Your name here, p.30
Your Name Here, page 30
[nursing a sickly pc]
yes, funny sin-chroni-city this little guy sometimes needs a green aligator clip on the side of the screen to keep it fully a glow. i like the idea of your mac, and am warming to jump ship to attack, but there is a story in the end of the first book of don quixote where two ships come up against each, moors versus christians and when the christians ramm the boat the narrator jumps to attack the other ship but somehow his boat then veers off course and no one else joins him and he becomes a hostage/prisioner of the moors making him row their boats...this is a convulated metaphor for my frustrations/fears/ anxieties of shifting from pc to mac for all those reasons unsighted above.
[but there is work to be done]
1.1.1.1.2.1.3 = ١.١.١.١.٢.١.٣
An online search turned up the piece Duty Free had written while doing background investigation on the Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race. Sexual practices of the Greeks, Romans, Egyptians and Phoenicians performed by kilt-clad nymphomaniacs, chemical potency enhancers mixed by bug-eyed buggered molecule-mixers at Keble, this was the gist. E-mail address of source allegedly under surveillance by CIA & MI5 following alleged multiple partner incident involving a mullah, a rabbi, a monsignore, three senior civil servants and the Provost of Oriel.
Three days went by. The Hotmail account had 400 messages, only 50 for penis enhancement and cheap pharmaceuticals. Out of the hundreds a handful were offering extremely interesting prices.
It had been so strange and pleasant in the weeks after Duty Free, reading Plato’s Symposium, working through a reading list on the Symposium, writing an essay on the Symposium. How extremely nice it would be to live that way always, how extremely nice not to turn to the kinship system for liquidity... But for this one would need to know sexual practices of the Greeks, Romans, Egyptians and Phoenicians.
Or rather … That is, if you tell a client that a sexual practice has been handed down through the millennia from the ancient Phoenicians he is probably not going to say: Just what is your evidence for that? But …
And anyway, some of these messages seemed to be written by raving lunatics. Give it back you bitch if you know what’s good for you, what’s that about? You’d have to be crazy to have anything to do with these people. But …
But it would be so frabjous to walk the silent spaces of thought, to go to lectures, read books and write essays during term, and spend my vacations with my dear, brave friend, poor wheelchair-bound suffering Lily Marlowe.
I bought a scratchcard which revealed the sums
£100,000
£100,000
£10
£1
£2
£10,000
£50
£20
£50
Better luck next time.
The phone rang whenever it was not in a lecture or library; concern was expressed in varieties of pricelessness.
I wrote to 20 applicants explaining that the service was heavily oversubscribed, only a very small number could be seen, and therefore the price was £1000 for straight sex and £10,000 for sexual practices of the Greeks, Romans, Egyptians and Phoenicians. 19 thought this was ludicrously overpriced. One was willing to pay £10,000 for sexual practices of the GREP. I wrote to another 20 applicants; 19 thought it was ludicrously overpriced, one was willing to pay the grand for the Prada of prostitution. I arranged to meet him at the Randolph.
[]
His head is covered with tight yellow curls. His eyes are bright blue. His cheeks are a startling bright pink. His mouth, too, is very pink.
The chest is covered with curly fluff, through which freckled skin can be seen. The thighs are covered with denser curly fluff. Perhaps his cock is not really the pink of a cocktail cherry, perhaps it is memory that brightens it to maraschino. Perhaps it is.
I think that it would not be pleasant to be a girlfriend with the obligation of physical contact with all this fluff, one would always be hoping that one’s boyfriend would keep his clothes on and the fluff out of sight. One would always be having headaches or one’s period. Exams would be coming up. There would be family crises. One would have essays to write.
Perhaps this is the moral. The number of unattractive men is so very large, this underexploited resource can be used to fund the higher education system.
