‘The Zero Complex’: Chapter 000
- purple_peril_
- May 15, 2023
- 9 min read
Updated: Sep 15, 2024
‘The Zero Complex’:
Or; A Novelette
Or; The Life and Times of an Infinitesimal Zero, a London Nocturne 2022-2023
Dedication:
To my wonderful friend, Rob Bullard.
Chapter 000
An Instantly Forgettable Story:
Or, On Not Comprehending The David Niven Dimension
Whenever I face a major ethical quandary, a moral dilemma, I lay aside my Aristotle, my Rousseau, my Kant, my Mill, and even my J-P Sartre, by asking myself the more probing question:
‘What would David Niven do?’
Then everything is alright with the world!
See?
Simplicity.
Occam’s Razor.
Saves you a pretty penny spent on your Moral Philosophy seminars too.
Now, we all know that my other very good friend and role-model, Bertie Wooster, decides to grow a moustache in the story ‘Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg’, much to the disapproval of Bertie’s gentleman’s personal gentleman, Jeeves. Despite the power struggle that ensues over this serious matter, Bertie plucks up the courage to re-grow it in the much later novel Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit, much to the disapprobation and stern admonishing glances of Bertie’s gentleman’s personal gentleman, Jeeves.
Bertie, quite naturally I might add, defends his decision by pointing out that his moustache looks like that of the screen-actor, David Niven. This all might seem perfectly reasonable to those of us who are fond of growing facial hair and wish to make an impact upon the world.
Little does Bertie know what he’s in for.
Jeeves makes the insightful observation that a David Niven moustache looks perfectly suited to the film-actor David Niven. But, he also observes, a David Niven moustache is a deeply undesirable incongruous attachment above the upper lip of Bertie Wooster.
It neither suits nor fits!
Now, if I was an even remotely astute reader, I would have laid the matter aside and let it rest. Case won for Jeeves.
Let sleeping sausage dogs lie.
And moustaches.
But I didn’t, I poked the sausage dog and harassed it.
And I tell you why! Because the plot thickens.
Oh yes, it does!
Now, between the writing of ‘Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg’ (1917), and Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (1954), something strange happens.
In 1936, up pops the screen-actor David Niven, performing the role of Bertie Wooster in a cinematic film called Thank You, Jeeves, adapted from the novel of the same name, Thank You, Jeeves, written in 1934. (As you can see, the Niven was pretty quick on the uptake there.)
But herein lies the problem. The snag.
David Niven, in that film, was wearing a David Niven moustache. But in the novel of the same name, Bertie Wooster doesn’t have a David Niven moustache. The moustache simply doesn’t make an appearance in the story at all.
Well, it stands to reason, with all of these David Niven moustaches appearing, disappearing, and re-appearing on Bertie Wooster’s face that you just don’t know where you are, where you’re going to, and from whence you came.
You lose the plot!
You stray out of one story and find yourself in another.
All these dates!
Especially if you read and watch these stories all out of sequence.
One is liable to get confused.
It’s just like my sister, Bella, who conflates all of the plots of every single film starring James McEvoy into one single expansive epic.
So, I entirely overlooked the essential aesthetic thrust that a David Niven moustache only looks good on David Niven.
And never should the Niven moustache stray from the Niven.
The Niven moustache is undetachable!
Oh dear.
So there I was, during the pandemic, with only a mirror (my evil genius) as my guide. My new Niven moustache in tow looked perfectly good in that reflection!
With the pandemic-restrictions gently easing, I was looking forward to a spot of audience-testing!
I’m off to see Cookson and Becca!
‘Oh, Peril. Be great to see you! Can’t wait to see the David Niven moustache!’
In retrospect, I was actually handed an opportunity to redeem myself:
‘Peril. Erm, Peril, I mean you’ve built up this David Niven moustache for two months now and, it’s… erm…,’ says Becca.
‘What? You don’t like it?
‘Well…’
‘But it’s fantastic! It’s spectacular.’
‘Well, it’s just, erm… It’s just not really there.’
‘You wait!’
‘Erm…’
‘It’s my clipping technique! I’ll get better. Nothing wrong with the moustache. Nothing wrong at all!’
I think Becca might have been underwhelmed.
Oh, heed! Oh, heed! I should have taken heed!
Let sleeping sausage dogs lie.
And moustaches.
But I poked and harassed the sausage dog.
I wilfully chose to embark upon a perilous journey of shaving and contouring of unprecedented complexity.
A journey the like of which the world has never before seen, heard, or reeled.
Not even Jeeves.
