bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Archive for April, 2009

Terry Scott meets Julie, Waterloo Station, every Friday night

Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009

Dear Rachel,

As a Beatles obsessive from a very early age, I know that ‘Komm gib Mir Deine Hand’ is German for I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Also, while I wouldn’t swear to it, I think that ‘Schlaufe vorbei interessiere ich nicht, was Ihr Gesicht wie aussiehts’ is also German, this time for ‘Bend over, I don’t care what your face looks like’. I once overheard Tony explaining this to Slack Matt as I wandered around the East Yard, and while it is not a sentence that I need to employ every day, I do get a tiny bit of squalid pleasure from knowing that I know it.

[Hitting Read More will reveal - at last - the hidden meaning of the Kink's Waterloo Sunset]

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Hot Cutlery and Turning Into Gandalf

Saturday, April 11th, 2009

Dear Rachel

If you get a teaspoon, immerse it for some time in very hot water, and then drop it down the back of someone’s trousers while they are talking to someone on their market stall, they jump about in a manner strongly reminiscent of Riverdance, while really, really swearing. Also, because no one expects to have scalding cutlery in their underwear at, well, any time of day really, it also creates a lovely cartoon effect as the moments when a) you are happy that you have underwear which is free of scalding cutlery and b) you realise that actually you don’t, converge, rather like when Tom realises that Jerry has set his tail alight again.

I did this to Pikey Dave as a Christmas present last year. A surprising side effect was that the resultant string of imaginatively arranged obscenities was the loudest ever heard in the United Kingdom. If you listen carefully you can still hear two w*kers and a c*nt reverberating under the canal bridge even now, four months later.

[Bitch slapping Read More now will reveal what happens when you unexpectedly channel Gandalf while ordering coffee]

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Constant Asthma, and solving the Ripper case

Friday, April 3rd, 2009

Dear Rachel,

Yeah I can’t see the point of having asthma, but I occasionally get a version of it when sprinting for overland trains at Greenwich station after trading. I refer to it as Constant Asthma, and you get it by charging for a train and launching yourself onto the carriage with seconds to spare before the half hour wait for it to actually leave starts. Trying to maintain an air of quiet dignity under these circumstances is quite a trick, and I instead favour slumping red faced against the window, trying not to vomit, and gasping like a sex pest. People will look at you in a slightly curious manner as you recover, which is when you’d like to explain that actually you breathe like this all the time, no matter what you are doing – washing your hair, playing chess, anything – because you suffer from Constant Asthma, hence the phrase. An attack of Constant Asthma can usually be avoided by getting on the Docklands Light Railway, which leaves every eight minutes, and I think I shall do this in future.

[Hitting Read More now will - somewhat remarkably - sort out the identity of Jack the Ripper]

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