It was an afternoon and evening to remember. The Lone Dining Society was born at roughly 15uhr exactly, on Sunday 1st September as predicted. The birth was conducted with a Caesar Salad operation, as heshe was a fat little faggot. I should perhaps point out at this point that in the English language - as in the language spoken on the British Isles, faggot means ‘a bundle of sticks’, and can be used as a term of endearment towards young babies. Or at least one of my cousins always used to use this expression when referring to his first child. But perhaps one has to take into account the peculiarities of the Birmingham / Black County ‘black’ humour. Faggot in the sense used in North America is a completely different sort of fanny pack, or kettle of fish. Fanny again having a completely different meaning in the USA as is understood in Elizabeth II’s great country.
So the Lone Dining Society and I now share the same birthday, the party was a double celebration, commemorating the day I popped into the world and also as a ‘wetting of the baby’s head’ for little LDS. Of course, traditionally in England, the ‘Wetting of the Baby’s head’ was a custom purely reserved for the male of the species, probably as one of many excuses woven into our culture for the men to go out to the pub, free from any ‘restraining bits’ of their spouses and indulge in the nectar of the hop - in other words, to drink an excessive amount of beer. Interestingly enough, at this particular party there was a significant majority of females of the species, enough so to procure a very innocent question from a secondary school aged young man present at the festivity.
“Are most of your friends girls?” he asked, “There’s only one other man here.”
Of course, this was relatively early into the celebration and later more males did indeed arrive, five more in fact.
I was also, in point of fact, very comfortable and at ease - as happy as a pig in shit, also an English expression, although not one that Her Majesty would be caught uttering in public.
So in some sense, the wetting of the baby’s head - our new little miracle, The Lone Dining Society, was celebrated into the world with something like a 99% female majority, somehow turning the tradition on it’s head - although I have to say that in this delightful new adaptation of this long running tradition, much much less beer was partaken of. Possibly not a negative outcome considering the state of my head the day after.
And all things taken into account - the gender imbalance was neither any sort of problem or to be completely honest anything that I noticed - it was only the young man’s comments that drew my attention to it. And if you’re wondering what the point is to all of this, well there is no point, it’s just something that the young man’s question drew to my attention and then I wandered into through my meanderful writings.
It was I have to say a completely wonderful evening. I do remember making a jest of this being the best Birthday party I’d had all year. But in honesty I have to say it was possibly the best birthday party I’d had in a reasonably long time. Not only due to the people present and it has to be remarked upon that the people present effused such a warming bath of friendliness and sympathetic buoyancy of mutual spirit that infused the whole evening with the most intoxicating and relaxing elixir, but also my non-present family, friends and may I say, those persistent, albeit incompetent assassins, now considered something of an accepted part of my extended, slightly dangerous but endearing family - I particularly treasure those end of the season Christmas cards with such inscriptions as:
‘You were lucky this year Chapman! Don’t waste your money on extravagant birthday celebrations you’ll never get to see for next year. But if you do, remember I’m lactose intolerant and I have a taste for Wheat Beer.
Grandma sends her best wishes and says she would love to read the Eulogy at your funeral.’
Even though all the people I have some sort of, or a direct connection to were not all present - which of course is also very difficult or impossible when the subject of the birthday decides to emigrate to another part of Europe, (my homeland of course soon to become officially not a part of Europe - or should I say to be absolutely precise, no longer a member of the ‘European Union’ which in point of fact is not the same as the cultural identity known as ‘European’ - Great Britain, however politics will develop, will always be part of a European collective identity) I felt as though these comrades in my time on Earth were also present. I might even go so far as to say, perhaps you may think in an esoteric way, I feel even the warmth of friends I have not yet met echoing through to what was the present, but is now the day after. For I’m someone to whom it’s not important if my friends, comrades, associates, assassins are present for one artificially yet completely pleasurable ‘birth’ day are present, for I can also celebrate my birthday, or even better just our existence on any other day, hour, minute or second of any year that we happen to be alive in. And I will do, with grandiose gusto!
Having previously avoided making any sort of big fuss over birthday celebrations since my twenty-seventh birthday, and in truth, I avoided, or at least tried to avoid the process of following though with a ‘serious’ Birthday Celebratory Ritual since then, I believe in my own calculations that this birthday was, in my unique reality actually my 28th Birthday (one must adhere strictly to bureaucratic regulations after all. Even if they are of one’s own making with one’s own set of rules). Which does unfortunately mean that I can never be a member of the 27 club. This would have formerly felled me into a huge depression having long decided that immortal remembrance of self being preserved in films, pictures, media and the memories of my contemporaries as a vampire-like immortal of 27 year old was infinitely preferable to even a few seconds after the ‘preferred’ expiration sitting on a hill watching a beautiful sunset with a glass of whatever is your favourite beverage with the best friend and or love of your life and watching the unimaginably beautiful surroundings in our world that is, as scientists will say, by probability of chance, verging on the impossibility to ever have existed at all.
Perhaps I have wandered a little from my original intention of things I wanted to say in this article and as my ‘something of a real version of the legendary invention, ‘Jiminy Cricket’’ keeps saying to me, I should be spending more time on making new music rather than on the other peripheral activities that sometimes find mir abgelenkt! Still, it is a pleasant and refreshing, life affirming diversion.
So what I wanted to say is that I’m very grateful for everybody in my life (incompetent assassins included) even if we can’t all be together at the same time, we should party as much and as often as we can and like. ‘Should’, in this case not meaning ‘must’ but rather that we are ‘allowed to’ - and for the sake of non-Germans, because my thoughts have of course been influenced by the wonderful Germanic European culture that I live in presently- ‘allowed to’ really means to be free to choose. I have to admit smiling at the way language and culture, even between the cousins of our European culture could be the cause for much misinterpretation or misunderstanding.
The Lone Dining Society is born, and will grow into the world with love, humour, compassion, truth and unadulterated freedom - as of course everyone in the world deserves. We will attempt to make great art, from the core as a music project, but we have already many great artists working in various disciplines to make this into a great movement, if only in our own eyes.
Join us for something genuine, something heart warming, liberating, dangerous, but above all, for something unknown.