Crudites

No time to beat about the bush - OK Ya - chocks away!!

Z

Well-chilled bollocks

Mr Midwinter, your balls are steaming; that's no man, that's his father, Klaus. A real estate's pimp in Southall's chance in Hades. Pay the ferryman and do shut up Tiffany.

Zob

Why are our wonderful intellectuals getting worried about the excellent tendency to dumb down every bit of culture? Because culture is what exalts the powerful, rich and influential. Intellectuals fear the lowest (common) denominator because it reverses the process of cultral sublimation thrived on by the middle classes. Not me, so high and mighty and the chiller goes my path, the more excellent are the unusual disadvantaged pariahs shunned at the gates of Clifton, Hampstead and Henley upon Thames. Those cheeky little hierarchies! How high church feeds off the miserable with its liturgy and icons. How the advertising agencies stick their noses in our lives and suck the cocks and fannies of corporate chief execs. Why are prols interested less in higher culture? They're too busy recovering from graft, beating their wives or feeding their faces. Certainly not to romanticise the working class, only meaning to draw down the fetishes of the well off and rub their pretty noses in the crap beyond the stories beaming up to them from the News at Ten.

Z

I am chuffed to bits at the result of X factor. The result had to be win win for me. JLS pressed all the buttons and a win for Alexandra proved that millions upon millions could be duped whereas I was not.

I said to Jackie, every beautifully turned out woman was a clone of their sister's. Every beauty is the image of every well-slapped sister. I like the 'dove approach' every unique off key beauty with little or no slap.

Far be it for me to prescribe feminine beauty, males have always had such a hand in women's lives so here we go again...

Only certainty is merry-go-round again after all, fashion's fashion. I prescribe: unglamorous attire, unglamorous cars and unglamorous hairstyles, let 'em really work at their individuality. Ownership of the people and by the people.

I know what I want and I'm a gonna get it.

Z

A little bit of me

I had lost my mind before the age of 24, from mixing drugs and mysticism; my father, himself a manic- depressive who escaped the diagnosticians, and mother - nursed me through a family tragedy that smarted like hell.
Previously I had been in love with a young French woman from near Lyon. We met due to her mum plucking me from a Lyon motorway during my first solo trip away from home. We were lovers for 5 years until my poor beleaguered ego finally crashed.
Of course I had every intention of going straight back to her when I finally won my freedom from the Bin at Southall, where I was imprisoned for "hijacking" (later convicted).
I walked along the verge of the main road near home fully expecting the next car to contain her, and I stumbled along churned paths bawling my heart out – yes! Time has passed, memories still remain and I survived, I really don’t know how, but I did.
We were having rows, me, breaking down. I was bizarre, she too had lost a lover and a friend. Her brother broke us up, he took care of me in the mountains, but no-one knew which country of the mind I inhabited. She had gone, I had gone, everything had gone wrong. I really was not fit for human company.
Of course it had its accoutrements – mystical union and telepathy to name only two – I could easily have forgone these dubious bedfellows I had found in my mind, I could forgo the hours of reading and practice on mysticism, I could have avoided the pitfalls of LSD only if it hadn’t been "me"
Here I am, as fit as a shirt from my Granny’s mangle: cleaner, drier, smelling of daisies. "In the end" Granny says, "Time heals." Thanks for that Gran…