tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66568902011-07-08T12:59:47.704+01:00© John van der Put 2004-2009 | <a href="mailto:info@standnotamazed.com?subject=I%20Want%20To%20Publish%20You">All rights reserved</a> | <a href="http://www.standnotamazed.com">www.standnotamazed.com</a> | <a href="http://www.standnotamazed.com/blog/disc.htm"> disclaimer</a>John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comBlogger7311100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-14051051314200903262010-02-24T01:10:00.003Z2010-02-24T01:11:46.341Z

because what you have to ask yourself is, if i could really do this,would i really be doing this?

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-91125348016440555052010-02-20T01:12:00.001Z2010-02-24T01:18:45.865Z

no matter how longit's beeni continue to long

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-54078520865514464292010-02-17T10:06:00.004Z2010-02-18T00:32:38.427Z

I tried to find GodBut it turns out He knows where He is.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-89730990180539766722010-02-10T00:09:00.002Z2010-02-24T01:10:24.728Z

Why are you smiling at me?You're always smiling at me

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-21797664758171031462010-02-07T01:14:00.000Z2010-02-24T01:18:01.199Z

And just like that She leftA Vanishing ActIn two parts

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-32167717019998167612009-12-19T00:36:00.000Z2009-12-19T00:37:02.597Z

I ordered a baby roast chicken,They brought me a burnt egg.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-21408754707707417772009-11-29T23:15:00.001Z2009-11-29T23:20:26.186Z

12,528,890 people onlinebut not the one i want to see

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-85794691079640881812009-07-07T23:00:00.000+01:002009-07-07T23:01:14.463+01:00

How lonely can you sleepBeside another personSo lonely you can’t bearTo feel that other person

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-34289775211575345182009-06-07T22:59:00.000+01:002009-07-07T23:00:42.187+01:00

No matter the beatMy heart is too heavy for my feet

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-48146322510018338922008-12-08T12:00:00.002Z2008-12-08T21:06:12.491Z

Goato was stuck on the roof. Sometimes he'd be on the left slope, sometimes he'd be on the right slope. Sometimes he'd stare at the sky, sometimes he'd glare at the floor. But he was always stuck on the roof.  No one quite remembered how Goato got stuck on the roof. Some said he climbed a ladder and the wind blew it away. Others said he floated there on a balloon. Still others said he jumped. But

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-80944301154601055242008-12-01T14:56:00.001Z2008-12-08T21:22:44.141Z

I put my phone on the desk and he asks, is that a blackberry? I look at it. It looks like a blackberry. It has blackberry written on it. It is a blackberry. Yes, I tell him, it is a blackberry. I've got a Nokia, he says. Ok, I say. I was thinking of getting a blackberry, he says. Can we just get on with this? I think. I'm not sure, he says. Outside they're shooting a music video and the band

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-5902578532885509442008-11-24T12:22:00.001Z2008-12-05T18:15:31.112Z

The first night she comes to stay she brings a handbag. A small handbag. Barely bigger than a purse. And yet somehow, the next morning, she has enough for a full costume change plus makeup.The second visit warrants an overnight bag. This time she knows she’s coming. Not a rucksack, let’s not go too far here. Just something that’s an armful, filled with small lacey things that to the uninitiated

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-81902090302519269782008-11-17T22:32:00.000Z2008-11-24T12:22:32.870Z

Where's Wally makes Spot the Dog look like child's play.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-80374978901872057272008-11-10T23:14:00.001Z2008-11-24T12:24:51.700Z

I don't feel so goodI had fish for dinner It disagreed with me I was hungry... And it wanted to liveIn the end we compromisedI had sushi.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-14851966408306873362008-11-03T23:09:00.000Z2008-11-24T12:31:25.165Z

I'm tired of all these engineering works and improvement works ruining my weekend. Each week I buy my ticket at full whack and face penalty fares if I go out of zone. There's no excuse to travel without a valid ticket, and yet there appears to be every excuse to run a shitty service. Why does this not work the other way around? If my train is cancelled, where's my refund? I think I'm going to

