Following on from my last, rather lugubrious, blog, I have been considering ways of taking the mind off the inescapable fact of death, and – in common with other great thinkers I believe – I have come up with a small selection of useful methods: namely: books; sex, chocolate and comedy.
Not all at once, I hasten to add – in fact any combination of the above is risky in some way. Deciding to finish that fantastic novel you were reading in bed while your partner has other ideas conveys at the very least a dissatisfaction with said partner’s technique. As for comedy – laughing at your partner when he strips off is not guaranteed to endear you to him either. Sex and chocolate have already been discussed – if anyone is tempted to mix the two I can only refer them to Ponderland Series 1, topic – Love.
Chocolate and comedy sound a good combination and indeed a recipe for a good evening in – but beware! I have actually laughed so hard I snorted chocolate up into my nasal passages. Painful and unpleasant.
No – I would advocate enjoying these pleasures one at a time – any one, if of high enough quality, should be enough to dispel gloom.
Comedy is useful because – if you like me have a stock of DVDs of your favourite shows and comedians – it is usually readily available, so you don’t have the situation of wanting chocolate to relieve your ennui, yet being too lethargic to actually go out to the shops to buy any – naturally the last time you did get some in you ate it all…
But I find comedy (like sex) can, if you don’t take precautions, have an unexpected and prolonged effect on your life. So before you settle in front of that DVD, please take this as a sort of ‘Safe Comedy’ message.
I can – and do - watch good comedy repeatedly. This means I find myself quoting bits of Blackadder, Bill Bailey or Hancock at opportune (or inopportune) moments, earning me questioning looks from non-addicts.
Worse still, key phrases come into my head in certain situations. My trips to the supermarket, with mental subtext, usually go like this:
Approach shop; see fruit display.
Eddie Izzard: They put fresh fruit there to show this is a fresh shop – everything here is fresh. If they put toilet rolls by the door you’d think, this is a poo shop – everything here is made of poo…..
Go into shop, approach display; do the ‘Squeezy Test’, still with Eddie’s voice doing a running commentary. Look at the Stalinist oranges (decide not to buy – Stalin was a nasty dictator); refuse to buy pears because they wait till you leave the room to turn to mush….
Approach tea display.
Simon Amstell: Which is better, organic or free trade?
Spend two hours on this vexed question before moving on….
Pass bargains screaming – in Russell Brand’s voice – ‘Only a pound, only a pound..’
Make purchases as quickly as possible to avoid giggling in public.
By the checkout there will inevitably be a selection of canvas bags for sale.
Greet checkout assistant, realising that you are audibly singing Tim Minchin’s ‘Canvas Bags’ aloud. Apologise and pack your purchases, girding your loins for the final challenge: the chip and pin machine. If you have seen Russell Brand’s description of chip and pin protocol, and can still manage to get out of the store before you’ve broken into a chorus of ‘Wild Boys’, you know you’ve won.
But if you hear of me having been taken away from the local Tescos in a white van, declaring it’s not my fault – blame Eddie, Russell, Tim, Simon… we ran out of gas….there was an earthquake…IT’S NOT MY FAULT!! - you’ll know why.
Monday 10 August 2009
Sunday 9 August 2009
Existential Angst? Or just a bit fed up?
I’ve been in a strange sort of mood all week – listless, lethargic, without being able to work out why. This culminated yesterday in an unusual feeling for me: complete lack of interest in anything, world weariness, ennui. Shelley’s poem, Ozymadias, kept running through my head:
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".
I suppose you could sum up my mood thus:
Interviewer: How would you describe your life sir?
Dalai Lama: I’ve had better….
So, as Russell Brand would I’m sure advise, I started to think of ways of taking my mind off the thought that we’re all going to die. I did briefly consider attending an orgy, but since a) I live miles from the nearest tower block; b) I’m sure I’d end up eating the nibbles and c) my husband might object (to the orgy, not the nibbles) I discarded that idea.
My nearest and dearest were no help. When, in response to what I took to be a sympathetic enquiry into my apparent glumness, I said I understood what Nietzsche was on about, hubby grinned and said ‘Oh, I know him – he keeps the Dog and Duck…’
I knew I could change my state of mind – NLP has taught me that. Unfortunately it has also taught me I need to want to change my state, and be prepared to act positively to do so – and I could even be bothered to want to do anything positive. So I did mindless stuff for a while. Then hubby’s male problem-solving approach came to the fore and he suggested a walk to the beach – usually the most relaxing, soothing thing for me. And admittedly, a couple of hours in the sun, swimming in the sea and relaxing on the beach, did alleviate things a bit.
And that was enough to open my mind to the wisdom of ‘Souls of poets dead and gone’ – so when I got home I turned to my old friends Byron, Shelley and Keats. And of course, Keats had it:
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty -Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine:
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
In other words – if you’re not melancholy at times, you won’t appreciate what it is to be happy.
And today, I’m happy – and have realised I was actually reacting to a couple of weeks in which I’ve been physically working hard yet not stretched mentally, and have not read anything challenging – so my brain was demanding intellectual food.
Pass me that volume of poetry……
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".
I suppose you could sum up my mood thus:
Interviewer: How would you describe your life sir?
Dalai Lama: I’ve had better….
So, as Russell Brand would I’m sure advise, I started to think of ways of taking my mind off the thought that we’re all going to die. I did briefly consider attending an orgy, but since a) I live miles from the nearest tower block; b) I’m sure I’d end up eating the nibbles and c) my husband might object (to the orgy, not the nibbles) I discarded that idea.
My nearest and dearest were no help. When, in response to what I took to be a sympathetic enquiry into my apparent glumness, I said I understood what Nietzsche was on about, hubby grinned and said ‘Oh, I know him – he keeps the Dog and Duck…’
I knew I could change my state of mind – NLP has taught me that. Unfortunately it has also taught me I need to want to change my state, and be prepared to act positively to do so – and I could even be bothered to want to do anything positive. So I did mindless stuff for a while. Then hubby’s male problem-solving approach came to the fore and he suggested a walk to the beach – usually the most relaxing, soothing thing for me. And admittedly, a couple of hours in the sun, swimming in the sea and relaxing on the beach, did alleviate things a bit.
And that was enough to open my mind to the wisdom of ‘Souls of poets dead and gone’ – so when I got home I turned to my old friends Byron, Shelley and Keats. And of course, Keats had it:
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty -Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine:
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
In other words – if you’re not melancholy at times, you won’t appreciate what it is to be happy.
And today, I’m happy – and have realised I was actually reacting to a couple of weeks in which I’ve been physically working hard yet not stretched mentally, and have not read anything challenging – so my brain was demanding intellectual food.
Pass me that volume of poetry……
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