Category: Miscellaneous

The Joy of Sex Education

There were only two times I remember there being sex education at our school. The first time was in biology class. My biology teacher looked like a cross between Magnus Pyke and Dr Snuggles. He was a decent man and a competent teacher. Normally we talked about animals or plants or we dissected frogs but this day was different.

For reasons I don’t quite understand, to this day, our biology teacher decided to forgo our usual lesson on things like photosynthesis and osmosis and decided to talk about how humans procreate, from start to finish with all the icky bits. Perhaps someone in charge of the cirriculum had decided we knew nothing about sex and needed teaching. We were eleven, so most of us knew something about sex in varying degrees. Maybe he decided to talk about this off his own bat. Was it improvised? Had he been up all night rehearsing? Was this the one lesson in the year he had been dreading for months, or looking forward to?

No. He hadn’t been looking forward to it at all. That fact showed in his whole demeanour. I’ve never seen a man get through a talk with such obvious awkwardness. During some moments, he looked like he was in physical pain.

The lesson stands out for two reasons, the strained seriousness and extreme effort of Pyke Snuggles to convey the basic biological processes of procreation and the doubled over please stop making us laugh, it really hurts now, no seriously, please stop sir, but he wouldn’t. We were not emotionally mature enough for this talk, not in a class setting. I like to think I was. For the first fifteen minutes, I sat there very composed and attentive and straight faced. After a while though, I was as bad ad the rest of them, who were practically rolling around on the floor clutching the stomachs.

It began with embarrassed sniggers but just got worse. Laughter and perhaps embarrassment is contagious. If he only knew, we were in pain too, trying to stifle our laughter but as with all these things, the more you try to stop doing something, the more you sometimes can’t stop doing it. Eventually, we gave in and let it all out. We drowned out his voice with our laughter. Perhaps that was deliberate.

I felt a combination of sympathy and distress for Pyke Snuggles. On one hand, I was sensitive to his extreme discomfort and frequent red face. On the other, I wanted him to continue, as this was the most fun I’d had in years. Even Fawlty Towers didn’t make me laugh this much. It was very conflicting. It was also painful to laugh so much.

At one point, he got cross with us and started shouting. This just made us laugh even more. It was at that point in mirth evolvement when everything he said and everything he did made us explode. We were far too over stimulated to back down now. It was like he was suddenly the best stand up comedian in the world and we’d paid good money to be entertained.

He gave up and we ended class early. As Pyke Snuggles exhausted stooped frame exited the classroom, I couldn’t help thinking he was going for a much earned lie down with a couple of Valium.

The Joy of Escape

A couple of years later, when I was about eight or nine, I was still following my older brother around like a puppy (see Joy of the Tomboy) and he seemed to have got into some altercation with some boys I didn’t recognize and they didn’t seem to be local.
There was also something very serious and grown up about them. They seemed much older than us. They were after my brother for some reason and were not happy. I’m not sure what he’d done, or if he’d done anything or why they were so angry. When I looked around, my brother was gone from my side, he’d disappeared and I was left with five menacing boys, who, after being unable to find my brother, set their sights on me instead and were glowering darkly at me as one force. One of them said ‘That’s his sister.’ Another ordered, in a sinister whisper, while never taking his eyes from mine, ‘Get her.’
My intuitive and instinctive senses told me I was in danger. I don’t think I even waited for them to start running, I was already off down the hill and had passed the park by the time they started coming after me. The thing that sticks in my mind the most is the speed I seemed to be running. I was running like the wind but I could hear them so close behind me, I could hear their feet pounding on
the concrete flags, their flailing arms and hands flicking and brushing against mine as they ran. I could feel their breath on my neck. The blood was pounding in my head. My heart was thumping as if it would burst. I knew I could not let them get me. The entrance to the park was about two hundred yards from my
home. I didn’t have that far to go, so I suppose it was a quick spurt kind of thing. I don’t think I’ve ever ran like that before or since. I sped up the path to my house, got to the front door and when I looked back, the boys had done a U-turn and were gone. I’d outran all five boys. I’d reached a place where they couldn’t
follow. I’d reached sanctuary. I felt such relief. The joy of escape I’ll never forget. Whatever they were going to do, I don’t want to know and I’m glad I didn’t find out because I ran for my life. I’d been in survival mode. It’s not often we escape by the skin of our teeth. It seems that is one of those things you only see in movies and there were so many times before then and after then when I
didn’t escape, or couldn’t escape and that seems to be most people’s reality. But this was one time, just this one wonderful time, I did escape and because of that it really sticks in my memory. And we need to remember those times when we did escape and celebrate them. Needless to say, that was the moment I
stopped following my big brother around.

