of truck drivers he knows do dogging. Considering he is basing this percentage on truck drivers' he knows, probably through dogging - it doesn't seem like a lot. The fox faced truck driver talked in rather troubling terms - referring consistently to the women involved as "Females" and saying love costs where dogging is free so why would he want to ever stop?
A benevolent wolf faced man talks of his sad beaten rabbit faced wife: "There are regulations in dogging. You can't just do anything. It's my wife after all."
It's my wife.
When asked who makes the dogging rules, the wolf faced man points his snout to us: "I do. I like a small crowd of men around to take turns with my wife."
Again and again snippets of phrases and words come out of these real-life action Creature Comfort characters which betray both the motives of those taking part and social (if one can describe it so) circle built up around it as something far removed from the glamorous and exciting lifestyle all those involved were keen to convey.
One women at one stage talks of the enjoyment of being free and loss of control and the next admits she has had abusive relationships in the past where she was used. Another talks about the empowerment of being attractive to an intimidating degree to those men in the woods with her before quickly revealing she has had body image issues in the past and fears being seen as unattractive.
The men, too, reveal much. The bird masked man talks of fathering 17 children because there is no condom big enough to fit him. That would be condoms, the regular make-shift water balloons and facilitator of popular school boy jinx of pulling them over their heads same condoms I am aware of? He then talks about his shock of how quickly his brother died of cancer and vowed to make sure he died with a smile on his face. The Sinister Mr. Fox talks also of being hurt emotionally in the past after claiming he does not recognise love.
Perhaps the most affecting of those shown in the documentary were a young couple. The.. er... mouse? ... raccoon? ... roadkill badger? faced boyfriend says he works 12 hours, 7 days a week. The... animal... faced girlfriend explained she was bored and they have begun dogging to prevent her from cheating.
It is quickly apparent the boyfriend is uncomfortable and "cold" when they drive out to an overgrown layby with another girl. He then calls it off altogether when a 2nd man approaches them.
By the end of the documentary, we see the relationship has survived the short foray into this dogging world and the girlfriend has come to realise her boyfriend had only agreed to support her in the venture.
It was, though, the only person who wasn't dogging who provided me with the most insight.
He was complaining. The places where he once walked with his young daughter, telling her delightful stories of woodland nymphs and fairies living between the plants and trees now was a popular place for dogging - naked men, soiled mattresses and soiled memories.
As he explains his belief these doggers "whittle low branches into penises and then put their arses on them" he says he is pleased a concerted police and local pressure have moved them on because there is "no place for them in this nature reserve".
The thing is, as I recalled the bird faced masked man with the genitals larger than a school boy reminiscing: "These days we spend more time on the interent trying to arrange meets when we should just be in the woods shagging", our non-dogger has it wrong.
Dogging - with the country habitat, animal masks, utter lack of love and base motive to have hollow meaningless sex instead of the internet - is perfect for a nature reserve.
I have long questioned what makes humanity different from other animals? Is it religious: we recognise some further place after death, that we hold souls in our bodies? But not all of us believe. Is it more complex: We create art, obey laws and invent processes to ease the lives of others? But then not all of us do. Is it more basic? We are able to supersede instinct and biological drives and and go against them using free will? Watching this documentary I am not so sure.
I think I now have the answer: it is theatre.
Even when humanity is being at it's most animal, it requires an audience. Even if that audience is subjected to a play of Wind in the Willows directed by someone who has taken a lot of brown heroin.
But I thought the activity of dogging was couples driving to quiet car parks at night, getting into their back seats and pleasuring each other in various sexually deviant means whilst other couples wandered round trying to glimpse a little flesh through cracked open otherwise steamed up windows. A bit like a weekend car show in some stately ground, only with less interest in the polished carburettors. So to speak.
Turns out my Edwardian views are laughably way off.
Watching Dogging Tales (C4) the other night pulled my eyes into the 21st century meaning of the term with hooks attached to my pupils. I learnt a number of details about this adult pastime from the protagonists.
