The minute you no longer feel unabashed, childlike joy as you crunch across a blanket of fresh snow, I say go ahead and drink a cup of crushed hemlock; because this world has nothing more to offer you. An old friend of mine once told me that the act tapped into my destructive nature and if I would only accept my inherent regressive character traits then shame alone would quicken a better Parlett. Even to this day I regret not striking him with the back of my glove and calling him a scoundrel. Continue reading “Hard times on the High Street and A Tale of Two Sarahs”
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Big Mama Thornton and Alfie:
‘Hound Dog’ stuck on a loop in my head the other day, playing with Alfie – my Mum’s Cocker Spaniel. Turns out that although Elvis has the best known version, the song was first recorded by one Big Mama Thornton. I realise it was stars like Elvis that took the African-American blues to the cracker masses but until recently getting into Lightin’ Hopkins was as far as I crawled out of my lily-white honky box; and I’ve been missing out on so much. Continue reading “Dear John, Alfie the dog and Big Mama Thornton”
If you’d told me five years ago I’d be spending the last day of planet earth in Gosport I’d have laughed in your face. I’d planned to play it safe and ride out 21st Dec 2012 somewhere up a mountain with a hunting rifle, caring Scandinavian wife and waterfall caves of tinned food. I came to my senses; but when 11.11am passed without global incident I shrugged like everybody else.
Still, there’s always the Rapture to look forward to. That and any number of asteroids. And the whole global warming thing. Another end of the world is always just around the corner, friend. Continue reading “The squirrels of the fourteen b’ak’tun”
Christ, I don’t know. I suppose I should say something; it has been a while, after all. What have I been up to lately? Well I didn’t kill myself yet but don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, fellow travellers. Continue reading “In which I talk about the news, drugs, Star Trek and make a picture for John Lennon”
It’s been over a month since I posted anything here and even though I have nothing I feel comfortable sharing with you I still feel it polite to show a little love to whoever reads these things as it can’t all be people stumbling upon this site by mistake. It’s not that we don’t love you, we’re just so busy. Continue reading “Proof of life, wine guide and a video for Katie and Shaun”
DISCLAIMER: The following post took place over the course of several days of teeth gnashing. Its contents are intended for my own amusement only. Any medical advice adhered to that results in your own suicide and/or the murders of your loved ones in the most bloodthirsty and inhumane way conceivable is neither my responsibility nor anyone else’s, you fiend.
If you get treated like a patient, you’re apt to act like one.
– Frances Farmer
So I made up my mind and will not be going back to Teesside, nor will I complete the year. From here on in, this guff comes straight from the heart.
I’m going to mention mental health now but I promise I will touch upon it as briefly as I’m able; then we can get back to talking zoo animals, gig reviews and reasons why the white man will be the death of us all. Continue reading “Safe. Secure. Reasonable. Informed: Coming off Sertraline”
It’s been a while – how’ve you been? I’ve missed you. David? Sorry I forgot your birthday. Love, etc.
Those of you who read my hilarious, insightful and downright sexy posts on twitter and facebook will have got the gist of what’s been going on dayn sayf so forgive any repetition.
My Nan passed away peacefully – well, as peacefully as you can, struggling with pain and confusion, surrounded by powerless ‘strangers’, your conciousness rattling around a stubborn husk – and her ashes are now interred in the grave of my Grandfather.
Father Paul’s eulogy was uplifting and pure of heart – a real comfort for us and an experience with the church without parallel for me (I went to a Roman Catholic school in my teens.) If you’ll forgive me for opening the homophobia door, his awesomeness is proof positive that gays should not only be allowed in the church, but that they should be running the fucking show. Continue reading “The monsters we turn into or marry”
And after a while – with my mother tearing out the hair I’m surprised didn’t fall of its own accord years ago, and my auntie and I playing good cop / bad cop to the duty Doctor’s idea of palliative care – my Nan is finally on morphine.
If it wasn’t for the wonderfully compassionate carers at the home, I’m pretty sure we’d be utterly lost.
There’s little point in ranting on here (he said, before ranting on.) We treat dying animals better than we do dying people. I haven’t yet met a person of faith to convince me that any of their holy books are worth the paper I wipe my arse with, but it seems that as wonderful as science is, technology is torture without morality.
I’m not talking about the morals some guy brings down a mountain, or whatever, but of the ideas and ideals we must take a firm hold of and shake when medicine prolongs the body, but not the mind. Continue reading “A Full Life”
A couple of years ago I was studying Multimedia Design and Communication. A prerequisite was a personal web-site containing an e-portfolio. All that code is redundant now but for posterity’s sake here is the content from the old ‘About Me’ page. Please understand that at the time the side effects of my pills were quite, quite maddening.
Christopher John Parlett (born June 5th, 1979) is a British mongrel dog; a drunk, a hack and spiteful, anchorless trash. He is best known amongst those unfortunate enough to be acquainted with him for his pernicious satire, gluttonous hurtful appetites and poor life-choices.
Hark, such a vicious degenerate was not born – it was fostered by a cruel fate. Continue reading “About Me (2008)”
My Nan used to be a real hard arse.
She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s seven years ago and soon after was put on the partially sighted list. Her second husband, Jim, died six years ago and because she was unable to look after herself, the house was sold and she moved in with my mother, in the neighbouring town of Gosport. Continue reading “Nanny and the State”