I spend a lot of time pondering things. Not the important questions such as ‘where are we going?’ and ‘why haven’t you got a proper job yet, you ape?’ more of a sort of middle ground, the kinds of dregs that search engines have where they sigh when someone asks ‘how many cakes are in a baker’s dozen?’ or ‘where did I leave my keys?’. I don’t believe that anyone is currently wondering where Middlesex went, other than me that is.
What was once a huge, bustling place is now a nothing. It’s a pimple. It’s a memory. There was once a time when everything came from Middlesex. It sat at the top of the hill and rolled blocks of cheese down at all the other counties, because it could. It was a bit of a back-handed compliment due to the fact that they were handing out cheese for free yet sending it at such high speeds that it was causing accidents and injuries; if you got hit by a huge wheel of Edam then you were not going to work for the rest of the week, that’s for sure.
So where did it go? Did it disappear in the mists like ‘Brigadoon’ and it only reappears one day every year? That would be incredible. Imagine walking around the shops munching on a bacon sandwich only for Middlesex to magically appear right in front of you. Wouldn’t that be special?
I think it’s only fair that the people get to know what happened. It is a story that will take all of my psychic powers to deduce, for only a tale like this can be told through the sketchy paranormal scientific field of psychokinesis. In my book I will shuffle through the wheat fields of the mind, dredging up the where, the why and the who. Maybe even the odd what. Possibly even a few wag-pasties. Yes, that is a real word because the internet said so.
Also this book has more sex than the entirety of the ‘Fifty Shades…’ trilogy. Not the kind that you want but it’s still sex, right?
You’re welcome, by the way.
28 comments on “Middlesex – The Myth”
Almost all of Middlesex was incorporated into the new administrative region of Greater London on 1 April 1965, with some small residual parts transferred to Hertfordshire and Surrey.
I hope this is helpful when you get round to writing the “where did it go” bit of your book.
You know this is exactly the kind of half-baked, insincere logic that I am writing to correct. There is nothing to suggest that this is true at all. I am using my psychic powers to provide unseen insight into this our greatest mystery!
Is it really that mysterious? If it is, I’d sure as heck like to hear Montgomery and Margaret’s take on it.
They would literally be all over that were they not taking in a tour of all the ghost sightings on the West coast of England. They were last checking out a poltergeist haunting a lampost in Garstang.
Will they be free to cast an eye over it any time soon? Middlesex is quite big, or at least it was. If they went up in a hot air balloon from the right bit of the west coast they could probably see it from afar and draw some basic conclusions.
I can draw some basic conclusions using my psychic powers. Do you have a problem with my psychic powers? I feel as though you’re not taking them seriously.
Is it because each chapter in my book will have an -ame word, because they all have to rhyme with ‘brain’ for reasons I can’t quite remember?
I feel like this is some sort of joke I wasn’t party to.
I think the bigger question, given the enormity of the question “What happened to Middlesex?”, and given that there was an Essex, Middlesex, Wessex and Sussex, is what the merry heck happened to Norsex? Did the north bit of the south of England not deserve any Sex?
Was it definitely Norsex, or was it the far more satisfying Nossex?
Nossex is too close to no sex for my liking. Nobody wants no sex. Maybe that’s what happened?
The same as Sussex is Some Sex? Yes. That seems like a very likely explanation. Question answered.
Wouldn’t it be Norsex? As in North Norse Sex? It’s much better than Nay to the Nonny No and back to the Nay Sex.
We started with Norsex about four comments ago. Where have you been? Get with the programme, grandad.
I read it different. Grandad woke up from his nap and got a little confused. I tell you what, let me get in a few more winks and I’ll be right with you…
You like to get in a few more winks, don’t you? I’ve heard that rumour.
I’m all about the winks. If I could crack off a few winks during the day then I would do.
You’re an absolute winker.
(Come on. Someone was going to make that joke. It may as well be me.)
Did you say it with your fingers stretching the sides of your mouth as wide as possible, in accordance with the “hilarious” joke when you were a kid and you said that your dad was a banker?
No. But I did do that while saying “Middlesex”, so that it sounded like I was saying “Widdlesex”.
That’s just as good. Top marks!
Well done for proving you are just as immature as I am.
Wank you very much.
This worries me every time I flick past this post.
I’m really glad.
Also, “flicking past” sounds like an unfortunate euphemism, in the circumstances.
It DOES, doesn’t it?
Yes, it DOES, doesn’t it?
It so DOES, doesn’t it?
It DOES, though, doesn’t it?