I Am Legend, Hear Me Sing

Most people want to be legends in their own areas of special interest. Or lunchtimes – whichever has the most glory. Lunchtimes can be pretty damned glorious if you’re a top lunchmaker. Awards ceremonies and that.

It’s true. No matter how they may protest that “No no no, I’m very comfortable devoting long hours to my cross-stitch with not a shred of recognition, thank-you very much, even though I know by rights I should have won the state fair last year for my witty rendering: “Jesus On the Cross-Stitch“; Or how they cry “Ha! Not for ME the thrill of international acclaim for my radical new potting-shed organisational model – you can KEEP your glossy magazine features and jolly well tell these adoring Women’s Guild masses to stay right away with their flung panties and all“; No matter what they say, there is a small part of every person who cares about anything at all that would like to be noticed for something positive every now and again. Not always, but just when the subject comes up. Like:

Well in the field of lawn-bowling, Roger, no-one has ever out-bowled the legendary Travis Tee. His blasting kisser on the respotted rink-head at the 1967 Tokyo world championships has never been equalled, has it Sheila?” And all the women in the bowling world will want Travis, and all the men will want to be him.

*

Well, it may come as a matter of some surprise to you to know that I am actually a legend. Yes, it’s true! In a very hush, hush sort of way, of course. In fact not many people know about my being a legend at all, but I choose not to hold their ignorance against them. That’s one of the things I’m legendary for.

I’m not legendary every day; it’s a part-time thing – Tuesdays and Thursdays mostly, which works out well with the girls’ schedule – but, if you are interested at all in the legendary lifestyle, here is how I go about a typically legendary day:

They say that on pale blue morns, I rise at dawn to the music of a silvery gong played by an unseen gong-player, and, as I open the curtains, all of Nature gasps at my beauty even – get this – even if I have partied-out panda eyes. For I am that freaking lovely, so they say.

Some claim I breakfast on milk-thistle omelettes and tincture of wisdom but the truth is milk-thistle makes me feel bloated and I think a good source of fibre, such as Post’s Shredded-Wheat Bite-sized, is more important first thing in the morning. Scours you out.

The next few hours of my day are shrouded in mist and mystery. All that is known is that they utterly transform me and afterwards I emerge like a Fury onto the streets to stalk and wail and frighten young and old alike.

Shall I tell you what I’m doing in these lost hours? I am getting stuck Polly Pocket’s Stable Fun accessories out of the hoover and reading news, pigeoned me from afar. (Nowadays, this means going on the internet but it wasn’t always so and I am of course, like all legends, a very great age indeed, so great that no man may tell of my age at all, without getting a good slapping for it).

These polly Pocket accessories have I been getting out of the hoover every Tuesday and Thursday for thousands of years, and it’s not bloody easy while you’re shrouded in flipping mist, I can tell you. My knuckles have been scabbed over so many times they look like ten raw baboons bums on my otherwise legendary sylphy-soft hands. This enrages me, but what enrages me more is the news and, if you can show me anything more likely than the daily news to turn a mild, minds-her-own-business-legend into a screaming roiling banshee of ferocious, earth-rupturing rage, then you must suffer from a minor sneezonal allergy for which there is, as yet, outrageously (!!!), no pharmacological relief and not even any serious bloody research into electioneering-intolerance being done…

(…And breathe… gasp through it deeply… thaaat’s it -wheeze it all out now…There we are… )

Around about lunchtime, they say, I gallop through the town on a proud, snorting pony, dressed in a lady-form suit of armour with my flaxen tresses streaming out behind me a la righteous pennants and Godly streamers and a terrible, terrible smile like a knife slash, crimson across my ashen – but still very beautiful – face. This is all true, except I’ve taken to wearing a headscarf of pattern paisley because untangling flaxen tresses for hours after an outing dothn’t become a legend much, and I’m not a rich enough to have a wood-nymph to do it for me. Legends feel the credit crunch too.

As I gallop and gallop about, the fearful people ask “Why? Why does she gallop and gallop about?” They have to – it’s in the contract for all bit-players in legends to act like morons – all very union, of course.

Anyway, I gallop and gallop, up hill and down, sparks flying from Bobbysock’s hooves and sweat flecking her withers. And I urge – oh how I urge! – the people to wake from their waking dream! Which puzzles us all as to how exactly waking from a waking dream is to be achieved. Legend has it that Bobbysocks turns and whickers “Eh?” to me right then.

Anyway, I’m still galloping, right. Scattering pamphlets about worker’s rights and registering to vote. And bit by bit, my armour comes flying off, killing unlucky cats and pigeons metally, all around me. And underneath my armour my skin is covered with tattoos of prophecies in a strange, foreign tongue known only to a very few as Pointish.

