An Homage to Inkbiotic


So, my must read of the day, every day, has become the short bulletin from the life of Inkbiotic, which succeeds in giving me a daily jolt of random thought that is both surreal and at the same time frighteningly real. It is sad, it is beautiful, it is joyful and I love it!

Sadly, my own attempts to distil the minutiae of my own mundane life into a piece of interest, have proved less successful…

Monday: Something is going on with my trousers. I’m not sure what, but nothing is staying where it was left. I’ve tried to sort myself out; straightened my undergarments; realigned my trousers; re-tucked my shirt, but without success. Something is still not right. My shirt tail keeps appearing over my waistband. There is nothing quite so unsavoury in a man of my age as the unsolicited view of an unclothed section of midriff. I’m not quite certain what to do. Should I start wearing high-waisted trousers like I did in the 70’s; can I buy longer shirts? Perhaps I should tuck my shirt into my pants as I appear to have done all the time through my black & white photographed childhood…
Drink: flat tonic water. Snack: dry-roasted peanuts. Soundtrack: Puncture Repair – Elbow.

Tuesday: Problem Solved. Was wearing pants back to front. This is what happens when you dress in the dark. Also, shirt had no tail. Should throw it out but, other than a severe shortfall in the tuck-able material department, it is fine. Threw it in wash basket. Will decide on its fate when it is washed.
Met a man at work today who said I could call him Geoff. The conversation went as follows:
‘It’s not my real name, but I’ve just moved up here and I’m going to tell all my new friends that it is. It’s not illegal is it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good, because I’m due back in prison in six weeks…’
He didn’t say why. I didn’t ask. It didn’t seem wise.
Drink: orange squash. Snack: Milky Bar. Soundtrack: (White Man) In Hammersmith Palais – The Clash.

Wednesday: Realised that shirt is not mine. Presumably one of son-in-law’s. He is taller than me. Shirt tail must barely pass his chest.
No work today, so sorted out pants drawer. Put those without labels at the bottom, thereby reducing chances of wearing them back-to-front. Not quite certain why back-to-front pants have such an impact on day. Like a lead weight on spirits (also, hard to be certain you haven’t trapped a woodlouse in the gusset).
Drink: coffee – black, decaffeinated. Snack: honey & yoghurt. Soundtrack: Woman Overboard – Judie Tzuke.

Thursday: Swivel chair has become too low for comfortable typing. Laptop at shoulder height. Pulled lever to adjust chair, but screw fell out. Could not find Allen Key to fit screw, so rammed screwdriver into little hole in screw head. Worked brilliantly until screwdriver skipped out of hole and pierced seat cushion which then appeared to be bleeding. Realised, after a second or two, that screwdriver had, in fact, encountered other hand on way to cushion. Bleeding finger currently swathed in many layers of toilet paper. Did not even bother to look for plasters. They will not be found. Almost certainly eaten by Pixies…
Drink: whisky. Snack: Mars Bar. Soundtrack: You Stay Here – Willy Porter.

Friday: ‘You can call me Geoff’ in to see me again today. Wanted to tell me a joke he had just heard – although he had forgotten part of it, so he was forced to improvise, delivering the punch-line half way through the story. He left the shop laughing loudly to himself. Apparently he is moving, so I won’t see him for a while. He wouldn’t say where he was going, only that he is going to be known as Ray when he gets there. I am not moving, so I can continue to call him Geoff. He asked if I could guess his real name. I couldn’t, so he wouldn’t tell me.
Why does an inside-out sock make your toes hurt?
Drink: red wine. Snack: chilli crisps with Marmite. Soundtrack: Next Year People – Colin Hay

Saturday: Ate single Fruit-tella at eleven o’clock and have been stuffing face ever since. They contain some kind of drug, I am certain. I probably have more sugar in me than a jar of Golden Syrup. Have only stopped eating because I feel so sick, but the craving is still there. Have hidden them at back of desk drawer, but I know that I will go back to them soon. May have to give them away – but no-one will want them as only pink ones left (despite the name, Fruit-tella do not have flavours, just colours).
Asparagus for dinner. Why does wee smell within fifteen minutes? How is that even possible?
Drink: rest of wine. Snack: chilli crisps without Marmite. Soundtrack: Blackstar – Bowie

Sunday: No work today and no Fruit-tella. In desperation I have eaten a bag of Skittles and two rolls of Love Hearts. My teeth are doing somersaults.
Tidied garden in sunshine and put anything not rusted over winter into shed. Tidied shed and put broken stuff into bin. Took bin to dump. Asked man at Skip 1 where to take broken garden fork. ‘Metal’s Skip 6,’ he said.
Took fork to Skip 6. ‘What you doing with that?’ asked man at Skip 6. ‘Wood goes in Skip 1.’
‘But, he said…’ I said.
‘Metal Skip 6. Wood Skip 1. Simple.’ Said the man at skip 6.
Tried to remove handle from tine-denuded fork, but to no avail. Compromised by throwing it in Skip 3 (General Waste) when no-one was looking.
Found a boiled sweet in the car on way home which has removed most of hard palate.
Drink: whisky. Snack: wrinkly black olives. Soundtrack: The Rattle Within – Richard Thompson.