23 May 2006

Occult Visitations

I've just had a brush with the occult, and I must tell you, I am all the better for it. This is the kind of case that gives conclusive proof to the existence of other dimensions, astral planes and all the other wotnots that boring scientific people have being trying to poo poo for donkeys years. I expect that the Fortean Times will be in touch, and I'll be invited to address the Society for Psychic Research. In fact, when I reveal what I am - in a rather slow way perhaps - about to reveal, I expect all the major news networks - and the Archbishop of Canterbury to be beating a path to my door. Well here goes...this is my tale - as it happened to me.

Last Sunday afternoon, when I drove my daughter back to London, we could not find her Childrens' Classics Cd - which meant a troublesome journey up the M4, not soothed by The Ugly Duckling, Nick Nack Paddywack, or any of the other nursery masterpieces that usually make it such a pleasant drive. The Cd was nowhere to be found, and believe me, I searched for it - I was made to give the car a thorough going over by a child who I believe - suspected me of some kind of trickery - like throwing it out of the window while she was distracted, trying to crush a banana into the back of my head. Well not true, not a bit of it. I love it as much as she does, and was terribly troubled by it's absence. Well, to cut a long story short, I have just returned from a spin around the countryside - through torrential downpours, across overflowing brooks, past the excellent Aldermaston Secret Weapons facility, and down the back lanes of life, rarely bothered by motor vehicles.
My first inclination of an unearthly visitation was the clouds of steam coming off the roads - it had just rained you may say - I tried to reason this as being the case, but the mists swirled in an unusual way...well, my psychic radar tuned in, and I watched for further signs of spirit activity.
The journey continued for some miles, and my mind wandered to other matters. I reached my destination - a small storage facility, charged with the responsibility of guarding my possessions, while I reside at my mother's kindly but by no means spacious domicile.
I alighted my vehicle, and went to pay the nice lady who runs the place, a cheque for two months. I then returned to the car. I should note, that on leaving the vehicle, I noticed spectral mist coming from the engine. I hoped this was spectral mist, because I haven't checked the oil recently, and she is overdue a service.

Anyway, on returning to said transport, I was shocked to find the lost Cd at my feet, shining up at me. It had not been there before, it could not possibly have rolled back into view from some hidden cranny, and it was not in any way scarred by days on the car's extremely filthy floor. Applying the Occams Razor principle to the problem, which states that once every other explanation has been ruled out, the last remaining - and least likely must be true, I surmised that the Childrens'Classics Cd had been taken onto the astral plane last Sunday afternoon - perhaps for a Spirit Childrens' party, and returned to me this afternoon, by invisible hands, reaching through the spectral mist when I wasn't looking. I did consider - albeit briefly, that I might have been the guinea pig for some advanced new weapon being produced at Aldermaston - perhaps in tandem with the spirit world, but quickly dismissed the notion as ridiculous. Spirits would never become embroiled in the production of weaponry.

I am sure you will all agree with me, that my reading of this extraordinary situation is the correct one. If there are still any sceptics out there, the evidence is as plain as the big nose on your painfully plain face. You can ask my daughter if the Cd was missing. She will concur with my true account. If you don't believe that the Cd has been returned, I can show it to you. If you don't believe it is the same Cd. I can play it to you. It jumps at the same spot. What further explanation for the existence of the occult could you ever possibly need?

Memo to myself. I wonder if the Spirit world can store my stuff until I need it again. Be a damn sight cheaper.

10 May 2006

The Lord Spoke to Me

Like many single men living with their mothers, I have had a religious experience - which I'd like to pass on to you. As I tossed and turned last night on my fold out divan, the Lord himself appeared to me. As we all know, he can take many forms, changing them at will to suit the circumstances and colour schemes of his environment. For my visitation, he chose from his many disguises, to appear as gin. How did I know it was him? you might well ask...and you'd be right. Well normally, I don't drink gin, but something told me - a divine voice if you like, that I must seek gin - so I did. It was after imbibing this sacrament that he spoke to me. Why he chose me, I can only guess. Perhaps it's that I am a single man living at home with his mother - apparently we are more receptive or something. Anyway, what he told me might shock you. Apparently, there's been some sort of mix up - something to do with the paperwork. It seemed a little trivial at first, but if you'll just bare(?) with me for a moment, I am sure you will appreciate the significance of what I have to tell you.
It concerns Pete Doherty, Kate Moss, Jordan and Peter Andre. Apparently due to a clerical error, they're with the wrong people. Easy mistake I suppose - Pete 'n' Kate, Kate 'n' Pete...Celebrity couples. Well apparently, Doherty is supposed to be with Kate Price, and Moss is supposed to be with Peter Andre. He seemed quite upset - God I mean. Well no wonder there's been all the trouble....it's quite obvious when you look at it in the cold light of day. It all started to go wrong with I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. He didn't specify how exactly, just that it did - possibly an insect bite or something - that's just my guess.
Doherty has of course, been driven to ever increasing depths of depravity of late, and according to God, this stems from the fact that he should have been sharing Jordan's marital bed. It's the wrong order of things - which can wreak havoc apparently. Moss of course is.................

Readers of this occasional series of thoughts, insights and witticisms, will no doubt be glad to know that I am keeping myself busy. Slight improvement on the food, and I am taking more exercise - by lifting my legs in the air while seated. The Bluebells are blooming and I've bought some premium bonds.
Onwards and upwards - for the legs at least.

05 May 2006

The Bluebells are up

Yo MuthaFuckas, a big shout from the Burghfield area. Sorry for the exuberance, but the Bluebells are up, the sun has appeared, and it feels almost good to be alive.
I've been busying myself with picnics at Bottom Lane - Not a metaphor you filthy minded urban sophisticates, but a little slice of innocent paradise. Once the stingers and brambles are braved, this is the situationist beach beneath the pavement...actually, it's not beneath a pavement, and it's rather pretentious of me to mention situationism - I'm in wine - staying up to watch the election results of course. Fully expecting tattooed fellas to be running all councils by tomorrow...a disturbing amount of Crosses of St George in local cars...I opt for the swastika - it's a Hindu peace sign of course...
Sorry to be insane, but I have been brain damaged by fairground rides. As a conscientious weekend father, I took the spawn of my loins to the fair on Mortimer village green - a harmless enough pursuit you might think. Nothing spectacular, just a few rides. A baby railway, a roundabout where you sit in a tea cup...unfortunately they all spin clockwise, so the cumulative effect is increasing dizziness. As a parting treat, I let her persuade me to take her on the Waltzer...the grown-up old fashioned thing, operated by the elderly Ian Brady type. Mistake. I was sick for two days. I could not turn left for a week. Fully expected Brain Haemorrage ( spelling could be a bit off here...due to brain damage...and mother's gone upstairs with the Guardian ). Do all rides go clockwise? IS this a plot. If they went anti clockwise, would the problems of society be cured? Just a thought.
Anyway, hope Keith Richards is OK, but then again, death from falling out of a tree might be the best way of dispatching him. I would have preferred Johnny Cash to die from Ostrich attack as well. Hoping Mick Jagger will be eaten by tigers. Anyway, it's getting a bit tasty on the box. See you soon. I shall be playing at the Burghfield Hayride this weekend. Not.

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