They say then that, as I streak towards the crossroads, I scream and wail such ghastly noises as would curdle the contents of both the sperm and blood-banks in the next county over’s hospital. It’s the most wounding part of my legend for this is in fact my singing voice.

At the crossroads, there gathered are villagers – some warty, some hunchbacked, some just waiting for the bus. Some villagers don’t believe in me; most do, because I bite the noses off the ones that don’t, snarling with bloody fury, as I toss my head in rage, sending noses and snot arcing through the air to catch the sun and make tragic rainbows in their dying, mucousy swan-songs.

It is said that, once the screaming is over and the noses found and put on ice for possible surgical reattachment, that I grow sad then and dismount my steed. I wander here and there softly singing snatches of songs about wildflowers and about how it’s “Hot In The City Tonight.” I might ask people solicitously about their pets or their grannies in a distracted sing-song way before seizing them by the shoulders and shaking them unhingedly until they promise me they won’t vote for John McCain. For, I vow, if they do – and if they do, I’ll know it – I shall return and flambe their babies.

Some of the old ones say that I am this way because someone tried to eat me as a baby and the memory of it still gnaws at my soul and a bit by my knee. Some say I can never be stopped, that noone should even try if they want to keep their noses. But the truth is, I just get really pissed off when I read the news some mornings.

Oh you might want to try waving amulets or garlic at me – there are some ridiculous theories out there – but only by surrounding yourself in a mound of marzipan and oregano will you ever hope to avoid my wrath when I have an ire-on in the fires of world news.

And so,the legend goes, I am doomed to repeat this embarrassing performance until the day the Isle of Lewis sinks into the sea, the sky turns blood red and I am reunited with my lost love.

But in the meantime, when it’s all done, when I have made my point and strewn my righteous pamphlets, I go home and have a legendary cup of tea.

27 thoughts on “I Am Legend, Hear Me Sing”

  1. I thought about becoming a legend once, but I decided not to when I realised legends pay tax at the high rate. Same one as superheroes and the like.

    I never knew you could do it part-time. That way I’d have less hours per week and would make the lower tax bracket. I might just reconsider. The take-home would be about the same.

  2. Great retirement programme and all the major holidays off. Can’t compete with Santa anyway. Superheroes get more on-the-job accident insurance coverage but we get mist-machine and make-up expenses.

  3. Oh! OOOOH!! Polly Pockets!!!! I just loved Polly Pockets, the original tiny ones that were hinged in the middle and a perfect fit for an infant’s nostril? The ones you get nowadays are much bigger and no fun. NO FUN whatsoever! Hmm, I’m sure I have some in a box in the shed….

  4. Those Polly pocket accessories are an absolute bastard and I ask you now, legend person, which is worse to stand on with bare foot, PP accessories or Lego, and there?s a legendary pun there but I can?t. As ever, you make me smile and giggle out loud which as my youngest tells me is ?embarrassing? He also told me not to go on holidays to Scotland cause I?ll get kilt, and he fucking tells me I?m embarrassing! Fucking excellent Sam.

  5. what worries me about being legendary is the keeping it up. I’ve thought about it but after long and heart-felt consideration decided that I couldn’t be arsed to put the effort in (even part-time). So now I know I am IN MY MIND and I don’t tell anyone so there’s no effort at all.

  6. This was truly a legendary legend. I would fling my panties, but they’re my last clean pair. I’m saving them for the Obama inaugural.

  7. Go to the hardware store, they have a thing much like a tightly woven spring, ’bout as thick as a little finger and ’bout 3 yards long. It is a bloody lifesaver, for my method was to spin the hose in the garden much like a one bladed helicopter, in expectation the bit would fling out.

  8. I too was a legend once, in my own lunchtime, then I stopped liking the bottom of the absinthe glass and got a VERY expensive taxi home. These days I keep away from green fairies, and sugar.

  9. I too was a legend once, in my own lunchtime, then I stopped licking the bottom of the absinthe glass and got a VERY expensive taxi home. These days I keep away from green fairies, and sugar.

  10. Say what you will, a lunch time is longer than Wotsits 15 minutes.
    I was deeply moved by the paisley head scarf as- dear girl – unbeknownst to you, it shows your hidden allegiance to her Maj.
    God my nose itches!

  11. Conan, bigger? These days they’re small enough to block pores.

    Eryl, and scuffs.

    Sniffly, Lego. I’ve been hobbled many times by Lego lurking unseen on a patterned carpet. This wouldn’t happen if we’d skipped the kids and just got a couple of goldfish. Goldfish are so tidy and quiet.

    Belle, that’s where it’s most fun. Telling other people about it just makes them try to get you to do stuff, legendary stuff. And. look, who’s the final arbiter of what’s legendary anyway? My cups of tea are legendary, and I trim my toenails in a highly legendary way. I know it and I don’t need “society’s” validation.