The documentary followed a selective number of folk who all partook in this nocturnal activity. The voice over warned of scenes of an adult nature beforehand. But did not warn of scenes of a masked nature. I mean, jeezus! Surely this scene needs a warning?!
 |
| Worst Doctor Who baddie yet |
One countryside vermin masked man summed up dogging: "I used to be a DJ, and this is the same thing - we are providing entertainment for others. I am an entertainer" then he asked his wife, dressed in a super-hero cape, sat on a tree stump, to lift her dress for a photo. It didn't seem much like entertainment. And I wasn't the only one - 2 men doggers stood at a distance, arms folded in indifference.
A cat faced lady on screen posed the question: "How many viewers watching will want to try dogging after seeing this?" I guess she was going for "loads" I willing to bet it was less.
The documentary was shot with very little of the actual dogging being filmed. What was, was filmed hand-held and illuminated by virtue of mobile phone flashlights and torch apps or break lights bouncing of nearby branches and legs. Most of the documentary - on location - concentrated on the trees, the moon, the wildlife, an open car door swinging rhythmically.
All the women involved promoted dogging as a way to crawl back some confidence from a life of disappointment and rejection through multiple nameless physical brief moments of being wanted beside some trees. All the men enjoyed dogging because it made them feel as if their wives and partner's were coveted by other men and also a proof of their own masculinity.
I learnt dogging is not glamorous.
Listening to a fox faced truck driver I learnt, by his calculation, 70% of truck drivers he knows do dogging. Considering he is basing this percentage on truck drivers' he knows, probably through dogging - it doesn't seem like a lot. The fox faced truck driver talked in rather troubling terms - referring consistently to the women involved as "Females" and saying love costs where dogging is free so why would he want to ever stop?
 |
| When he asks you, "What is love?" you better come up with the correct f***ing answer |
A benevolent wolf faced man talks of his sad beaten rabbit faced wife: "There are regulations in dogging. You can't just do anything. It's my wife after all."
It's my wife.
When asked who makes the dogging rules, the wolf faced man points his snout to us: "I do. I like a small crowd of men around to take turns with my wife."
Again and again snippets of phrases and words come out of these real-life action Creature Comfort characters which betray both the motives of those taking part and social (if one can describe it so) circle built up around it as something far removed from the glamorous and exciting lifestyle all those involved were keen to convey.
One women at one stage talks of the enjoyment of being free and loss of control and the next admits she has had abusive relationships in the past where she was used. Another talks about the empowerment of being attractive to an intimidating degree to those men in the woods with her before quickly revealing she has had body image issues in the past and fears being seen as unattractive.
The men, too, reveal much. The bird masked man talks of fathering 17 children because there is no condom big enough to fit him. That would be condoms, the regular make-shift water balloons and facilitator of popular school boy jinx of pulling them over their heads same condoms I am aware of? He then talks about his shock of how quickly his brother died of cancer and vowed to make sure he died with a smile on his face. The Sinister Mr. Fox talks also of being hurt emotionally in the past after claiming he does not recognise love.
Perhaps the most affecting of those shown in the documentary were a young couple. The.. er... mouse? ... raccoon? ... roadkill badger? faced boyfriend says he works 12 hours, 7 days a week. The... animal... faced girlfriend explained she was bored and they have begun dogging to prevent her from cheating.
It is quickly apparent the boyfriend is uncomfortable and "cold" when they drive out to an overgrown layby with another girl. He then calls it off altogether when a 2nd man approaches them.
By the end of the documentary, we see the relationship has survived the short foray into this dogging world and the girlfriend has come to realise her boyfriend had only agreed to support her in the venture.
It was, though, the only person who wasn't dogging who provided me with the most insight.
He was complaining. The places where he once walked with his young daughter, telling her delightful stories of woodland nymphs and fairies living between the plants and trees now was a popular place for dogging - naked men, soiled mattresses and soiled memories.
As he explains his belief these doggers "whittle low branches into penises and then put their arses on them" he says he is pleased a concerted police and local pressure have moved them on because there is "no place for them in this nature reserve".
