Yo-Yo: Ruminations of an Accidental Poet, published by Puddlehopper, is now available to purchase! Telling stories from fifteen years as a performance poet. Festivals, fringes, fleeting appearances on TV, filming, faffing around with props, flopping at slams, it has it all! Essays from Write Out Loud, Chortle, Litro Magazine and and Torquay Museum’s lecture series, and some written specifically for this collection. Plus one new poem! Details on how to order this book will be revealed shortly.
Here’s the blurb:
In 2008 Robert Garnham thought he’d give performance poetry a try, having never heard of it before. What followed was to be fifteen years of crazy poetry adventures in all sorts of different venues. These collected essays describe, with humour and warmth, gigs in every part of the UK (and further afield), shenanigans at music festivals, angst at the Edinburgh Fringe and every conceivable type of poetic misadventure.
‘As Robert Garnham has been a huge influence on me as a comedy spoken word artist, I read this collection of essays with great anticipation. It didn’t disappoint! A wonderfully entertaining read’. (CLIVE OSEMAN).
This time last year I was deep into the memorising and administration of the new show, which would be called Bouncer. As well as keeping a diary, I also managed to keep a video diary, which you can see on my YouTube page right here:
And of course , you can see the show as filmed by John Tomkins right here:
Here’s the diary in all its glory:
Bouncer diary
23.8.22
Decide on theme of show to be based around appearance on BGT
25.8.22
Write some linking material about poetry, and start work on opening poem ‘Welcome to my Show’
26.8.22
Work on ‘Welcome to my Show’ and an autobiographical poem called ‘Orange Juice’, which may or may not be used to add background character.
28.8.22
Sat in the sun in the back garden in Brixham. Worked on a new poem, provisionally titled ‘This City Never Seemed so Cruel’, the obligatory downbeat poem for near the end of the show. Also worked on some linking material about my Great Uncle, and a bit about Thundercats.
29.8.22
Back in Paignton. Heard the Squeeze song Hour Glass on the radio, and then some show tunes, and the idea for a call and response poem came, with a similar structure as the chorus of the Squeeze song. Called ‘Everyone Wants Fame!’ Jotted it down on a ticket, then home, worked on the poem. It’s the bare bones of something fun, but it really needs to be 30% funnier.
30.8.22
Worked on ‘Everyone Wants Fame!’, added two jokes.
31.8.22
Worked on ‘This City Never Seemed so Cruel’, ‘Orange Juice’ and ‘Welcome to my Show’.
1.9.22
Wrote new poem ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’, plotted the storyline and poem list for the show, then worked on a new version of ‘Fabaranza’ written from the point of view of the BGT producers.
4.9.22
In Brixham, worked on linking material. Wrote the goose joke, and then one other joke, and then thought, ahh, that’s two jokes, a good days work, let’s relax for the rest of the day.
5.9.22
Back in Paignton, more work on linking material.
6.9.22
Paignton, worked on linking material, then started to put the show together so far, right up to the Covid section.
7.9.22
Worked on ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’, then typed up all of the show so far before working on more linking material. Worried that the version of my portrayed in the show is negative, whiny, too much like a victim, and generally unlikeable.
8.9.22
Worked on rewriting linking material, added a few more jokes and funny lines. Worked on ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’, took out the line about all other poets being bastards!
9.9.22
Unexpected day off due to yesterday’s death of HM The Queen. Started work on the BGT phone call linking material.
11.9.22
In Brixham. Worked on new poem, ‘The Contestants Await’.
12.9.22
Worked on linking material and ‘The Contestants Await’.
14.9.22
Worked on the start of the BGT section. Worked also on the ‘Everyone Wants Fame’ poem.
16.9.22
Worked on the BGT hotel section. Went to a coffee shop and thought of two jokes about the contestants which made their way into the show script.
18.9.22
(In Brixham). Worked on the BGT section. Almost finished the first draft of the script, just need to write a kind of summing up section. Current word count is over 7000 so it may need editing down.
19.9.22
First draft completed!
24.11.22
Had a read through of the linking material having worked on the Cold Callers project in the intervening months. Pleasantly surprised at the cohesiveness and tone of the show.
