I was in the toilet of the Wetherspoons near Faringdon station, standing at one of those long trough-like urinals when it occurred to me there was a significant danger the flimsy cloth uppers of my espadrilles could easily be soaked by someone else’s splash-back.<\/p>\n
As so often when under duress, the line of a song formed iteslf in my head:<\/p>\n
Respect is everything and disrespect kills
\nSo don\u2019t piss on my espadrilles.<\/p><\/blockquote>\nIf I could excape the gents with dry feet then perhaps this could form the basis of my next work. Something with a gansta rap\/two-step\u00a0vibe perhaps, coupled with some fey 80s-retro synth-pop.<\/p>\n
A\u00a0paen to the long-maligned espadrille, first invented in the Basque County a millenium ago. Perhaps highlighting the way in which the Basques, since pre-history have earned ‘respect’ through their vigorous defence of their language, culture and territory. Or perhaps, a deconstruction of the notions of language, culture and territory as simply historically contigent, free-floating nodes in the network of difference (or pace<\/em> Derrida, diff\u00e9rance even) through which we define concepts in\u00a0opposition to\u00a0‘other’.<\/p>\n
The next lines began to percolate through the smell of\u00a0urine:<\/p>\n
So if you don’t like nothingness and you prefer Being
\nThen pay attention to where you’re peeing.<\/p><\/blockquote>\nBut how to make it clear to the listener that Being has a capital ‘B’? What rhymes with Heidegger?<\/p>\n
With these weighty concerns foremost in mind I forgot all about my espadrilles, buttoned my fly and returned to the\u00a0vestibule of the pub. My espadrilles, still-dry, didn’t leave any\u00a0damp marks on the blue-patterned carpet, but I didn’t even notice.<\/p>\n
I wrote down my feldgling verse\u00a0and then my\u00a0attention returned to the rivetting second half of the England\u2013USA match …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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