The thing is, as I recalled the bird faced masked man with the genitals larger than a school boy reminiscing: "These days we spend more time on the interent trying to arrange meets when we should just be in the woods shagging", our non-dogger has it wrong.
Dogging - with the country habitat, animal masks, utter lack of love and base motive to have hollow meaningless sex instead of the internet - is perfect for a nature reserve.
I have long questioned what makes humanity different from other animals? Is it religious: we recognise some further place after death, that we hold souls in our bodies? But not all of us believe. Is it more complex: We create art, obey laws and invent processes to ease the lives of others? But then not all of us do. Is it more basic? We are able to supersede instinct and biological drives and and go against them using free will? Watching this documentary I am not so sure.
I think I now have the answer: it is theatre.
Even when humanity is being at it's most animal, it requires an audience. Even if that audience is subjected to a play of Wind in the Willows directed by someone who has taken a lot of brown heroin.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
"Quotable lines 2!"
On Twitter I am continuing to sometime amuse myself with fictional quotes from fictional films. The adorable @ellekaypea suggested if I was in a film it would be called "Sexy Autopsy". I would have argued, but to be fair, it sounded about right.
It prompted me to tweet some possible twitter film quotes from it:
Sexy Autopsy
"So, who's on the slab this morning? Hmmm, 'Sarah Jones'... Nice set of brain lobes."
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
"Nurse! My y-incision CD."
"Moby, Doctor?"
"Not this time. Put on... Best of Barry White"
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
"I suppose, Nurse, the brain is the sexiest part of the body. But not when it's in that bowl. Or is it?"
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
"What makes an autopsy sexy?"
"That would be where you come in, Nurse. Now hand me that saw. Slowly"
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
And, of course, there is still my pet fictional film project: Clouds Set To: Doom!
"I'm not a mad scientist! I take 24 pills a day to keep me sane!"
"Professor, I'd say you need to start taking 26."
- Clouds Set To: Doom! (2012)
"It's true! There is a silver lining to every cloud!"
"That's no silver lining. Put on your anti-neutron poncho!"
- Clouds Set To: Doom! (2012)
And I have not even started made-up quoting from this yet:
Greville's Terror Tales From The Tomb! Where the women run hot and the blood runs cold. Rated R. #tombsmovie
If you are not following me on Twitter, then sadly, you are missing out on this sort of stuff on a nigh daily basis.
It prompted me to tweet some possible twitter film quotes from it:
Sexy Autopsy
"So, who's on the slab this morning? Hmmm, 'Sarah Jones'... Nice set of brain lobes."
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
"Nurse! My y-incision CD."
"Moby, Doctor?"
"Not this time. Put on... Best of Barry White"
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
"I suppose, Nurse, the brain is the sexiest part of the body. But not when it's in that bowl. Or is it?"
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
"What makes an autopsy sexy?"
"That would be where you come in, Nurse. Now hand me that saw. Slowly"
- Sexy Autopsy (2013, Rated R)
And, of course, there is still my pet fictional film project: Clouds Set To: Doom!
"I'm not a mad scientist! I take 24 pills a day to keep me sane!"
"Professor, I'd say you need to start taking 26."
- Clouds Set To: Doom! (2012)
"It's true! There is a silver lining to every cloud!"
"That's no silver lining. Put on your anti-neutron poncho!"
- Clouds Set To: Doom! (2012)
And I have not even started made-up quoting from this yet:
Greville's Terror Tales From The Tomb! Where the women run hot and the blood runs cold. Rated R. #tombsmovie
If you are not following me on Twitter, then sadly, you are missing out on this sort of stuff on a nigh daily basis.
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Have a nice day!
I have begun to notice a new trend. Shop assistants talking to me when I am at the till making my purchase.
I don't mean the shop assistant handling the normal purchaser / vendor administration. I am not referring to the regular angry guy behind till at my local corner shop who talks to me and has called me by name ever since he read my name off my credit card. He is called Neil, and I can tell you this because he wears a name badge - so we are on an equal footing.