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-15206352095870462742008-10-27T23:18:00.000Z2008-11-24T12:45:38.784Z

The dial on my microwave goes up to 30 minutes. 30 minutes? Surely that's just for show? We used to have a old Vauxhall Cavalier with 160 mph on the speedo. The only way it would have reached that is vertically. But no, the makers of this microwave actually believe you might need to heat something for half an hour. Cooking is a job for an oven. A microwave is all about the snappy reheats. Put a

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-54899559458914989722008-10-20T12:20:00.000+01:002008-11-25T12:20:43.853Z

It was just a collection of cards, notes and photos; worthless items really, but all of them sitting like a stone in my gut. I carried that box down the stairs and lugged it into the outside bin like a dead body in a carpet. I dusted my hands and looked around guiltily, expecting to be caught.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-10099089309077051402008-10-13T15:00:00.000+01:002008-11-25T12:22:10.236Z

So you have some milk.But you don’t drink it.And after a while it goes off.So now it’s yoghurt.But you don’t eat it.And after a while it goes off.So now it’s cheese.But you don’t eat it.And after a while it goes off.So now it’s stilton.But you don’t eat it.And after a while it goes off.So you throw it away.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-47388816858314244432008-10-03T19:00:00.000+01:002008-11-25T12:27:54.367Z

She is like a magic trick to meShe does thingsI don’t understandBut if I didI probably wouldn’t love her so much.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-90431223730195783632008-09-29T10:44:00.001+01:002008-12-05T18:39:58.518Z

All problems are relative;If you could just get rid of your relativesYou wouldn't have so many problems

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-41223661674651938042008-09-22T18:18:00.000+01:002008-12-05T18:19:23.173Z

My phone is on silentI keep it that wayThe day that got away

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-73564085850079256962008-09-15T23:00:00.005+01:002008-12-05T18:38:04.509Z

Neurotica      -- The glamourisation and glorification of the neuroses                                                    (See Woody Allen et al)

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-14078191928692803062008-09-08T08:05:00.001+01:002008-12-05T18:42:32.769Z

To wake in the death of the cityTortured by the souring of a party downstairsAnd the ever howling sirens Like God running his finger Round the rim of a glassWith nothing for it but to riseOn a black empty street sundayThe bus slushing water on my feetWater from the gutter of the streetAnother piss awful dayIn the death of the city

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-76587950048626339802008-09-01T20:01:00.000+01:002008-12-05T18:49:52.344Z

Clockwise. It's a useless term. A term that fogs the mind of me. We're going clockwise around the room, they say. I'm going cross-eyed picturing the hands of a clock horizontally. And what's anti-clockwise? Someone who really doesn't want to know the time? Why can't we just say we're going right? Or left? Or whichever direction clockwise is. We had a good system! Who messed it up with this talk

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-50326780195370459422008-08-04T12:25:00.001+01:002008-11-24T12:35:33.593Z

                         GON OUT                         BISY                         BACKSON                                 V.D.P.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-29157870846668733922008-07-28T23:06:00.004+01:002008-12-05T18:35:14.662Z

In the church I grew up in the pastor used to say that having hairs on the palm of your hand was the first sign of madness. Do you know what the second sign is? he'd then ask. Looking for them. To me, that about sums that place up; fill you with anxiety and then punish you for looking.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-80068809412741527282008-07-21T17:13:00.001+01:002008-09-05T20:46:11.506+01:00

if... Fear = Religion - God and... Faith = God - Fearthen... Faith = God - (Religion - God)so... Faith = -Religion

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-69287826204144399932008-07-14T21:03:00.000+01:002008-09-01T23:05:05.285+01:00

Before we met the period between first date and sell-by date grew ever shorter. Then we met. She had a clean way of speaking, nicking and clipping her consonants, and I loved her for it. On our first date our lips met, a claim she would later deny, but to this day I remember it happened. We had a rough ride. Choppy seas. A friend once told me, she'll come around. And she did. I was forever

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-65251148874808693202008-07-07T10:00:00.002+01:002008-08-27T10:08:25.878+01:00

In Hackney they have a 98p store. Not a pound store, or a 99p store, but a 98p store. What kind of a person walks into a 99p store and says, I'm not paying that!