‘A Doughty Lord’:
Valentine’s Torture Garden, 2022
So, it’s February 2022, Valentine’s, and my ‘TG Wrecking Crew’ haven’t been to TG since February 2020, Valentine’s.
This reunion of companions, misfits, chapettes, roister-doisters, and urban deviants, would have stretched the inventive capacities of Battista Guarini in representing its sweet pastoral harmony.
But why I chose it as a suitable occasion to celebrate my David Niven moustache would have had Willy the Shakes on his toes too.
Even the greatest genius couldn’t represent this decision as psychologically plausible.
And let’s spare a thought for all of those unsuspecting TG punters, hoping for a good time, only to be faced, outfaced, and refaced, by the trauma of my Niven tash sprung upon them on dancefloors, in corners, and through corridors.
Now, I’m going to skip the story about ‘the woman-with-the-boobs’ who, for some strange reason, flashed her eyes at me, - saving that for another confession. Narrating that would distract me.
Distract you too, reader, you insolent noise-maker. You really should be better behaved.
Anyway:
‘You’re in the gallery,’ says Sophie.
Daf Owen has snapped me, and my Niven moustache is in the TG gallery!
‘Oh, look! It’s got a sort of “Hello, ladies, anyone for tennis?” look, hasn’t it?’
‘It’s charming. You look like a doughty Lord!’
‘I doubt it,- more like a gouty Lord! But thanks anyway.’
‘Ha ha!’
‘Sophie? What’s going on with my face?’
‘Your David Niven moustache?’
‘No, no. Above it. Next to the nose? I’m bright red!?’
[Pause]
‘You are a bit crimson.’
‘Coming to think of it, it’s got more of a “Hello, ladies, anyone for a sixth jug of Pimms?” look, hasn’t it?’
But why was I red?
I didn’t need infrared to detect that Infraorbital beacon.
I drink very little these days and this photograph was snapped at a very rare moment when I wasn’t feeling embarrassed about myself.
Mind you, I should have been embarrassed, judging by the look of that David Niven moustache.
Fuck me, this is all getting a bit Fritz Perls.
…
…
Moustachiecool Interludicule:
Geo F. Trumper
May 2022
I’ve just come out of The London Library, St James’ Square, to see, on the off-chance, if this well-reputed purveyor of rare colognes and razors can help with my present dilemma.
I’m not disappointed.
‘Oh, yes, sir. Of course. We have this German manufactured mini-razor by Merkur. As you can see from the design, sir, the blade is reversed, allowing the user to shave upwards, against the grain. You’ll be able to fine-tune your moustache, sir, by carefully shaving the top of it to gain that David Niven, or even Clark Gable, look, sir.’
‘Oh my God! I knew it! I knew it! I knew that if there was anywhere in the world that could help me with this problem it would be you! Thank you! Thank you so much! Oh, frabjous day! I’ll purchase one of those right away!’
‘Very good, sir.’
…
But why did I seek a solution from Geo F. Trumper in the first place?
Well, I’ll tell you:
I noticed a pattern emerging in photographs of me and my Niven. Every time, above my Niven, my cheeks looked red. I was baffled! Was it rosacea? Was I overheating? Male menopause?
Then one morning as I was trimming my Niven with a pair of industrial grade professional hair clippers, I felt my cheeks becoming extremely sore.
I wandered back to the bedroom wondering what the problem was, and then – in a flash – a revelation!
Well, strike me down and ‘stap me vitals’, I realised that by using these huge heavy industrial-grade professional hair clippers, I had not only been contouring my Niven, but effectively shaving right across my cheeks with the razor-sharp shark-toothed fucker! It had been going on blithely for months.
Even though this revelation took place while I was on my lonesome, I still felt embarrassed.
Naturally, I turned bright red.
Or redder.
Revelations:
Torture Garden, Fire, Vauxhall, June 2022
Now this venue is just down the road.
Ruthy, Danny, and I were hopeful in zigzagging ourselves haphazardly à pied back to my flat after this midsummer madness.
‘It’s only a twenty minute walk!’
As we emerge at 05:45 hours, we look bleakly at the road, at the sky, at our pulverised feet, and twenty minutes suddenly looks like two hours.
‘Taxi!’
…
Pot No. 4 of Whittard’s Loose Leaf Earl Grey brew is distributed:
‘Great night!’ says Ruthy.
‘Great night!’ replies Danny.
‘Great night! But, but, but…’
‘But what?’
‘I think people were talking about me.’ [Pause] ‘Seems odd I could hear ’em from the other side of the dancefloor.’
‘You’re getting paranoid. You can’t hear people talk from that distance. Especially with a soundsystem booming,’ says Danny.
‘No one’s talking about you, mate! Yeah, paranoia,’ says Ruthy.