He says: I think I’d like you to unbutton your blouse but not all the way, and could you roll the sleeves up, yeah, I like that, that slutty schoolgirl look, it would’ve been better if you’d worn a tie, but that’s nice, yeah, nice, and could you take off your knickers and sort of flip the skirt back and forth, but leave the shoes on, the black Converse high-tops are a nice touch, I like that, that sort of give-us-a-spliff-and-I’ll-give-you-a-blow-job behind-the-bikesheds bad girl mentality, yeah, yeah, that’s nice (all this time I am unbuttoning sloughing flipping turning flipping while he tweaks and twiddles and talks but then the talk stops and I turn still flipping the kilt but he has stopped tweaking and twiddling and he says)
Look, is there some kind of problem?
I stop flipping the kilt.
You can get a girl to do the business for 30 quid and they just lie there and it’s like eating a kebab from a van at 2:00 a.m., you don’t want to know what’s in it, you wouldn’t normally give it to your dog but you’re drunk and it’s the middle of the night, but at the other end of the scale if you don’t mind paying over the odds you can get something absolutely mindblowing [talk talk talk talk] thought that piece by [Duty Free] was a fucking fantastic piece of gonzoism always been a big fan so there’s a buzz obviously in tracking you down but I thought you’d be more
He would have done better to track down Duty Free’s mixture of pharmaceuticals. He seems to have underestimated the role of monosodium glutamate as a flavour enhancer.
I say: OK. Look. I am leaving the envelope with you. I’ll be back in 15 minutes. You don’t have to wait.
I buttoned the shirt. I left the underwear on the floor. I thought he’d like that.
There is a Victoria Wine in George Street. I bought a bottle of Bushmills. I bought a packet of Solpadeine Max (paracetamol laced with codeine), a packet of Nurofen Plus (ibuprofen laced with codeine), and a plastic change purse with a picture of Homer Simpson at Boots. I bought an institutional tie at Castell’s in the Broad. I bought two whisky glasses in Boswell’s. I put on the tie and pulled it loose; I popped two Solpadeine Max and two Nurofen Plus out of their plastic casings and put them in the change purse.
That was 20 minutes. The client is still in the room, glum under the bedspread.
This was the best I could do at short notice, I say. I open the bottle and poured triples. I shake the pills onto the bedside table.
What’s that? he asks.
Something to blow your mind.
Are you a bad girl?
He pops a pill between bright moist lips, raises the glass, sips, china blue eyes on Lolita of the Bikesheds.
Finish your medicine.
He sits under the bedspread sipping Bushmills.
You have expensive tastes.
Which must be paid for.
I pull back the cover and sit astride him. I unbutton the blouse.
He looks happier. Pale freckled fingers squeeze my left breast.
Yeah, nice, I think I’d like to fuck you up the arse, I liked the rear view.
That was not what we agreed.
Yeah but fuck’s sake it’s a fucking grand
Do you want me to go?
No no no no I’m not complaining, and he tweaks at the nipple, but the whisky bubblewraps the sensation.
I take a condom from my front pocket and he naturally asks if we have to use it, it’s a fucking grand, he’s not complaining.
I think this is what he wants, the mind sinking into a swoon, luxuriating in a pre-Raphaelite languour in which all colours are bright all details finicked, while someone sluttishly goes to work below. I tweak and twiddle where he had tweaked and twiddled before; Cherry Ripe stands alertly to attention, a child submitting to scarf and mittens for a romp in the snow.
His eyelids droop; Death’s cousin holds him in a slack embrace.
What the fuck did you give me?
I want you inside me, I say, fuck me fuck me fuck me you son of a bitch, and I sink tensely onto the waiting cock.
Unh, he says, unh, oh yeah, nice, you don’t often get a tight pussy in a tart, nice, nice, unh, this is an unusual situation, unh, having my dick boldly going where the dick of King Gonzo has gone before, unh, what was that actually like, unh, oh yeah, yeah, did he do a lot of damage?
He was an animal, I say. I thought he was going to kill me. But he was extremely generous.
