Thursday, December 08, 2005

Harold Pinter is a Dude

I haven't eaten since Tuesday.

I've just been violently sick after uncovering a three week old garlic chicken pasta in the fridge. Christ, the stench! It took me 15 minutes just to bag it up and get it out of the house whilst swallowing my own bile.

I decided against going to bed and decided as I hadn't seen daylight for 4 days I'd open the windows and get cleaning, not bargaining on vomit-inducing tagliatelle.

I don't understand Christmas music in shops. Why? Why would they do that? They don't have music in Tesco's the rest of the year round and I don't think anybody particularly misses it. I can't imagine anyone complaining about a shop having no Christmas music, just like I can't imagine anybody whose seasonal cheer quotient wouldn't skyrocket if they didn't have to hear The Chipmunks' version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" while queueing to buy fucking tampons or whatever. It's a depressing enough experience lining up with everyone else to stare at the shelves of bland sandwiches at lunchtime without being driven demented by some tired and worn-out Christmas mix tape gurgling away in the background. Jesus, those things are on a fucking loop, too. There's currently a debate about a smoking ban in pubs, focusing on the rights of bar staff not to work in a nicotine fogged environment. What about the cashiers in supermarkets at Christmas? It's only a matter of time before one of them snaps from hearing Cliff Richard's "Millennium Prayer" six hundred times a day and brings a rifle to work, or unboxes a turkey carving knife for a slice'n'dice rampage. And if I'm in the shop when it happens I hope they fucking slit my throat, too.

Last night I saw these guys at the Garage in Highbury, with their huge, caustic, beautifully ugly mess. Craig Clouse is a madman. For the duration of the last two songs he climbed into the audience with the microphone, the cord all tangled up in the mic stand, and the crowd all stepped way back to the walls while he paced around swinging the stand around his head. We actually believed he would hurt us.

Back home, furiously drunk and humming with violent tinnitus, I stared at the television, not caring what came on and hardly comprehending what did. A man was on, talking straight into the camera, but I was so leathered I could see two men and two TVs, and my eyes struggled to marry the two images up. The man looked old and frail, but there was nothing frail about what he was saying. At some point I registered that the old man was Harold Pinter. I remember that he seemed, briefly at least, to be talking about his plays. But then he was talking about something else entirely, and it swiftly became the greatest single piece of television I have ever seen. It was fucking magnetic, and it felt like something that should never have made it into a national broadcast. I thought somebody must have made a mistake somewhere, somebody will lose their job in the morning. It was like a fucking portal had opened up and a freak dose of uninterrupted brutal reality was pouring through.

This morning I thought maybe I had hallucinated it all. But it appears I didn't.

I believe that despite the enormous odds which exist, unflinching, unswerving, fierce intellectual determination, as citizens, to define the real truth of our lives and our societies is a crucial obligation which devolves upon us all. It is in fact mandatory.

If such a determination is not embodied in our political vision we have no hope of restoring what is so nearly lost to us - the dignity of man.

This Christmas, the Queen's Speech should be replaced by Pinter's. This year and every fucking year.

I am so monumentally hungover today I am impervious to all external influences. And it feels great.

11 Mewling Pricks

At 12:56 am, Blogger Labbie ejaculated...

Must be the whole British thing you have going on, but you lost me at the dude swinging the microphone stand over his head... What was the purpose of that?

At 2:11 am, Blogger Snotty McShot ejaculated...

Fucking rock and fucking roll is the fucking purpose. What more do you need?

Plus, the dude is Texan.

At 3:48 pm, Blogger Labbie ejaculated...

Ah, from my country? He's alright, then. Carry on...

At 3:53 pm, Blogger lucretius ejaculated...

I've always maintained that listening to the latest American Idol champion warble her way through a techo-country-western-hip-hop-metal version of "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas" while buying a Whitman's Sampler is all the proof we need that the terrorists have already won.

Either that or listening to the same song while eating the same Whitman's Sampler and reading the Dear John letter that accompanied it while dodging mortar shells in Fallujah might also have the same significance.

At 12:57 pm, Blogger hungbunny ejaculated...

Texas, eh? How could the same state have produced George Dubya and the mighty Gibby Haynes?

At 5:05 pm, Blogger Snotty McShot ejaculated...

I was going to add Bill Hicks to the list of anti-Bushian Texans. But then I remembered that George Bush isn't even fucking Texan.

The cowboy hat-wearing, Southern-drawling, macho-posturing motherfucker's from Connecticut. He's a fucking phoney on top of being the antichrist.

At 7:46 pm, Anonymous David Duff ejaculated...

Perhaps your Christmas shopping would be eased by the playing of Harold the Obscure's rivetting speech? I tried to read it, honestly I did, but just like his plays, I slipped away at the interval. I think, on balance, taken in the round, as it were, and weighing it all up, I'd rather listen to 'The Chipmunks' version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town". At least I'd understand it.

But, as my old Mum used to say, "It's all according to taste, as the man said when he kissed a cow." (Now you know why I left home and joined the army, she was always coming out with things like that!)

At 10:54 pm, Blogger Snotty McShot ejaculated...

Well, Double D, I guess Pinter did use some pretty big words. But surely one of the nurses would be kind enough to read the rest of it to you?

At 1:37 pm, Blogger Larry Teabag ejaculated...

I watched Pinter's speech - and bloody good it was too.

[The USA] quite simply doesn't give a damn about the United Nations, international law or critical dissent, which it regards as impotent and irrelevant. It also has its own bleating little lamb tagging behind it on a lead, the pathetic and supine Great Britain.

What has happened to our moral sensibility? Did we ever have any? What do these words mean? Do they refer to a term very rarely employed these days - conscience? A conscience to do not only with our own acts but to do with our shared responsibility in the acts of others? Is all this dead?

And these words coming from a man visibly half-dead from throat-cancer - the over all effect was indeed powerfully magnetic.

At 6:28 pm, Anonymous David Duff ejaculated...

"[The USA] quite simply doesn't give a damn about the United Nations, international law or critical dissent"

One sincerely hopes so, particularly if one was a US citizen, after all, no-one else does!

At 3:37 pm, Blogger Snotty McShot ejaculated...

Ho ho yes, 'David' you hilarious cunt. Now fuck off and take all those fucking commas with you.


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