Cheese sandwiches, a pot of pineapple chunks, a Twirl and a can of limonata. That's my lunch today, in the park, on the only bench that's left in the shade, accompanied by the thudding music of Some-Band-You've-Never-Heard-Of at Reading Festival, just over the river.
Whom I have heard of though, is everyone's third favourite marshall (behind Tommie Lee Jones's character in The Fugitive, and the small group of Pacific Islands slightly west of the International Date Line), noughties-street-rapper, Eminem. I've heard of him alright. In fact I heard him loud and clear last night, while my head was squashed between two pillows and he thumped indecipherable lyrics into a microphone two miles away.
Oh well. I'm in the park now. I'm in the park and it's surprisingly quiet. I feel like doing something daring, something outrageous and socially unusual.
I've done it. I've taken my boots off. I just unzipped, and then wriggled my toes out of them. I know. Hottest bank holiday weekend for years and I'm crazy enough to sit out on a park bench with a packed lunch and stockinged feet. Madness.
I wonder whether Eminem enjoys his life. He always seems a bit serious and slightly preachy. Is he happy, I wonder. He's talented, certainly, and supremely rewarded for filling teenagers bedrooms with potentially explicit lyrics, but is he happy? Does he go home to California (I'm guessing) and put his slippers on, listen to a nice bit of Cosi Fan Tutti or something and do the LA Times crossword? Does he drink milk from the fridge and watch a football game behind a super sized bag of Doritos?
Does he go to his local park, chomp through a tub of pineapple chunks and kick his boots off just to feel the summer breeze on his toes? I doubt it. I think he'd like it if we swapped lives.
I'm not sure I would though.
Whom I have heard of though, is everyone's third favourite marshall (behind Tommie Lee Jones's character in The Fugitive, and the small group of Pacific Islands slightly west of the International Date Line), noughties-street-rapper, Eminem. I've heard of him alright. In fact I heard him loud and clear last night, while my head was squashed between two pillows and he thumped indecipherable lyrics into a microphone two miles away.
Oh well. I'm in the park now. I'm in the park and it's surprisingly quiet. I feel like doing something daring, something outrageous and socially unusual.
I've done it. I've taken my boots off. I just unzipped, and then wriggled my toes out of them. I know. Hottest bank holiday weekend for years and I'm crazy enough to sit out on a park bench with a packed lunch and stockinged feet. Madness.
I wonder whether Eminem enjoys his life. He always seems a bit serious and slightly preachy. Is he happy, I wonder. He's talented, certainly, and supremely rewarded for filling teenagers bedrooms with potentially explicit lyrics, but is he happy? Does he go home to California (I'm guessing) and put his slippers on, listen to a nice bit of Cosi Fan Tutti or something and do the LA Times crossword? Does he drink milk from the fridge and watch a football game behind a super sized bag of Doritos?
Does he go to his local park, chomp through a tub of pineapple chunks and kick his boots off just to feel the summer breeze on his toes? I doubt it. I think he'd like it if we swapped lives.
I'm not sure I would though.
No comments:
Post a Comment