27.11.22
Had a complete table read run through of the show at Brixham’s Sunrise Rehearsal Studio. 52 minutes, happy with that. Had a couple of rewrites to ponder: Fabaranza as a poem instead of a song, and tightening up the lyrics of the opening song Welcome to my Show. Also, does the show need the Covid section? Seems put in just to get on the one liner list! Later on, back in the Rehearsal room, rewrote the opening song ‘Welcome to my Show’.
28.11.22
Paignton. Ran through ‘Welcome to my Show’ a few times, then rewrote the song ‘Fabaranza’ as a fast-paced poem.
30.11.22
Began line learning ‘Welcome to my Show’.
1.12.22
Line learning ‘Welcome to my Show’.
2.12.22
Line learning ‘Welcome to my Show’.
3.12.22
Line learning first batch of linking material.
5.12.22
In Brixham. Ran through ‘Welcome to my Show’ several times and videoed it so see how it looked. Worked on linking material.
6.12.22
Paignton. Line learning linking material.
7.12.22
Line learning linking material and began line learning ‘Zach’. First five minutes of the show memorised.
8.12.22
Line learning ‘Zach’.
9.12.22
Line learning ‘Zach’.
26.12.22
Been ill for two weeks so unable to line learn or rehearse without erupting into coughing fits. Staying in Brixham for Christmas. Had a great line learning session in the Sunrise Rehearsal Studio, memorised the whole Zach poem and videoed it too.
27.12.22
Brixham. Worked on the Zach poem and the subsequent linking material. Started a video diary.
29.12.22
Paignton. Linking material and You Should Write a Poem, which I also rewrote.
30.12.22
Learning You Should Write a Poem
31.12.22
Learning You Should Write a Poem.
1.1.23
Brixham. Learning You Should Write a Poem, plus ran through whole show so far, about 12 minutes.
4.1.23
Paignton. Line learning You Should Write a Poem.
5.1.23
Line learning You Should Write a Poem.
6.1.23
Line learning You Should Write a Poem. Managed the whole poem with no mistakes, 3m30. Then performed the first 12 minutes of the show with no mistakes.
7.1.23
Line learning linking material.
8.1.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material (producer phone call section), then started work on a possible backing track for Welcome to my Show. Very camp.
9..1.23
Line learning linking material. Chatted to film maker John Tomkins about filming the show with an audience.
10.1.23
Line learning linking material.
11.1.23
Line learning linking material. Chatted to photographer Jim Elton about taking photos for the publicity pictures. That evening, performed two minutes of linking material at the online Woking Write out Loud gig. People laughed at the funny bits!
12.1.23
Rewrote ‘Who Wants Fame?’
13.1.23
Line learning Who Wants Fame?
14.1.23
Line learning Who Wants Fame? Chatted to photographer Emily Appleton about taking publicity photos.
15.1.23
Brixham. Line learning Who Wants Fame? Then to Paignton, to Emily Appleton’s studio, had head shots taken in various poses for possible poster designs.
16.1.23
Paignton. Line learning Who Wants Fame?
17.1.23
Line learning Who Wants Fame?, and adding some choreography.
18.1.23
Went through all the material I’d learned so far. Then line learning linking material. To Exeter, performed five minutes of material and the Zach poem at Taking the Mic. On the train home I started rewriting Fabaranza.
19.1.23
Rewriting Fabaranza.
21.1.23
Rehearsing the show so far and experimenting with different tones of voice.
22.1.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material.
23.1.23
Line learning linking material.
26.1.23
Bristol. Line learning linking material. Back to Paignton. Started learning ‘London’.
27.1.23
Line learning London.
28.1.23
Early morning session, line learning London.
29.1.23
Brixham. Didn’t get into regular Barnstaple Theatrefest so applied for an ‘alternative space’, pledging to do four shows.
30.1.23
Line learning London.
31.1.23
Line learning London. Barnstaple Theatrefest alternative space application successful!
1.2.23
Ran through all the learned show so far. Experimented with using song or different tones of voice on Who Wants Fame. Line learning linking material. Then in the evening, completely rewrote Who Wants Fame, now based on the music to Three Little Fishes, with an incredibly stupid chorus.
2.2.23
Continued rewrites of Who Wants Fame. Line learning linking material.
3.2.23
Line learning new version of Who Wants Fame.
4.2.23
Line leaning Who Wants Fame.