The Joy of Subtitles

I used to think the joy of subtitles could only be enjoyed by three types of people

Those who are hard of hearing

Those who have varying degrees of audio processing disorder

And those who like French film noir

I discovered not many other people like them, unless it’s through necessity while watching foreign language movies but also because they distract from the movie they’re watching. I’ve always liked them and have very fond memories of them. Sometimes they stand out in my mind’s eye in favourite films more than the visuals. For me, it adds to the visuals immensely (not just because I’m hard of hearing and have a degree of audio dyslexia) but writing this, I’ve learned that I’m not alone in that thinking.

Lots of people like subtitles nowadays because a lot of actors mumble and you don’t have to be hard of hearing not to catch their words.

The very best thing about subtitles is, if you choose the hard of hearing option specifically on your DVD menu, rather than any other subtitle option, any song playing in the background, no matter if it’s below normal human hearing, will come up in the subtitles. Also whispers come up. So it’s also handy for people who have good, sharp hearing.

Also, any other noises will show up in the subtitles. Scoffing for instance. Scoffing always comes up in Netflix subtitles. He scoffed, she scoffed, they scoffed. I think that’s why I unsubscribed.

So the bottom line is, you tend to have a heads up, if you want a heads up, on everyone else who is watching the movie, in terms of knowledge, details, songs, whispers, scoffing, certainly more info, than if you don’t have subtitles. You never know, it might add more depth to the film. On the other hand, it might give you more knowledge than you desire and you may just want to watch the film without all that palaver.

The Joy of Muscle Rub

The joy of muscle rub is sometimes in the rubbing
And sometimes in the topical painkiller
And sometimes in the smell
And always in the heat
The killjoy of muscle rub is often in the neglect to wash
hands
after using, before touching sensitive parts of the body.

Famous For 15 Days – The Life Of A Crane fly

You left the window open

So I came in

You had a light on

And it was warm.

You seem afraid

When I flutter

I do not mean

To frighten you.

I seem chaotic

Haphazard

Bouncing around

Just trying to find

Somewhere to land.

I hope we can

Co-exist peacefully.

Now, just a bit of back story

To make you less afraid.

Our larvae spend

Most of the year

In moist soil

We are food

For many animals.

We do not bite or sting

Or spread diseases.

When we do emerge

We don’t even have

Much time to eat.

We have between 10 and 15 days

To propagate the species

To love, to live

That time is precious

It’s like the lifetime

That you have.

In school playgrounds

Boys pulled off our legs

Our legs are decidious

Easily coming away

But even decidious legs

Shouldn’t be pulled away

I know that used to upset you.

We are born to fly

In open skies

I was out the other day

A cloudy, windy

September Day

When the author

Saw me in flight.

They exclaimed

It was so nice

To get a glimpse of us

Outside the confines

Of a building.

Hadn’t seen

A more graceful flyer.

It’s like we’re in slow motion

With an invisible parachute.

The author finally realised

How gentle we were

I’m glad.

Also, we don’t need to be famous.

See you next year.

August and September – A Conversation

SEPTEMBER: How are you today?

AUGUST: I’m fine. Just wondering why you stole my thunder.

SEPTEMBER: While you were taking drugs, raising hell, getting drunk, burning the candle at both ends, being highly dysregulated, I was…

AUGUST: I don’t do drugs.

SEPTEMBER: Well, while you were doing all those other other things, I was co-0rdinating, planning.

AUGUST: Oh yes, planning, in your unique narcissistic way.

SEPTEMBER: Don’t give me grief. I’m just a month.

AUGUST: I was the one doing all the hard work in the summer season to bring you to the point of were we are now. I was the one who was supposed to be balmy, but no, here you are, once again taking the credit for all my hard work.

SEPTEMBER: Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was indeed more balmy than I expected. I’m sorry if it has caused you distress.

AUGUST: You upstaged me.

SEPTEMBER: Again, it wasn’t planned.

AUGUST: Just before you said you were a planner. You can’t have it both ways.

SEPTEMBER: : ‘The best laid plans of mice and men’

AUGUST: I think you’re jealous. I think you sabotaged me.

SEPTEMBER: Well, you can think what you like. I am what I am.

AUGUST: September should not be like June or July…or August.

SEPTEMBER: But you’re not even like August and you are August. I’m not listening anymore to your crazy ramblings.

AUGUST: Ah, you just called me crazy. You’re gaslighting me!