‘Ruthy?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Why aren’t people talking about me? It’s not fair! Look at this suit: it’s magnificent! I’ve made all of this effort. Not least, saying “Farewell” to a few month’s wages. Typical! Can’t believe they’re not talking about me!’
‘Well, they migh-‘
‘I’m making a stand. It’s all gone too far! Enough is enough!
‘What the..?’
Ruthy’s bemused.
‘That’s it! I’m passed the point of despair!’
‘What’chya talking about?’ asks Danny.
‘It’s not fair! No one ever talks to me!’
‘Yes, they do. All the time! We’ve been through this.’
‘They do, mate. You get loads of compliments.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not summoned! I’m never summoned! You know, by the cruel ones? Why can’t one of them be arsed to say, “Now, that’s quite enough of your incessant chatter! Come this way, and for God’s sake, be quiet about it!”
[Pause]
'I’ve had enough! Oh, Ruthy; oh, Danny! “I’m a man more sinned against that sinning”!’
‘That’s stretching it a bit f-…’
‘I need a course of affirmative action! Be assertive! Yes! Yes! That’s it! It’s this David Niven moustache! I knew it all along. It’s formed a perilous barrier. Oh, heed! Heed! Take heed! Witness, you stars! Oh, oh, I “stumbled when I saw”! I should have listened to Becca! Why didn’t I listen to Becca?’
‘It might not be your…’
‘That’s it! It’s coming off. I’ve had enough! Oh, think of the time I’ve spent on it. The care and attention. The revelations I’ve had on the way. The discovery of the Merkur upper-lip razor-blade. “And all for nothing!”’
‘But you might be overrea-‘
‘“Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave, am I?” Monstrous. Monstrous, I say! It’s coming off! It’s the only way I’ll “outfrown false-fortune’s frown”!’
[Goes to Bathroom. Sounds of Water Splashing in Basin.]
‘Like to the Pontic Sea whose compulsive course bangs on,
So my revenging thoughts shall ne’er turn back!’
[Takes Razor in Hand and Holds Aloft.]
‘Set you down this,
And say besides, that in a-London once,
Where a malignant David Niven tash,
Beat purple peril and traduced TG,
I took by the lip the trait’rous moustache,
And shaved him, thus!’
[Cuts himself.]
‘Aaaaooow! Ruthy, Danny, can you get First Aid Kit?’
A Letter of Complaint
Or; On Not Providing Professionally Professional Professionalism
An epistle, if you please:
Dear Geo F. Trumper,
I am writing this letter in order to address a very serious matter that did not arise during a service encounter at Geo F. Trumper in May 2022.
To say that I am sorely disgruntled would be an understatement; - sorely disgruntled, I say, that one of your helpful advisors persuaded me to purchase a Merkur mini razor, in what, retrospectively, appears to be a peculiarly cavalier manner.
I specified that I required a shaving tool in order to trim my David Niven moustache; a moustache which I happened to be sporting at the time.
I am at pains to stress this detail: my David Niven moustache was clearly visibly visible with clarity to your member of staff.
However:
A James David Graham Niven moustache can only be worn by James David Graham Niven!
A David Niven simply doesn’t suit non-David Nivens!
Although your assistant was perfectly courteous, well-mannered, and extremely helpful, I can’t quite make out how this basic fact eluded him.
Well, naturally, I put this down to poor staff training, disorganised management procedures, and a fundamental failure to address pressing David Niven moustache-related issues in your annual business review.
It only takes a mere carefree glance at this incident to designate it as completely, entirely, and sorely ‘unprofessional’.
I have been advised poorly, if not, neglectfully.
Geo F. Trumper, as an internationally distinguished purveyor of rare shaving tools, has an internationally distinguished reputation, so I expect the matter to be addressed forthwith, - so that you can keep your internationally distinguished reputation as distinguished internationally.
Yours entirely sincerely with insincere entirety,
London’s purple peril.
Brat.
P.S. I strongly suggest that you distribute copies of Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (1954) to all your service assistants, to the upper-echelons of management, and to the lower-upper and upper-lower ranks, with a speedily sharp, swift, and fleet-footed briskly quick alacrity.
P.P.S. You will also find this to be an efficient method of staff training. It will save you time making endless alterations to subordinate clauses in your Staff Handbook, and holding a series of pointless meetings, - meetings namely to discuss the matter of making endless alterations to subordinate clauses in the aforementioned Staff Handbook.
P.P.P.S. Don’t tell me you haven’t been well-advised, sternly warned, or forewarned in a sternly warned way!
…
…
Musicool Interludicool:
‘Let me scream now…’
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