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-58346355028095325132008-06-30T17:46:00.001+01:002008-08-27T09:59:40.035+01:00

Yesterday I saw a blind man using a disabled toilet. I didn't know they could do that. I mean I guess it makes sense, lack of sight is quite disabling. But does that mean the deaf can do likewise? If anything I'd have thought it was a bit cruel to give the blind access. I mean, really, a disabled toilet is still the same toilet, just in a much larger room. Hence far more difficult to find. But

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-84323156975321290012008-06-23T12:00:00.001+01:002008-08-20T09:29:20.999+01:00

The first time I saw him he was fresh, new, giving, you could tell he felt he had a gift and he wanted to give it, and once the applause had died down, if people dropped a few coins in the blue plastic bag, well that was all well and good.The second time I noticed a new edge that I would have picked up had it been present before. Now he wasn't dancing so much for the feel of the air as for the

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-53735198330797411482008-06-16T09:13:00.000+01:002008-08-20T09:30:02.386+01:00

Its the constant quipping that gets in the way, the set up and punch that's way below the belt. Create a situation, wait for the obvious and crucify it like you're the messiah. For the performer there is no pride to be taken from here. In essence the score is this: Here is a situation I have manufactured a thousand times, all possible results experienced and documented, yet, I shall allow you to

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-81853269989522522192008-06-09T23:59:00.003+01:002008-08-20T09:40:01.707+01:00

As I lose another year, I am still no closer to learning how to balance the craving for humility with the all-consuming desire of ambition. But at least I get a cake.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-37189355698316891252008-06-02T17:52:00.001+01:002008-08-20T09:13:11.361+01:00

It starts in the queue, as he pairs us off with pointing fingers. I'm assigned to the longest line, and unhappy with my lot I swap. It's not me he picks on but the Pole with the shaved head to my right. Back to your line, the line attendant barks, a shrimp of a man in a luminous yellow vest. Even though it's not me he's talking to, I can feel the shame rising, hot sticky anger spreading through

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-60181400154351153552008-05-26T21:45:00.000+01:002008-08-19T21:49:22.825+01:00

We get off the tube, side by side, her dog leading her forward as her eyes stick to the floor. But she's not blind, just downtrodden. This is the woman who waits for me each night, hand out cupped requesting coppers and change hoping this time will be different. This time is not different. It's a thing to see her coming from the underground, like she's commuting at nine fifteen in the evening.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-37675685213121578132008-05-19T06:53:00.000+01:002008-08-19T21:51:49.115+01:00

I’ve broken upYou can tell, can’t you?I’ve got the look of the broken-heartedThat green, burger king lettuce fresh lookMy feet itchThese itchy, twitchy restless feetMaybe I should take up yoga?Do we have any committed in tonight?What about the broken and bittered?I much prefer you guys,To stick with it no matter how sick it’s making youI salute that.Would you like to know how I left?Would you

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-64108868644081381652008-05-12T11:00:00.001+01:002008-07-28T20:59:49.861+01:00

All I.T. men want to be in Top Gun. Fact. Go into a room and ask to be introduced. As the roll is called you'll witness each and every one of them fight the urge to salute. Especially the Linux guys. In I.T. servers don't break; they go down. On MSN they've all got nicknames like SweatDog, or HangPuppy, they refuse to answer their phones unless they're wearing a headset, and the only reason they

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-8437351866249346982008-05-10T20:24:00.003+01:002008-08-11T09:11:14.019+01:00

As I leave the club the bouncer stamps my hand so hard he almost snaps my bones. Fuck, I say. A year ago I'd have kept this to myself. Tonight I say Fuck. He looks at me with dead eyes blazing. What? he shrugs. I look right back in his eyes, wave my pretty little fingers at him and with a cool, steady voice say, Watch the Talent!

