Thursday, April 09, 2009


Everyone pretends to lead more exciting lives than they actually are.

Especially when they’re fannying around a freaking art gallery. And the need to have an obtuse knowledge of the centrepiece that looks like a chimpanzee finger painting because of your ‘art lessons after hours’ or such crap, when in fact you go home and make fucking hot dogs and call your mother.

‘So what do you do in your spare time?’

I’d find that one hard to answer if I was pretending to live an extraordinary existence. So one always has to be honest. Brutal in fact.

In my free time, which is mostly at night, I drink red wine until my teeth look like I’ve been siphoning a jugular, then stand in front of my mirror naked, pull faces and clench my buttcheeks, smoke a cigarette in the bath tub, watch a whole bunch of comedy or an E! True Hollywood Story, and then wank myself retarded. Until I fall asleep. To a background accompaniment of 90s techno music.

Yip, that pretty much sums it up. Oh and I think about the Berlin Wall once every nine seconds.

But if one wants to be taken more seriously than Zuma in a shower gel commercial, one has to verbosicise it up a bit. Especially at these such art galleries, where stereotypical queens called Eugene, flailing a glass of claret around and talking with an air of pomposity/pretending to be from Oxbridge, turn an eyebrow up at your common, very ordinary lifestyle.

So, Eugene – I love your very expensive-looking manbag by the way – adorable - what do I do on a day-to-day basis?

I sip from the burgundy grape, until my dentitious gnashers, on visual examination, tend to approximate that of a mortal, suckling on the vena cava of a sanguine-hungry sub-species. Thereafter, I design amusing twitchery with my frontispiece, before my polished speculum. Then I vapourise the heady fumes of tobacco flora, until the point of utmost derailment; observe a quantum amount of vaudeville hilarity on the television screen, and then self-fornicate until I’m defectively feeble-minded. To a shroud of repetitive musical cadence, circa of the 90s period.

Sometimes, like last night, after a day of talking to my ex Dick on Skype, who told me I was as alpha female as Madonna herself, and I need to start hanging out more at cookery demonstrations, but sent me a Lindt Easter Bunny anyway – bless – and then phoning Dove at work in various accents until she realised it was me and the receptionist is now on a manhunt to have me arrested - I find a simply terrifying note under my doormat.

What have we here?

A note from two weeks ago that I have only seen now. It is from the giant man-ladies in number 126. Inviting me to spend Earth Hour with them.

Not dinner, in the light. Earth Hour. In the dark. For one hour.

Maybe they were being nice, and usually I wouldn’t be scared of a clutch of beautiful lesbians, vying for my attention, even if they insisted on showing me their boobs. Whatevs. The immediate problem with this late – thank fuck I only found this now – scenario is the sheer quantum size of these poen lovers. They’re seismic, they openly fondle in their garden and frankly, I’m terrified.

I’m just waiting for the rat-a-tat-tat on my door enquiring of me
1) can I borrow some brown sugar
2) can we have a threesome
3) are you that blogger Mushy Peas On Toast, (‘Absolutely not. What a bitch’), because if you are, we’re going to throat slam you into your kitchen counter and then feed on your earlobe.

Well fuckwankery, at least I have a yale lock. And curtains.


The Chantal said...

Excellent writing today! :) It's so nice how every morning I can check your blog at 7am and there's a new post for me to read, thank you for being so consistent! consistently entertaining too!

Woke up 4:45am this morning, lay in bed thinking a million things, got round to you saying I should take a train to Berlin, I've never been so brave to do something like that on my own, I think it's about time...I need to grow up :P What you write on this blog about your trip may just determine if I do it ;)

Have a lovely day and long weekend.


Peas on Toast said...

Thanks Chan!
I know it's hard to do that stuff on your own. Flip, it's nerve wracking. When I landed in Rio by myself I half expected to be looted and pillaged before I even left the airport terminal, and I was terrified! Was such a good feeling though, whereafter a few hours I was like, 'HEY! Look at ME! I'm still alive! I'm in a foriegn country and weird place and DAMN if feels good to be a gangsta.'

Take that train. If it helps, book accommodation (?) beforehand and make a pact with yourself - if you arrive in Berlin and it's really really bad and scary, tell yourself you can simply get right back onto that train and leave. You don't need to hang around if you hate it.

I'm going to keep drilling you because it seems you're one up for adventure :)

kyknoord said...

People who ask that sort of thing in an art gallery aren't in the least bit interested in your answer. You could tell them anything*, as long as you follow it up with, "but enough about me, what about you?"

* Except "eating babies". Possibly.

icepick said...

Holy fuck Peas.. Loved the post. :)

Peas on Toast said...

Kyk - you've hit it on the button, and 'eating babies' would be fine, because you're right they don't care. Their eyes are fluttering all over the place.

'I wake up, wank, then eat a baby.' Which ordianrily could get one arrested, but here it would be water off a duck's back.

Peas on Toast said...

icepick - thanks punk :) xx

Mikel said...

Great writing today - it must be because it was a brilliant read.

Revolving Credit said...

Well, far be it for me to point out the obvious, but whent engaging the artsy, pansy, free cheap wine quaffing types at and art gallery or any similar launch, be hosnest:
"Oh, I'm a writer. I 've had a great year after the launch off my first book and am now busy with my second. So Queerio, tell about yourself. If your life is remotely interesting, I'm may make you famous by using you as a character model for slasher victim #7 in my new bestseller?"

dorothy said...

that woman looks like she has smelly pits

iamdebbiedeb said...

wahahahhahahah fuck you make me laff...

Peas on Toast said...

Mikel - thanks china! :)

Rev - ah bless, that DOES sound good and very glam, innit? ;) Better get cracking on ym next book and fast! xx

dorothy - she probably does mate, she probably does.

debbie - Yay! I'm glad I make SOMEONE laugh :)

Revolving Credit said...


Your thinking about the Berlin wall every 9 seconds - Are you hoping that the Berlin Wall will be your Great Wall of China?

Peas on Toast said...

Rev - tell you what, if it is (eeeeek, those images! MY EYES! MY EYES!), I'll bring you back a snowglobe with a piece of Berliner Mauer inside it!

Woooooohoooo! ;)

Revolving Credit said...

Could you wash the bit of wall off first? You never know where it's been!

Peas on Toast said...

Rev - that would be cheating.

Jam said...

I needed the smile today.

Peas on Toast said...

Jam! Hello my old friend, how've you been keeping? You need smiles eh? Are you here this weekend, maybe we should do a little bit of a catch up you and I. Miss you so much. xx

Jam said...

I am here, and promise to call you.

Peas on Toast said...

Yay! xx

Anonymous said...

Curtains are good. You only realise how important they are until you don't have any.