The scene is the A&E Department, Southend General Hospital. @Deity17, @Bradl and @Journey2 have been waiting for an hour.
"There! Told you, that bloke just walked in and went straight through without even talking to Reception.."
"It's always like this in A&E, they hope your body's natural defenses put right whatever is wrong and you just go home."
@Deity17 raises a hand.
"I think I should tell you: the last thing we want is to have your name called, to go through those doors, to see a doctor. We appear to be safe here because mobile telephones are forbidden, none of these people seated are seeking treatment either."
"I thought I was getting my eye seen to" said @Journey2, still smarting from a black eye and having his mobile stolen by a robed girl.
"Your body's natural defenses will soon heal your wounds..."
"And then we can go home eh?"
"Home? That will depend on your concept of 'home'. Neither of you exist on Twitter, Facebook or online anymore, your dwellings will be under constant watch by the @Deities, your employers will have been informed of your deaths, you leave no relatives - which is not a coincidence of course.."
"But if we turn up, that'll prove we're alive right?"
"If you turn up, you'll be killed."
"So we just sit here and wait to starve?"
"This is a waiting room. All the people here are waiting to be linked to a safe domain, they have all been corrupted by @Deity1, used as alibis to dispose of his enemies just like yourselves. Outside of these four walls someone will betray us."
"How many ..whatevers...are in this bloke's gang then?"
"There are 20 @Deities, each with thousands of accounts, with thousands of followers each. For instance, did you find yourselves followed by a series of so-called 'rap' artists?" they nod "...all with about 10,000 followers and followees, tweeting what seemed to be undecipherable language?"
"I just thought it was slang, never did like rap very much.." said @Bradl
"All code, co-ordinates, viruses, slowly stealing the information of your lives, storing it and using it to control your very being."
"And those spam bots with the free iPads and stuff, I suppose they're in on it too?" asked @Journey2
"Brave seekers of truth and happiness, desperately trying to warn you of oncoming doom."
"Ah, bollocks, I reported every one of them as spam.."
"Which meant certain death I'm afraid - these truthsayers are suffering abominable losses."
@Journey2, squinting at the painful light: "I hate to bring up the little matter of my bloody mobile again, but you still have it, it is still turned on and you said they were forbidden here..."
"I told you I adapted it. It is no longer a device for oral communication, it is a telelinking machine only, and a not very powerful one at that."
"So-rry! Stick around and there'll be an upgrade along soon enough. I know I'm going to regret this but, 'Telelinking'?"
"How we made it to the pier, a link to here via the u.w.w."
"The wha?"
"The Universe Wide Web. You are aware there are other areas beyond Earth, and in it, that you are yet to explore?"
"We got as far as The Moon, got some rocks from Mars but seem to have given up lately."
"Far from it - a moment ago on a website from your capital city, it was announced that another Earth-like planet has been discovered in this very galaxy."
"Thats all well and good, but we're not going there.....are we?"
"It is unlikely. As I said, this is not a powerful enough machine, but if we could gain access to @Deity's hardware.."
"...we could escape to this planet we know nothing about and freeze or fry as soon as we land, whoop-di-do!"
"On the contrary, the atmosphere on Kepler 22b is perfectly suited to us and the journey is an easy one...... the @Deities found no difficulty getting here, did they?"
By day a mild-mannered janitor, by night an off-duty mild-mannered janitor.
................by day a mild-mannered janitor, by night an off-duty mild-mannered janitor...............
Saturday 31 December 2011
The Weasel Has Landed
Some time ago - not that long and I'm not going to look it up - there was a Top Gear "challenge" and they were somewhere very snowfilled. We saw May [probably, he does flying] have a minor crash-land in a little plane. You could tell it wasn't planned because for once the camera was not perfectly positioned to capture the moment.
*Earnestly to camera* "Now we get a bit of stick on this show for setting things up, but you have to admit we couldn't have arranged that, now could we?"
