A Roll of the Dice, a Flip of the Coin, a Stamp on the Foot and a Kick in the Groin

My wife left me last Sunday, and so I found myself at a loose end for a week or so, having previously quit my job in order to spend more time with my now vanished spouse. Turning my mind to the big city and indeed to my newfound state of destitution, I resolved to transport myself and my bow-legs to the Bow-bells of London, and stay with a dear old friend until the week was done.

My friend being tied down by the shackles of employment as well as the needy, attention-seeking Labrador of domiciliary and marital responsibility, I found myself alone for a majority of the week. Having seen a film the previous week in which the protagonist made decisions through the 50/50 whatsit of coinflip, I decided – perhaps unwisely – to trust the Gods to dictate my whereabouts.

Taking my trusty A – Z – a publication which had previously removed all risk from my geographical uncertainties – I decided to randomly open a page, and blindly (by closing my eyes) point to a square and indeed a specific site within that square to sit and enjoy a day’s drinking and urban traffic-spotting.

I must say my spirits were lifted considerably at this decisive moment. Here indeed was a move forward – a little adventure for me to take my mind of my misfortunes! Even now, before any of this had even been put into practice, I was beginning to forget about my little whore of a wife and the rejection she had rejected to impose on me when it was not too late to replace her.

Oh, my blogger – what a week transpired through such risk-laden chance! You may well ask as I do now – is it really true that God always takes the best? Is waking life such purgatory that those who deserve ill are those punished least? I’ll let you decide this for yourself, my blog friend, since I certainly will never have the answer for you.

To the matter in hand. My timetable began on Monday, 1st November 2004, in the kitchen of my dear old companion’s abode. The rules were simple: follow the above procedure, and stick to it. No second goes, no compromises – the entire day would be spent in the location chosen by my own pointing digit. And, finally, these were my results:

1st November – Page 34, 3D = Tooting, Rastafarian barbers – also a tea shop. Wonderful company throughout the day. Pleasant music and joyous smells.

2nd November – Page 50, 2A = Small public house, Warren Street – smokey but not altogether unpleasant. An alcohol accompanied day, and a fine bangers ‘n’ mash for lunch. Met a mortally interesting man who smoked a fine-smelling pipe.

3rd November – Page 22, 4C = Clapham Common – visited a Tesco Express and purchased all of the ingredients necessary for a one-man picnic. Sozzled on Rosé by 3:00pm. Delightful.

4th November – Page 13, 1B = The Grand Union Canal at Alperton – submerged and drowned to death underwater. Alone and deathbloated, I await my grim discovery in sweet anticipation.

Let this be a warning – and won’t ye heed it?
Why always death – when we don’t need it?

Yours in all humblest ruin and bastardised chance

Anon