No - it is shop assistants in high street stores who I have not seen before and likely will not see again are taking an interest in my day and what I am buying.
"Have you found what you wanted?"
"Oh, that is a great purchase - I think that will look great on you"
Is this a thing now?
Surely my standing at the till with the product is tantamount proof of me finding at least something I want and, by simple deduction, I am willing to pay for it means I deem it likable enough to be also willingly seen in. Really, by this stage of my retail experience, I don't want your opinion. I don't mean to offend you, but I am not sure I should trust your view on my purchase - partly because you have vested interests in my making of the purchase and partly because your taste, ethics and morality - outwith this, you have to admit, slim scenario that's all I have to base your opinion on - may turn out to be something I do not want to associate my trust with.
It is not that I am not personable when paying. I'd choose an assistant to a self-service system any time. I am always sure to smile, say please and thank you and wish them a good day when I leave. I make sure I am pleasant and will try and talk about the weather or ask if they are having a busy day if I can. I certainly want to be a friendly, amicable and happy customer at all times.
But it is the specific questioning and commenting of the things I am buying that I find, well, off-putting.
For example:
I bought a music CD recently and the shop assistant behind the till asked if I had found everything I had been looking for. In order to not get into any philosophical debate about the individual human condition and our absolute need to never truly find what we are looking for being the main reason we can further ourselves and why some of us end up astronauts, I thought it best to say "yes, thanks".
"Oh, I love that album." he actually went on! "It is much more consistent than his debut and you can tell he has become more musically proficient in his melodies". Really? Well I enjoyed the rather more bedroom production of his.... This is isn't CD club! This isn't even that independent record shop in High Fidelity. This is a 25 second transaction of goods and profit at a chain store. I don't overly care about your validation of the music I am buying and, quite honestly, thanks to your review you have sucked the rock and roll thrill of it all. I pretty much hold you responsible for the death of the physical album.
Only this week I was in a high street brand clothes shop. The girl at the Pay counter said: "Did you find everything you wanted today?" and I was forced to admit it was. Yes thanks, what I have lain down before you and your bar code gun is "everything I had wanted today", I got out of my flat from the solitary motivation to buy 3 identical pairs of charcoal coloured trousers for work. That is the state of my life right now.
As she then continued! "I want to spend my money today on clothes once I finish my shift but with March coming up so quickly I shouldn't. It's hard not to buy something for the weekend though, but I have a lot of things going on in March, I probably should be good and save my wage. It's funny how birthdays and events all happen in one month like that, isn't it?"
Positively mind blowing. A real phenomenon of the cosmos.
It wasn't so much her conversation (I replied to her that she was right, it was a difficult situation) but that throughout it she was idly stroking and repeatedly smoothing out my work trousers laid out in front of her at the upper thigh. I couldn't get out my mind as I watched her hands that we were only a single quantum paradigm shift in the multi-verse from her sexually assaulting me.
I struggle to look at those trousers straight in the eye now. Knowing. She's been there.
Jeezus, don't these shop assistants think of the consequences?
Yesterday I was out in town to buy a birthday present for a baby. I went to the baby shop. I looked round for a bit and found exactly what I was after. A baby wetsuit.
At the pay counter the girl asked me if I had found everything I was after in the shop. Confidently I said: "Yes, thanks".
She kept talking! She was telling me how good the baby wetsuit was for babies.
I thought, I haven't a clue - I don't have a baby. I just picked up the same one from the photo I was given. But I thought, be polite and agree. It'll be quicker this way. Besides, it is probably better because I'll appear less weird if I pretend I have one. So I nodded and said this was what "we" thought.
Then she kept talking... "So is this for his first swimming class?" she asked through a sweet smile, looking at the baby wetsuit.
I hadn't been expecting this. I had not counted on it at all. A third question about what I was buying! I was plunged into unknown shop assistant small talk territory and at the worst moment: in a baby shop where I was pretending I had a baby.
