I took the CD out of the case, put it in the stereo and pressed play. After a few seconds of The Defective’s musical stirrings, I listlessly slid off the couch onto the floor and lay face-first on my living room carpet. I’ve never actually looked closely at a carpet ever, which seems kind of funny doesn’t it? I mean we walk on it all the time and curse each other when there are spills, but no one gives their carpet much attention or love. Poor things just get walked on all day. Anyhow, it was fascinating to see the texture up close, the way the weave works into itself. I stared at it for ages. I started to see some funny stuff, though - like miniature eggs laid by flys and ticks all centred on some kind of dystopian gnat village. I thought I saw a small beetle-like creature with my face running away from the dwellings as he was chased by a plethora of strange little “beasties” but I guess my imagination just got the better of me.
After I got up, I cut my nails and smoothed them over with the sandpapery thing you get in nail sets, can’t think of the name off the top of my head. You can get them pretty cheap though, get a whole new nail clipping set with all different stuff for about 2 quid - it just depends where you buy them. Best go to those crap stores - you know, the ones that seem to sell all the bits and pieces that aren’t covered by conventional stores like book shops or shoe repairers. You can pick up some odd stuff in those places pretty cheap, although I get the feeling that when the staff go through those industrial double doors at the back they go down to a crypt or sepulchre and worship the ghosts of dead Escape Artists.
I sat back in my chair and clawed at the arm rest, looking at the redundant TV in the corner, all matt black and dusty. I thought about writing my Will, thought perhaps this was the best time to do it given that I had a spare moment. Just as I was thinking about ringing my Uncle, the CD came to a stop - I took it out of the stereo and put it back in its case, then put it in the shoe box in the cupboard under the stairs with the others.
Token French Look is not for me. The Defectives don’t live up to their name - they are totally correct, well constructed and all-round stand up guys. The only thing defective about them (ironically) is their name. I switched the light off and closed the cupboard’s door. I could listen to them again I suppose, maybe give them a second chance - but frankly I’d rather be skullfucked by a dead horse.