Saturday, 29 January 2011
I've still got the scars from my '80s teenage years (but have burned most of the photos!)
- wish I'd left the 'studioline' text off the illustration but I like to present it as printed - one of those cases of 'funny-at-the-time' (like mullets? Conceptual hey?)
Original article here
(Article by Michael Holden)
Walking down a side street I was suddenly overtaken by two young men making quickly toward the main road and kicking around a conversation of sufficient merit and volume that I found myself having to speed up in order to keep abreast of it.
Man 1 (pressing for an answer) "What do you call him, the guy with all the hair down the back?"
Man 2 "Gandhi?"
Man 1 (irked) "No – he's bald! The other one?"
Man 2 (getting the picture) "Him! He's out there – we don't even have a proper nickname for him. He's just 'him', innit?"
Man 1 "We said to him, you can't have hair like that!"
Man 2 "It's the proper mullet."
Man 1 "Nobody wants it!"
Man 2 "But he won't listen!"
Man 1 "He can't hear!"
Man 2 (making snipping motions) "I go up behind him and do the scissors thing – everyone laughs."
Man 1 "We said to him, 'What happened? Did your mum freeze you in the 80s?' Everyone laughs at him! Even the general manager's on to him about it, saying, 'I think it might be better if you didn't have that hair.' But he's all, 'No no no – it's my thing.'"
Man 2 (shaking his head in recognition of a lost cause) "And he's proper slim, innit?"
Man 1 (sad and angry – as though he had great plans for the man's hair that might never see the light of day) "It just doesn't suit – doesn't suit him!"
They laughed loudly though, as they reached the high street and jogged away into the crowd, who all looked much the same as them.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Big up for Greggs the bakers & sorry Darryl Hall, I think I've stolen your hair this week - but WHAT HAIR!!!!
(Article by Michael Holden)
Outside a pub I watched two men slouch across a picnic table. The first man was sober, his posture a consequence of fatigue perhaps. The second, through well dressed and affluent was on the cusp of being completely plastered, a stare of affairs that clearly caused his companion some concern.
Man 1 “How long did you stay off the drink for.”
Man 2 “Three days, more or less. Well we had some Rose on the third day. It was the kid’s birthday, that didn’t really count. Then I had a meeting this morning, had a drink after that, sat outside. Bumped into Chris, had some lunch. Popped over the road and now here we are.
Man 1 (looking at his own drink as though reckoning his own worthiness to pass judgement) “Well, best make this the last one then, for today.”
Man 2 (laughing) “Fuck off.”
Both men laughed a little, then settled down. Next, a man with a preposterously developed torso and open necked shirt strutted past. He looked ridiculous, an antiquated stereotype reborn. Other people at the pub laughed discreetly at him, the drunk man laughed loud enough for them all.
Man 1 “Quit, he’ll hear you.”
Man 2 “Who?”
Man 1 “That bloke.”
Man 2 “I’m not laughing at any bloke.”
Man 1 “So what are you laughing at?”
Man 2 “That bag.”
He pointed at a paper sack that was blowing down the street while his mate looked at him in some despair, seeing that his friend had attained the mindset of a veteran street drinker, even if he still had decent clothes.