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-28259688216969919412008-05-08T18:30:00.002+01:002008-07-28T21:01:44.553+01:00

Kids change everything. You spend your whole life maturing, developing, gaining insight and understanding to such a zen-like level, that you can almost, almost, pick up an Argos catalogue without wanting anything. And then the little ego monsters arrive. Consume, consume, they use you and consume. Cake, toys, wallpaper, shoes, filing cabinets, novelty teapots, glasses, whatever they lay their

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-6368970327923891872008-05-06T20:17:00.001+01:002008-07-28T20:23:51.589+01:00

When you're unaccompanied the arm rest is all well and good. Supportive, relaxing, it's like a cheaper version of my therapist. But as soon as you get company the good times are over. That arm rest turns into neutral air space. Any elbows in that locality is nothing short of an infringement. I'm tired of squeezing myself into pencil formation just because Jonny-crow-arms has decided he needs to

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-46061355107501102162008-05-04T10:58:00.000+01:002008-07-25T08:37:26.414+01:00

On the walk to work a feather floats by my feet. The wind nudging it along with an amicable breeze. The faster I walk, the more breezily it keeps pace until an errant gust wafts it into my path. I stamp it into some gum on the pavement. I stop dead, but blackened and captive it remains. At the gig I'm all over the place. I drop the cards for the first time in nine months. Instead of the four of

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-43162143384659891972008-05-02T22:47:00.000+01:002008-07-25T08:02:40.766+01:00

The volume on the BBC iPlayer goes up to eleven...

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-79221666361031545132008-04-30T00:47:00.000+01:002008-07-25T08:23:15.894+01:00

On the Holloway road I sleep by the train line. An intercity line. At night I hear the trains creep. The creeping, sleeping, sleeper trains. Lugging purring, heaving bodies to the city like corpses to the morgue. At indeterminate instances the whine and squeal of brakes reminds me I'm wide awake. At others it is this easing off of metal, this acceleration of steel, that nudges me towards 

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-35840155166441984882008-04-28T23:10:00.001+01:002008-07-19T23:20:00.996+01:00

1) Evian backwards is naive2) Beer backwards is vomit

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-32985016887908273102008-04-26T00:49:00.000+01:002008-07-10T22:29:14.207+01:00

Help me to love you as you deserve For I am stupid and slow of witHelp me to love you without reserveFor I know cupid is full of shit

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-74163649934762972722008-04-24T23:31:00.000+01:002008-06-29T03:35:42.512+01:00

At tonight's gig a woman says, go on then, what card am I thinking of? I look at her cynical eyes and without a second thought tell her the four of diamonds. Wide open they split and she freaks. I can't really do this stuff, but when I can, it's pretty good.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-84018955646153699452008-04-22T03:28:00.000+01:002008-06-29T03:31:15.876+01:00

There is nothing more embarrassing than dumping a handful of change in a pretty girl's hand and realising that change contains pocket fluff. I don't know what it is about that fluff, but as you both stare at it, if you're me, a hideous need to unpick it from the coinage will overcome you and will you find yourself pawing at her digits in a bid to save face. And even though you know that there's

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-8508678642591595342008-04-20T11:00:00.000+01:002008-06-24T14:15:34.734+01:00

Currently my world is one long breakfast buffet. When did these get so popular? What happened to ordering? There are some things in life that just should not be ladled, and sausages are one of them. Equally, I do not want to scoop grey scrambled eggs from the bucket of 500 dead chicken babies. I order some poached eggs and they arrive like a beached Portuguese Man-of-war, stringy whites lying

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-2288840940423392882008-04-18T13:54:00.001+01:002008-08-06T18:44:52.697+01:00

Tend is a word that I often overlook. I rarely concern myself when I see it in a sentence. Unless of course it's the following sentence from a book I'm reading called Modern Chemical Magic, 'Drop a blazing sponge in the mouth and close it quickly. This tends to extinguish the flame.' And if it doesn't?