I didn't really want to get into the whole buying a birthday present for someone else's baby at this point in case she felt I had initially led her to believe otherwise. Which I sort of had. Changing my story would not be good. It would make me seem almost certainly suspicious. And so I figured I would simply tell her the facts without mentioning they were about my friend's young son.
I explained he had been swimming for a few months. He enjoyed it. He is getting into all sorts of things at home, too. He has been getting a little help onto his feet, but is quite capable once up of getting to places he wants to and really he shouldn't. Why do little ones, do that? Go towards the most dangerous things in any room. It's a wonder we have survived as a species.
She giggled.
"So what's his name?"
When would this chip and PIN interrogation stop?? I told her his name. No last name. If angry Neil has taught me anything, it is my name can be seen on my credit card.
"They are great when they are this age, aren't they? Trying out the swimming and things. It is good for them to start early."
Right I thought, I am in deep cover. Maybe too deep. If I slip up and she finds out I don't have a baby, not only will this appear now extremely suspicious that I am buying a baby wetsuit, but I bet she won't believe the birthday present reason now either. And then I am basically back where I started: I am a man buying a baby wetsuit when I don't have a baby. Only now with added "pretended he had a baby" blown cover story baggage.
I concurred. Yes. I... erm... suppose it is.
This was tense. More tense than shopping ought to be.
Thankfully, the girl didn't expose my rouse and I left the shop dignity intact. And on his birthday, the little guy got his wetsuit with a cartoon whale on it.
In hindsight I should have just told her the truth from the moment I walked in. I have no baby. I want a baby wetsuit. It is a birthday present. In fact, it would be much easier if we all did this going into every high street shop.
As soon as we walk into a shop go to the pay counter and tell them what we want, why we want it and tell them we are delighted they approve of what we want and where we would like the receipt once we come back to them in 10 minutes to buy it.
Yes, it would be much easier all round.
I don't mean the shop assistant handling the normal purchaser / vendor administration. I am not referring to the regular angry guy behind till at my local corner shop who talks to me and has called me by name ever since he read my name off my credit card. He is called Neil, and I can tell you this because he wears a name badge - so we are on an equal footing.
No - it is shop assistants in high street stores who I have not seen before and likely will not see again are taking an interest in my day and what I am buying.
"Have you found what you wanted?"
"Oh, that is a great purchase - I think that will look great on you"
Is this a thing now?
Surely my standing at the till with the product is tantamount proof of me finding at least something I want and, by simple deduction, I am willing to pay for it means I deem it likable enough to be also willingly seen in. Really, by this stage of my retail experience, I don't want your opinion. I don't mean to offend you, but I am not sure I should trust your view on my purchase - partly because you have vested interests in my making of the purchase and partly because your taste, ethics and morality - outwith this, you have to admit, slim scenario that's all I have to base your opinion on - may turn out to be something I do not want to associate my trust with.
It is not that I am not personable when paying. I'd choose an assistant to a self-service system any time. I am always sure to smile, say please and thank you and wish them a good day when I leave. I make sure I am pleasant and will try and talk about the weather or ask if they are having a busy day if I can. I certainly want to be a friendly, amicable and happy customer at all times.
But it is the specific questioning and commenting of the things I am buying that I find, well, off-putting.
For example:
I bought a music CD recently and the shop assistant behind the till asked if I had found everything I had been looking for. In order to not get into any philosophical debate about the individual human condition and our absolute need to never truly find what we are looking for being the main reason we can further ourselves and why some of us end up astronauts, I thought it best to say "yes, thanks".
"Oh, I love that album." he actually went on! "It is much more consistent than his debut and you can tell he has become more musically proficient in his melodies". Really? Well I enjoyed the rather more bedroom production of his.... This is isn't CD club! This isn't even that independent record shop in High Fidelity. This is a 25 second transaction of goods and profit at a chain store. I don't overly care about your validation of the music I am buying and, quite honestly, thanks to your review you have sucked the rock and roll thrill of it all. I pretty much hold you responsible for the death of the physical album.