SEPTEMBER: The fact remains, I brought the weather that you promised.

AUGUST: But you’re supposed to bring cooler fresher weather. Why can’t you be what you’re supposed to be? Why are you always aping me?

SEPTEMBER: While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, believe me August, I have my own signature. I have no interest in being your type of weather. It was an accident. An oversight. An anomaly.

AUGUST: Those anomalies have been happening a lot lately.

SEPTEMBER: There’s room for us both. I didn’t set out to outdo you. It just happened. I’m sorry.

AUGUST: Big of you to apologise.

SEPTEMBER: I’ve apologized twice now. I won’t be doing it again. I’ve already tried to pull it back, the weather I mean.

AUGUST: Oh please, don’t feel you have to do so on my behalf. Wouldn’t want to hold you back. I want you to be the best version of yourself.

SEPTEMBER: The best version of myself is usually a bit cooler and fresher.

I never meant to make you feel bad.

AUGUST: Yeah, I bet.

SEPTEMBER: Friends?

AUGUST: As long as you don’t keep up this heatwave crap.

SEPTEMBER: I can’t promise, but I do believe the worst is over.

AUGUST: The best, you mean. The best is over.

SEPTEMBER: Thank you for saying so. I will try to do that whole cool, fresh September thing you’re used to, just for old times sake and because I love you.

AUGUST: What? What did you just say?

SEPTEMBER: Well, you know, I love you like a brother.

AUGUST: Yes, I get it. You always keep me in the friend zone. Unlike November.

SEPTEMBER: Leave November out of it.

AUGUST: Hit a nerve I see. Well, goodbye and good luck.

SEPTEMBER: See you same time next year?

AUGUST: Perhaps not. Perhaps I’ll be unseasonably cold.

SEPTEMBER: Oh no, not 1850 all over again. Come on August, stop sulking. You love me really.

AUGUST: I’ll let November do that.

SEPTEMBER: Doesn’t have your charm.

AUGUST: Bet you say that to all the months.

When I’m Filling A Stocking…

When I’m filling a stocking for someone special, I try to fill it with:

-Something to eat

-Something to drink

-Something to wear – usually socks and boxers or both (Obviously thinking about spouse here)

-Something to write in, diary or notepad with pen.

-Some type of useful gadget that needs batteries. I was going to buy a nose/ear trimmer for my spouse but realised I’d never actually seen any stray hairs sprouting from either orifice, in thirty years, and so thought this might be a bit insulting. Turns out he would have welcomed them. I suppose he’s been doing it in secret, trimming, I mean. (An ideal Christmas gift opportunity down the pan).

Some type of exciting but esentially useless gadget, that appeals to men’s little-boy-that-never-grew-up mentality.

Something to drink out of – Christmas themed or other type of drink vehicle filled with socks, marshmallows and/or generic hot chocolate mix. Got him a Batman mug and socks that I secretly wanted. (Christmas is nothing if not about sacrifice).

Something to splash on. (Got to be Brut lotion in his case)

Something out of the box/miscellaneous, unexpected, that doesn’t fit into any category.

Booby prize – Actually, only just thought about this one, as a possible stocking filler idea.

Toiletries- Just the few essential packs of razors and shaving foam.

Mastermind Vintage – A really cheap perfume for men, that smells like sugar, with a tiny bit of musk, which he obviously didn’t like, which he gave to me. Remember these are not the real present/gift items. It’s fun supplementary.

Lambrini Rhubarb – He likes sweet things and he doesn’t normally drink so I thought lightweight, sweet, refreshing and delicious, can’t lose, but again, he passed it onto me. I’m sensing a pattern here. Tastes like melted plastic to me. Like the Christmas Pudding and Custard Stout I bought, which tasted like nothing I’ve ever drank before, and hope I never will again, I thought it would go straight down the sink, and for me to pour alcohol down the sink, it has to be bad, but I drank a can of this, and now I have heartburn.

As usual, everything was last minute for me this year, like the men you see going out at Christmas Eve to buy perfume. Actually, it’s usually the day before, under cover of darkness, at 4.30 p.m, and you can see the pain in their eyes, even in the winter solstice.

I try to include a delicate balance of different useful things, but it was a bit hit and miss this year, more miss than hit. So… I’m going to have a P.S Day. Things forgotten and not purchased through lack of time, energy, indecision, trauma, hot discount store, or some other reason and we’re going to have another Christmas Stocking, in the next few days, a sort of add on, an expansion, like those video games, only with those nose hair trimmers nestling uncomfortably on top.

Merry Christmas Everyone!