Working in a newsagents provides me with countless opportunities to read. I have to tell you now- this dirty little secret of mine is not something I'm ashamed of, I even embrace it.
Wander into my workplace of a morning and, if I'm on, you could probably notice a few magazines on the side. I read lots of them: Stuff for things I can't buy in the UK or even afford, Private Eye for a regular laugh at David 'I like soundbites I do' Cameron and co, Cosmo to try and stay ahead of the evil sex- at least in thinking, Woman's Weekly because I really don't care that I'm male- I like the stories (normally to mock) and they always seem to have a vegan recipe, More, Reveal, Real Lives, Now...for scandal and ridiculous stories and, by home time- I tend to have read enough to at least half inspire a poem, even if it never makes it.
I always have a favourite story as well. Today I read all about a woman that has married a fairground carousel. Fruitcake. Apparently, she "rides the pole until she silently reaches orgasm". As I said, a fruitcake.
When the first 'read and scatter the thoughts' approach fails, I find that the Sunday inserts can prove inspirational. Between The Observer, The Sunday Telegraph, The Sunday Times, The FT Weekend, The Mail On Sunday (never bought, you should understand) and anything else with a poly-bagged free CD, I have acquired a huge pile of recycling that I plan to use. In fact, it is on days like these (Sundays) that I tend to have a flick through, so let's see.
Matt Cardle X Factor interview? No interest.
Frieze Art Fair? Not my thing.
World Homeless Day photograph special? Well, thank you very much The Independent on Sunday.
Name Withheld
I keep coming back. Another look
your car crash life irresistible.
And through the lens your eyes change.
You could be anyone. First, a wispy
bearded man, washed up.
Then, the friendly drinker. Still, no -
your whiskers, yard brush bristles,
the youthfully kept brow. You are timeless,
Name Withheld, and I fear you
like Rasputin.
And there we have it, my badly kept secret: I write and so I read- anywhere and everywhere I can. Flyers, mags, posters, cards, papers, books, pamphlets, adverts, shop signs, street names... I think the key is to keep your eyes open- only then will you see. Hope you enjoyed the poem, an excellent use of Sunday time I think.
Thanks for reading. I enjoyed that.
S.
3 comments:
Excellent post.
My only argument would be about the woman on the carousel. She's in a legitimate and (presumably) monogamous relationship with this carousel. Why do you condemn her as a fruitcake for having an orgasm with her legitimate life-partner?
Ash
I remember reading a copy of 'Love it' once. It's the funniest think I've read in a while, there was a story about how a woman knew her husband was cheating on her. "I knew he'd been behaving suspiciously for a while, but my suspicions were confirmed when I asked him what flavour pot noodle he wanted. his favourite is usually Beef and Tomato, but he asked for Chicken and mushroom, her Favourite! I knew from that moment he was having an affair with my best friend." that and the story where a woman claimed to have nearly died by a raw chicken had me roaring.
I seem to only scan the front pages these days as I can't afford frivolous things like magazines! Maybe I should get a job in a newsagents (would prefer a library though!)
Loved the poem but SHAME ON YOU Shaun for even touching the Mail on Sunday - wash out thy eyes young sir!
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