what is this

“I’m sitting in the car eating a Sausage and Egg McMuffin, which feels like an appropriately depressing breakfast given the circumstances. I haven’t even bothered with ketchup, I’m eating it dry. I’m parked at a motorway services somewhere in Scotland. I’m not sure how long I’ve been on the road for because I didn’t really check the time as I was leaving. It’s probably been about an hour. I need petrol. I stuff the rest of the McMuffin into my mouth and wipe the grease on my trousers. If I were less sick with grief, I’d still be hungry.”

“If I smoked, now would be the perfect moment to light one up and cast a steely gaze out over the landscape. I could brush the stiff hair on my jaw with a dirty hand and take a deep drag. Then I could take the cigarette, which would be the perfect visual stand-in for my emotions, and I could flick it (them) away. Or I could drop it (them) into the mud and step on it (them), extinguishing it (them) forever. Then I would turn away, walk confidently back to the car, drive back to London and be completely fine.”

The girls in Front magazine have tattoos. Front magazine is about punk girls and emo chicks now. The girls break the mould. They have personality. Jamie Theakston prefers images of naked punk girls, they are stronger individuals, they are more unique. He hates the idea that a woman might bleach her hair blonde or get fake tits to be in porn. He thinks that women having surgery and homogenising their looks to appeal to a restrictive, whitewashed image of what a man finds attractive is wrong. Jamie prefers natural breasts, he doesn’t mind what size they are. Jamie Theakston is a modern feminist man.

When Jamie Theakston is cooking, he often pretends that he is the star of his own cooking show. He imagines his photo on the cover of the Sunday Times Magazine or one of the Observer pullouts with a caption that says ‘Theako, The Gonzo Chef Who Is Making Cooking Cool Again’ or something similar. He imagines he is doing a section on his show right now. The section is about how to prepare a frozen pizza. He is talking out loud, as if to camera.

I walk just a few yards back to the guest house, an appealing, cosy little building made of stone and slate. I enter the lounge and feel the soft red carpet on my bare feet and the warmth from the real log fire and I ask for two pints of ale and two venison steaks with potatoes, served medium rare. I ask for them to be sent upstairs to our room. The man behind the bar says something friendly in his charming Scottish accent.

I climb the stairs to our room and open the door and Charlotte is there sitting in the big, ornate armchair made from rich, stained oak with her lovely dark hair in curls and her lips are red and she’s wearing some really fantastic-looking lacy lingerie that I didn’t even know that she’d brought, she looks very sexy in a very tasteful way.

And she has her right hand inside of her underwear and it’s moving very gently and slowly and she looks up at me.

And I say “I ordered us venison.”

And she says something positive, indicates that she is happy with this choice that I have made, that it’s good that I have taken the initiative to order us venison and that she feels happy.

And then as I’m having sex with Charlotte I am able to see through the window and take in the vast unspoiled expanse of heather and fern and pine and and the shining water and clear sky and light mist and a mountain and my muscles fix and so do hers and we just explode with love and passion and pleasure.

And afterwards Charlotte is eating her venison with some sort of primal hunger, just completely unashamed and natural, with meat juice on her chin and she looks at me and puts her hand on my shoulder and says “Thank you, I am so incredibly satisfied.”.

And I take a bite of meat and it’s juicy and soft. And I say something like ‘Great venison’.

He flicked away a message notification on his lenses and took a sip of Old Bear. Will, he said, pointing, People shat themselves over the shape of the earth, computers, electricity, atomic power, the hadron colliders, fucking hell, wireless power, antimatter testing, neural interfacing, reproductive administration, cloning, light-tunnels… Basically every major scientific discovery that has preserved us as a species since the dawn of time has had people predicting the end of the world. It’s just progress.

He ate three crisps.

Anyway listen, man, he said, chewing on the other side from his ulcer. Science has a will of her own. We couldn’t stand in her way, even if we wanted to.

Dawkins looks out over the upstairs area of The Old Blue Last. There is a man with an expensive-looking camera taking a picture of a girl and a guy. The girl is pulling her left breast out of her top and sticking her tongue out and snarling. It is all part of the crazy time everyone is having here tonight. Dawkins is sweating. He wonders how much longer it will be until Fucked Up play.

Dawkins turns back towards the bar. He waits with other sweaty people and then orders a beer and a shot. He downs his shot and grabs his beer and decides to go and find a good spot for when Fucked Up come on stage because it probably wont be long. The place is incredibly full. He pushes through clammy bodies towards the front.

Dawkins gulps down 1/3 of his beer. He is feeling incredibly pumped now. He looks towards the door over the heads of the crowd and sees The Pope walk in.

“What the fuck is that prick doing here?” thinks Dawkins.

—   22th