Jax Burgoyne Writes

"Attempt to recall a bad date or a botched interview, or any one-on-one situation that went awry with awkwardness.  What stands out to you?"

Mr Tickle.  The tale of Mr Tickle is one I often tell.  And I'll say right at the beginning, that the thing that stands out to me is that for some reason I did what I did because I wanted to avoid an awkward situation by leaving, so instead, out of politeness, I did what follows....

Mr Tickle is a friend of a friend.  He seemed very nice.  (I'm sure he is very nice.)  Interesting, intellectual.  I went to his house for dinner and a film - a DATE!  

I started seeing a few warning signs as we had dinner - but those little signs of arrogance did not preview what occurred.

The thing is, people seem often to not know when I actually mean something, and especially not recognise when I'm very, very angry.  I think I must be the epitome of British politeness.  Or have been having botox for the last 24 years without noticing.

So, when we sat down to watch the film, and Mr Tickle started to tickle me...he didn't believe me when I said, 'Please don't tickle me, I hate being tickled,' and various other words to that effect.  I don't think I was laughing and saying it in an 'ooh, stop that, hee hee hee' way, and if I was, I certainly quickly st0pped.  The 'hint' was not got, though - even when I grabbed his thumbs and wrenched them into a thumb lock: he still continued trying to tickle me, until the imminent danger of losing two thumbs (and the pain) made him stay still.  Yup.  Weird.

But the weirder thing (if it's possible) is that I then sat and watched the rest of the film with his thumbs almost to the point of breaking, and then let him walk me home.  

Well, I didn't want to be rude.

"Go to the edge of a bookshelf, count seven books in, and take that one out.  Open it to page seven and count to the seventh sentence on that page.  Write a poem that starts with something from that sentence."

And hang, zig zag, on hedges,//Green as glass.
(Norman MacCaig, "Collected Poems.")

This has been sitting on Lizzie's computer stand on her desk at work for ages.  I forgot to do this at home (where the bookshelf is) so have just used this book.  I've never heard of Norman before, but that's quite a nice line.  So...more poetry....  This is one of those types of poems (most of my attempts are) where it's possible it's good, but probably I'm just apeing what I call 'pretentious wank'.

Once Sharp Sand

Glass - I collect it, sea-glass,
On every beach I come to now
For you.

Blue is the most exciting colour (rare),
But all of it shows that minutely pitted texture
Of blades become gentle.

I collect it, and I post it
(To you.)