Monthly Archives: May 2008

(Whilst waiting for A to finish her revision, for Husten to have his long overdue shag, not knowing what to do with himself)

 

Haven’t posted recently. 

But.

Yet.

I’m still alive as you can see.

 

(but thanks for wondering and worrying)

(Jaakie) 

 

Let me tell you, Jaakie, and everybody else, it isn’t easy to fill Fall On Me with posts when most of my friends are either marking or taking university exams.

 

Lucky bastards.

 

Including, especially, particularly A.

 

She isn’t the best of students, but she tries and sometimes, quite often in fact, works really hard.

Making it even harder for me … I so want her to do well.

For she is so worried about her future.

Just like we all are.

Or should be.

 

But it isn’t easy to fill Fall On Me with posts when most of my friends are either marking or taking university exams.

 

V M Husten falls right in between. Neither marking nor taking.

But so wanting to be part of what once was his life. And is now theirs.

Hers.

 

Feeling left out.

So.

Therefore.

A solution.

 

As if he is not qualified enough.

As if he does not have enough degrees.

 

But.

So.

Yet.

Therefore.

Another degree.

 

From September 2008, V M Husten will become another postgraduate, another Masters student.

Sooo exciting.

Sooo … whatever.

 

But for now, I sooo want to offer A a cup of fresh green tea, a large bowl of vanilla ice-cream with hot melted chocolate sauce and show her this amazing Chinese film I illegally downloaded from the internet yesterday.

 

She may be revising in the room next door, in my office, in your office, but you can’t, you simply can’t, Husten.

 

Coz she deserves …

 

Coz Fall On Me is not just about V M Husten.

 

 

 

H: I can’t believe you never heard of Simon and Garfunkel.

A: Don’t make me feel me bad just because you are older.

H: Your exams are making you edgy.

A: I knew you would say that.

H: Oh, really? It’s true though.

A: You’re so predictable.

H: Now, really?

A: It’s true.

 

 

H: Coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs Robinson.

A: Nee chance now, Mr Husten.

H: Later, after your revision, right?

A: Maybes.

H: I’ll be really attentive.

A: You could start with staying sober.

 

 

“You two are so alike but so different.”

“Good!”

“From the same pre-historic era I suppose.”

“Wow, wow, wow, hold your horses, Lady. He’s 12 years older than me.”

 

 

“I’m so happy you get on with L.”

“Tell me more about how he does not want you to mention your sex live.”

“Leave it, Husten.”

“Go on, please, A.”

 

 

You want me to tell you how much better you are, how much more I love you.

How much more you like me would do.

You know I can’t do that.

Come on, just to make me feel good.

 

Sorry.

 

 

 

Le Plat du Jour in blogging world parfois punctuates you need to break up the rhythm of your candid content, your scrupulous style with something different. 

In case posts get too repetitive. 

 

Too alliterative.

 

Something typically postmodern. 

One of which is lists.

 

Hey, I could do a Belle de Jour here. Show my intellectualist, postmodern, cultural credentials.

 

For example. 

 

My 5 most, best, chief, greatest, foremost, influential, blabla, then number 1 to 5 (13 even if creative). 

 

For example. 

 

My 5 most embarrassing sexual encounters, best excuses, chief greatest wanks, foremost writers, influential prime ministers, blabla, then anything. 

 

5 (or 13) listings of shoite. 

 

Here is V M Husten’s:

 

1) I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail

2) Yes I would, if I could, I surely would

3) I’d rather be a hammer than a nail

4) Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would

 

5) Away, I’d rather sail away

Six) Like a swan that’s here and gone

Seven) A man gets tied up to the ground

Eight) He gives the world its saddest sound

 

9) Its saddest sound

 

Ten) I’d rather be a forest than a street

Eleven) Yes I would, if I could, I surely would

12) I’d rather feel the earth beneath my feet

13) Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would

 

I’ve seen this happen in other people’s lives, and now it’s happening in mine.

 

Happening in mine.

Happening in mine.

Happening in mine.

 

I’ve seen this happen.

 

and

 

now

 

it’s

 

Happening in mine

Happening in mine

Happening in mine 

 

 

 

H: Fucking hell, luv. Was it good for you, was it?