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-22902114874737436632008-04-16T13:52:00.000+01:002008-06-24T13:53:14.669+01:00

When you come down to it, cheese on toast is just very low tech pizza.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-46111865027118486792008-04-14T23:53:00.001+01:002008-06-24T14:01:15.844+01:00

It was on Jonny Carson that it all fell apart. The air conditioning wreaking havoc with the balance of the smoke as the cancerous particles stubbornly refused to cling or to curl into those delicate hoops, and cloud after cloud dispersed in the mechanically cooled breeze. In still air he would direct these smoky bands with a sure hand and float them in a variety of directions with his gentle

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-75773714334485524102008-04-12T00:40:00.000+01:002008-06-17T23:51:15.401+01:00

It's twenty to one in the morning, I'm in a council flat in Holloway and I can hear seagulls out of the window. Sometimes I have to ask myself, what's going on?

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-33270890842253998672008-04-10T08:40:00.001+01:002008-06-17T23:41:26.890+01:00

I'm eating a fish finger sandwich and all I can think is, man, I need a woman.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-89727154484190999482008-04-10T00:09:00.003+01:002008-06-15T23:23:27.465+01:00

This is what I'd like on my gravestone...'There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.'Maybe that sounds big headed. But I don't mean it that way. I'm just trying to get out of bed each day.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-74816439764283412942008-04-08T11:50:00.003+01:002008-06-24T14:19:00.559+01:00

He towers above meIn his vanThe Ice Cream ManArtificially tallElevated and loomingPathetically smallI stand there choosingFrom flavours likeA Wassup orA ScrewballThese are not 'Walls'But a cheap imitationIn which they change just enough letters To avoid a lawsuitHenceMagnumBecomesMaestroAndFeastBecomesFestivalAnd though his sign says You can't fake a flakeMake no mistakeHe has

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-57831673031618774282008-04-06T22:40:00.001+01:002008-06-15T22:42:44.057+01:00

'So you put your ingredients in, shake it, and it gives you a Jamie Oliver flavoured dinner.' -- Lady in Pret, today

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-54706173956846111272008-04-04T12:03:00.000+01:002008-06-14T12:13:38.078+01:00

It bothers me that someone has decided the most appropriate way to package, sell and display sandwiches is within a triangular container. It bothers me that they experimented with various sizes of containment and felt a three sided configuration would offer both the maximum degree of presentation and the minimum consumption of space. It bothers me that this was somebody's life, researching,

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-62848840843790258822008-04-02T23:18:00.001+01:002008-06-12T08:49:46.601+01:00

I'm doing a gig on the Thames tonight, and as I leave the DJ is playing The Delfonics, Didn't I blow your mind this time, didn't i? And as I step off that boat, I think I can safely say, no, I didn't. In my experience, the minds of a boat full of engineers don't blow. They suck.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-43580868428962952972008-03-31T09:15:00.001+01:002008-06-11T23:54:33.239+01:00

They came for me at the hotelThey came without warningAs tablecloths blew from tablesThey came for me in the morning

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-22576241233934623412008-03-29T13:07:00.000Z2008-06-11T23:34:00.722+01:00

I'm doing a show at the European Locksmith's Federation annual conference. That's all well and good, except that I'm performing in front of a sign that says ELF Convention 2008. Where's my agent?

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-2601980004742546762008-03-27T21:26:00.000Z2008-06-11T23:29:47.005+01:00

When I do your laundryThat is when I miss you most

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-1400177524543651872008-03-25T19:24:00.000Z2008-06-10T19:26:20.346+01:00

Confidence is beginning the week with a drawer full of socks.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-17338992066753828112008-03-23T21:30:00.003Z2008-06-07T12:07:54.526+01:00

If a tree falls silently in a forest, does that mean nobody cut it down?

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-75892048216983714652008-03-21T09:00:00.001Z2008-05-26T18:49:45.137+01:00

i look up and thinkpass over mesky

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-9171917048562108082008-03-19T00:11:00.001Z2008-05-26T18:51:08.650+01:00

Yoghurt is the vegetable of the dessert world.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-53321466746053283002008-03-17T23:29:00.002Z2008-06-07T12:12:08.682+01:00

I did a gig tonight with a good friend of mine who happens to be a juggler, but let's not hold that against him. He did thirty minutes to a room as dead as Lincoln. As he came off stage, the compere walked on and said, now, on with the important stuff...