5.2.23
Brixham. Line learning Who Wants Fame and linking material. Also worked on the poster after Emily’s photo arrived.
6.2.23
Paignton. Line learning The Contestants Await.
7.2.23
Line learning The Contestants Await and Who Wants Fame. Then worked on the show poster.
10.2.23
Line learning The Contestants Await.
11.2.23
Line learning The Contestants Await.
12.2.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material and rewrites of Fabaranza.
13.2.23
Paignton. Line learning linking material and rewrites of Fabaranza.
14.2.23
Line learning Fabaranza.
15.2.23
Practising random bits of the memorised material so far, then line learning Fabaranza. Evening, went to Exeter and performed five minutes and Who Wants Fame?, at Taking the Mic. Fluffed one line but generally it went well and people laughed at the jokes.
19.2.23
Brixham. Line learning and practicing Fabaranza. Afternoon, went to Totnes and performed at Word Stir, tried out some linking material in front of an audience.
20.2.23
Paignton. Fabaranza more light rewrites.
21.2.23
Line learning Fabaranza.
22.2.23
Ran through all of the show so far and was very pleased at how much I remembered. Then line learning the section after Fabaranza. Good progress.
23.2.23
Line learning linking material. Also, ordered a game show style buzzer as the only prop for the show.
24.2.23
Line learning linking material at the shop before work. The buzzer arrived. Evening, performed a little of the new linking material at an event at the Little Theatre, Torquay.
26.2.23
Brixham. Line learning linking material incorporating the buzzer.
27.2.23
Paignton, Line learning.
28.2.23
Line learning linking material.
1.3.23
Line learning linking material.
2.3.23
Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel.
3.3.23
Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel.
5.3.23
Brixham. Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel and linking material. Made decision to read the final poem from a piece of paper during performance to accentuate the fact that it was a piece written, so therefore the line learning phase is completed. On to actual rehearsing, now.
6.3.23
Line learning This City Never Seemed so Cruel.
8.3.23
Ran through the whole show so far. 58 mins so will have to prune maybe the last poem. Also decided that the back of the piece of paper uses for the last poem will have David Walliams written on it in big letters. Email from Guildford Fringe offering a date which I accepted.
9.3.23
Rewrote ‘To the Celebrity’.
10.3.23
Rehearsing ‘You Should Write a Poem . .’.
12.3.23
Brixham. Writing the show blurb and publicity material. Ran through the whole show. Then rewrote the middle section of The Contestants Await.
13.3.23
Line learning The Contestants Await.
15.3.23
Line learning The Contestants Await.
17.3.23
Applied to both Underbelly and Just the Tonic.
18.3.23
Received a list of possible dates from Just the Tonic. Decided to rewrite the last poem, or write a whole new poem to end the show in a less angry frame of mind!
19.3.23
Brixham. Wrote new poem ‘Woodlouse Boy’ to end the show. To the den and did a full run through of the show, also had a practise of Woodlouse Boy. Decided to look at the first song, Welcome to my Show, and wondered whether the show would benefit from something which I’m good at: something fast paced, like the opening of my show, Spout. Started work on a new opening poem. Managed to finish it by early evening, called it ‘This Is My New Show’.
20.3.23
Line learning This Is My New Show.
21.3.23
Received an offer from Just the Tonic! Accepted it, a two week run which I’ve not done before. Did the necessary paperwork. Line learning This Is My New Show.
22.3.23
A whole day line learning This Is My New Show, paperwork for Just the Tonic, work on the accompanying pamphlet. In the evening, performed linking material and the poem ‘You Should Write a Poem About That’ at the online Incite LGBT gig.
23.3.23
More paperwork for Just the Tonic, and line learning This Is My New Show.
26.3.23
Brixham. Full show run through, 56 minutes.
30.3.23
Line learning Woodlouse Boy.
1.4.23
Line learning Woodlouse Boy.
2.4.23
Experimented rehearsing using a chair.
5.4.23
Rehearsing again using a chair.
8.4.23
Decided to do away with the first poem altogether.
9.4.23
Full show run through without first poem.
13.4.23
Rehearsing.
14.4.23
Add lines to end of Woodlouse Boy, inspired by listening to The Waterboys, The Whole of the Moon.
26.4.23
Write new poem, ‘London is Mine for the Taking’, and ponder whether to include it in the show in place of ‘London’.
