Sunday, September 7, 2008

Dark Night of the Soul #1

What I’m about to say may disturb readers of a sensitive disposition, and they are advised instead to look at pictures of fluffy kittens until normal service is resumed.

I can feel it creeping over me again: like a cancer, but without the sympathy. Maybe some of you know the feeling (do you?): why am I here; why have I moved away from my friends, my family, my culture, people who listen to me, the food that I like, {your own personal choice here}, and proper comedy. There seem to be three well-trodden paths which can be taken from this juncture:

(1) Shout at the person you’ve given everything up for (not fair as it’s not really their fault)
(2) Go back home (possible, but you know that “home” is just as crap in its own special way)
(3) Get drunk (yes, the one continuing advantage about being abroad is that the beer is cheaper)

However, I’ve just thought of an entirely new solution (4): destroy things!!!! I was in my mid-teens when punk started in the UK – for which I’ve always been assiduously grateful - but I’m afraid I failed to take full advantage of the possibilities thereof. However, as they say, “it’s never too late”. I have fantasies about smashing up the kitchen, the chairs, the telly - anything that’s immediately to hand, frankly - but so far I’ve only succeeded in punching wooden fences and lampposts. Of course, this isn’t the “me” that people want to see, but, well, as they also tell me, “you shouldn’t bottle your feelings up!!” Now, I’m of the type for whom scenario (3) actually prevents rather than precipitates scenario (4), so I’ve got a large plastic keg of beer at my elbow right now so I can finish writing this before I send the computer south - if you don’t hear from me again you know the beer ran out :-) Cheerio!!


Gorilla Bananas said...

Do you remember a man called Bill Grundy, Gadjo? Punk destroyed him, live on TV.

Kevin Musgrove said...

Chopping wood's good. Kept me sane right up till my breakdown.

Mrs Pouncer said...

Gadjo, this is all stale buns to me. I am sometimes so overcome with loathing and hatred of everything the Thames Valley stands for (yes, really; I know it's hard to believe) that I have to fight really hard not to steer my Defender (it's a car) into a tree. I also have this overpowering desire to start screaming into the face of whichever nice person is telling me something fatuous "Why don't you f**k off you f******t and leave me to face oblivion through drink, which is the only thing I really like? Yeah, I mean you, you w****r, and your stupid c**t of a wife". It is most inconvenient at Royal Ascot, for example. Try and be happy. CLdeM Pouncer xxx

Gadjo Dilo said...

GB, sadly I never never saw that famous broadcast. Grundy should be grateful though: it's the only thing he's remembered for now.

Same here, Kevin. Cleaning the floors of restaurants in the early mornings with increasing anger and passion kept me sane until mine.

Ah, Mrs Pouncer, you've been here already and got the t-shirt - which I'm very much hoping reads "Why don't you f**k off you f******t and leave me to face oblivion through drink" on the front and "Yeah, I mean you, you w****r, and your stupid c**t of a wife" on the back :-)

I feel happier now, don't worry.

Daphne Wayne-Bough said...

Don't worry Gadjo, we're all going to disappear into a black hole at 8.30 tomorrow morning anyway. I'm thinking of breaking into a pharmacy.

When I lived in Paris I used to nostalge over things like Marmite and mustard piccalilly. Until I realized I'd never liked them in the first place.

Gyppo Byard said...

I believe the end of the world is scheduled for 8am sharp rather than 8.30, so atleast that's another 30 minutes of futile, pointless existence we're spared.

I know the feeling well, Gadjo. Mind you, if it's any consolation, coming "home" doesn't improve things, especially if the country to which you return has developed incomprehensible evils during your absence such as Ant and Dec, Big Brother and New Labour (I returned in 1999, in case anyone thinks these choices are somewhat passe).

M C Ward said...

As a fellow exilee, I can relate to your comments, GD. I also agree that heading home is sometimes worse, as it only reminds you of why you wanted to leave in the first place. But building a worthy life in foreign parts is no mean task - I'm still whittling away at it.

No Good Boyo said...

Steady on, Gadjo. I too advocate percussive maintenance of household goods as part of my "Gewalt" therapy course. Printers, chairs, masonry - it all has to go.

While in Transylvanians, why not do as the locals do and torch the neighbouring village? They're probably Szeklers who done your in-laws wrong.

Then enjoy an afinata on the house. Not necessarily your own.

Gadjo Dilo said...

Daphne, I was actually spooning Marmite out the jar and into my slavering mouth last night! We've got a pharmacy of sorts in our appartment; tell us your drug of choice - you name it, we can get.

Gyppo, you may be right. I hardly recognise Ye Olde England now, though I suspect that's more to do with becoming an Olde Git. (Is that 8am sharp GMT?)

MC, you seem to have done admirably well considering the even greater distance you are from "home" and the vaguaries of your chosen profession.

Boyo, that's the idea! Fortunately, though, the historial grievances between Romanians and Hungarians rarely manifest themselves in violence these days. Afinata would be excellent, but I've still got 2 litres of ţuică in the cupboard to get through first :-)

Thanks a lot for your concern, everybody, but don't worry, the moment passed and Mrs Dilo is always on hand with her injections of 5-year-out-of-date Nembutal and her improvised ECT apparatus.

Mrs Pouncer said...

Gadjo, the thought is irresistible: your slavering mouth, and me in my nurse's uniform ladling in yeast extract. If the Marmite people want to see their sales go stratospheric, there's their new campaign. Kisses CLdeM Pouncer xxx

No Good Boyo said...

Mrs Pouncer in a nurse's uniform, improvised ECT equipment - I'd like an invitation to that party.

Andy H said...

I seem to have coped with the life-in-Transylvania thing by developing stress related hypertension. I suspect destroying furniture is healthier, though at the end of the day it is I who is the one taking loads of fascinating little pills of a morning. swings and roundabouts.

Delighted to find your blog active and apologies for not having discovered it sooner. I'll start thinking about my films forthwith