    JohnMc, being a former legend hurts, doesn’t it? And makes your tummy feel like you’re being tossed on the high seas. And blinking’s really painful the morning after the legend before.

    Sparky, well, as a matter of fact *coy giggle* Obama’s already got a pair of mine. He begged me for another pair but I think he needs to keep his mind on affairs of state right now. I don’t want anything in my knickers drawer affecting world history. Not again.

    Vincent, would that it were the hose! It’s the fiddly wee plastic bits at the bottom where the dirt’s supposed to fly up its bendy way. It’s pipe cleaner and fork work. If I wasn’t sure it would cause a blockage, I might be tempted to hoover my children so they can see just what a Polly Pocket Stable Fun mane brush has to go through.

    fatmammycat, before I die I will lick the bottom of an absinthe glass and I will commune with the green fairies. This I vow here today, in the presence of, well I’m on my ownio right now, but as soon as the kids get home I will vow it in front of them. They’re used to their mammy solemnly vowing shit.

    Pat, yeah, all these Type A, over-achieving “lunch-is-for-wimps” characters will be laughing on the other side of their angular noses when they realise they’ve missed the lunchtime window to be legendary. Our Maj – now there’s the woman to have about when you’re landrover gets stuck. I stare at stags incredulously in homage to her too. Have you the sniffles?

    Pat,

  12. Conan, bigger? These days they’re small enough to block pores.

    Eryl, and scuffs.

    Sniffly, Lego. I’ve been hobbled many times by Lego lurking unseen on a patterned carpet. This wouldn’t happen if we’d skipped the kids and just got a couple of goldfish. Goldfish are so tidy and quiet.

    Belle, that’s where it’s most fun. Telling other people about it just makes them try to get you to do stuff, legendary stuff. And. look, who’s the final arbiter of what’s legendary anyway? My cups of tea are legendary, and I trim my toenails in a highly legendary way. I know it and I don’t need “society’s” validation.

    JohnMc, being a former legend hurts, doesn’t it? And makes your tummy feel like you’re being tossed on the high seas. And blinking’s really painful the morning after the legend before.

    Sparky, well, as a matter of fact *coy giggle* Obama’s already got a pair of mine. He begged me for another pair but I think he needs to keep his mind on affairs of state right now. I don’t want anything in my knickers drawer affecting world history. Not again.

    Vincent, would that it were the hose! It’s the fiddly wee plastic bits at the bottom where the dirt’s supposed to fly up its bendy way. It’s pipe cleaner and fork work. If I wasn’t sure it would cause a blockage, I might be tempted to hoover my children so they can see just what a Polly Pocket Stable Fun mane brush has to go through.

    fatmammycat, before I die I will lick the bottom of an absinthe glass and I will commune with the green fairies. This I vow here today, in the presence of, well I’m on my ownio right now, but as soon as the kids get home I will vow it in front of them. They’re used to their mammy solemnly vowing shit.

    Pat, yeah, all these Type A, over-achieving “lunch-is-for-wimps” characters will be laughing on the other side of their angular noses when they realise they’ve missed the lunchtime window to be legendary. Our Maj – now there’s the woman to have about when you’re landrover gets stuck. I stare at stags incredulously in homage to her too. Have you the sniffles?

  13. I get hysterical when I step on hard little toys, and I get mournful or sometimes desperately angry when I read the newspaper. So I’m lucky that my kids don’t play with toys anymore (sniff — I miss this, though not the foot pain) and I’m luckier still that my husband hogs the newspaper and, if the news is bad enough, makes sure to hide it from me.

    Wonderfully funny and clever, as usual.

  14. fmc, it sounds like a divine green dream.

    Mary, you’re way too kind, toots. I expect I’ll miss the Lego-laming when they’re in their teens and I’m tripping over used condoms and drug dealers in the sitting-room. That’s what happens at 13, isn’t it? I saw a Dr. Phil show about it.

  15. scours you out. Love it.

    You must learn to relax, slacken off your metally bits, realise that politicians are a good fifty percent posturing for their own troops, eighty percent of policies being common to all parties etc. etc. This McCain fellow looks like a good egg at heart and his homefries are something else, Obama’s too handsome for my liking. Handsome is as handsome does, as Hillary once said. From here they ALL look terribly right wing anyway.

    Got any pictures of you in armour on the horse?

    Worth a try.

  16. Docs, I gave the only photo I had of me in my legend-wear to Obama. Well, he begged me and, like I told Sparky, up there, I refused to give him any more knickers.

    Oh Obama! Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Oh-bah-mah.