27.4.23
Decide to include poem. Start line learning.
28.4.23
Line learning London is Mine.
10.5.23
Rehearsal of show including new poem.
14.5.23
Brixham. Rehearse whole show with new poem and also the buzzer props. Goes well.
Robert has the chance to be on prime time TV! What could possibly go wrong? A comedy poetry show about not becoming famous.
Join performance poet Robert Garnham for his new solo show, Bouncer. When Robert is asked to perform on the UK’s biggest TV talent show, he dreams of fame and fortune and never having to leaflet in Edinburgh again! But of course, these things never go the way you want them to go . . . An hour of storytelling, poetry and comedy about fame, and hope, and dreaming.
‘Playful, warm . . Funny and always surprising’. (Write Out Loud)
‘Wise’. (Word NYC).
‘Clever and entertaining’. (Barnstaple Theatrefest).
‘There’s warmth in his whimsy, it’s sturdy not flimsy’. (Matt Harvey)
‘Witticism, wordplay and wistful romanticism’. (Dandy Darkly)
On a cold, January evening, I caught a train from Devon to London. I was looking for some sense of magic in the air, a barely-perceptible tingle as if fortune were tickling my conscience and smoothing the way to a stardust future. But the train was cold, and dinner was a chicken tikka pasty I’d bought from the convenience store next to the station.
The countryside was hidden in darkness. Beyond the reflection of my own face I could make out tiny villages, clusters of lights in the middle of nowhere, lonely cow barns lit up against the frost, and I thought, do any of these people also dream of everlasting fame?
It pains me to write this letter, but circumstance has forced my hand. For many years, the Brixham Town Scone Society website has been a valuable tool for members to connect, ask advice, share cooking tips, and buy and sell both equipment and ingredients. There have been no complaints and many of us have both enjoyed, and taken advantage of, this wealth of scone-cooking know-how just a click of the mouse away. However, lately it has come to the attention of this committee that the Classified section of the website has been coming under some abuse from certain members whose interests lay beyond mixing methods and how to create a really cracking milk glaze. The problem first came to light when it was pointed out to me that a lot of our newer subscribers to the website, who filled in the online form, listed the classified section as their main motivation for doing so, yet almost all of them answered the question ‘How many hours a week do you spend cooking scones?’ with the response, ‘None’, and in a lot of cases, ‘I do not like scones’. This was somewhat perplexing and an investigation was launched in case there were some confusion in the title of our website, (Scones A-Plenty.com), or indeed if there were some new boy band or comic perhaps titled ‘Scone Man’, that was leading to this sudden influx in new members. However, after a terrible mix-up (no pun intended) the other day in which one of our senior committee members, Maureen Hepplethwaite, found herself not at a scone cookery demonstration as she had been expecting, but at a swinger’s sex party, it was decided that action was needed. The first thing we noticed was the number of young men offering a variety of different shaped spatulas for sale in the classifieds. While these are great implements in the mixing process, it is probably more common in the scone community to use wooden spoons, so I think it’s fair to say that this raised a few eyebrows among the committee. Most of these spatulas were advertised as being new, ‘or in new condition’, while some were being offered in a slightly battered state. At this stage, alarm-bells didn’t actually start ringing. The admin behind running a pro-scone website means that some matters don’t actually get attended to until there’s some kind of emergency. The Great Flour Shortage of 2005 was one such calamity, and equally fraught was the resignation of our chairman in 2009 when he announced that frankly, he preferred muffins. We then noticed the alarming number of society members offering scones of varying states of completion, some of which were ‘ready to pick up now’, others were, ‘come and collect’, while many were ‘lacking one final ingredient’. ‘Already in the mixing bowl’, apparently, (and according to Reginald, who does not proclaim to be an expert on such matters), means that the ‘seller’ is willing to conduct the process in their own home. ‘On the baking tray’, apparently means that they are willing to travel. And it’s anyone’s guess what ‘ready to be consumed with fresh fresh salad’, means. Suspicions were raised further when Phil Burton (member since 1988), advertised that he had a home-made ready mix featuring fresh sultana pieces and fruity chunks only to receive an email which read, ‘You’re a dirty boy, oh my, you’re a dirty boy!’, followed by someone's