15,000 days of tinnitus awareness
including an unfinished idea for a joke about the father of genetics, and a finished joke about a shelf-like protrusion
Hello. It is May 2024. This is the seventeenth monthly instalment of Interesting Skull, a newsletter of mirth and despair written by me, shuddering husk and theoretical writer Mike Rampton. I hope this finds you in magnificent health, striding around confidently as though you are in a Herbal Essences advertisement.
1
I tried to join a dot-to-dot club. They said “We’ll let almost anyone join, there’s only a few exceptions.”
I said, “Where do you draw the line?”
They said, “If you don’t know that...”
2
My wife was underwhelmed when I took her to a porridge restaurant for our anniversary. Wrong kind of “oat cuisine”.
3
I keep getting phone calls from a tinnitus awareness charity. They phone me first thing in the day, then mid-morning, then again at lunchtime, in the afternoon and in the evening. Endless ringing… is what they want to make me aware of.
April felt like it had a lot in it. I spent part of it in Spain: nice country, recommend it. I don’t really know what else I’ve been doing. Just, like, work and stuff? My daughter spent the month leaving a trail of teeth behind her and currently has a smile like a crossword puzzle, so that’s been fun and horrifying. Her ballet teacher told me an anecdote about seeing Wayne Sleep’s penis, in a sentence in which every word was a surprise. I changed a light fitting, got a new telly and watched a bunch of awful but compelling shows about cake.
It’s been one of those months where I’ve felt incredibly busy but got to the end of it and put some invoices together and thought, oh crumbs, I’ve not done enough. I’ve been sleeping like an absolute toilet recently (not a common expression, no, but one that is a great deal of fun to say aloud, really leaning into the ‘absolute’), and am currently split between three lines of work (book stuff, content-type stuff and working on ad treatments), and when I’m knackered I just jump from one thing to the other getting very little done. Then I stay up late working, and sleep like a disused bidet (not as keen on this one), then am more tired the next day and get even less done. I’m thinking of writing a self-help book called Feel Appalling Then Die.
Last night I took to the stage, slash, a corner of a pub for the first time in about a year to tell some jokes. Some began their lives in this very newsletter, in fact. I was fine, I guess, and enjoyed it, vaguely. I worked out my set on the bus and tried to commit it to memory. I thought about trying the Derren Brown “memory palace” thing, but didn’t have time, and don’t know what that is. There were six jokes in a section that was vaguely about trying to make friends, so I came up with a pioneering technique where, for one section, I assigned a joke to each of the cast of the popular televisual entertainment Friends. Annoyingly, the third joke was about a chef eating an egg, but the chef character in that show comes second in the credits order. I’d written it in biro, though, so it was all too late. I had to imagine Lisa Kudrow laying an egg instead. Memory’s a complicated thing! So is a biro!
4
A friend told me an implausible tale about the time he spent impersonating martial arts legend Bruce. A like-Lee story!
5
“I am designing a building. I think it needs a shelf-like protrusion, like the bit of the clock tower Doc stands precariously on in Back To The Future.”
“What, a ledge?”
“He certainly is a charismatic and memorable character, yes. Now, back to my shelf-like protrusion.”
6
“I have written a lengthy dissertation on how I feel during the months of the year when the weather is at its warmest and rainfall at its lowest, but it is too long for most people to read, so I need to provide a shorter version.”
“Summary?”
“That’s only one word, that’s too short.”
I turned 15,000 days old this month. We put a lot of stock in decades — we’re simple creatures with ten fingers and like it when the first digit changes as well as the second one — but I spent several days wondering whether there was anything in thinking about our lives in 5,000-day phases. Is this more useful than decades?
Phase one: 0-13, a child, learning stuff, full of wonder. The future. Nice.
Phase two: 13-27, a dumbass convinced they know everything. Loud but not worth hearing. Probably shouldn’t make any big decisions. Drunk. Terrible.
Phase three: 27-41, ideally working out vaguely what the rest of your life will be like, getting stuff done, preparing to slow down a bit. Three times a year, wonder whether you’re becoming everything you detest.
Phase four: 41-54, autopilot, just putting one foot in front of the other, occasionally briefly losing your mind and wondering whether a sick tribal or ill-fitting leather jacket will make you look sexy. Anything new you take up, you’ll never get particularly good at.
Phase five: 54-68, vaguely respected by society but not in a fun or exciting way. Watch the beginning of a lot of war documentaries but fall asleep during them. Start feeling oddly comfortable walking around naked in public changing rooms. New things are stupid.
Phase six: 68-82, an elderly person. Become very enthusiastic about things that are pleasant enough but not worth being enthusiastic about. Visit the post office a lot, despite your non-specific misgivings about the people who work there.
Phase seven: 82-95, discover a new zest for life that you can’t do anything with because your body is really old. Have, at all times, a large bruise on your head.
Unlikely to catch on really. And, as it’s based around the number 5,000, it’s still a base ten thing, what a waste of time, WHY DO I BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BOTHER
7
“Only when the moon reaches the phase of its cycle where its visible area becomes smaller can we have the social gathering where we quote 1990s comedies at each other.”
“Party on wane?”
“NOT YET!”
8
“I don’t care how nice a day it is, I’m not going to the white wedding, I can’t be bothered,” said Billy, idle.
9
“The guy who played the baddie in Charlie's Angels 2 asked if there was any flour in this lasagne.”
“Just in the roux.”
“Yes, that’s him.”
April in numbers: I’ve stopped keeping track of stuff, I keep forgetting. Read a lot though. Did two pub quizzes, saw some bands, had some fun. Also had an idea for a joke about Gregor Mendel mishearing a (misattributed) Gandhi quote and thinking it was “Change the pea you want to see in the world”.
Project updates: PROJECT SLURM, also known as There’s No Such Thing As A Silly Question: 213 Weird and Wonderful Questions About the World, Expertly Answered!, written by me and illustrated by Guilherme Karsten, is now, I think, finished. I sent over the acknowledgements yesterday. I think that’s it until publication now. Phew!
PROJECT BACHELOR CHOW is moving on nicely, I got sent some edits to do and am returning them next week, and then it’ll start getting all fancy-looking. No idea when it’s coming out, but they’re sending me some money, so that’s nice, because I don’t have enough!
PROJECT POPPLERS is shut up shut up shut up I’m meant to have done it by now shut up shut up shut up I AM SO BEHIND ON SO MUCH STUFF leave me alone shut up shut up shut up.
PROJECT SOYLENT COLESLAW is, oh nooooo, I’ve just remembered how much of that I’m behind on as well, oh noooooo shut up shut up shut up LEAVE ME ALONE oh no I’m going to be in so much trouble.
There are other goofy ideas floating about. Everything takes a long time and I forget what I’ve suggested to people, so sometimes I get emails saying people have decided not to go forward with an idea I proposed, and I have no idea what it was. Hey, thaaaaat makes me feel bad in multiple ways! Feel free to PayPal me £5.30 for a lovely grown-up pint. Or just tell me I’m good!
Next issue: June 7th. That’s ages away. You’ll miss me, but you’ll cope. I believe in you. HAVE A LOVELY MONTH
10
WHAT I AM CURRENTLY READING
Sick Coastline by Pauly Shore
Kicking An Elderly Scottish Woman In The Leg by Kayleigh Mishap
What Men Used To Do In Hospitals, It Was A Different Time by Pat Bottoms
Hang Drapes From Me by Kurt N. Rod
You Give Money Due Now by Phoebe Payable