July 3rd – God save Donald Duck, vaudeville and variety.

Cleaned myself: 0
Monkey see, monkey do: 0
Tics: I’m just feeling the pressure at the moment
Believe in God? 0
YTLH: 2 active

Like Ghislaine Maxwell, Jeffrey Epstein before her, countless others in Belfast in the 80s, I am waiting for the stony-faced middle-aged man to turn up and say, ‘are you ready?’ And who, if pressed, would add, ‘you’re going to die in the next five minutes, we can do it the hard way, or the easy way, what’s it going to be?’ A dread fear consumes me.

So that it might not be a pathetic shambles, I have invested in the event. As much as anything, to save Roger from embarrassment, whilst he, seemingly not motivated by the same considerations, has done absolutely nothing. Yet the odd thing is, were it to be a disaster, he’d somehow feel no shame, and walk away from it all as if it was somebody else’s fault. And now, I’ve just made that act of treacherous indifference all the easier by putting my name all over the event. It is my production.

Mother has supported me through it, though it is a pity that parents latch on to the cool way their children once spoke, and stick with that forever. She means well, but when I read the list below to her a moment ago, her reaction was, ‘that it all sounds absolutely Brillo-Pad.’ Mmmh, it doesn’t actually. More special flannel, if we’re going to use a cleaning reference. But I really wish I hadn’t sung, ‘I’m a fucking loser’ (yes it has morphed), when she did though.

Trophy – Y
Photographers from local Newspapers – Y
Tombola drum – Y
PA announcer – Y
PA system – N
Big Tooth horse shoe throwing game – Y
Rules/adjudicator/prizes for horse shoe – N
(Big Tooth has been designated toilet monitor)
Big Tooth’s lassoing game – Y
(Big Tooth will nevertheless be wearing an appropriate costume)
Marquis – Y
Local brewery, desperate for an opportunity to shift some stock, will set up and serve drinks at under par prices. Plus provide waiter-service. Total result. The cars we’re showing off will now be parked alongside first team pitch, and the second team pitch given over to the marquis. That alone makes it feel like a real event. I wonder if it’s too late to ask the Mumford Brothers to play?
Bouncy castle – Y
I remain bouncy castle monitor, a) because I want to; b) because that way I remove myself from responsibility for damage to cars – and everything else, hopefully; and c) apart from the toilet end, the clubhouse is closed up and out of bounds, and so my management of social distancing is restricted to stopping infants from bouncing too closely together. That massive reduction in management responsibility is thanks to my great luck with the brewery company – which proves that all good luck is bought with wholesome living and a good attitude.
Branding and signage – N
Manufacturers are shut. Big Tooth’s alternatives, painted last night, have been opposed by me, but it seems that Roger may gave his consent as recompense for BT accepting the toilet monitor appointment.

Like BT, I have considered adopting an outfit myself, but thoughts of Johnny Carver’s vacuous haughtiness keeps me aligned to conservatism. With still a day or so to go, I am a little thinner, well less paunchy. Still not photogenic – not least because I’ve developed this sort of sour rictus grin that I can’t shake off (there is some gum pain, but I put it down to excessive concentration in front of a computer screen). At the moment I am in cargo shorts and polo shirts, but the couple of combo’s I’ve tried so far, seem to accentuate the residual paunch. I have reached that stage in life where a firm belt to hold up the trousers at belly level, soon reverts to a loose belt at hips. Worse, they fall below the high line of the undercrackers, which then fold over the waistband of the trouser. That in turn puts a strain on the polo which has to descend and provide cover, and mine merely flares out from the stomach and doesn’t come back. It means that there is a sort of no-mans-land between tops and bottoms somewhere in the middle, where a work-in-progress abdomen can be spotted at skin level. I suppose I could have it painted to match the polo. Nobody would know – it’s fashionable to have your body coloured, who’d know that mine was merely temporary? I wonder if Big Tooth has any emulsion left over?

But I still have twenty-four hours of Elixir consumption ahead of me, and it works best while you’re asleep.

*thanks to Annie Spratt for the image.