Death, Porn And Big, Big Prizes

I like to tackle the big ones here on this site and today is no exception, because this morning I experienced porn and death. For those of you still reading, I’ll go on.

Death

I was out walking the dog this morning. When dead bodies get found, chances are it’s a dog walker who made the call. You know, like when you watch the news it’s always some old dude out with the pooch? Well, I’ve had a dog for about four months now and so far not one stiff.

Until today.

By the side of the road was a cat, so intact and still I looked to see if it was breathing, but no, it had ceased to be. I walked on a while, thinking about how I could work this into a blog post, then I turned back.

Because I remembered that when I got back from New York, both my cats were missing. The people feeding them said the pets had disappeared in the middle of the week and they were still gone a week after we got back. I resigned myself to the possibility that they could have met a similar fate.

As my worry grew, I tried to pretend they didn’t matter to me. I kidded myself, loosened my grip on my feelings towards them, anticipating the emotional rope burns.

I never posted about it here but I getting worked up about it. For the kids, I mean. Yeah. No, I was cool. (cough) Then Moo Moo came back but there was no sign of Willow for a couple more days. Then the day before I resolved to print out posters, he turned up as I was on my way to work.

So thinking about that experience this morning, I took a picture of the dead cat by the road.

No, I’m not going to post photos here. What kind of site do you think this is?

I wouldn’t have taken it if he didn’t look peaceful, but I thought what happens if I see a poster on a lap-post in a couple of days. It’s likely I’d forget what he looked like, so now I know. And if there’s any doubt, and the owner wants confirmation, I have it. Isn’t technology brilliant?

Porn

This morning is recycling day in my neighbourhood, so apart for dead cats, the streets are strewn with boxes of glass and magazines. Or if you live where I do, wine bottles and porn, because that’s what I saw in one recycling box.

Now.

You have to be a particular type of person to put porn in your recycling, because you’re declaring to your neighbours, and indeed the council, that yes, you may be a knuckle shuffler, but you care about your planet. You’re saying: “I’m a wanker, but I’m no wanker.”

No, I’m not going to post photos here. What kind of site do you think this is?

But there was a stack of jazz mags in the recycling. I hope it was someone’s mum. I can picture the argument. There’s a middle class mother in suburbia: “This is disgusting!!!! I’m throwing these away. They are going straight into the bin. Or the composter. No, the recycling. Daniel, do we have any copied of The Guardian to cover these? Good. Now go to your room young man. No more dirty magazines for you. In fact, no magazines of any kind. Do you understand? Pornography indeed. In this house. This is the only way you’re going to learn. From now on, you’re only allowed to use the Internet. Is that clear?”

Various Accolades

Not the great, five-time Greek Olympic paralympian, but success in this week’s Post Of The Week, news of which reached me late last night as I was watching Primary Colours on my television. Thanks to Katy for nominating this post and the judges and thanks to you for reading.

This puts me on the judging panel next week, so if you see anything worthwhile in the Tropic of Blogicorn, then please send it along to the Post Of The Week guys. I was really pleased to win this week – it is a genuinely brilliant concept, bestowing recognition on blogging peers with an award of the absolutely highest esteem. I’m sure I’ve said this before.

Oooh, the punchline:

I’m just glad our council doesn’t collect plastic.

You’ve been great. My name’s Cliff Jones. Thanks very much. God bless you. I love this town.