I’ve never watched the movie Ghost from 1990 but I know girls love it – that’s a fact. The only part of this tragic romp I’ve witnessed is the sexy pottery scene where clay gets all over the place. This is what I had in my mind when I signed up for a pottery class but unfortunately it really wasn’t sexy at all.
I was looking forward to pottery, mainly because I was going with my friend Cassie who I hadn’t seen for a while. It’s ridiculous I haven’t seen her considering last year I moved into a house that by pure coincidence is about four doors away from her. In fact I’ve probably meet Her Majesty the Queen (add that to the list) more times than I’ve seen Cassie in the past year. It seems, in my experience, if you want to see your friends regularly it’s best to live the furthest you can from them, or perhaps I should just try a little harder. Anyway…Pottery!
I’d had two pints of lager before the class and normally two drinks wouldn’t have had much effect on me, and I’m not just saying that to show off as I know everyone is secretly impressed by the quantity of alcohol a man can handle, but for some reason that evening I felt a little lightheaded – the kind of lightheaded that meant I wasn’t going to take pottery too seriously.
So far with all of the activities I’ve done I’ve had the impression that the person in charge was vaguely pleased to see me, but unfortunately the pottery man not so much. If I’m to be a little harsh I’d say he looked a bit like a drug addict and certainly wasn’t having fun running the class. To be fair it wasn’t really a class at all, basically the ill-looking potter just told us to sit anywhere and then threw everyone a lump of clay each whilst moaning how little clay there was to go around. There were no more instructions.
The room was busy and everyone seemed happy to get on with it despite no tuition. The women next to me was creating a magical clay forest, another ‘artist’ was putting the final touches to a bowl formed of interconnecting gingerbread men, I however stared at my lump of clay for at least one hour and had no clue what to do. I’m rubbish at Arts and Crafts as I don’t have the patience and also my hands aren’t steady enough (the Chinese Medicine Man’s pills haven’t had much effect yet). Being slightly drunk I couldn’t be bothered to come up with an idea so I just rolled my clay around and poked it a bit.
I was bored and ultimately just wanted to go on the Potter’s Wheel, but annoying there was a tall bearded man with floppy hair on it all night. The floppy idiot was one of those people who seem really good at what they do but have a face like they’re in a right mood. The more the man hogged the Potter’s Wheel, leaning over it with his stupid tall body in such a way it seemed like he was making love to the machine, the further he annoyed me. I’d had enough.
After an hour and half Cassie had made an owl perched on a wall and I’d finally settled on making a little man whom, for some reason, I’d named Mr Waffle. If we were at school sitting GCSE Pottery I think Cassie would have got a B grade and I, at a push, a D grade. We weren’t being taught anything so both just snuck off for a third beer.
IN SUMMUARY: POTTERY’S RUBBISH BUT IT’S GOOD TO MEET UP WITH FRIENDS.
P.S. I probably won’t go back to collect Mr Waffle, but I do hope he survives the Kiln.