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Diary of a Loony (7) (1975) Mr. Whippy

In 1975 we moved out of the Lodge. Yoni had found another job in Lincolnshire, where she would stay until, ten years later, she fled to New Zealand with her sons, cutting them off from their father for fifteen years. Fuck knows how they get away with it, but they do. Still, last I heard she was a mad, broke old bag in a tumbledown on South Island. 

We landed as lodgers in Vile's council house in Binfield Heath. I don't know how my mother knew Vile: probably one of the barflies at the Imperial Hotel, Henley. She was another runaway mother, who had taken up with the local ice-cream vendor, Pat. 

Pat was not a nice man. He thrashed Vile's kids for any reason, none or just because they liked to play. Perhaps he'd had a hard life. That Vile let him do this is, I hope, still a shard in her hoar heart.

My grandfather died and all constraint on my mother's madness was removed: it was about this time she took up with the hairy Scottish ape, whom my grandfather would have thras…

Diary of a Loony (6) (2011) The Winding River

Image
Du Fu (杜甫) 712 – 770 - also to be found here: with thanks to Mish.


Returning every day from court, I pawn
spring clothes. The river sees my drunken mien;
my boozing debts mount up all over town.
Men do not often live three score and ten.
The butterflies go deep into the flowers,
the dragonflies on wing among the drops,
the passing time is always rushing hours;
no time to know you: separation stops.

朝回日日典春衣
每日江頭盡醉歸
酒債尋常行處有
人生七十古來稀
穿花蛺蝶深深見
點水蜻蜓款款飛
傳語風光共流轉
暫時相賞莫相違

Diary of a Loony (5) (1986) With the shrink

After the unfortunate incident at school with the naked little boys in the shower, I was sent to be examined. I'm not sure if the hairy Scottish ape, my mother's boyfriend, had been kicked out by then, but it was about that time. Perhaps it was the joy at seeing him go that made me break bounds; I don't remember.

My mother and I were summoned to appear once a month at the shrink's office, where we were gently quizzed on the circumstances that may have led to this dripping denouement. 
“Are you used to seeing naked men about the house?” I was asked. 
“Well, yes! The hairy Scottish ape, my mother's fuck, loves to strut about naked on his way to and from the bath, flashing his tool for all to see.”
I didn't say this.

“How do you feel about having a son who is so much more intelligent than you?”
My mother raged about this for days: dimwits always do.

On the third appointment, my mother and I set off as usual, walking together. Ten minutes in she stopped and refused to go…

Diary of a Loony (4) (2006) A night in Macao

"(T)he future is a horny worker's hand spanking a perfumed bourgeois arse; (s)he may keep a dab of scent and be grateful."  (Unknown revolutionary).

October. I went for the weekend with Meg, my Japanese girlfriend: it was her birthday. I was given a six-month stay; she was given three; I pointed this out with glee; I could tell from her moue the arrow flew true.

Later, in bed, having pleasured me in unspeakable ways - 愛のコリーダ - she pointedly asked whether European girls could do what she just had. I had to admit they could not, or at least never had. Thus her honour was satisfied and face restored. And thank God for that!

Diary of a Loony (3): (1974) The Kite

I was six when we made our twelfth move. My mother had decided that married life and honesty were not for her: she wanted her old life of parties, drugs and casual sex, though not a job.

We walked out, or I was dragged out, on my father, or the man I thought was my father; I still remember the sadness when we said goodbye: a good man.

After a brief sojourn in a caravan in a farmer's field, we landed at Lower Lodge in Binfield Heath, near Henley-on-Thames. This is now Millionaires' Row but then was still a pleasant place.

We lodged at the Lodge with Yoni, the local midwife, who had been one of my 'father's' girlfriends. What jolly japes the girls had there! Every night one or the other could stay out, returning shagged in the morn, and then the Lodge was filled with redolent fumes of herb.

I do not remember how I got the Kite. Perhaps my Grandpa, may he rest in peace, gave it to me. I do remember how beautiful it was, red, with a dragon's face and a sinuous tail.

Beh…

Diary of a Loony (2): (2003-2004) Mike Brass

I lodged with the Brasses once, and the paterfamilias was Mike. He had only two, inexhaustible topics of conversation: where to find food and whores and the genius of his family. I saw few examples of genius, but I did hear a lot of flatulence, most of it from Mike himself, who was as prolific that end as the other.

One morning the Brass was enjoying his breakfast: 4 sausages, 2 duck eggs, six thick rashers of bacon, a chunk of foie gras, mushrooms, toast and coffee.

“I could have been a concert pianist as well as a mathematical genius, you know. I wonder what it is about my family.”

“What do you mean?” I said, sipping my coffee and avoiding looking at his hairy belly as it gurgled and shook.

“Well, genes like ours don’t come from nowhere. I’m sure before my grandfather came from Russia we must have been musicians, artists, scientists. What do you think?”

“I’m sure you’re right: symphonies from all the Mighty Handful must have accompanied your family’s exit from Mother Russia.”

Mike was…

Diary of a Loony (1)

11th December 2004 

My mother came to stay this week, having cozened her way in with the feeble excuse that she needed to recuperate after an eye operation. When I grumbled that she could recover just as well in her boat, or indeed in Timbuktu, my grandmother just gave me a warning glance.

So that was that.

The old bag should have gone after the weekend but lingered on like a bad smell for a few days more. She spent most of the time complaining about her health and general incapacity but I noticed she had no problem swilling copious amounts of gin. 

The second best gin.

She has spent thirty years frittering away the family's money on exotic holidays, substances and men and now, utterly unemployable, faces the bleak prospect of an impecunious old age.  Thus she is on the hunt for someone, anyone, who might throw her a financial lifeline. She is desperately afraid my grandmother will live to be 90 and that she will never get her grubby mitts on the cash.

She is a vegetarian, at least w…