Help! For gods sake can anyone hear me, fucksake! I mean can anyone read this!
. . . _ _ _ . . . !!!
I'm stuck on the bottom of the Regent's canal!
. . . _ _ _ . . . !!!
If anyone up there can read this & went to meet me opposite the Cat and Mutton yesterday, I'm really sorry! I got up early and gosh it was hot! It was so hot! I walked along the towpath and everyone was talking about how hot it was. It was really really hot! And you can't stay in bed when it's that hot. You've got to get up and-and-and feel just how hot-hot tiswas. Hot!
So I went for a stroll in the hot heat and joined the early tongs drinking real-lager in the Ghastlyopilis's dotted tweely hither & thither. The heat of the sun! The windows were open and the hot-hot sun slanting through & dappling the, it does what it says on the tin-varnished, spit & sawdust tofu floorboards. Lit up the lit-up like they were Jeeves in the Junior Ganymede Club!
It was so hot! I just sat in the hot slanting sun calculating the motion of the organick dust motes that the landlord had-had the enterprising idea of selling in bags. Just like you get yr weekly bag of cokers in. And was flogging them for £3 a bag. He's sold hundreds! It's turned into a craze that's swept Broadway like poppy fields in Afghanistan! It was fantastic to see all these indolent, infantalised 30-somethings, snorty-sneezing dust into each others IDs, in a kitsch ritual, like a joint confetti wedding & full-honours ashes-to-ashes cremation on a wind-swept quad within the confines of Wootton Bassett barracks, or more Zola-istically - millions of begrimed-faced chimney sweep urchins straight out of Great Expectations...24/7 surveillance postcoded spyro-giro'd within Dante's concentric circles & 'Referee, substitution! Off you come & disappear Shakila and we're bringing in from N16 - X-factor IT-girl straight to wok! Ladies & Gentlemen, can I introduce to you - Back from a Gifted & Talented 6-month indenture @ The Super-Soaraway-Sun! Sponsored by Levi Reggie-Reggie Roots! Whilst in Wapping she was filmed wapping Ashley Cola avec Jean Marie Le Pen & simultaneously multi-tasking the evolutionary rats off ships of Stevie Pinker's shaggy linguine Pacman-amania-grrrl-Barnet-helmet + by rote in her Bruce Chatwin journal...Oh Bruce. His rubbery lips pursed & oh so cultured, 'tap', 'Sold to Squinty-Addas-Abbaba avec delicate poise on bequest of Oil-Magnet Sheikh A.N Other! Such culture! A late Gauguin left sock to you Sir! + a free copy of the book wot Brucey rote via Roger Casement - Under the Black Cock: "culturally the central characters are Welshmen, with the surname Jones"....Oh Jonesy,not the black again! Oh pot the black again please Jonesy!:
And we immediately make her - Mossbourne Academy Headgirl! With her prize-winning Jane Bowles Morocco trip!
'The day was a huge success thanks to the commitment of staff and the gifts and talents of our incredible students.'
Our? Headgirl joins! V clever incorporated suck up. A 101% calculated & committed lickspittle talent, who will swallow deep & speak clearly into the Head of Year's microphone every time, salad days but not salad cream of course, olive oil sap rising like Alistair Campbell, to the top. Who has zero tolerance respect for idiots who don't fit in - she calmly whores her coagulates with £XXX's/Ability Plaza/charismatic as Mark Anthony says of Caesar:
The very dice obey him
And in our Sports my better cunning faints
Under his chance
with a Fulham smile, wondering what all the fuss was about. + early pinpoint accuracy in nodding agreement, I'll suck you off yr a Tory Lord or Ed Balls Balls Balls Balls & they came in search of paradise & found it on Hackney Downs!...you have zero tolerance for raggamuffins & on Day 1-Year Zero, you cleave! Permanently excluded from Hackney's spotlessly clean new Academies for doing a number 2 in a cubicle designed by Norman Gurkha-Penile-Foster, you shithouse! Freud? Oh yes, good family, urbane, mildly eccentric, dogfood, what a bloodhound, dearest Clement, what a clod! Bet these vile curs have never even heard of R Mutt, let alone Pedigree Chum! But thanks to the Foucault sale or return benevolence of various unelected, jumped-up, authoritarian, 50's throwbacks, goosestepping around Hackney still fighting hard the cold war - these little tinkers have been given a second zero-tolerance chance to live under the 2012 Olympic stadium land-grab & shovel the various highly toxic & contaminated soil from centuries of plague, pestilence & the conglomerated occult slag deposits of the worst excess of up until then the most rapacious passage of human history, the industrial revolution. Into I LUV HACKNEY recycling bags & then crawl through an escape tunnel they've helped design & make with the expert decking advice of Hackney resident & star of Tommy's DIY Survival, Tommy - big-gob, stick his cock up yr arse in the shower & then later force you to drink a bottle of Pernod when yr 12 wot a right larf - Walsh, over the borough boundary & a clamber up & out, unfortunately 25 yards short, coming up right in the middle of Gay Pride, so use a rope & casually camply saunter 100 yards into a corner of Victoria Park reserved for dogging, lacerate bag, & bobs yr Tommy/David 'Dispersal' McCallum from the Great Escape, wicked uncle Walsh - proceed to covertly deposit the lot in the main lung of our great neighbour & Olympic partner, Tower Hamlets & let them sort it. 13 weeks of that, 8 til 6 & then the lucky pups, 1 day getting used to daylight again & then whisked off for an indefinite stay in a holiday camp in the sunny west called Hotel Du Feltham! What larks eh Pip? What larks!
