In reply to davidbeynon:
OK David Beynon, I think I like you, so I'm going to cease p*ssing about or pretending that I'm writing a student essay, because you're making some sensible points here. Think of me as if I were some kind of a travel writer. I mean, I'm not, but like Andy Warhol said, we're all famous for 15 minutes, so in my 15 minutes, I'm a travel writer. As such, I can write about being in my student house and I'm visiting the room next door... Cool, those really are the Himalayas there. This is the pre-internet world, so these slides really are a big deal - they're proper slides too, little bits of celluloid in a cardboard frame that goes in this crazy machine that smells of overheated dust from the bright light that can only escape through the celluloid picture.
"Here is a roadside tea-station. They put sugar in the pot and they use condensed milk - it's the only sort of tea anyone drinks and it's just what you need in these conditions". John's voice is precise, clipped even. Everyone is sitting up, paying attention - it's a real contrast to my room next door, full of stoned bikers who poke their head around the door, looking for me and just don't know what to make of this strange world that blurrily unfolds before them as they go "oops, OK" and take their heads back out again. Fast-forward 20 years, and John has hired a whole youth hostel for his 40th. I'm there with my kids now, running around getting under everybody's feet. And hey, there in the youth hostel kitchen is a real-live Sherpa or something rather like one to my untutored eye.... Not a Sherpa actually, he's from Pakistan, they've flown him over here specially for the celebrations and it's probably the first time he's ever been away from his home village where John's mates go each year to take paying yuppies up Everest. The guide - I can't remember his name - has brought with him a hundredweight sack of gram-flour and he's making chapatis on the youth hostel stove because that's what you do when you go away on an expedition - it's his job. I'm here, taking this all in - is this a club? Is this a business? Is it a bunch of mates? Whatever it is, for me it's an adventure, the whole of life is one big adventure and talking bollox is a big part of that, an essential part even because talking bollox is how we make sense of it all. In my student house in the room next door to the student mountaineers, we talk bollox all the time. I don't know if we make any sense of it actually because we're all probably stoned, but we're having fun. I think I probably talk bollox less with John than I do with my biker mates because already, at 20, he is a man with a mission and so stands apart a little, but I feel that I can talk bollox with him if I want to. In fact, I am going to call him tonight and ask him about this bollox - not so much about this specific nonsense, but about this whole, new, rock-climbing phase of my life that I am going through right now and have been now for nearly two years. Student life is actually quite relevant to all this for me because it's like being back in that time all over again - throwing myself at the world in a new way and opening myself up to all sorts of new things, so I'll remind him of that weird, rabbit-warren of a student house. I can't refer him to any of this stuff here, probably just as well really, because he doesn't have a Facebook account even and UKC would mean nothing to him, but he will recognise the situation when I tell him about it. Why are there so many people here, David Beynon, who can't handle people talking the odd bit of bollox, not necessarily in a silly way, but more in the context of me pretending to be a travel writer? Why are they all so serious, or such prats when they try not to be serious? I mean, I can do serious, so if serious is what they want to be then I can propose bureaucratic schemes to curtail the growing menace of university climbing clubs that is threatening to take over our land and take all our jobs and rape our women and sodomise all our sheep in the gentle rolling meadows that lead to the crags of this, our beautous isle... Oh no, wait, that's immigration... But why is it that this online forum is full of people who, unlike me, are not pretending to be a travel writer but are pretending instead to be John Wayne? (a 'strong, silent' long dead actor). I mean, some of them seem to get so freaked out to be presented with more than two lines of text to read that you'd think someone had invited them to have sex with their mother. All part of life's rich tapestry I guess but what I really want to know is - am I in the right room here, or should I maybe go back to my biker mates or someone else?
It's a serious question actually. When I am pretending to be a travel writer, I can write about the hut I stayed in this weekend. It was full of lovely, mumsey people who made us cups of tea the instant we got there. It was like going to visit your nan and meeting all sorts of aunts and uncles and cousins you didn't know you had. Then, there was the student party going on next door and I can write about that too. Two of my kids snuck in there and ate their food on the Friday night. Now they know that, they'll probably try to say it was my kids who did all the pranking, since they seem to like blaming other people for stuff. This is where it gets edgy because when I write about that, people don't like it, but for me, writing about life's big adventure, you have to write about the bad stuff along with the good. Where would Lord of the Rings be without the Orcs and without Gollum and Sauron? For me, here on UKC, I seem to have blundered into a room full of really uptight people who seem to hate communication of any kind, let alone talking bollox, if it isn't the precise variety of bollox that they seem to want to see, whatever that is. If I write about how my daughter got so upset when the lovely, mumsey climbing club that was like my nan got their cake stolen, it really is like I'd farted in church. To me, it's just another aspect of the continuing story that is flowing around me as I speak, all the time, dipping in, sampling the information flow, capturing it in prose, writing poems about it even, talking bollox - definitely. So really, it's about making sense of the world through talking or writing or communicating in any way. It's what I do. It's what I've always done, me and my mates. Why do people in this room of this particular house react like John Wayne being chatted up by a gay guy or something when they get confronted by that?
Post edited at 07:55