phone number. Dear society members, this will just not do. To get to the root of the problem, we have employed a code-breaker whose previous area of expertise was the Egyptian hieroglyphs and also the mating call of the common sparrow. And it was no surprise to learn that the codes adopted by many of the users of our classified pages were also a base form of mating call in themselves . Once she had explained what many of the codes and terminologies were, I, as your brave Chairman, decided to pose online as one of these lovelorn scone-bakers with an advertisement composed specifically to entrap the guilty. Spatula for sale (or rent). Slightly rusty yet ergonomically designed to offer maximum stirring. Mixture in bowl yet also functions on the tray. Fellow mixer must have GSOH. No salad please. Jam and cream to spread as desired. Satisfaction guaranteed. Stirs in an anti-clockwise or circular motion. Alas, the only reply to my classified ad was from another society member who offered me a ‘lasagne’. ‘I don’t get it’, I said to the code-breaker. ‘Nor do I’, she replied. And just to be safe, I haven’t eaten a lasagne since. Dear society member, it is time to put an end to this, and the decision was recently taken at a committee level to put an end to the classified section of our website. We understand that this may very well reduce the number of people who have joined our society, (over twenty thousand new members in the last six weeks, a figure which still manages to perplex us), but we believe that this is the safest method to rid our wholesome community of undesirable attention. Like many of you, I started out as a young man with a head full of ideas and dreams intent on devoting my life to the construction and consumption of the humble scone. Starstruck by such scone-bakers as Ethel P. Anderson and Audrey ‘Iron Knuckles’ McGinty, I saw the society as a means to connect with like minded souls whose purpose and heart were in a similar vein to my own. It has been nothing short of tragic to see our fine institution highjacked by those whose thoughts remain as base as their own animalistic instincts. I see this as an opportunity to root out these wrongdoers and make our society safe again! The moment I’ve finished writing this email, I shall be visiting the committee where no doubt we shall be indulging in the wholesome pursuit of the perfect scone. And yes, fellow committee members, thanks for asking, I shall definitely be bringing my own spatula.
This is a poem about a man who’s obsessed with his record collection. Taped live at Exeter’s Taking the Mic, November 2023. I hope you like it.
Rekkuds
Rekkuds
I like my rekkuds I’ve got one or two Playing my rekkuds Is something I do.
They’re mostly jazz, The rekkuds I play. Whenever I listen The world melts away.
I went to the rekkud shop and I said to the chap in there, I said, I thought you liked jazz?, and he said, I do like jazz, And I said, if you like jazz so much, Then how come you ain’t bought any of these rekkuds?
I like my rekkuds. 33 rpm I go home at night I’m surrounded by them.
I went to this party and this bloke says to me, got any Kylie Minogue? I said, bugger off with your Kylie Minogue.
I like my rekkuds. They’re mostly jazz. I play them loud So I can hear them When I’m having a wazz.
I went to the hardware shop the other day and I bought a bucket, Just a plain ordinary bucket, and when I paid for it, The bloke behind the counter looked at my bucket And he said, ‘Enjoy’. How the bloody g hell am I meant to enjoy a bucket?
I like my rekkuds. Of that I’m quite certain. I play Frank Sinatra in the shower. I face the vinyl curtain.
I saw a friend of mine, I asked him what job he had now, He said, beefeater. He meant the restaurant but I said, oh, You mean the Tower of Lunnon? Nobody laughed. Why didn’t you laugh, I asked my mates, you miserable lot. They said, We would have done, if we’d have known it was funny.
I like my rekkuds. I left a Thelonious Monk rekkud in the car. Someone broke in And added two more.
I treat my body like it’s a temple. Shame it’s been Converted into a Wetherspoons.
I like my rekkuds. I like this poem. I’ve made it to the end, for once. Must be some kind of Rekkud.
This month I had great fun making a filmed version of my Edinburgh solo show, Bouncer, with film maker John Tomkins. On a sunny morning, we booked. A beautifully sparse room at Paignton’s library and filmed the whole show, which John has edited wonderfully. I can’t wait for you to see the results.
The film takes place entirely with me seated at a desk, which is something that I’ve wanted to do with a solo show for quite some time. I think it really adds to the project. Here is a trailer for the film, which might give you some idea of how it looks:
So what is Bouncer about?
“Robert has the chance to be on prime time TV! What could possibly go wrong? A comedy poetry show about not becoming famous.
