Butt On Moon

"We're still very much in the k-hole, yes."











When I was looking for a flat, the estate agent took me to one which belonged to the creater of Button Moon. It was filled with cool junk like technicolour mannequins of 50s women, and the walls were covered with vintage movie posters, ancient adverts and pop paraphernalia. But his vast bedroom was completely empty except for a wrought iron double bed and, next to that, a small wooden shed which I was surprised to see housed a loo.

I can only imagine that he left groupies lounging in his bed while he nonchalantly ascended the steps (there were steps) and, swishing his silk dressing gown across his knees to prevent accidental dunking, gazed upon them while he performed. Did he expect them to watch, and did their doting expressions falter when the scent of a particularly atomic delivery came broiling across their nostrils and mouthal areas? And did he smile all the more broadly? I imagine so. One does not expect this from the creater of Button Moon.

This is conjecture, but it would surely be perverse for a man to construct his commode a foot away from his lovers' heads unless he was unusually proud of his ablutions. As Jesus said, the shy man builds his loo shed on the far side of the bedroom or in a different room completely.

I said it was a bit odd and left, but I regret not sitting in it, just briefly, just to feel the power. What pride that man must have had. What pride.