KID SHIRT

Sunday, January 02, 2005

SEE JUNGLE! SEE JUNGLE! GO JOIN YOUR GANG, YEAH, CITY ALL OVER! GO APE CRAZY!

Beyond the Implode goes Ape Crazy over Early Junglism.

WE ARE THE DEAD

So, anyway, I pass this guy coming out of Tesco who's about fiftyish and wearing a slightly dishelvelled black jacket. He has a carrier-bag in one hand with a couple things in it, but his left hand is pushing up the lapel of his jacket and he's lowered his head and is mumbling down into the jacket under the lapel as if he's Robbie Williams' bodyguard (or an extra from some shitty spy-drama) and there's a microphone hidden in there somewhere. He didn't look like he was a wino or on heavy drugs, but you can never be entirely sure; maybe, I thought, he's a store detective. Naturally, curiosity got the better of me, so I adjusted my trajectory in order to get a better view and could now see that he's got a cheap, sparkly woman's broach pinned onto his lapel which he is talking lovingly to.

There was another guy, quite oldish (pushing seventy, I guess) who I passed at roughly the same time on two consecutive sunday mornings earlier in the year when I was taking Kid Kid Shirt up the Park: he had been sick down the front of his rumpled tweed jacket and his ancient beige-coloured M&S pullover, but the vomit had dried and encrusted to such a degree that the initial food expulsion must have occured at least a week or more earlier. There were still dried bits stuck to the front of his clothes. Okay, so a week later, we passed him again, lurching past the local corner shop wearing exactly the same clobber. The ratio of solidified-puke-bittage Vs. tidal stain-line seemed roughly proportional to the previous sunday, suggesting an almost total lack of friction-related activity around the front top-half of his clothes. Therefore, M'lud, I suggest to you that this man had not taken his clothes off (or, almost certainly, the top-half of his day-wear) for at least a week. The proscecution rests its case.