Only this week I was in a high street brand clothes shop. The girl at the Pay counter said: "Did you find everything you wanted today?" and I was forced to admit it was. Yes thanks, what I have lain down before you and your bar code gun is "everything I had wanted today", I got out of my flat from the solitary motivation to buy 3 identical pairs of charcoal coloured trousers for work. That is the state of my life right now.
As she then continued! "I want to spend my money today on clothes once I finish my shift but with March coming up so quickly I shouldn't. It's hard not to buy something for the weekend though, but I have a lot of things going on in March, I probably should be good and save my wage. It's funny how birthdays and events all happen in one month like that, isn't it?"
Positively mind blowing. A real phenomenon of the cosmos.
It wasn't so much her conversation (I replied to her that she was right, it was a difficult situation) but that throughout it she was idly stroking and repeatedly smoothing out my work trousers laid out in front of her at the upper thigh. I couldn't get out my mind as I watched her hands that we were only a single quantum paradigm shift in the multi-verse from her sexually assaulting me.
I struggle to look at those trousers straight in the eye now. Knowing. She's been there.
Jeezus, don't these shop assistants think of the consequences?
Yesterday I was out in town to buy a birthday present for a baby. I went to the baby shop. I looked round for a bit and found exactly what I was after. A baby wetsuit.
At the pay counter the girl asked me if I had found everything I was after in the shop. Confidently I said: "Yes, thanks".
She kept talking! She was telling me how good the baby wetsuit was for babies.
I thought, I haven't a clue - I don't have a baby. I just picked up the same one from the photo I was given. But I thought, be polite and agree. It'll be quicker this way. Besides, it is probably better because I'll appear less weird if I pretend I have one. So I nodded and said this was what "we" thought.
Then she kept talking... "So is this for his first swimming class?" she asked through a sweet smile, looking at the baby wetsuit.
I hadn't been expecting this. I had not counted on it at all. A third question about what I was buying! I was plunged into unknown shop assistant small talk territory and at the worst moment: in a baby shop where I was pretending I had a baby.
I didn't really want to get into the whole buying a birthday present for someone else's baby at this point in case she felt I had initially led her to believe otherwise. Which I sort of had. Changing my story would not be good. It would make me seem almost certainly suspicious. And so I figured I would simply tell her the facts without mentioning they were about my friend's young son.
I explained he had been swimming for a few months. He enjoyed it. He is getting into all sorts of things at home, too. He has been getting a little help onto his feet, but is quite capable once up of getting to places he wants to and really he shouldn't. Why do little ones, do that? Go towards the most dangerous things in any room. It's a wonder we have survived as a species.
She giggled.
"So what's his name?"
When would this chip and PIN interrogation stop?? I told her his name. No last name. If angry Neil has taught me anything, it is my name can be seen on my credit card.
"They are great when they are this age, aren't they? Trying out the swimming and things. It is good for them to start early."
Right I thought, I am in deep cover. Maybe too deep. If I slip up and she finds out I don't have a baby, not only will this appear now extremely suspicious that I am buying a baby wetsuit, but I bet she won't believe the birthday present reason now either. And then I am basically back where I started: I am a man buying a baby wetsuit when I don't have a baby. Only now with added "pretended he had a baby" blown cover story baggage.
I concurred. Yes. I... erm... suppose it is.
This was tense. More tense than shopping ought to be.
Thankfully, the girl didn't expose my rouse and I left the shop dignity intact. And on his birthday, the little guy got his wetsuit with a cartoon whale on it.
In hindsight I should have just told her the truth from the moment I walked in. I have no baby. I want a baby wetsuit. It is a birthday present. In fact, it would be much easier if we all did this going into every high street shop.
As soon as we walk into a shop go to the pay counter and tell them what we want, why we want it and tell them we are delighted they approve of what we want and where we would like the receipt once we come back to them in 10 minutes to buy it.
Yes, it would be much easier all round.
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