Sinister: Me and my recto-sigmoid junction

[Caitlin Pigtails]

Connections.  Connections are important.  We wouldn't be human if we 
couldn't make connections between things and derive results.  Or if we 
couldn't make connections between things and derive beauty.  Some 
connections are straightforward -- connect Badly Drawn Boy to St. 
Etienne via daytime television.  Others are a little harder to grasp 
immediately.

IF I WAS A SEAGULL

I had a strange dream the other night.  I dreamt that I was creating a 
TV series, adapted from a book.  When I woke up, I remembered what book 
it was: "Foucault's Pendulum", by Umberto Eco.  A bunch of men, working 
at a publishers, are fed up with conspiracy theorists sending stuff in 
to their slush pile, so they create their own conspiracy theory based 
on all the best bits they get sent.  It's easy to do.  If two things 
look like coincidence, it's because they're related.  If two things 
look similar, they must be the same.  You go from there.  Coincidences 
are the times when you didn't spot half what's going on.

THE CENTRE OF YOUR SO-CALLED PENIS

Spotted on TV recently: "The Truth About Gay Sex".  A wonderful 
programme, if only for the nature-study aspect of it.  After showing us 
round all his favourite public toilets, a man takes us onto Hampstead 
Heath at night, prowling with a torch in the best David Attenborough 
fashion.  Whispering all about the nocturnal mating habits of the gay 
man, he suddenly says: "Shh! Listen!"  We go quiet, on the edge of our 
seats, and hear: TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!  "Someone's having a 
spanking session!" he says.  I fell off my chair giggling.

THOUGH IT'S NOT GOOD FOR THE BABY

Incidentally, that TV programme is where the topic line came from.  
They wheeled on a doctor.  He must know what he's talking about, 
because he has a nice diagram, a cross section of the male abdomen, in 
colour.  "There's definitely a risk that a penis could damage the 
recto-sigmoid junction."  Other tips picked up: the best lubricant for 
anal fisting seems to be a type of lard.  It looked like it was 
intended for pastry-making.  Yum.

I hope you understand, I wasn't trying to suggest that David 
Attenborough likes to go cruising on Hampstead Heath.  I'd never 
suggest a thing like that.  He might try to sue.

PAY THE GUARD TO SWITCH THE SIGN

"So, how do I get from Grimsby to Leeds?"
"Oh, it's easy.  Get the Manchester train, and change at Recto-Sigmoid 
Junction"

TAKE THE SAME TRAIN INTO WORK

Of course, in the dream my adaptation fitted perfectly to the book and 
all made sense.  It even did for a few minutes after I woke up.  It was 
only after my brain started to run smoothly that I realised I'd missed 
out huge parts of everything, completely changed all the characters and 
locations, scrapped all the dialogue, and written an entirely different 
ending.  All in all, then, it was a typical TV adaptation.  If you 
don't want to know what happens near the end at all, spank me now.

TEN BIGGEST WANKS

The whole point of the TV show seemed to be: men can never get enough 
sex, even if they're gay.  This is the real one I'm talking about, not 
the one from the dream.  If you're gay and bored in your lunch break -- 
it implied -- you can just pop down to your local public loo, stick 
your dick through a hole in the partition, get some stranger to give 
you a tug and be back at your desk five minutes later.  Lesbians (there 
was an earlier programme in the series) spend hours in bed together per 
session.  Gay men, on the other hand, take five minutes out of every 
day and aren't choosy.  Don't blame me if you disagree with this, 
because I know it's a broad sweeping generalisation which is entirely 
untrue.  But it was just the feeling that the programme put across.

CARAVAN IN HULL

By the end of the book, of course, the men have fallen into the trap of 
believing that their theory is true, because it fits history so well.  
It fits history so well because they have picked the bits they want to 
fit, and misinterpreted their starting point.  But it takes the 
narrator's girlfriend to point this out.  In fact, the only rounded-out 
female character in the book is the one who is sane, sensible, and 
tells everyone that conspiracy theories are all a load of bobbins.  As 
Dimitra would say, "Stupid Boys!"

THIS IS NOT WHO WE WERE

Last night, on the other hand, I dreamt I was travelling to Mull.  
Maybe if you give me a few hours I'll be able to connect that to 
Brookside, and female smoking as a symbol of women's rights.  It's all 
a big conspiracy, I tell you.



love
xx
caitlin
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