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-18064530568423630052008-03-15T22:40:00.005Z2008-05-09T23:47:07.292+01:00

There was something about me that people liked. Rich people, wealthy people, I drew them to me. People of independent means, people born into it, bred from it, people of astute financial affluence. When I began to wonder what it was, when it began to concern me, they left. As long as I remained happy not to know, they were happy to have me around. I lived a life of fast cars and machined

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-74766992497189038432008-03-13T11:11:00.001Z2008-05-09T23:48:13.585+01:00

her: and now you meet.him: again.her: the first looks.him: the second thoughts.her: the longing glanceshim: at her, or at the door?her: examine him for stubble.him: be on time, there is no excuse.her: dress well, consider for a moment of the power of a good pair of heels.her: i remember once, this man, he tied my shoelaces.him: i looked up at her as i knelt, as i tied double knots in the middle

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-85448430950365908932008-03-11T14:35:00.009Z2008-05-09T23:43:45.871+01:00

I'm at a gig in the middle of a rope trick and someone outside is squealing so loud it's putting me off. It sounds like they're squeezing a pig. It sounds like someone's squeezing a pig, I say. There's a pause. That's Deborah, they say, she's disabled.

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-42335667946714303002008-03-09T21:51:00.002Z2008-05-08T09:33:59.780+01:00

I'm watching the cleaner on her break, putting coin after coin in the slot machine. Winning nothing, spending the money she's just broken her back to earn. Another of life's lonely losers in a sight only I'm around to see.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-10232539898242731772008-03-07T15:00:00.001Z2008-05-07T21:56:41.785+01:00

If you ask me one of these questions:-Can you make my wife disappear?-Where did you learn to be a magician?-How long have you been doing this?You'll probably get one of these replies:-You’re doing a good job yourself.-Prison.-About eight minutes so far.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-67862149004556618712008-03-05T11:00:00.000Z2008-05-07T21:47:20.445+01:00

Nothing is more emasculating than orange juice in a wine glass.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-59526574184084337292008-03-03T19:27:00.000Z2008-05-07T21:43:31.237+01:00

A university education is less a sign of intelligence, rather a sign of someone who has the time and money to prove it. I'm not saying it's worthless (unless of course you read Art History or Classics, and then you're making that point quite well yourselves), I'm just saying most of it is common sense. Given enough time and money most of the human race could put enough together and to scrape a

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-28168514925061675182008-03-01T00:00:00.001Z2008-05-10T00:11:33.341+01:00

I walk on to the stage and they are baying like animals. I pull the microphone from the stand and that just goes to incense them. I can barely tell their faces apart. They could be the same as last night, or identical to the ones tomorrow. I start to talk and you can’t hear a word I’m saying. My words drown like puppies as they tumble from my mouth. The ones near the front are bellowing, brawling

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-31947732440636985022008-02-28T21:10:00.001Z2008-05-07T21:24:50.130+01:00

I've been stuck on the 345 for an hour and forty five minutes now. I'm traveling from South Kensington to Peckham, the full length of the route, and I'm determined to finish. For the last hour we've moved about twelve meters, two of which I accomplished myself when the seat at the front of the bus became free. There's a huge major traffic obstruction in Stockwell and the police are flying into

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-6810619450870382882008-02-26T20:50:00.000Z2008-05-07T21:09:22.522+01:00

My computer is laughing at me. Literally. It won't stop laughing at me. Every time I move the mouse or hit the keyboard it cackles and howls at me. I search the internet for mac-based laughing viruses. Nothing. I look in the manual, call up friends, ask Jeeves; no-one seems to have ever experienced this. But I have, and I am, and it's driving me crazy. I restart and restart, but each time I do

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-57619539261008497972008-02-24T22:34:00.001Z2008-05-03T23:35:27.448+01:00

