Wednesday, 14 January 2009

Fucking Paracetamol

Curse tablets. Tenuous I know but shock advertising is always effective. I spent the Christmas period back in my home town of Fishguard – lovely time; family, boxing day beaches, food, fresh air, birdsong – but decided I couldn't stand to face New Year's Eve there. After perhaps 8 NYE's out on the town over the years I have realised that there are better things than spending the night drunk in a very crowded pub taking ages to get served and in the company of people you don't really know any longer. So I left on NYE morning to come back to London with the plan of having a quiet night in relaxing and playing with my new laptop – old one couldn't handle it's drink and so went up in a puff of smoke in the work Christmas party after only a single red wine. So, I began the train journey in the morning and arrived in London about 6pm after jumping onto the London train at Swansea. The only thing is that my suitcase containing some of my clothes and a sizeable chunk of that years Christmas presents from family wasn't on the train any longer. It appears some Paramecium of society had taken a shine to it and so got off with it elsewhere on the trip between Swansea and London. Lost property office and Police avenues explored, insurance informed and with far less pairs of socks to my name than I am comfortable with I carried on with life.

Not wanting to get this into a large moaning soliloquy about how miserable I am over the matter – on the up side I do get to go shopping and replace what was stolen – let us turn to the main event;

this occurred to me as being an ideal time to make a curse tablet in the almost identical vein to our Romano-British ancestors. I happen to have some nice copper sheeting cut into squares and also own a set of lettering stamps for engraving metal. The plan is to engrave a typical message to a deity, in this case Nodens, and throw it along with something else as an offering into the Thames. I wont get my material goods back, I wont feel slightly upset that there are people like that out there targeting peoples luggage right after the festive period. I will however derive enormous satisfaction knowing that out there is someone suffering a mysteriously persistent rash in their nethers, even more satisfaction that I currently feel in knowing that somehow they had to handle and then dispose of some of my dirty underwear I hadn't time to wash before leaving Wales.

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