Sometimes, I do quite silly things just to say that I’ve done them. It’s quite common knowledge among my friends that a good mate once found me inside my own fridge because I’d got bored and wanted to see if I could fit in the upper compartment once all the shelves had been taken out.
I was cold, but the look on his face was almost worth the discomfort, especially when I just climbed out and tried to carry on a normal conversation as if nothing particularly interesting had happened.
…but occasionally….I do stuff even I’m not entirely sure would qualify for a given value of normal.
A few years back, I went to a friend’s 30th fancy dress birthday party as Jason Vorhees, the mad murderer from the Friday 13th movies. The costume was basically a half-wrecked jumper, an old parker, a hockey mask and a machete. My mate went as a gangster and we had good fun with the somewhat weird difference in the characters as we arsed about at the venue….but the day following the party was a bit strange.
First off, I went to bed in the costume. I don’t usually do this, but I was either extremely tired or a bit drunk or possibly both….because I remember putting the mask back on and leaving the coat half on and actually sleeping on the plastic machete. My wife, who is used to me doing stupid stuff at least half the time, politely ignored me (after making sure I could breathe) and just went to bed.
The next day, after sitting bolt upright in bed and scaring the s*it out of myself when I saw my reflection in the mirror, I then proceeded to clean my teeth (raising the mask slightly but keeping it on), make my breakfast (wearing it) and – for reasons I never quite identified – then went outside with the bowl of Weetabix I’d prepared.
I stood outside my front door on Sydney Road in Ramsgate (where I lived at the time), looking like a demented slasher flick villain, holding the bowl and a spoon and just staring up and down the road.
During the five or ten minutes I stood there, three different people walked past. I knew all three of them, but none particularly well. The first guy to walk past just said ‘Morning Dave,’ as if I was displaying perfectly ordinary behaviour. The second chap gave me a quick glance but then put his head down and picked up the pace.
The third neighbour to cross my somewhat limited field of vision was a woman from two doors up who was carrying a big pack of toilet rolls under one arm. She actually stopped on my doorstep, looked up at me with a frown and said: ‘What are you supposed to be?’
I lifted my mask, nodded at the bowl and said ‘I think I might be a cereal killer.’
She didn’t laugh.