Tiring of these a little (that shows my age!), I wandered on & almost immediately bumped into undoubtedly the most important man in Hackney Today! A Knight of the Realm! The Headmaster of Hackney! The man single-handedly responsible for turning the pedagogical tide away from the militarisation of education, 101% surveillance & curtailment of any manner of deviation for an authoritarian pigiron-discipline! This most enlightened of men that would make Socrates come over like that dodgy second-hand car saleman Sir Jack Petchey! Thank god he's been drummed out of Hackney and they refused to allow him to have an Academy named after him! The shyster put this up on his website as if this was somehow tapping into the dominant ideology and Alan Sugar was an Enterprise Tsar! And not evidence the man is a common criminal and always has been!
"In 1937 a 12-year-old Jack was prosecuted at East Ham Magistrates Court for working under age. The prosecution evidence was that Jack was carrying vegetables, i.e. tomatoes, the defence being that tomatoes were a fruit - not a vegetable. The case was dismissed!"
Oh forget all that shit! There's neither air or time enough...
I'm gurt-big-belljar-on-me-head-butting the touchscreen on my mobile - trying to txt! But it's coming out like a barrel-full of woodpeckers trying to rewrite Cain & Abel by
blblblblblb bl blblbl blblblb bllllblbl bllbl bllb bllllb blbl...
Luckily, I was just about able to Hoxton-kiss the mobile touchscreen & activate the 101% organick killer-app I got the other day from a fantastic new stall that's just opened in Alternative Broadway Market™(1)
It's called 'The Drowning-Dismembered-Discombobulater™
It's an amazing widget! When drowning, or alternatively practicing eco-apocalypse drowning by holding yr breath, after 30 seconds of continuous lack of oxygen to the brain, this novelty-app kicks in!
And whilst it can't save your life, via Jacques Derrida, it puts into txt-speek yr final thoughts! It's both fantastic fun, of immense Book of the Dead-Sociological interest (Baldrick's interested in using it for a 1-off Time-team Dive! Special!) and will prove(2) a boon for the just-in-time-delivery of a will. Which may or may come in handy during Armageddon.
Hang on...I'm runnin gout of air...Ok, I'll cut to the...hang on what was that?
That was a bloated body on the bottom of Regents Canal! With a bowler hat rammed down over his boatrace!
Oh god!...not long left...So I met Sir Michael Wilshaw, the Pedagogical King of Hackney! Cogitating, in his characteristic peripatetic manner, in homage to his moral & 'How to Live the Good Life' role-model Socrates. Scuttling through Hackney's sidestreets to avoid being recognised or as he put it in his deadpan, Doctor Death (his biggest educational influence) Ur-Middle English-Middle-earth, estuary-sewage whine:
- These chavs do a Blakelock on moi!
Micky, as he implored me to call him, is planning to foist another utopian educational experiment on the poor & v dangerous yoof of Hackney v soon:
The Mark Trotter Memorial Midriff-Bayonet-Plunge
Bootcamp Day & Nite Tixilix™
...Oh God!Only 3 secs left! Hurry Edmond tarry not!
Soicollaredmichael&toldhimaboutmydivingbell
&wouldheliketotakeadivewithmeandexchangee
ducationalideasaboutRousseau
RobertOwenASNeil'sSummerhillRDLaing
Chris-dreams are definitely not made of this-Woodhead...
andsowedidbutMichaelsWilshaw
itturnsoutissofullofshitthat
we'vegotstucktoalltheshit
atthebottomofRegent'scanal
andwe'restuck!
If&whenIgetupfromhere
I'mgoingtodoaCharlieBronsonDeathWish
onthisbastard!
Infactwhydon'tIdoitnow!!!
Michaelmeoldmucker!
Michaelcrawloverhereabit
Iwanttowhispersomethinginyrshell-like!
WHACK!
(1) Btw, RIP the Hackney-born simian situationist Malcolm Macdowell, who was planning to open a new haberdashers on Broadway Market modelled on his 70's Kings Road placcy-bag emporium SEX, but updated for the Noughties: SHIT!
(2) Prove' is maybe pushing it at the moment. The jury's still out really. Well not exactly, the jury came back within 5 minutes & recorded a unanimous verdict of Guilty on Drowning-Dismembered-Discombobulater™ inventor, Andrew Boff. Who turned up at Hackney Town Hall recently with a freshly typed transcription of Boff's spiritual-guide & aboriginal of Broadway Market - Spirit, in which 'Spirit' bequeathed all of Broadway Market and all properties in a 911 yard radius to 'His Greatest Babylonian Student' - Andrew Rachman Boff via the Drowning-blahblah™
(3) As a publicity tie-in, Michael & his Think-coffin, panopticon, zero-freedom, fighter-thinkers @ Edubiz™ based @ Michael's off-shore (situationisted in a secret location somewhere in the foothills of Woodbury Down, that Jamie Carswell sorted out for a 'few bags of raw onions to munch'.), Special Needs Double-Bubble Public(but not very)/Private(very-very), Barbary-Ape charity colony: Planet of Sin-Sink-Estates, are attempting to make contact through Doris Stokes with JG Ballard & his best mate in Shepperton, Benny Hill. To see if they can knock an opera-oratorio-advertising campaign together for the new nursery. A cross between The Atrocity Exhibition & Ernie.