I think we had better finish this off before he passes out. I roll sideways pulling him on top of me. Fuck me, I say. Enter me enter me fuck me yes yes now
His eyelids creep down, blink, open wide in alarm, but his cock says he loves this.
What the fuck did you give me, you bitch?
I say Fuck me fuck me fuck me and he starts saying Did he do this? Did he do this? Did he do it like this? Unh unh unh unh oh yeah, but he keeps forcing his eyes open, a bunny on the wrong battery, so I start screaming You fucking animal and thrusting my pelvis up in some sort of simulated uncontrollable frenzy and he shrieks AAAAaaaaaaaaah and 80 kilos of fluff-clad flesh collapse on top of me. I shift him to one side, courteously removing the condom and dropping it in the bin.
[£952.17 after expenses. Never seen again]
and there’s always the novel, ha ha ha ha ha, there’s always the novel ha ha
38. THE END OF THE BEGINNING
1.
We’re not saying this is for everyone, said Jake.
We just think whatever you do, you should go into it with your eyes open, said Mona. Remember, your luck is what you make it.
The motivational open-access luck-improvement segment of the evening was over. Jake and Mona went off to one end of the room with a group of conventionally goodlooking freshers who wanted to make something of their luck.
I sat gloomily on my chair.
Fatima said: Blimey!
She said: You know, I had a hard enough time just persuading my dad to let me go to a university that had mixed seating in the lectures.
I said: You think you’ve got problems. I’ve got two sisters. My grandmother doesn’t even want them to watch Top of the Pops.
Something told me my grandmother would not take well to the idea that my sisters’ strictly sheltered girlhood had served only to safeguard a valuable asset which could be used to fund a university career.
Something told me the rest of the family would not be more openminded.
I said: They’re going to expect me to provide for them. And I’m not even conventionally goodlooking, how am I going to provide for my sisters to the tune of £3500 a year each when I’ll be lucky to get a lower second?
Fatima said: No offence, but I promised not to talk to any boys unless there was at least one other girl in the group.
Fatima walked off to join a group of girls who had no future with escort agencies. An extremely reasonable facsimile of Johnny Depp caught my eye, hesitated, crossed the room to sit beside me.
He said: Look, it’s not as bad as it looks. What’s your name?
Ephraim.
Ephraim. I’m Nick. Look, I’ll be straight with you, if you’re not conventionally goodlooking it can be an uphill battle.
He said: But to tell you the truth, it’s a two-edged sword. People aren’t really prepared for it when they come up, the schools could be doing a lot more to educate people. As it is people can’t necessarily deal with it. Maybe they’ve had a meaningful sexual relationship in the past, for example, well we’ve all got to grow up sometime but it’s never an easy process. Or people might not have had the chance to mature sexually at school. Commercially that may be an advantage, granted, but it can be quite difficult moving straight into sexual relationships with people who in all probability are older and less attractive.
He said: Also, you’ve got to remember there are a lot more incidental costs. You’ve got to keep in good shape, that takes time you can’t charge for, you’ve got to have clothes, and also frankly the money does go to people’s heads. They may think, why should I bother with a degree when I can make this kind of money? The thing people forget is there is always going to be someone younger.
He said: I’m not denying if you stack boxes in Tesco you’ll find it a hard slog, but it’s not easy for the rest of us either, however it may seem.
I said Sure, I know.
I said It’s just funny, because when I got my dodekadiamond I thought all my problems were over.
He said You got a
He said You mean you’re the one who got the
He said I heard about that. You mean you actually got a dodekadiamond?
I said Yeah
He said Look, there’s got to be something we can do about this.
He said Look, I know a guy who runs a restaurant. He keeps telling me he’s tired of hiring drop-dead gorgeous waiters because they just leave. I’ll put in a word for you. You never know your luck.
2.
