Here’s the story of Ultravox, sun destruction and deluded horniness.
I hate the sun. I hate the way its warm glow makes me fuzzy with rage. I hate the way it makes me sweat. I hate the way it makes you delirious and dance naked around fire hydrants, even though we don’t have fire hydrants here in England. Makes you wonder what you’re dancing around, if I’m being honest.
I hate the way it brings out the extrovert in me. I don’t know if happens to all ultra-shy people, but when it’s warm you feel uninhibited. It’s only a temporary hit, but you find yourself not in control. You’re hugging the red phone boxes. Tipping your bowler hat to strangers despite the fact that people don’t do that anymore, and despite the fact people don’t where bowler hats anymore. It’s a metaphorical hat tipping. And that makes you look crazy. Although if nobody has raised an eyebrow to your phone box hugging then it’s highly doubtful they’re raising an eyebrow to your hat tipping policy. They may however, raise an eyebrow when you start taking photos of your feet.
I was taking photos of a new building going up since I’m interested in architecture, since I’m clearly so incredibly lonely as I find steel interesting, and since I haven’t yet endured the pop of the cherry. I say yet. I might need to stop taking photos of steelwork. And steel workers. But if it remains sunny, who gives a hoot? I’m free and liberal! Strutting down Lower East Street last Friday, I felt alive. I had a sense of rhythm. And no one has ever said that about me before. And it’s highly doubtful anyone will again.
It was only a temporary high. By the time I had arrived home, it was overcast and the rain had started. And I was left with several photos of a building and several photos of my feet. I don’t like my feet. I don’t know why. I think it might just be feet in general. I really don’t understand foot fetish. Why would you lick someone’s foot? Elbows, maybe. Knuckles, sure. Earlobes, if you’re one of the minority of humankind that has them, certainly. Chin, even. I’m just naming body parts now. Do people lick chins? I’m sure you want me to move on. Okay, I’m done now. Eyebrows? Hmm. Deluded horniness. What a wonderment.
Surely, this is a bonus for heat. Not really. It’s an awful stereotype that we want to be extroverts. Oh yes, it’s your prerogative to be what you want. To do what you want. Erm, to lick what you want. Lampposts were a favourite ‘lickature’ of mine as a youth. Not when it was cold, though. I enjoy the cold, but only from a distance. We don’t all aspire to confidence and strutting. There’s nothing wrong with being shy. We have as many problems as extroverts and they don’t aspire to be shy. Awful stigma attached to being ultra-shy. The heat just makes me something I don’t want to be. Outgoing and talkative. I’d rather talk to a wall. “Hello wall, how are things?” It’s not me being anti-social, it’s just me being me.
Ultra-shy, by the way, is my new word. There’s such a stain on the word introvert. I find putting the word ‘ultra’ onto things makes them sexier and cooler. Ultra-clock. It’s so cool it doesn’t tell you the time. Ultra-wardrobe. So full of crap it’s beyond being graded as cool. Ultra-toothbrush. A multi-useful tool. Like me. Ultravox. Oh wait, there’s the exception. Never mind.
There is something else about the heat. The children. Oh, so, so many children. Why do they scream? They never used to when it was warm. They used to play marbles. Coin flicking games. Rolled a hoop down a street. Got up to shenanigans. Helped around the house. Danced in the street with those ribbons. Rode their penny-farthings to the sweet shop. What happened to those sepia days? Now all children do is run about and scream. I really cannot wait for the day when the sun blows up and shuts up every single, noisy child. I know they’re just children, but good Lord, keep them under control. You cannot get away from them. Everyone has a child. You cannot live anywhere without them. I really hope global warming hurries up and destroys spring and summer. Then we can go back to a normal, civilized world where children never go outside.
Before parents start shouting at me, I know there are many parents who are able to keep control of their children, plus I have looked after a child and I know it’s difficult. But it is really so bad to demand that all unruly children are fitted with a muzzle?
It’s been very cold lately. This week has been different. Sunshine and smiles. Miserable sunshine and miserable smiles. I’m being deafened by children. I’m hot and cannot breathe. There’s no wind outside. And I’m losing my ultra-shyness. And I’m becoming an ultra-extrovert. And that’s ultra-un-cool.
If the weather carries on in this vein, I fear my strut factor will be turned all the way up to eleven. And if that happens, may God have mercy on us all…
American author and humourist, Samuel ‘Mark Twain’ Clemens (1835-1910), once said: “Noise proves nothing. Often a hen who has merely laid an egg cackles as if she laid an asteroid”.
Peace Out :|:
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Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:
To Contrive & Jive
Which Is Your Favourite Wonder Of The Underwater World?
Hark Around The Words