    I used to like McCain – he had the balls to speak out against torture to clamp-happy administration; he was a maverick – he went his own way. Now he’s the presumptive candidate, a lot more is coming out about him. A lot about how he courted the evangelical Christian vote by visiting these looney-bin Christian universities in the South, reversing his positions on gay-marriage and abortion. His war-plan is just a continuation of Bush policy; he refuses to countenance talks with Iran; he has several times been confused about who are the Shia and who the Sunni; he has a famously ferocious temper; he called his wife a cunt while berating her in front of his campaign team; in an extraordinary pander for votes he (with Clinton) was in favor of gas-tax relief bill for the travelling summer months, which almost every economist from both Dem and Rep camps decried as, in effect, handing money on a plate to the oil companies. He is, in short, a lot more Conservative than I’d ever supposed.

    Obama’s untested but he behaves like a man of integrity, a man who listens to other opinions before making his mind up adn is not afraid to admit failure or mistakes. I don’t believe he’ll seel out to the highest bidder. He is also the first leading politician in a very long time who talks to the electorate like they’re adults. he is a breath of fresh air.

  17. “like a man of integrity”
    So was Stalin.
    “I don?t believe he?ll seel out to the highest bidder.”
    You’re right he won’t. He’ll sell this country into abject poverty.
    “talks to the electorate like they?re adults.”
    He does? I have yet to hear him say anything of substance other than crippling taxation and “Change”. Not that he ever explains what kind of change, just change for changes sake.
    “he is a breath of fresh air.”
    No he is not. He is a Marxist who will drive our economy into ruin.
    What if your business made a net profit of 8% and he said he would create a law to tax that so heavily that your profits would only be 1%?
    Would you be able to stay in business?
    He’s a freakin’ scary communist as far as I am concerned.
    In his short time in the US Senate he has consistantly been ranked as the most liberal (read, left-wing, socialist, Marxist) senator EVER!
    As an Illinios state senator he voted, repeatedly, for laws that overturned their 1st, 2nd, and 4th amendment rights.

  18. Sam, you are a legend sweetie!

    I knew a woman who hoovered every single day of the week. She was younger than me, too.
    Madness.

  19. Brianf, I agree with some of what you say there. He’s certainly a lot more fiscally liberal than I’m comfortable with, but he’s still better than More-of-the-same-McCain. I really believe that. From being a champion of McCain’s I’ve begun to seriously dislike him over the course of this campaign. Plus he wants to keep sinking money into the money-pit that is Iraq.

    Medbh, no but i wanna be the good kind! My mother hoovered every morning of life when we were growing up. Before and after work. Not healthy.

  20. Sam, as a young stoodint :) in the early eighties at the U. of Arizona in Tucson, I met John McCain. He bought me a beer. He was running for state senator. He didn’t impress me then and he he impresses me even less today. I will vote for him simply because I REALLY think B. Hussein Obama will take us down a path of ruin and invasive government.
    Now I’ll really blow you away and say striaght out that Dr. Ron Paul was the only canidate with any good ideas. It’s too bad no body listened to him.
    Ok, sorry…..rant over. Sorry for going off on a tangent.
    and yes! your posts will always be legendary to me. I love your scribbles, lots!

  21. Brian, hey, don’t apologise, toots. I welcome the discussion. I agree with you about Ron Paul. I disagree with him on much but he made very fine adn strong arguments against involvement in Iraq, The Patriot Act and argued to abandon the costly, inneffective “War on Drugs.” But his candidacy wasn’t for nothing. He kept these issues in people’s minds and he showed what a grassroots campaign can achieve.

    However some of his ideas are a bit extreme for me. He would do away with most of the federal agencies adn scrap income tax. I think we’re too big as a nation, and the wealth is spread so unevenly that we can’t afford to do without either.

    I also think that once upon a time America’s isolationist policy served us well. But in this shrinking world I think we now need to engage with other nations rather than retreat from them. I believe the American “Empire” is drawing to a close and as India and China and Brazil rise our job is to carve out the best possible positions for us in the emerging brave new world. All that takes active engagement, seeking out opportunities politically, diplomatically and economically. The world as a whole faces problems we all need to cooperate on – global warming, climate change, dwindling oil for an increased population of users, food shortages, and overpopulation – with 9 billion people the expected earth’s population by 2050.

    I think Ron Paul is too hung up on past ideals to focus adequately on these newer, mostly unprecedented global problems. I don’t think he’s a nimble enough thinker although I admire his tenacity, his principled stands even when they’re unpopular, and I respect him as a man.

  22. Damn, I’m sorry I have not followed the US stuff. I can’t believe that North Americans are even thinking about voting for another Republican administration. Why can’t the nominations be within the parties instead of having to drag them around the country? Is it to try to compensate for the unfairness of the presidential election?

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