whilst you were running round in the blackout trying to plug into the sun i was taken by the victorian weir rash. the same one that g had three years ago. it came up on my return from wimbledon, i thought it was a flea pit infestation caught from the car boot car park and then maybe the dungeness shingles but they were both ruled out by the ridley road ‘designer handbag change your life’ quack who told me i had a water borne virus, probably from the thames, that would cover my whole body with scars and scabs within weeks and stay until april. threatened me with the smallpox hulk but then she arranged for me to be pickled in a large jar for private display in the museum of curios on whitfield street but i gave the velvet caped baliffs the slip and went feral. look like the fucking leopard man only my eyes without sores and scabs. calming down a bit now after a rub down with a tench but still look like a floater in the margins. it’s put the ki-bosh on my end of season plans as i have a fear of water that borders on the rabid and i can’t get the sores infected otherwise it’s curtains. emptied an indian restaurant in two seconds when i took my coat off the other night and mr rose broke into his new favourite song ‘leprosy, i have bits falling off of me’. surviving on a diet of vegetable roots, ox’s liver, ale thistle and the rosary.
merrick on the birdtable