Leave everything to me, said Nick, striding ahead of me through the streets of Cambridge. Don’t worry, Eph, I’ll take care of it.
OK, I said panting.
Now the thing is, Nick said seriously, shortening his stride, I want you to go into this with your eyes open.
Yeah OK, I said.
It’s a commitment. They’re not going to tailor the shifts to suit your convenience. You’ve got to be prepared to do your part, yeah? What I mean is, you’re not necessarily going to to be able to go to the lectures you might want to go to, other things being equal, because obviously they’re going to have an observation period, they’re not going to put you on the evening shifts straight away, I’ll be honest with you it’s going to be a lot of lunch shifts to start off with until you’ve won their confidence.
Yeah OK I said. But um
But after all it’s no better at Tesco’s or McDonalds, believe me they’re not going to sit down with you and your lecture list and ask what times would suit.
OK, I said.
But it’s not as bad as it looks. You got a dodekadiamond, for fuck’s sake. They haven’t extracted the brain from the cranium, for fuck’s sake, as long as you don’t fuck it up with Tescoidal activity you’ll be all right lectures or no lectures. I mean Christ you could even buy some books.
OK OK I said.
And remember, said Nick, and he gestured eloquently with one hand, this is a four-star restaurant. The skills you pick up will be with you all your life.
He hesitated.
Look, don’t take this the wrong way, he said. Would you mind taking off your anorak? Thanks. We’ll just leave it behind this bush.
3.
Nick then introduced me to Michel, proprietor of the eponymous Chez Michel. Michel took one look at me and gave Nick a look that seemed to say You can’t be serious.
Nick said: Look, Michel, I know what you’re thinking but I can explain.
Michel said: Does he speak French?
I said: Pas beaucoup.
Nick said: Look, Michel, there’s absolutely no need to discuss this in French. He knows he’s not conventionally goodlooking. You need to show some imagination. I mean look, I know the clothes are pretty ghastly but take away the clothes and what do you have?
Michel: An ugly nude?
Nick: Someone who’d look absolutely fine in Toby’s kit, and who, unlike Toby, can be relied on for a three-year course. You said you were tired of training people.
Michel said gloomily Jesus, Nick, I don’t know. You and your crazy ideas.
4.
You’re not thinking, said Nick.
Think Kafka!
Think Liszt!
I dunno, said Michel.
Rimbaud by Picasso! urged Nick.
Michel sighed deeply. OK, he said. There’s a uniform in the office. Put it on and we’ll see how it looks.
I emerged presently.
Egon Schiele! said Nick.
5.
Merde, said Michel.
7. £1 = 20 shillings; 1 shilling = 12 pence.
8. “Inflation: the Value of the Pound 1750–1998” http://www.parliament.uk/commons/lib/research/rp99/rp99-020.pdf
9. While a newly-edited Vol. I of the OCT Plato was issued in 1994, Vol. IV was first printed in 1905 and is still on sale; Crick, Watson, Wilkins and Franklin discovered DNA in 1953 and no biologist, however impoverished, can scrape by using a text from 1905.
The Larrikin
1
From: “Rachel Zozanian”
To: “Misha Kropotkin”
Subject: klicken Sie hier
Date: Sat 17 Dec 2005 03:52:01 +0000
misha
here are the first 30 pages or so. hope you think this is a project you want to be associated with. if so, it would help if you could send me some e-mails from yr time as tabloidista. there is no point in sending a ms to publishers now b/c no one will look at anything before the new year but if we can get it finished by the end of jan we can send it to agents and it can be taken to the London bookfair in early march, which is a big deal
rachel
From: “Misha Kropotkin”
To: “Rachel Zozanian”
Subject: RE: klicken Sie hier
Date: Thurs 22 Dec 2005 14:09:09 +0000
Rachel
sure, sounds and reads great, no problem with sending down the line some mails from when in the mud, fighting for tabloid glam glam. anything in particular you desire? Any idea of how you see this developing?