A: Sorry.

H: I hope I’m not gonna bump into my neighbours tomorrow.

Going home, struggling to get a taxi, struggling to get A into the damn thing.

 

 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. I don’t like how you assume every time.”

“Assume what?”

“Like I like my drink too much. Telling my friends.”

“It’s me poor English, dear.”

 

 

Coming home, struggling out of the taxi, struggling onto the keyhole, into the keyhole, struggling the door of my flat, up the stairs, into the living room, my kitchen.

“How pissed are we?”

 

 

“Happy?”

“Totally!”

 

[giggle]

[more than ... a giggle]

 

“Want a glass of water?”

“You don’t want me to shag you now, do you?”

“Husten, alcohol and sex don’t go together.”

“You must be the only man in the universe …”

“Just your luck, etc etc etc, I know, you know by now.”

“Maybe this time?”

“How many times have we been here before?”

 

 

“Why do you think I have so many female friends? Give me a glass of wine and the last thing on my mind will be pussy.”

“Stop saying those … horrible porn … horrible American words. You never used to.”

“Used to use cunt, didn’t I? Or ‘little Miss A’ … or ‘down there below’ … [Smirk] … Like a teenager. An incredible sweet American Jew did that to me.”

“Was she really?” 

“American? And Jewish? Yeah, as far as I can tell.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Aye, she was sweet. Incredibly.”

 

 

“Stop taking the piss. You like her, don’t you?”

“Enormously.”

 

 

“Is this what L. has done to our relationship?”

“Never realised we had one … Soz … You mean becoming completely honest with each other?”

 

[drunkenly nodding]

 

“I’d like to think I would always be honest, L. or not.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

 

[Lying in my arms, picking fluff from inside my belly button, kissing my nipples, now and then my neck, flicking the fluff from her fingernail onto my bedroom floor]

 

“Hmmm, okay maybe not always that honest.”

“I would.”

“What?”

“Always be honest to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Don’t talk crap.”

“Honestly, whatever you get up to, I don’t mind.” 

“You don’t really mean that. L. gets annoyed when I mention it.”

“If you care to tell me, I’ll keep an open mind, hand on heart, or this moment in time hand on your breast more likely. Fuck L.”

 

[giggle]

[more than ... a giggle]

 

“What? Do you think I am a whore?”

“I’ve said this a couple of times before, no woman is ever a whore.”

“You know I’m not sleeping around, Husten.”

“You should.”

“I would never want to … Is this the weirdest conversation ever?”

“Not when you manage to get to my age.”

 

 

 

I can’t help giggling with the idea that Triffids’ fans googling “Lonely Stretch” are gonna be sooooo disappointed when they find my blog.

 

Mr David McComb, my apologies.

FADE IN:

INT.

UNDER THE RECENTLY DRY-CLEANED DUVET. 

 

H

 

Your fingers …

 

 

A

 

Sorry.

 

 

H

 

Don’t. It’s not  … well, I don’t mind … oh, I don’t know. … I love it.

 

 

A

 

I can see you do.

 

 

H

 

Don’t give me that smirking how-sweet/innocent-am-I look. 

 

That 50’s one.

 

 

A

 

I didn’t.

 

 

H (CONT’D)

 

Fuck off.

 

 

A (CONT’D)

 

You shouldn’t feel so embarrassed about it.

 

 

 

H

 

It just feels so good.

 

 

A

 

Really?

 

 

H

 

It’s a bloke thing. Prostate massage they call it on Google.

 

 

A

 

I know.

 

 

H

 

How the fuck would you know?

 

L?

 

 

A

 

Don’t be ridiculous. 

 

 

H

 

Just continue with what you are doing.

 

 

FADE TO BLACK

 

 

 

H: I did, you know.

A: No way!

H: Proud of me?

A: Totally!!!

 

 

 

Had we but world enough, and time

This coyness, Lady, were no crime

 

 

 

FADE IN:

INT.

 

H

 

Your fingers … take them out of my mouth.

 

 

A

 

Sorry.

 

 

H (CONT’D)

 

Don’t. It’s not  … well, I don’t mind … oh, I don’t know.

 

 

A

 

What?

 

 

H

 

They taste too salty.

 

 

FADE TO BLACK