Join performance poet Robert Garnham for his new solo show, Bouncer. When Robert is asked to perform on the UK’s biggest TV talent show, he dreams of fame and fortune and never having to leaflet in Edinburgh again! But of course, these things never go the way you want them to go . . . An hour of storytelling, poetry and comedy about fame, and hope, and dreaming.”
At the same time, I shall also be releasing a self-made video diary about the process behind learning the lines for the show. ‘Learning Bouncer’ was filmed from December 2022 onwards up until a point in which I believed I’d learned the whole show. Of course, I then rewrote big chunks of it!
These will both be ready from November 1st and you will be able to stream them from my website.
It’s not the countryside, he protested. Just an enclave of the city. The actual city. London, he said, Like I had to be reminded which city. It might look green but we got that Big city vibe going on, Urban infrastructure, neon, Oyster cards. What about all the tractors?, I asked. What tractors?, he said. And at that moment, a tractor chugged past.
That’s highly unusual, he said. We don’t often get tractors here, Because this is the city. I’m as shocked as you are. Chug chug chug chug chug went Another passing tractor. There goes another tractor, I said. I didn’t see one. Are you sure it wasn’t a double decker bus? And then another tractor chugged past.
It’s the pulsing throb of metropolitan energy I like, He said, Looking wistfully at a cow shed. And a tractor chugged past. You can even see Canary Wharf If you go on the roof And then climb into a hot air balloon And go up and bring a telescope. It’s right there, Canary Wharf, That’s how urban this place is. That thatched roof gets a bit slippery if it’s Been raining. And then another tractor chugged past.
The traffic is so bad, he said. The other day I ordered a pizza. The Deliveroo cyclist took nine hours. He had to sleep on my sofa. His big Deliveroo box frightened the hens. Hens?, I said. City hens, he said. And then another tractor chugged past.
I thought to myself, (Because you can’t think to other people), I thought to myself, I’ll let him enjoy his delusion, For geographically he may be nearer Yeovil, But at heart he’s a city boy And he’s got that city life And he’s got that city buzz And sure, he swears blind that the sign on the bus stop Which reads Farmers Market Every Tuesday Is actually graffiti in rhyming slang for Darren Is A Tosser In a new kind of rhyming slang That’s so modern that it Doesn’t even rhyme, But he’s a city boy.
And then another tractor chugged past. And another tractor chugged past. And then two tractors chugged past. And then a combine harvester chugged past. And then a tractor chugged past. And I asked, What’s with all these tractors? And he said, I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Let’s go and make out in the turnip field.
I suppose I've always been a little bit clumsy. Affecting a demeanour each day of professional detachment, a manner almost sullen were it not for those moments in which human discourse were necessary, affecting an amiability, an openness, an expression of eager understanding and a willingness to compromise, only to have my belt suffer a sudden and catastrophic malfunction and my trousers fall around my ankles. A hand outstretched for a businesslike greeting, a shoe accidentally scraped against the skirting board, a sudden lurch sideways into a pot plant. Oh, I do apologise! And then later on, noticing the skirting boards around my office marked and scuffed by the numerous other times that I have stumbled. Hey, hey, your flies are undone. Again. And due to my body shape, I concede that my trousers have always been a little bit baggy.
2.
The trill of the alarm clock had interrupted a dream in which I was trying to get a giraffe to go up the stairs of a double decker bus. The giraffe had been stubborn and no amount of tugging or enticing could tempt it up to the first floor, and once underway, it got wedged firmly, its fat buttocks blocking the stairwell, much to the consternation of my fellow passengers. It's the usual recurring anxiety dream. The long neck of the giraffe allowed it to peer up to the top deck, grinning like a bastard, while I pushed and shoved and swore from behind. Buzz buzz buzz buzz! I got up, showered, shaved, made some toast and pondered in the coming day, only to glance at my watch and discover that it was four in the morning. And then I recalled that the trill of the alarm clock had been a part of the dream. For the giraffe and I had been returning from a trip to the shops where we had purchased an alarm clock. I set to work at my desk, organising various work-related files on my laptop and trying not to think about my giraffe dream. I watched as the sun came up and lit the neighbouring houses a brilliant red, secretly resplendent as it rewarding me and others like me for getting up so early. I stopped for a few moments to look out at the sky, feeling if only for a short while the majesty of the planet in its eternal rotation, this celestial dance of time and fate, when the alarm clock sounded, this time for real. Buzz buzz buzz buzz! Had anyone been with me, no doubt, I would have at least given a smirk or acknowledgement of the humour in this, but as I was on my own, the only emotion I felt was one of deep annoyance. I got up from my desk and I switched the alarm clock off. The only comfort came from the fact that the new trousers I was wearing were significantly roomier than had been my previous pair.
