At The Bottom Of The Recycle Bin
Now Playing: Vulture

Getting tired of squinting out of the window, today I walked to the Internet cafe to photocopy documentation which proves, at least, my own existence, in order to qualify for a residents parking disc for Groove Park.

The photocopier was broken but on my way out I scoped Mr. Welsh at terminal number 10 checking his gmail.

I waited for over an hour at the bus stop opposite the cafe, observing with one eye, Bagman Byl making coffee with a jam-jar and some tepid water, the other on the door to the cafe, waiting for Mr. Welsh to emerge.

After he left, I went into the cafe and hired a terminal, specifying that I wanted number 10, beside the window. My biggest fear or fantasy perhaps, was, I suppose, that Mr. Welsh had stumbled across this site, and that I was rumbled but a quick flick through the history panel in Internet Explorer for the previous two hours allayed my apprehensions.

Before terminating the session, I rummaged through the recycle bin and there at the bottom, underneath the Polish CV's and the real Indian soap opera clips was the discarded fragment of a story.

For posterity's sake I retrieved it from the bin and have retained it for possible future publication on this site, pending legal and ethical consultations with both my solicitors and colleagues in the NUJ.

I mean, if he threw it away, he doesn't want it any more, correct?

Please let me know how you feel on this issue and whether you think I should publish or be damned.

Finally, a suggestion...
Mary,

I love your suggestion. I love it so much in fact I am going to make it happen this week.

Remember, there are substantial cash prizes for anything that makes it from my garden into Mr. Welshs subconscious.

As regards to where he lives, I do not know. And even if I did know I would not publish that kind of information on this site. This site is a work of fiction and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

And anyway I am not crazy enough to follow that bald Scot up the road to find out what number he lives in.

Thank you for popping my Comment Cherry and for your wonderful suggestion.

Sincerely
Stalkingirvine

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Gritty Author Welsh Reveals Love of Jane Austen
Jane Austen

Irv The Swerve Is Back In The Hood

Junky Santy
Now Playing: With Fire
Topic: Suggestions Welcome

The Artist clearing the Portal of weeds.


In keeping with the already established themes of elephants and class A drugs; one of which at least is a favourite theme of Mr. Welsh's and given that the filth were around here a couple of weeks ago, trashing the joint, the next object going into The Portal to the subconscious mind of Mr. Welsh is the bag of polystyrene balls which, from a distance, looks for all the world, like a giant sack of cocaine.

It's like the guy who goes to the doctor, looking for a cure for baldness.
The doctor places a couple of rabbits on his head and says
- There you go, that'll be ?50 please.
The guy says - Whit the fucks goan oan?
And the doctor says - Dont worry, from a distance they look like hairs.

Since this is supposed to be art I'm going to draw a picture of Ganesh on the decoy santy-sized sack of coke. Ganesh is the elephant headed Hindi god that has the capacity to reduce all the human weaknesses, such as jealousy, drunkeness, illusion, greed, anger, desire, egotism, self-infatuation which send the devotee away from his path to god.

Ganesh also has; having the head of an elephant: a very large nose.

Literary technique does not exist in a vacuum.
Topic: Suggestions Welcome

Sean O'Faolain, in 'The Short Story' (Collins 1948, ISBN 0 85342 860 3) wrote,

Literary technique does not exist in a vacuum, it is a man's device for projecting his own nature in his own time and place. Indeed, as Henry James shrewdly remarks, time and place affect even the technique of the reader as he reads, pointing out that not only does the impression of life that goes into a story vary according to the man and place that produces it, but the impression of life that comes out of a story will often vary 'according to the place that takes it, the particular structure and mixture of the recipient'.

Irvinespotting
Now Playing: The Devils Advocate
Topic: Suggestions Welcome
DEP: 0915 ARR: 2212

The sign has duly been registered in Mr. Welsh's subconscious.
This event occurred at 09.15 this morning.
The sign has now been removed from outside the hoose.

Tomorrow: The Stash of Ganesh or perhaps a reworking of the parable of the six blind men.

It Must Be A Sign
Now Playing: Danger! Elephant Trap
Topic: Suggestions Welcome

15.30 24 November 2004

I have lived solely on glutinous rice for the last week and now that the cupboard is entirely bear I must work. The sign was erected this morning. I wasn't around today however to record a sighting of Mr. Welsh espying it.

Another bill arrived for him today though, from the hospital, the costs of treating his alter-egos gammy, gangrenous peg.

I dont actually get paid until tomorrow but a generous friend has offered to feed me tonight.

Neither starfucker nor paparazzi
Topic: Suggestions Welcome
OK I didn't have the time today. Or rather I had the time but not the motivation. I made the sign at least.

I must admit that I got the urge to shadow Mr. Welsh the other day, after I saw him in the Deli. Ethically, of course, this type of behaviour is unacceptable. I am neither starfucker nor paparazzi and this would be a downright invasion of privacy. I dont see any problem however with taking photographs from the window of my own room, or placing objects in my own garden, no matter how nefarious or manipulative my motivations. The project recommences.

Danger! Elephant Trap.
Now Playing: Five -a-side
I seen Mr. Welsh this morning though. About 11 am sitting in the corner of the deli on the corner, txting away like crazy. Must be all those film deals and rights and all of that. I read there over the weekend that he has some production company or something going with the actor Robbie Carlysle.

I had my camera with me but I was hardly going to shove it in his face so I walked backwards and forwards past the window of the deli a few times and tried to do it discreetly. All dressed in black with a fluorescent pink shirt with neon blue Chinese dragons printed on it - about as discreet as an elephant in a corporate box at Old Trafford.

In this shot the reflection unfortunately obscures the portrait. He is behind the window though.

And here the waitress in the black cap is serving him tea.

I have decided to make a sign that reads -
Danger! Elephant trap.

And stake it in the ground beside the arrangement of branches and twigs in the front garden. Tomorrow morning at 10.30 Mr. Welsh will hopefully walk past it, and I will remove the sign in the afternoon.