March into the archives : me, myself and i

The following piece on myself was published in BMA Magazine, October 1997.


This morning I opened my underwear drawer to find that the only clean boxershorts left were my unlucky pair. I'm not superstitious but their Union Jack design encourages reflections upon life and cruelties of fate.

Late one morning like today but years ago in another bedroom, I awoke and left my room with a towel for the shower, wearing the boxershorts which I now know are unlucky. My room had a separate entrance to the rest of the house and half-asleep I locked myself out.

Being a versatile and endlessly inventive thrillseeker, the opportunity to break into a house using a towel while disguised as Tim Brooke-Taylor was a welcome challenge. After climbing onto the roof, I loosened the tiles and lifted the ceiling manhole cover with a tent peg.

Since then those boxershorts have been avoided. While slipping them on this morning I had a premonition of being knocked off my bike on the way to university and killed. I imagined that a morgue attendant, preparing my body sometime later, cut off my torn pants to reveal the Union Jack boldly covering my manhood.

And assumed I was a fucking Monarchist.