37. Graffiti

Just recently a facelift operation got underway at Head Office and was brought to a successful conclusion with only a very few of us realising the traumatic effect this would have on our way of life. I refer to the redecoration of the toilets.

Apart from the inconvenience caused to some, whose bladders were finely adjusted to operate at the toilet to which they had trekked, then, on arrival found that said bladders had to be put into overdrive in order to reach the next point of dispatch, the whole operation passed without comment.

The fact that some of the workforce got damp underwear, or pains in the lower regions before reaching the diverted haven, is of no consequence. What is of great import and a great intrusion on human rights was the erasing of the graffiti on the walls.

Graffiti writing is highly important in this day and age. Through it, the human race achieve the spiritual serenity that is given by the priest after confession. In fact, I think that it is even more satisfying than the confessional. A certain courage is needed to tell a person your innermost thoughts, even though that person is the to understand and grant you forgiveness, but any errant coward can pluck up enough courage to creep into the church and chalk "The vicar is a twit" on the pulpit front.

By the exercising of the right of free speech through the media of the felt tip pen everybody is satisfied. The writer feels better for getting it off his chest and on to the wall, the faithful are more likely to enjoy a boring sermon if the vicar ain't seen what he's preaching over, and he knows how he stands in the eyes of the congregation when he does.

Most graffiti is written on lavatory walls, mainly because it is here that the writer is unlikely to be disturbed whilst in the throes of composition, and inspiration is at it's peak during the soul satisfying sensation of answering the call of nature.

It is here that the most profound deliberations on a persons character are thought out and transferred to the wall.

It is here that the tongue-tied lover tells of his passion and obsession with the anatomy of his beloved which he could never tell to her face. "I love Nellie's great big knockers".

It is here that the racists get at the immigrants, and the immigrants get back at the racists.

It is here that injustice, actual or imaginary, is recorded for posterity. "The Union have sold us up the creek" or "The management couldn't organise a p--- up in a brewery".

However, I find during a hasty research into the quality of service to mankind that the graffiti on our bog walls has given, that writings thereon are, by and large, totally uninspired.

There were indeed, some very apt remarks thereon, but the bulk of them were the natural progression of folk who started off at a tender age by scribbling "Bum" on the pavements, in chalk which they had pinched off the teacher's desk.

Graffiti writing is an art to be learnt properly if it is to be effective. I propose that future writings, which are inevitable, on our now virgin wall, be done only by elected Graffiti Scribes who must hve six O-levels, of which Terse Verse and Correct Spelling of Descriptive Nouns be mandatory. It is not good for our image for inscriptions to read "My P.E.D is a right b-------". Think how much better it would look if instead it were to read "My P.E.D should be in charge of the bar. He'd make a proper bar-steward".

To help you as to the standard of graffiti required, I am printing hereunder some classic examples of the art by Nigel Rees from his book "Graffiti lives OK" which was contributed by driver Ricky Steward who did the research.

Some comments written on church notice boards:

"Where will you be on the day of Judgement? - Still waiting here for a 183 bus"

"Work for the Lord - the pay ain't good but the fringe benefits are out of this world"

"Jesus saves - with the Woolwich?"

"Jesues saves - Keegan scores on the rebound"

Seen written on a condom vending machine:

"Subject to VAT if used on the premises"

"My dad says they don't work"

"This is the worst bubble gum I've ever tasted"

"Not for sale during the French postal strike"

In a gents loo:

"Smile, you are now on Candid Camera"

"Christine, if you're reading this, we're through"

"You don't buy beer you rent it"

"If you're looking for a joke, you've got one in your hand"

What about these for wit:

"Three channel TV sets. £10 each. As advertised on Police 5"

"I'd give my right arm to be ambidextrous"

"The grave of Karl Marx is just another communist plot"

"Rugby is a game played by men with odd shaped balls"

"Tonights meeting of the Apathy Society is cancelled"

"Hypochondria is the one disease I haven't got"

"Humpty Dumpty was pushed"

"I hate graffiti. I hate all Italian food"

And rounding off with a poignant remark on the sad state of the economy: 

"Buy now while the shops last"

36. Postcards As Wallpaper

aka Decoration

A friend of my wife and I who is an elderly maiden lady; spinster is a description I dislike, as somehow one gets the impression of a vinegary and prudish female of the Victorian era; had asked me to do a simple repair job in her flat.

Naturally enough, this took far longer than the lady anticipated. Women are very naive when it comes to things that require the males inferior handling of hammer and screwdriver, they are apt to underestimate the time required, sometimes by days. However advancing time found me in the embarrassing situation of having to ask permission to use the toilet.

As I said, the word spinster, in no way fits our friend as she is quite charming in manner, modern in dress, and liberal in her views. Her flat is furnished however in the extremely comfortable fashion of Edwardian tines.

Very large armchairs and an enormous sofa piled high with cushions, an old rocking chair, solid oak tables, bookcases and sideboard to match. Walls covered with family photos, clocks of all types, even down to a cuckoo clock out of which pops a cheeky little bird every quarter and on the the hour chirping "COOK" It seems to have lost half its vocal chords over the years and has no "COO".

Plants grow in profusion everywhere and stand on everything that has space available. The inevitable "aspidistra" towers in its pot, the size of half a beer barrel in the window bay. The large television standing on its spidery legs in a corner looks strangely out of place, its like seeing a Wimpy Bar in operation in the reading room of the British Museum.

Almost hilariously old fashioned is her flat yet here is the peace and serenity of a bygone era. The solid contort of security and permanence so often lacking in the modern décor. 

So it was with astonishment I beheld what literally leapt at me when I opened the lavatory door. A crescendo of colour and movement, a roar of laughter and giggles from "Donald McGills" honest vulgarity, all the ships, trains, cars and other methods of transport in the world. A veritable pictorial encyclopedia of happy holidays, nostalgic memories, forgotten heroes of stage, screen, sport and war. All over the small room, were stuck hundreds of postcards, even on the door and ceiling.

When I said how much I liked the decoration of her toilet, she said it was a shame to put all those beautiful pictures away in drawers only to be looked at on very few occasions, so she put them where she was sure to enjoy them every day and thus ensure that one of the most basic functions of life could be made enjoyable as well as endurable. 

I fully concurred; besides what, once complete, it does away with the need for redecoration.