Archive for September, 2010

Re.: WC*

September 22, 2010

David from Manchester asks:

Q:

Why are US toilets so full of water, making it impossible to go without making a noise? My dad always said I sounded like a cart horse if he heard me aiming for the water at the bottom. I think that’s what bothers me most about America, the lack of any option but to be a cart horse.

A:

Less water leads to streakage. Gross.

Q:

I can do invisibly by closing the lid. I cannot do inaudibly in this country.

A:

What is the point of plumbing if not to whisk away all evidence of your corpitude? Is corpitude a word?

Q:

No. For me this ties into the odour of an asparagus piss. How do you feel about this?

A:

I feel like asparagus must be a crazy powerful vegetable.

Q:

It mocks onions because they can only make piss that smells like piss.

A:

Beets can turn your pee pink. Which is impressive in its own way.

Q:

Once you get over the terror that you have some kind of kidney cancer.

…I’m struggling to think of any other vegetables with such obvious power.

A:

Artichokes defy the natural human ability to figure out how to eat vegetables.

Q:

Very true. I only learned recently and now feel a little smug every time I eat one. Look at me, I’m in control of my artichoke.

A.

A Mancunian in control of an artichoke, who pisses like a draft horse and dreads kidney tumors.

Q:

Thank God. I finally found the subtitle for my autobiography.

.

* Entries with more than one person talking may be longer than 200 words.

Tide

September 19, 2010

Last week I stayed at a cottage in Devon, so close to the sea that the windows were splashed with salt water.

On weekends, the beach below was covered with intrepid Brits: children in pink wetsuits, old people in folding chairs, couples in their cups. Next door was a beach shop, for the obligatory boogie boards, sunblock, ice cream and tea.

The entire cove was presided over by a hilltop church that looks like a castle, with an English flag waving gallantly from the tower.

It turns out to be an ancient church – seven centuries – so the graveyard is quite crowded. As you walk amongst graves so old the names have disappeared, and graves of gone babies, and last year’s graves, it’s impossible not to feel a certain… weight.

I grew up spending summers at a beach resort originally founded by Methodists: yet completely graveless.

If we wanted a scare, we crossed the sticky boardwalk, entered the clanging, you-win noise of FunLand, and waited in line forever at the Haunted Mansion. Until a cart came to rumble us through ominous gates, into darkness. Where, always in the same spot, a skeleton leapt out, inches from our skulls, to say boo.

Devon

September 19, 2010

Wembury beach, with our cottage to the right and the church above.

.

The house where we stayed.

.

The view from the living room window.

.

Enchantment

September 2, 2010

Last weekend my friend Nancy and I went to Kensington Palace to see a exhibit called “The Enchanted Palace” about how being a princess is really miserable most of the time: you’re always in a glittering dress, being married off to somebody from Saxe-Coburg-Hanoverberg who doesn’t speak English, and then you die in childbirth.

We also saw some swans and had tea. The kind where they bring you a three-tiered tray with finger sandwiches and scones and cute-sized pastries.

All in all, a pleasant and spooky day.

.

.

It was ghostbuster weather.
.
.
The statuary looked a bit bored.
.
.
Me and Nancy inside the mirror, inside the palace.
.
.