Thursday, 27 February 2014

That's Ideal.

The thing about catching a mouse (after 10 days of hunting it) in a humane trap and then releasing it in a luscious green field where it can frolic forever is that it makes you feel so good. Not only have you cared for a tiny, fragile animal and rehomed it back to nature but you also showed all those negative, unloving people who say humane traps don't work that they can suck your fat balls. Catching mice is clearly a topic that practically everyone has an opinion on and now I'm one of those people. Humane traps work. Peanut butter didn't lure Stripe (that's the mouse's name. I called him that because he had a mohican) as many people said it would. Nor did chocolate or cheese. Love lured him into my trap. Simple, heartfelt love. And dog food. And as soon as Stripe fell for the bait he realised he'd been tricked into entering...liberation. He understood, for the first time ever, that everywhere else had been the trap and now he was free. Free of running, free of hiding. He walked into my love and it was that love that carried him to his field of dreams. And all those people who said "When you release a mouse, they just come back" should know that he hasn't returned because he has freedom. Those people should know that he hasn't returned because he's found his way in the world. And, perhaps most importantly, those people should know that they can suck my fat balls.

Being right, and therefore better than everyone else, comes with a feeling of such smug elation that you just want to share it with the world. After giving Stripe a new home, Jerk and I were walking in a different park and I could feel that smug happiness rising within me. It was a nice day, I'd just done a good deed and I wanted the world to feel as good as I did.

I saw a woman sitting on a bench. She was about 30 and had a can of beer hidden away in a black plastic bag. Standing beside her was a smartly dressed middle aged man with a briefcase. He was trying to show the woman some paperwork but Jerk had distracted her. She asked me what type of dog Jerk was and when I told her Jerk was a lurcher she said "Well, she's very lovely". I was delighted. I could feel my heart swell with joy. Could today get any better? Sunshine, mouse freedom and now someone has said Jerk is very lovely. "And so are you", I replied.

She laughed and said "Tell him that. I'm in court tomorrow for stabbing my boyfriend".

Right. Well. I won't be put off. It's a beautiful day, I've rescued a mouse and I'm not letting this feeling of joy and love go. Today is a great day. I will spread my feeling of goodwill and, within no time, everyone will be as loving, kind and great as I am. I looked across the park at the trees, the river and a man taking a shit into a bag and decided to go home.

But that's Lewisham. It's a tense, aggressive but often wonderful place. In no time, I'd be off to Central London where a classier type of person is found. Ah, the glamour and excitement of London! It still gets to me. Even the train journey there is exciting. A carriage full of people with exciting lives. A businessman sending emails on his Blackberry, an art student looking over his portfolio, theatre-goers checking they've remembered their tickets fifty times. Within minutes my feeling of warmth and happiness had returned. Just one tiny good deed at the start of the day and I'm ready to hug strangers on a train that night. And that's when my opportunity to spread my feeling of goodwill arrives right in front of me. 

A blind man gets on the train and bumps into a handrail. There is only one seat free in the carriage and it's the one next to me. I stand up and offer to help him. He thanks me and I walk with him to his seat. I can see people around me watching and...they smile. They've just seen a nice man being nice. Even jaded old London can still have it's heart melted by the sight of a humble, selfless hero using his powers to defend the needy. I sit down first but keep hold of the man's arm until he sits too. As he does, he stumbles slightly and his hand lands flat on my groin. And stays there until the man finally sits down. It must have been 4 incredibly long seconds of this man's hand firmly and securely on my groin. He sat down, smiled and said "Thank you".

THAT WAS TOO LONG. I don't know how long a hand should be on the groin of a stranger so that it's still OK but that was WAY TOO LONG. He stumbled. His hand touched my cock and balls. And then it still touched my cock and balls. And then it still touched them and still touched them and still touched them. THAT IS WAY TOO LONG. I looked around at passengers sitting in front of me. They had horror on their faces. "Are you OK?", one woman's face screamed. "Holy shit", shouted a man's face. And I sat there. Alone. For the rest of the journey. And the normal hate for everything returned. I tried to do a nice thing and something horrible happened to me as a result. AS IT ALWAYS DOES. And now I'm on a stinking, piss soaked train with some business cunt, an art prick, theatre wankers and a blind paedophile (he doesn't know I'm 45) and I think why bother with anything nice when life is always this shit? It was then that I noticed the blind man had a newspaper.

That was supposed to be my happy day. My day of sunshine and spreading the warmth of my wellbeing to everyone I met. The one fucking day where I'd done something good and thought it was OK to feel good about myself. Is it so wrong to be happy? Is it so wrong to hope for joy in a joyless world?


Because hoping for joy is the human trap. And human traps don't work.

Los Quattros Cvnts return on 13th March!! Tickets here:

Pointless Anger, Righteous Ire with Robin Ince and Michael Legge, next show 4th March with NICK HELM! Tickets here: