Mustard coloured slacks got me thinking and I found this on youtube:
Trousers
A friend of mine called Tom Church lent me an audio tape with this sketch on it when I was about 16. I had never actually seen the visual element of it, but I must say that the trousers on show certainly equal the ones I had concocted in my own brain. I don’t know what happened to Tom, but I dimly remember something to do with Reading County Council and fire.
I have a pair of emerald green cords, which I have actually worn out of the house more than once. Corduroy trousers seem to have featured quite a lot in my life, which is not a phrase that I concocted this morning and was desperately trying to find a use for. I remember my mother forcing me into a pair of pea green corduroy strides as child, which my brother would not wear. Since I could not muster his temper I had to wear them. They certainly were not a comfy trouser, but I think that if I had been a more precocious child I would have been able to carry them off. As it was I think I was too much of a nervous infant to really make those trousers live, you noticed the trousers but not the trouser wearer. They made me look bilious as well.
That is something that they don’t teach you at school. If you’re going to wear something a trifle outrageous you have to elevate your own personality to match it. Otherwise the vibrations will be unsympathetic and you will create a Cloth Golem; garments which lead an animated and mobile life independent of the wearer. Would you notice Napoleon’s hat or would notice Napoleon? Now I’ve asked the question I realise that I would probably notice the hat first and the funny little man underneath second. Was Napoleon’s hat a Cloth Golem? It would account for nothing.
I dimly recall saying to someone recently that we have no need to fear another Napoleon. Sitting here in the cold florescent light of the office I wonder if I was right. Let’s consider it logically:
Napoleon often wore a hat
Hat’s are often worn on the heads of emperors.
Therefore Napoleon often had an emperor’s head.
This tells us a lot, but nothing we did not already know. They say that Napoleon, at 5ft 6 inches tall, was taller than the average Frenchman at the time. Who was this average Frenchman? I bet no one met him, they never do. These average people must be very lonely.
On Friday we are going to a party at Huw and Manuela’s for Bastille Day. We have been instructed to wear something French but I’m not sure what I should do. I have a pair of French Connection trousers, but I don’t think I will be encouraged to wear them since they are a trifle raunchy. Alternatively I could empty a bottle of Beaujolais [BOE-zjoh-lay] Nouveau over myself. But that seems wasteful when you consider that each of the Gamay grapes in a bottle are hand picked. I would not wish to be so churlish. Incidentally, does anyone know how much a bottle of Beaujolais [BOE-zjoh-lay] Nouveau would cost me? It seems appropriate to drink something French on Bastille Day, although I can’t think why.
Did I mention that they have moved my desk at work? Day two in my new position and it’s not so bad. I have not picked up the phone once and barely speak to my colleagues. So it’s not all rapine and devastation. But then, it never is.
After a month of erratic movement Vulcanised Sorbet Inc. proves its bounce-back-ability.
9 comments:
Dunno about the Beaujelais, but Bargain Booze has an acceptable Chateauneuf Du Pape for under a tenner, a Sancerre in the same price range and a Chablis for about eight quid. Bit pricier than New World wines of similar quality, but we're talking about very competitive prices as far as Old World wines - especially Appellation Controllee ones - are concerned.
Vive Le France and all that.
Personally I'm planning to spend Friday eating garlic and offending people. This has nothing to do with pretending to be French or even Bastille Day, it's just what I like to do on a Friday.
Blimey, anyone would think you worked for Bargain Booze or something...
I should be charging by the "B".
Curses! There goes my 'secret' identity then!!!
So, Mr.Frictionless, what came first? Your ability to wear corduroy trousers or your frictionless? Or did one evolve from the other?
It takes a braver man than me to claim any true "corduroy wearing" ability. I get by, but more through luck than judgement.
As far as the evolution of frictionlessness is concerned I am pretty sure it is down to constant burnishing by cosmic thumbs.
I am doubtful as to whether there is any causal link between the sucessful wearing of corduroy and a decrease in personal friction, but I'm sure that any investigation into the existance of any such link would push the scope of human understanding to it's farthest reaches, maybe even ushering in a new Golden Age for all mankind.
I, alas, cannot pick up that gauntlet on account of my very poor gripping skills. Grappling: adept. Gripping: risible.
I like German wines best (I expect you expected that didn't you?).
I'm starting a company called Bargain Blooze which sells old blues artists at competitive prices. I have a Blind Willy Johnson going for under a fiver and I have a crate of B B King that, although occasionally cheesy on the palette can still be witty and nunctious with a hint of lychee. Best served with sociology.
I also might start a company called Bargain Brooze that sells cut-price contusions.
That's all I can think of except to say that M. Burns told me to watch OLDBOY and it is magnificent so cheers and hywl fawr to him.
Frickman, you should check out a prog-pop band called GUIDO SOL who I have made contact with. I have told them to check you out. I really like them and think you might too. Look at www.guidosol.com.
Satori songs appear webwise soon, how exciting. Can you contact me re: a support at the TAV on the 20th?
Glad you liked the film A.J., it is good while being very dark and sick in a way that makes you feel guilty for liking it.
Isn't that spelt 'hwyl'? Or was that a typo? I won't hold it against you, despite the fact that I'm English and you're Welsh so you should be thoroughly ashamed. Now I expect you to take the now legendary pose of the 'weeping wank'.
Oh, yeah. Typo error for the big Welsh nationalist. I'm wanking and weeping. I hate nationalism. I hate being Welsh so I don't know why I went all sheepshaggy for a minute. I want to be a Bulgarian or something. I want a nice national costume with pom poms, like the Cypriots or the Eskimos.
Bargain Jewz; cut price rabbi for under a fiver and a witty little Deli-owner from North London.
Bargain Stewz; the one stop casserole shop.
Bargain Flooz; from Bird Flu to a chirpy little Spanish number - pandemics at knock down prices.
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