I Believe in the Futility of Belief

“That’s funny, I seem to have stopped getting spots on my face these days” I said to Esther on Monday. “Ah, maybe I’ve finally grown up”. I have been looking for a sign of adulthood for about 15 years. Having sex and drinking booze were non starters because they just make me act more like a child.

“Don’t jinx it!” she replies with glee.

“Balderdash and piffleschwab!” I expectorate. One of the things therapy has taught me is that you shouldn’t fear words. The worst, most depraved or disturbing thought can be safely expressed and it won’t make it happen. Life just isn’t that magical.

Now that I consider myself free from superstition, I scorn the illogical faith of others.

Today I have 3 sore bumps in the worst places possible:

1. The middle of my top lip

2. The end of my nose

3. On the very peak of my cheek

I refuse to believe that I caused these! It’s impossible. I feel like a J. K. Rowling muggle, or like my grandad, who thinks that if he ignores the internet, it will go away.

It’s time to put superstition to the test. I’m going to say something now and if it happens I will believe, I promise.

“I will get some this week”

Haha, put that in your pipe and smoke Mr Fate! It’s the least likely thing possible!

"Well now Harry, I truly believe I can keep this accent up for the whole franchise"



Devo Meets His Match

"You ruined my life you bastards!"

Life would be a lot more interesting if witches and vampires existed wouldn’t it? Buffy sort of ruined reality for me, I’m afraid. I should have become a delusional goth but instead I became a dismayed loner. Well maybe we don’t have to pretend anymore:

Lisa got back from walking Devo today and told us a wild story about some wild-cats. She had taken Devo to see a friend and on the way home Devo was suddenly surrounded by a street gang of cats, backs arched, hissing, and very, very, pissed off.

Lisa became more and more animated as she re-enacted the scene. The lights seemed to dim as she talked, like a candle-lit character in an Edgar Allen Poe story.

Suddenly she rears up, doing an impression of a psychotic cat, hissing like a rock’n’roll snake:


“WTF? Cats hunting in a pack?” we ask disbelievingly, moving closer as the room darkens around us.

It seems that they had wandered into the Sheffield Serengeti. There was 4 or 5 of them around him, and it sounded like the bushes were full of them, rustling and hissing. They were circling around Devo like a bunch of evil mothers and he was quivering like reeds in a gale.

His long legs and cheeky smile weren’t going to get him out of this one.

Suddenly remembering she had opposable thumbs and legs that worked, Lisa yanked his lead and dragged him past the mad moggies and they fled the scene. “OMG, that was some fucked up feline shit” Devo said (in a Brooklyn accent) when they had got a safe distance away.

“Stop talking, you’re a dog” replied Lisa.

I have to write a dissertation soon. I am considering doing the most self-indulgent, narcissistic, lazy thing ever: a blog about music videos and how they have shaped my personality. So, I would post videos that have changed the way I see the world or made me get ‘style’ (and then forget it again) etc…

I can’t decide if this is a sickening product of mental illness or a worthy way to spend time. What do you think?