I walk into one of those 24 hour convenience stores. It's late at night and I seem to be alone in my need of convenience. I put a loaf of bread on the counter. The man behind waits patiently. Is that all? He asks. Yes, I reply, waiting for him to ring it up. Are you sure? He says, looking at my other hand. At that moment I remember I've come out with half a pack of penguins. Chocolate biscuit

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-74773964787039446342008-02-22T22:31:00.000Z2008-05-03T22:33:35.476+01:00

Those who can, do.Those who can't, teach.Those who really can't, work in magic shops.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-68683547306804371772008-02-20T23:48:00.002Z2008-05-03T00:08:58.073+01:00

Last Christmas, wandering around Waitrose whilst blinded and despirited by the eternal death of the phosperence and lost in aisles so endlessly unending, I came across two reindeer glasses. I'd just moved into my flat and surviving on three forks and an old bowl which I think used to be an ashtray. I picked up the glasses and turned them in my hand, feeling warmer even as I stood there. I put

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-63405235563251075822008-02-18T19:23:00.002Z2008-04-28T19:42:12.947+01:00

Only people dumb enough to run 26 miles would warm themselves with a tinfoil blanket.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-30869523121181083772008-02-16T19:18:00.000Z2008-04-23T19:38:53.024+01:00

It wears you down. That's the thing. It's not the money, it's not the expense, it's the constant expectancy. The hand forever out, the longing looks, the platters of change. When you arrive it's a novelty. You feel quite the benefactor handing over what is mere loose change to you. What will otherwise be lost down the sofa, dropped in the gutter, thrown away for pure convenience. But when the

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-56682431408873632222008-02-14T17:09:00.001Z2008-04-23T19:41:57.713+01:00

I'm watching a Dolphin show, and I wouldn't like to admit this to anyone, but I'm jealous. Jealous of their attention, jealous of their applause, just plain jealous. I mean, all they're doing is knocking a few balls around and jumping through hoops... You should see what I have to do to get fed! My beloved turns to me and offers me some ice cream. What's wrong? She asks. Nothing, I say, glaring

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-3378651816275291752008-02-12T08:32:00.006Z2008-04-23T17:06:51.311+01:00

I'm on a plane to Cuba and I can't sleep. Senior citizens walk up and down the aisle non stop to ward off the DVT. They've shown the same movie twice, and the endings been the same both times. My love has already charmed an extra gin and tonic out of them, but it helped my drowsiness no end. The problem is, any minute now, the plane could EXPLODE!It could be NOW! &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-58776602384225807932008-02-10T23:45:00.001Z2008-04-23T16:29:35.827+01:00

What am I doing here? Serving this concrete machine? I remember when I was young, at night, padding the summer grass in my bare feet. And that was in South East London! Now that is far out of reach. I spend my time crushed in stuffed tube trains, paying more than I earn for the privilege. Chewing tasteless paper-wrapped consumables as I scurry between appointments. Returning home to be imprisoned

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-5197099396271939572008-02-08T16:13:00.000Z2008-04-23T16:17:56.817+01:00

You might not have heard of Hans Klok. He’s a fluffy haired magician with a show in Las Vegas. Starring Pamela Anderson. Right now that makes him a pretty big fish in the puddle pond of magic. If you have heard of him however, you could be forgiven for thinking his role consists of little else but running around pointing at large boxes. Kind of like a very camp version of life in a Dixon’s

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-42066727409057265902008-02-06T12:39:00.000Z2008-04-15T23:07:16.979+01:00

What I'd love is to get on a deserted tube carriage with one of those cat basket carrier things. An empty one. With the door wide open. Then I'll fall asleep, give it a while, maybe I'll start snoring. Once the tube is packed and on its way, out of nowhere, I'll wake up and start screaming- My snake! My SNAKE!!! Has anyone seen my highly agitated, possibly claustrophobic snake??!