3.
I was never The class clown. When I think of this It gets me down. The popular kids Would mess around. But me? I wouldn't Make a sound.
4.
I had a meeting with my boss today. I've written down everything that was said and I've made it into a short theatrical piece, which I call 'Bulbous'.
SANDRA stares at ROBERT from behind her desk.
SANDRA - I suppose you know why I've asked you here. ROBERT - To be honest, no, I don't. SANDRA - I've had an official complaint from one of your colleagues. ROBERT - Oh? SANDRA - It's about the meeting you chaired yesterday, on Effective Time Management. ROBERT - Yes, yes, I'm so sorry that it overran. SANDRA - No, it's not that. ROBERT - What . . what is it? SANDRA - (Sighs). Robert, is everything okay at home? ROBERT - Yes, absolutely. SANDRA - And you're not drinking heavily, or anything? ROBERT - No. In fact, I hardly drink at all. SANDRA - The complaint was actually about your appearance. Did you realise that your flies were undone the whole time? ROBERT - No, I didn't. SANDRA - So the message of the meeting, in which you were meant to instil in your colleagues a certain business-oriented professionalism, would probably have been received unquestioningly had you not got your foot stuck in the waste paper bin. ROBERT - Yes, that was rather unfortunate. SANDRA - And when you tried to pull it off, you sat on a desk, and the desk . . . Collapsed. ROBERT - Again, I apologise. SANDRA - And your nose. You see, Robert, it's becoming awfully red, and bulbous. That's why I asked about the drinking. ROBERT - As I say, I can only apologise. And I shall make an effort to act from now on in a more businesslike manner. SANDRA - Thank you, Robert. Please, for me, see that you do.
ROBERT gets up from his chair, shakes SANDRA's hand, then stumbles sideways through a glass partition wall.
5.
Walking home through the silence of the park, I could hear a soft squeak, squeak, squeak with each footstep.
6.
‘I've just had it with clowns’, Josh said. ‘I need a man I can respect’. We'd met online and he suggested we have a date at that new cream flan and custard pie restaurant that had just opened in the middle of the town. It seemed the sort of place where nothing could go wrong. The seating was comfortable and so was the decor, warm and inviting. We sat at a table for two at the rear of the premises. ‘That is very important to me’, Josh continued. ‘Love, yes. Love is up there. And physicality, of course, but respect. Respect is the most important of them all. It seems to me these days that everyone is a comedian, so you get that sense, too? Where's the depth? It's all artifice, isn't it? It's like we've become avatars, covered in layers of glitz and showy nothingness’. ‘You can depend on me’, I told him. ‘I treat each moment with absolute and utter seriousness’. ‘I just don't know why people feel the need to fool around’, he said, ‘in every sense of the word’. ‘I think people just want to be noticed ’, I reply. ‘That's what's happening in this modern age. We all seem to want to get a kick out of making other people uneasy. The nuance of yesteryear is gone. Subtlety is missing from all of our lives. I blame the internet and social media. People can't even be bothered to wait for the punch line, any more. They want immediate gratification, whether it be sexual or comedic’. ‘I can tell’, Josh said, ‘That you are a thinker’. ‘I try to be’. I looked at him, and he looked at me. I could see the small candle on the table between us reflected in his eyes. ‘Do you ever feel tempted’, he asked. ‘To become like all the other men? I mean, brash, and obvious, and only in it just for a laugh?’ ‘No’, I replied. ‘I try to play the long game. Strip away the surface and this world that we live in is a very serious place. And how else might one approach the act of living itself, but through the contemplation of philosophical and existentialist inquiry? In such a way, I forsake the easy option and the expediency of a cheap laugh in order to probe the searing heaviness of our own manifestation’. ‘You know what?’, Josh said, ‘I think I've finally met a man who I can respect’. At that moment the cream flan and custard pie conveyor belt around the serving desk suffered a sudden malfunction, sped up, and propelled its load, one after another, at such an angle and velocity across the room as to connect squarely with my own face, one after another in a perfect rhythm to the accompanying laughter from all the other customers. By the time the eleventh and last cream pie had been delivered with a forceful splat, and I was scooping the filling out from my eyes, Josh had long since gone.
