No. 72: Hang Out A Bit With Your Parents

Obviously, you live with them because – unlike that landlord you had in Bethnal Green, if you’re a day late with the rent they don’t wake you up accompanied by 12 Eastern European relatives persuasively toting an aluminium baseball bat. 

And hanging out with your parents can be fun. No, it can. Get slightly drunk on Stone’s Ginger Wine and go with the flow in order to immediately feel slightly more mellow about (a) defiling their retirement by leaving your newspapers, washing and lunch strewn about your mum’s conservatory so that it resembles a post-festival campsite and/or (b) the fact that you’re old-ish, homeless-y and have about as much chance of becoming financially and responsibly independent as Katie Price has of being hand-delivered a British Publishing industry gong for ‘Katie Magazine’ by Muammar Gaddafi in a sequinned fascinator.

You may be certain that spending social time with your parentals can result in some pretty cool, pretty mental experiences that a married, sensible person (or anyone that didn’t smoke blunts the size and weight of a ferret) would be sadly exempt from.

Indeed, where else in the universe would you get to watch a photographic musical montage showcasing the various stages of the driveway and garden being tarmaced? To Cracklin’ Rosie by Neil Diamond, no less?*

Take a few seconds, I beg you, to imagine this audio/visual bombshell. Do you feel strange? You should. I did.

As Diamond croons, my alarmed eyes are subjected to the images of piles of soil next to a pair of wheelbarrows.  A palette of turf stacks. Some sand. A plumb line next to an empty tea mug.  And with an almost Spielbergian flourish, the song’s key change has been timed to accompany pictures of the final brick-weave having been laid.

Diamond:soundtrack to the rough

 In virtually every way it was a more entertaining watch than Big Brother and perhaps worthy of being an evolutionary landmark. This epic piece of cinematic history was made on iMovie – by A DAD, which is quite literally gargantuan strides  Darwinianly speaking.  Comparable – surely –  to the discovery of a talking, lute-playing daschund.

Tomorrow: Scrubbing mould off the patio umbrella and cutting a tarpaulin in half. And in the evening, New Driveway II: cementing in the edging bricks (Soundtrack: Creedence Clearwater Revival.)


*You might strike lucky at a particularly ‘niche’ NYC arts college. Or the Turner Prize.


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