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-4981992770557159682008-02-04T20:31:00.001Z2008-04-15T23:41:27.433+01:00

On the best of days I can hardly bring myself to go near a tesco's. I was brought up a Sainsbury's man and that stuff sticks. However as I live nowhere near the land of orange, and the Waitrose is at least an eight minute walk from the tube, the convenience of the tesco express is overpowering and I hit it like a smack addict hits an alley. But what makes it so much worse is that they've decided

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-83072512037671587562008-02-02T19:13:00.001Z2008-05-07T22:18:44.176+01:00

Why are Elvis impersonators so popular in Indian restaurants?

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-63143859741053117612008-01-31T20:10:00.000Z2008-04-15T20:29:48.388+01:00

When I get up at the wrong stop, I still get off the tube.Then I spend the next three minutes thinking about how proud I can be.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-2932861770618145862008-01-29T11:58:00.000Z2008-04-12T00:31:15.593+01:00

When a man holds the door for me I just find it patronising.

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-68979292464870416262008-01-27T12:21:00.000Z2008-04-12T00:27:10.203+01:00

him: listen to the static, say nothing.her: note the space between the words, sit tight.him: fill nothing, wait for the silence, decipher the message it contains.her: shhh, quiet helps.him: What to say when there is nothing to say?her: Be assertive, you dither, you die.him: it’s all or nothing in those first few words.her: he is lost, he has failed to capitilise.him: i want to take you for

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-59261884999253629852008-01-25T11:25:00.000Z2008-04-12T00:26:04.219+01:00

I'm three back in a queue and the guy on the cash desk turns to me. Can I help you? he says, inviting me to cut in. I look at him and the line looks to me. Umm, I say, stalling for time, feeling all eyes needling my neck, just this tie please. Sorry, he says, I'm serving someone.

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-27442852908140732892008-01-23T00:20:00.000Z2008-04-12T00:21:06.412+01:00

You'd never spot us. We look no different than your average suited jack in the city. Better tailoring perhaps. A few more pockets. Other than that, indistinguishable. We are the professional socialisers, we go to parties for a living, we are paid to be the life and soul. You might have met us, once or twice. That guy who levitated your finger ring inches before your astonished eyes; that guest

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-43887330592874790562008-01-21T00:08:00.000Z2008-04-12T00:19:34.768+01:00

I drank nothing but mineral water for three days. I felt a bit weird after, you know, all full of calciums and potassiums. So I went to the doctor. Turns out I have evian bird flu.

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-73312919420843051372008-01-19T18:46:00.002Z2008-04-12T00:21:51.651+01:00

call me on your phonecall me up and hear mecall me from your homecall me and be near metoday i'm so aloneso call me up and cheer meand when i hear that tonei'll start to see things clearly

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-27710437604482415232008-01-17T23:19:00.001Z2008-04-07T23:23:34.890+01:00

I just bought my Guinea Pig a new cage. It's a pretty advanced one. It's got an alarm clock, a glass window, central heating and a light so he can read. Hell, when you close the door the little fella even revolves!

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-51329268933804462132008-01-15T11:00:00.000Z2008-03-31T17:18:33.168+01:00

My electric toothbrush ran out of batteryI didn't know what to doThen I remembered thatMy arm can move too

John van der Putnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-25012506416036899352008-01-13T23:45:00.000Z2008-03-29T01:34:01.933Z

So just after I blew them away with a card trick this old chick turns to her now 40 year old son and says 'you used to do card tricks when you were a little boy didn't you?' Nowhere to go my friends...

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-1825224401733478212008-01-11T01:30:00.000Z2008-03-29T01:31:23.647Z

Today I washed my hair with fairy liquid.Just putting it out there.

Johnnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656890.post-44841725952091439052008-01-09T17:42:00.001Z2008-03-05T18:01:22.569Z

I'm not quite sure why he's giving me such a hard time. Maybe my first mistake was to try to buy things; rope mainly. Maybe that's not the way he likes to run his business. Sure, I can get the rope from somewhere else, but I always like to get it from this guy. The little guy. Today though, I feel like I should apologise for my presumption. I can order it, he tells me, but you'll have to take

Johnnoreply@blogger.com