50 ways to stalk a monk.
Some of you may or not be familiar with the book, 50 Bunny Suicides, a classic cartoon book encompassing
50 ways in a which a rabbit can shuffle loose the mortal coil. A favorite of
mine for 2 reasons; 1 in the inlay it is dedicated to Polly.
Now those of you
who have unusual names will know the heart break of shuffling around the
arcades, souvenir stores and rock
stands country wide, spinning racks of key-rings, pens, tiny crappy teddies and
door plaques in the hope that this time it will be different, this time somewhere
between the Phillipas, Penelopies and Poppies there it will be, all shiny and new
and just for you. School trip after
school trip returning home with an impersonal novelty pencil and bag of marbles
(Mostly ‘Ords’ with the odd Queeny Rarey you’d throw in if you were feeling
flush!)The agony of waiting when your friends return from the annual trips to
Shell Island and the Costa Del Rhyll brandishing a selection of luminous sugar
batons laced start to finish with sugar imprints of Jack Stacey Amy and John until
they finally dig to the very bottom of the bag and hand the last treat over to
Heidi and shrug ‘sorry they didn’t have your name.’
This book was addressed to Polly and at the age of 23 was probably the first anything addressed to Polly I’d had (I'm sure my mother will wildly contest this, so let me clarify that's the first Polly pressie I can remember that wasn't hand written in stickers and glue pens). That is one reason for it being my favorite, but moreover its bloody hilarious. One page that sticks to mind is the morbid cheeky chappy standing in row of SS Soldiers and offering a show of the ‘V’s’ as opposed to the traditional salute.
This book is the inspiration for my own; the title for which was concluded on a
plane from London to Oman. The conversation was fueled by the copious amounts
of free booze the fools were plying us with before landing two rat arsed gingers
in the heart of the Middle East (blended right in!!!). Bella my esteemed friend and colleague J had been previously
informed that nuns do not contract cervical cancer. Rather
insensitively this point fell on me with much hilarity. Due to their virginal
state the probability of a nun contracting this particular strain is far less
likely than that of your average mascara stained, lady luck swooshing about the dance
floor alone at 4am grasping the remaining lukewarm ice water from her double
vodka Redbull eyeing up the Oceana glass collector’s cousin. How’d have thunk?
Although in hindsight it makes sense, it seemed to me at the time a ridiculous
statement. (Please bear in mind that at this stage on the journey post pre-plane
bottles of wine Bella had spent I good 10 minutes crying with laughter lying
aside a charity collection box, needless to say that afternoon was somewhat non
PC, the seemingly endless supply of wine, AND Bloody Mary on the plane has only
fuelled the degradation of the conversation… Brits on tour…CRINGE! ) The nuns
immunity to such an aversion must then lead to the conclusion that a monk must
also be kharmically averse to contraction of any ailments of the cervix a point
that must be investigated, with careful observation and correct reporting. How does one respectfully sneak up on a man
of the cloth? The ideas I can remember from the drunken conversation 7
months ago are follows:·
The text book move: live in his bush.·
Bury oneself in the pit of sand with nothing but your eyeballs on view, this way in his daily task of raking he inadvertently approaches you. (please understand we had no intention of investigating any of their cervixes , peeking up skirts or in fact carry out any of the ludicrous ideas, I’m simply sharing a joke, if your offending stop reading, this isn’t for you. Pop off and have chamomile tea in time for celebrity countdown, we’ll catch up soon Besos x)·
Follow him in close proximity dressed as a snap happy Japanese tourist. To add spice to this particular method one could alternate movements from the Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks.·
Dress up like The Little Mermaid and get in his fish tank.
The conversation took on new levels of wrongness until the idea for the pictorial novel was born. 50 Ways to Stalk a Monk.
I'll up date you on the photographic progress in the next one.
:)
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