The World According to... Boring John

(scribbled on a notepad last Sunday)

"Only me!"

I like being on my own. Especially in a bar that is empty, like a few moments ago. Now the chattering voices of others highlight my aloneness. But still - I like being on my own. (I wonder why I resist it so much.)

Seven Sundays

I have fond memories of Sundays. About seven or eight of them, in particular. I won't elaborate here as I do not want to incriminate myself any further with the person who I shared those Sundays with. They were interesting and stimulating times, for sure. Shame I was so paranoid, possessive and so un-aware of my power. The same as her, really.

I know a man who went with a prostitute in Amsterdam (probably not on a Sunday, though). He spent his hard-earned money for a squallid twenty minutes or so simply to be able to draw on the memory of the experience in many future moments. Well, I've never been with a prostitute (maybe the ball puts them off, or puts me off I don't know!) but I do know what he means. Those seven Sundays were worth it for me, worth the cost; those Sundays still live on

And if I ever get to have my own Billy Pilgrim moment I will... well, I will savour the 'pink, vodka, ice' much more and perhaps complain a little less about the pink, the vokda and the ice.

Daft Hairstyles

A man across from me in the bar has a daft hairstyle (says he!). It's like his hair has been folded down the middle so there is twice as much there as on the rest of his head. [I'm sure this hair-style will have a name, and I'm sure that name will be not be Daft Hairstyle but I don't know it's name, it just looks daft.] If his hair was the Christmas paper wrapped around a present then that present would have to be re-wrapped. Yes this is a bit of a daft way to describe a hair-style but then it's a daft hairstyle and proof that the philosophy of the Emperor's New Clothes lives on.

I blame David Beckham for it - he of some of the daftest hair styles since the 70s - and fashion

I actually saw this daft hairstyle again on a fellow train passenger (I was returning from Barcelona, again - no daft hairstyles just a daft lack of instructions as to how to get around town). This man with the daft hairstyle was sitting diagonally opposite me on the seat in front of mine, and he was sitting with an older carbon copy of himself (must have been his Dad) without the daft hairstyle.

I seriously had a strong desire to tell this daft-hairstyled man how fucking stupid his daft hairstyle was. But I didn't. I didn't partly because I also have my own (unique) daft hairstyle and partly because it wouldn't be nice to be so aggressive about someone's hairstyle (my Mum would not have approved).

The thing is, he probably paid good money at the barbers for that daft hairstyle. Daft "baa baa" bastard!