7.
I never realised before how small my bicycle was until I glanced sideways at my reflection in a shop window, my knees out at a crazy angle, dwarfed by the buses, the cars, the lorries.
b. I never realised quite how tatty my old jacket had become, so tatty that I tried to draw attention away from its tastiness by putting a plastic yellow flower in the lapel.
c. And I shouldn't have gone swimming and then dyed my hair. The hair dye had a chemical reaction with the chlorine from the pool and turned my hair bright green. Still, what can you do?
d. And as I filled in the official documentation online to tell my work colleagues my preferred name and pronouns, my computer’s predictive spelling changed my name from Robert to Parsnip.
e. Sandra, my boss, has for some reason pulled me from delivering a seminar on Modern Business Etiquette.
8.
With the power of his intellect and his encyclopaedic knowledge of contemporary stand-up comedy, my school friend Hasan could reduce the entire class into fits of laughter. And the laughter would drive him on, and he'd say something else that was funny, and the class would laugh some more. But Hasan was canny, he'd leave his best material for the end of the sequence, leading us up blind alleyways of silliness before delivering his punchline. Boom. As a result, this rather nerdy individual became one of the most popular people in school and I must admit to feeling rather jealous of his command of a room. My teachers would always tell my parents at parents evening that I was always serious, unsmiling, intense. They said that I wouldn't join in with the other kids, and would bury myself in my work. Perhaps they were worried that something would give, that I'd snap one day and have some sort of life-changing episode, go beserk and tell the other kids exactly what I thought of them. Humourless, is the exact word that was used on more than one occasion. But I carried on in much the same manner and took my exams. I left school with average marks. Hasan became a marketing executive for a company that manufactures airline meals.
9.
To be mocked, and come out fighting with humour, is never a position in which I have ever found myself. Steady as she goes has always been my motto. I have rarely left myself open to ridicule by using the simple tactic of blending in to the background. And during those moments in which I have found myself in the limelight, I have adopted the simple strategy of being as intense and as dry as I possibly could. ‘You're too intense’, Steven had said to me, on what was to be the last night we'd spent together. ‘Just because I don't go down the street, laughing hysterically . . .’. ‘It's not that. It's more your tendency to over analyse everything. We can't even watch television comedies because you point out that certain things would never actually happen’. ‘All I was pointing out was that in real life, Tom would simply catch and eat Jerry . . ‘. ‘You see! You're too much of a realist. In all the time that we have been together, I never once heard you laugh. It's all buttoned up inside of you, isn't it? That's where you keep it. It has to be somewhere’. ‘Life itself is the ultimate ridicule’, I pointed out. ‘What does that even mean?’ The two of us are silent for a while. ‘I'd just like to find’, I tell him, ‘A well adjusted and content tarot card reader’. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ ‘A happy medium’. Steven thinks about it for a few seconds. ‘OK. So admittedly, that was quite amusing. But it's too late, Robert. I'm sorry, but it's too late’. Steven bent down and picked up his suitcase, walked through the door, and slammed it shut behind him. The oil painting of a clown on the wall above the sofa wobbled for a bit, then fell off and landed right on top of me, my head tearing through the canvas, the frame of the picture now hanging around my neck.
10.
Emerging from the supermarket on the corner, the busy street glistening with a damp drizzle which fell from the overcast sky, smudged neon into the road surface. I stood there in my jacket, my loose fitting trousers, my green hair, my Parsnip name badge, my squeaky shoes, my lapel flower. I decided that I would give up on trying to understand the world, and how good it felt! I didn't need Steven or Josh or even Sandra, I didn't need any of them. Life is filled with organisms and mechanisms too complex ever to make sense of, A small, battered car screeched to a halt right next to me and a gentleman in baggy, multicoloured clothing jumped out. Then another, then one more, then two more, then six of them, seven, twelve in all, until I was surrounded, and without saying anything I understood that there was a home for me.
Robert Garnham 