September 2009
14 posts
In the gym
You can count the number of times I’ve been in a gym on the fingers of one finger. Carpenter John had been feeling a bit of middle-aged spread (“I can’t understand it,” he complained, “All that sitting on my arse and drinking Guinness, I should be in peak condition”) so he’d decided to consider investigating the possibility of maybe joining a gym. Outside the Fitness-Something-Fitness place across...
Ambulance
Most of the 40,000 or so words I’ve written so far have covered events about which I can now laugh. In truth, though, very few situations were funny at the time, and some still aren’t. I have to deal with the accident’s effect, all day, every day. I won’t go into detail, but my strength and range of motion are massively reduced, with a corresponding decrease in...
Fiesta!
When I first met her at university, and for about ten years after, Ali had this Ford Fiesta that she’d painted with a roller, dark blue. With its matt finish and angular construction it was probably invisible to radar, a one litre stealth hatchback. The filthy little engine sat in the middle of its spacious bay like a lump of coal and its wasp-in-a-biscuit-tin sound was easily recognisable as she...
Eh up
Since I’m no longer catheter compatible, I’ve been using a dreadful thing called a Convene (emphasis on the first syllable, Con-vene). Basically it’s a small condom with a tube on the end. Small? Yes. It’s supposed to fit snugly over my flaccid penis. Imagine that - trying to wriggle a floppy little length of sausagemeat into a casing, manually. And, of course, I can’t do it myself, so it’s up to...
Last Train
Hello folks.
I’ve had a great response to this blog, so I thought I’d post something extra to say thank you for all the positive feedback and encouragement. This is one of the first things I wrote after leaving hospital in 2004; it’s not part of the main narrative (which is written in the present tense), it’s a chunk of memory, hence the past tense.
My writing style was originally very dry,...
Train ride
At Victoria station, Network SouthEast’s wheelchair service falls a bit short. Thea phoned ahead yesterday - why should she have to do that? Anyway, she did - and a chap duly comes to meet us when she presses a big blue button on a thing. Chap takes the bag that’s been balanced precariously on my lap and leads us to the Eastbourne train, where he unfolds a big knobbly yellow plastic ramp and helps...
LAMF
Regardless of a gentleman’s position in society, it is an undeniable truth that he will on occasion find it desirable, perhaps even necessary, to totally rock out like a muthafuckin’ hurricane. - Oscar Wilde
Crash
Crash team, Greene Ward, 4 AM
It’s nothing like ER. A calm female voice directs the show, calling the players by name, requesting numbers, issuing instructions; words and figures whirl and bounce, always spoken, never shouted, until it’s just her voice enquiring “OK, everybody clear? Melanie, you clear? OK.”
And then…nothing. No thump, no flatline whine, the money shot passes in a moment of...
Scanner
That scene at the end of 2001 where Dave’s entered the monolith and he ages in stages, in an elegant white room - remember how the pod sits in the corner, fitting in with the colour palette but otherwise looking a bit out of place? Well here it is again, look. If Luigi Colani and Franco Sbarro designed a washing machine, it would look like this MRI scanner, a gigantic half-sucked polo mint...
In the cooler
Dan enters my room, grinning like a chimp. “What’s this about you assaulting some old dude?” he wants to know. “Badaaass!”
Christ, the rumour mill grinds away like some kind of simile, anyone would think it was boring in here. Still, he’s heard something from someone, and that must have come from somewhere; also, the fact that I’ve been put in solitary confinement might suggest there’s some truth...
What's it all about?
The story takes place between July 2003 and August 2004, in an East London hospital. I was in there recovering from a brain injury sustained in a road accident and damn it, I need to think of a better way to pitch this. It’s a good story, honest! I wouldn’t bother telling it otherwise. I aim, unashamedly, to amuse and excite you - to entertain. So.
What's this then?
I’m Steve Sparshott. I’m writing a novel called Get Well Soon; I’ve started this Tumblr to chart its progress, and to put short extracts out there for you to read. It won’t be serialised - the extracts won’t even be in chronological order, and will probably be extensively rewritten before the final draft. They might not even make it that far. There’ll be no...
Hello.