Blog – 120 – Beating Myself Up …
A couple of months ago my best friend came to stay: Mrs Carrieoke. She had driven all the way from Cardiff and about 6.00pm we poured ourselves two glasses of small red and proceeded to my lounge which has a cream carpet. I placed the two glasses on the coffee table (do you know what’s coming?) and passed Mrs Carrieoke her birthday present. We don’t know how it happened or how a small glass of red could make such a scar on that cream carpet but we spent two hours, six roller towels and three basins of water pumping at the carpet so that it might be restored to its former glowing glory. At eight o’clock we looked at our watches and agreed to cease operation. The next morning it shone but for a few minor mucky marks and I got Mister Cleancarpet in. He had a go and said one could hardly see a stain on this shining silence but if I wanted to perfect the area I could bleach the small persistent damned spots with bleach.
So when Mister Justin Case and I were watching Cilla Black’s funeral I got the bleach out and a cotton tip. Except I didn’t realise that I had lemon bleach. You can barely see the damned spots of red wine but there’s a huge yellow stain by our coffee table now. Stay with me. I promise to sew this up with my title.
Mister Justin Case and I went to see the film ‘Legend’ last week. Tom Hardy who plays both of the infamous Kray twins did a wonderful job of beating himself up. (The Krays beat everyone up including each other.) The next morning I bought a magazine – one of those magazines that’s wrapped up in cellophane – so I had to dig into the wrapping. My own fist came up to hit me hard on my chin. When I sat down to read the magazine I discovered that I had bought and read the same one some weeks before. I beat myself up in more ways than one.
I’m beating myself up about tackling a small problem and leaving a greater stain. I should have quit when I was ahead but the tiny damned spots bugged me. It really didn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter. There are always stains upon golden silence. Then I read a status written on Facebook this week by a young actor I know. He had written: ‘Why am I beating myself up? I must remember my achievements.’ Well, I remember his Wrath in my play: ‘The Deadly Factor’. It was a breath taking performance. Bugger those damned spots, Ben.
The thing is … I haven’t told Mister Justin Case about that stain. I’m not sure if he has noticed or if it will remain silent.
Creative Ink classes are back this week. Tuesdays/Get Inspired is full but 2 places left on Thursdays.
The way to get ride of a stain … is place a piece of furniture on it. Gone. And if Mister Justin Case protests, just invite the Krays around for a glass of wine. And when they pronounce that your furniture arrangements are just prefect … I’m sure Mr Justin Case will be in full agreement. Or make use of that spare magazine by leaving it casually thrown on the floor to hide the stain. There’s a sitcom plot hidden in all this I’m sure.
I’m going to try lemon juice and salt and hope for the best. I’ve Googled it.