Let’s Start a Farm

To those who have green thumbs and to those you just couldn’t give a damn (why are you reading this?) why not try growing a farm? Why not move away from growing pretty little flowers in pretty little rows and grow some freaking onions? Or even some radishes? Know what I’ve started? Chillies. The first moment you see those shoots pop up from the compost, it isn’t pride you feel, it isn’t even joy. It goes along the lines of “Oh thank God I didn’t fail at this too.”

“Thank the heavens unemployment hasn’t destroyed all my brain cells, by spending all day refreshing the front page of Reddit avoiding looking for a job and I am still able to following those little instructions that come at the back of the packet.” 

Then of course there is the joy and the feeling of self-fulfilment. Fulfilment because these little shots will be your children for the next few months, and (because you are basically alone and you are single) you will find yourself talking to these little shoots as if they are the loves of your life. You will find yourself talking to these little green children as if they are everything you ever wanted in a family. They’re quiet, they listen to your every word, they don’t start pointless arguments, they don’t steal your clothes/food/time…They even gift you with precious fruits and only ask for water and sunlight in return. 

IMG_20140407_1[1] Just so you know I am actually taking this all very seriously. These are my children…

I also have dabbled in the idea of growing my own radishes. I say my own; what I actually have come to realise is that they aren’t my own at all. Haha no, no. They belong to the slugs of the night. I merely provide those slow motion beasts with a banquet of baby leaves, fresh horse shit and beautiful soil. They must think I’m either:

Their God, their provider of food and life.

Or they must think I’m the moron who didn’t buy the slug pellets when she had a chance to save her radishes…

Then again, they are snails. Who knows what they think besides “Shit, is that salt? Did I just slide through salt? Oh no my bad, I’m not melting that’s just my DISGUSTING SLIME!”


Stranger in the Work Place

He drove to work and parked his forest green Nissan Micra in his usual place. He typed. He drank tea. He walked around the office to stretch his legs. Joe was the personification of the phrase “any old average Joe.” Apart from the fact that he was a lame weirdo, who never talked to anyone, even if they talked to him first. The only response you would get was a creepy slimy look that would cause people to never talk to him again. But he liked it that way. He liked the fact that nobody would come near him. He enjoyed the fact that they spoke about him in the coffee room, wondering what it was that made him tick. His greasy exterior even sent chills down necks, and as he would plod his way through the clean crisp air and turn it rancid people would stare at him and often think “oh dear GOD!”. But it never phased him. Not once did he think to shower or even to give the appearance that he had tried to clean himself. He fed off their mortified looks as his stench would hit their nostrils.

He drove home using the same route every night at five. He parked his car in front of his house just like he did every night and he turned on the light in his front room. He sat and ate his mundane dinner of beans and toast while watching a horrifically average episode of Emmerdale. Beans dropped down his front leaving a trail of tangy orange sauce behind them.

He left his plate on the sofa and peeled his fat behind from the cushioned seat. He made his way up the stairs and into his bedroom, the negative energy from the work day still fresh in his mind; the looks he got were imprinted hard in his memory…

He opened his wardrobe to reveal strobe lighting and a red Lycra suit, bright blue glistening leather boots and a miraculous scarlet cape. He giggled like a child and thought about all those faces looking at him with disgust and turned to the right to see his reflection in the mirror and broke out into a hysterical laughter. He grabbed his black mask and placed it upon his face, still sniggering. And began to scream, “I AM PROFESSOR ELECTRON! BOW DOWN TO MY NEGATIVE ENERGY, AS I STUN YOU WITH MY BODY ODOUR AND DESTROY YOUR SENSES WITH MY GREASE!”

He began to dance and scream and he switched the strobe lighting on and off and lunged around the room with a beautiful grace. What a freak, what a strange creature. He stretched his calves and hamstrings and took three steps back. Then, like a bolt of lighting he flung himself out of his bedroom window yelling “Germs a-hoy!” and landed surprisingly on his feet! He looked from left to right and saw that the coast was clear and set off into the night to badger forgotten cats and alienated dogs, so that one day they could be his minions.