Stop! In the name of love!

It was around this time last year when I pleaded with the general public to stop being grumpy and enjoy Valentine’s day. Those who know me know that I do love a bit of nonsense, and every year I send out something stupid I build from things I find in what I lovingly deem my “cupboard of useful things.” This cupboard currently contains bamboo rods, a huge amount of C batteries (the most useless kind of batteries around) and limited edition Pirates of the Caribbean sun tan lotion. These things and many more come together to make some object of affection for someone that I think is surprising.

This is the tale of one of these objects.

The ingredients were as follows. Old wrapping paper, emulsion filler, an empty glass jar, a polystyrene cup and some of those little things you get with freezer bags that wrap around the end to keep things fresh.

And of course, the girl. Full disclosure, though strictly speaking Valentine’s day is supposed to be about love, I was not in love with her. It was better than that, (people fall in love with people who beat them, what good does that do?) I liked her. She made me laugh, and she wasn’t afraid to make me feel like an idiot, and as a total idiot I really appreciate that. I’m also to be perfectly honest with you, a vicious arsehole. Especially on dates. Seriously, a girl was boring me once so I told her I had to get home to a chicken breast in my fridge that was about to pass it’s sell by date. One upon looking at the statues in Trafalgar Square a girl once asked me “is that how big real lions are?” and I just left.

And why is it looking after all those tiny people?

So when I like someone I like to savour it. I turned the jar upside down, made the freezer bag things into a stem and made a flower from the wrapping paper and the cup into a plant pot. Then I stuck the whole thing to the inside of the lid with emulsion filler. It looked a bit like this.

Unfortunately due to the miracle of the postal service (honestly, how does it even work? It’s fucking mental) the whole thing got bashed about. By the time it arrived it looked more like this.

The grey shit at the bottom is polyfill remember. In cast my art is so beautiful it distracts you from the truth.

With no note, no name and nothing to place it, the girl had no idea what this was and naturally assumed that thing in the middle there was a fuse. Knowing just enough about herself and her housemates to know they were not fireproof, she called the police. Who I’m assured, were fucking baffled.

“I have no idea what this is, but I’m scared of it” Said hypothetical policeman 1.

Hours later I got a phone call “Oh my god it’s you! It’s Sandy! It’s fucking you, Sandy!” screamed at me for ten minutes.

And we didn’t fall for each other. But that’s ok, because it made her laugh, and she makes me laugh.

The truth is I might not get it. I’m overweight with bad skin and I live in the kind of conditions that inspired a girl I went out with once to write a song called “fuck me so I can’t tell how shit your flat is” but for whatever reason, I get asked out. I get the cards and the phone calls. I get ex’s asking me to give them another chance and I get myself into a whole load of shit. And maybe I’ve gotten to a place where I don’t appreciate that as much as I should, and I should lean off people that moan at this time of year. But honestly, no I shouldn’t. It’s not about who likes you, it’s about who you like. If someone sends you something back then that’s great. But if they don’t, that’s still nice. Don’t be greedy.

Her next birthday present.

Honestly, this whole thing is a lot more fun than you think it is.


~ by Sandy Nicholson on February 11, 2012.

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