Tag Archives: being a pot noodle

pot-noodle-uk

The Last Post

No, not that sort of last post!! Good gracious! I have promised to publish a post every Wednesday. I am not going to break my promise, unless I am arrested. Or something worse. I am referring to the last post I published.

New commenter, Grouchy, asked: Would this be considered a short story, a serial, or a soap opera (in the works)? I will wait for the flan, but you may have the noodles.

I think this is a fair question, and not only does it apply to the last post, but also to this whole blog. And the truthful answer is: Yes.

And, in further fairness, this blog is a mess. With this in mind I have devised a short questionnaire to aid me with future posts. Please take time to consider each question carefully, the direction of this blog rests on your replies. My questions are numerous with alphabetical intent. Thank you.

1) Would you like me to continue with the Mogwash posts?

a) No, I have had enough of the Mogwash posts.

b) No, the Mogwash posts are far too confusing for readers who are unaware of the ongoing story.

c) No, the Mogwash posts are far too confusing for readers who are aware of the ongoing story.

d) Yes, I would like more Mogwash posts.

e) Yes, I have a crush on Sebastian.

f) Yes, I am hanging on your every word and am desperate to know what happens next.

2) Would you like me to let Charmaine out of the attic and, see more calligraphy?

a) No, I have no idea who Charmaine is.

b) What is calligraphy?

c) What nib does Charmaine use?

d) Yes, I would like to know how Charmaine is getting on with her calligraphy lessons.

e) Yes, but only if Harold is released as well.

f) Yes, I would like to see more calligraphy on this blog.

3) Would you like this blog to continue in a random, haphazard way?

a) Couldn’t care less.

b) No. This blog is a frustrating environment without any cohesive direction, or clear sense of purpose. The author is an unreliable narrator given to writing contrived, misleading, motiveless posts that are published in a non-linear fashion in an effort to appear innovative and challenging. The result of this pretentious drivel is a ramshackle blog space devoid of sense, meaning, or any kind of nourishing reading experience. Although I quite like the pictures.

c) No.

d) Yes.

e) Yes and No.

f) I like noodles.

4) If John has six balls; Emily has nine balls; Samantha has two lemons and a sixpence; Clive has a potato; Malcolm likes playing poker; Jane is a lush; Mary is beside herself, and Julian has delusions of grandeur; then which acclaimed literary author am I referencing?

a) Never.

b) Twelve.

Thank you for taking the time to fill in this questionnaire, the results of which will be analysed and rigidly adhered to.

The Cultural Relevance of Pot Noodle (A moment of self doubt)

close-up-images-from-bottles

Pain

My attempts to curry favour with gallery owners and curators are best described as ill advised moments of insanity. Possibly for personal amusement, Taramind Dewhurst, the Chloe clad, immaculately groomed curator of ‘The Onion’ gallery, sacrificed some time to see me.

Ushering me towards a vast fibreglass sculpture of what appeared to be a rabid representation of a cat in decline, Taramind purred, “It’s sublime isn’t it? Such a poignant reference to the transient quality of life and the finality of death in such an inescapable way”.

I adopted what I considered to be a knowledgeable pose and nodded sagely. Tracing a finger across the belly of the cat, Taramind turned to me, a smile playing on her glossy lips, “So tell me about your bottles”.

minature-bottle-of-Jack-Daniels-within-larger-bottle-uk

Misery. Time to hit the bottle and get smashed.

I managed to cobble together a stuttering of words relating to semiotics, structuralism and of my position within popular culture, but I knew I was out of my depth. Taramind gazed at me, slightly flirtatiously, but with just about the right amount of derision to ensure the onset of an anxiety attack.

Sometime later, whilst recovering in my car it occurred to me that if Picasso was a culinary four course extravaganza, served in only the best restaurants in town, then I was the artistic equivalent of Pot Noodle, a grubby secret, instantly gratifying but leaving no lasting impression. I recognised my place in the food chain, something had to be done and so began the machinations of my masterplan.

17 November 2006