Quite so, but by doth protesting too much like that you tacitly admit that every other thing you do is set up. Didn't think of that did you Mr. Clever Tousle? So to the Christmas Special which was a half-decent travel documentary of parts of India in picture form. Turn the sound down, ignore the out-of-place English cars and you may well have had a reasonable time watching it. They didn't set fire to a cow, but I bet they discussed a way of almost doing so. Those tins fell off of the roof of The Weasel's Mini, but notice how a path was cleared for it to happen & there's that camera man perfectly placed to get the full dramati.... oh, you know the rest - it's already a cliché about them not talking about cars anymore. And the cars they used, cars that would make lots of perfectly nice people contented as transport just have to be systematically ruined. You know what they're doing when they do that? They are laughing at everyone who has less money than they have - they do that anyway in private, but this is just to underline the point: "See this car? Nice isn't it? It works, and would do a good job for you. Now I'm going to take my pants down and shit in your face for thinking you have any connection whatsoever with the world that we live in* *Now we'll smash it up."
Top Gear is too powerful to be dethroned, it is ultra-popular and still entertains [with a handy put-the-kettle-on window while Clarkson pretends not only to be a top class comedian, but interviewer too - try high-wire walking why dontcha...] but tucked away on Channel 5 is 'Fifth Gear', which isn't great either but at least is car-based. I think all the people on there are 'Top' castaways, that Plato fella is a bit too "Dab Of Oppo" and it's on at a stupid time - try 8:00 Sundays, there's an idea. But they'll have to start jazzing things up with drag races and fights between rockets and tractors....
"Dab Of Oppo" is a thing - someone a bit anal about driving: "A dab of opposite-lock should see us safely through this Sainsbury's car park..." etc. [thanks to Dave Browse for the nudge]
*Earnestly to camera* "Now we get a bit of stick on this show for setting things up, but you have to admit we couldn't have arranged that, now could we?"
Quite so, but by doth protesting too much like that you tacitly admit that every other thing you do is set up. Didn't think of that did you Mr. Clever Tousle? So to the Christmas Special which was a half-decent travel documentary of parts of India in picture form. Turn the sound down, ignore the out-of-place English cars and you may well have had a reasonable time watching it. They didn't set fire to a cow, but I bet they discussed a way of almost doing so. Those tins fell off of the roof of The Weasel's Mini, but notice how a path was cleared for it to happen & there's that camera man perfectly placed to get the full dramati.... oh, you know the rest - it's already a cliché about them not talking about cars anymore. And the cars they used, cars that would make lots of perfectly nice people contented as transport just have to be systematically ruined. You know what they're doing when they do that? They are laughing at everyone who has less money than they have - they do that anyway in private, but this is just to underline the point: "See this car? Nice isn't it? It works, and would do a good job for you. Now I'm going to take my pants down and shit in your face for thinking you have any connection whatsoever with the world that we live in* *Now we'll smash it up."
Top Gear is too powerful to be dethroned, it is ultra-popular and still entertains [with a handy put-the-kettle-on window while Clarkson pretends not only to be a top class comedian, but interviewer too - try high-wire walking why dontcha...] but tucked away on Channel 5 is 'Fifth Gear', which isn't great either but at least is car-based. I think all the people on there are 'Top' castaways, that Plato fella is a bit too "Dab Of Oppo" and it's on at a stupid time - try 8:00 Sundays, there's an idea. But they'll have to start jazzing things up with drag races and fights between rockets and tractors....
"Dab Of Oppo" is a thing - someone a bit anal about driving: "A dab of opposite-lock should see us safely through this Sainsbury's car park..." etc. [thanks to Dave Browse for the nudge]
Thursday 22 December 2011
DM4 #2
Air. Very warm, smokey air. The view starts as if in cinemascope but soon becomes peripheral too - @Bradl is looking at The Isle Of Grain, slightly misted in what must be a heat-haze. This is a familiar view and looking around him, a familiar spot too. Behind, the now-derelict 'Palace Hotel' stands empty and apart from two third floor rooms, boarded against the outside.
"I am @Deity17, you are alive, so is your friend."
@Journey2 is slumped against the pier bench, sitting on the wooden boards of the floor. He is breathing. @Bradl had one or two questions to ask, but the next seven questions after that were getting in the way.
"Wha?",was all he could manage. It was a start.
"I was given the responsibility of disposing of your friend. It was my mistake that endangered him and you would have paid the price for his death. I.... decided this would not happen. I gave @Journey2 the same drug that left you unconscious, instead of a lethal injection - the beating he received was not my work, merely carried out to prove a violent confrontation between the two of you. I have his mobile telephone here and I have adapted it or 'upgraded' if you like, for your safety it is best it remains with me."
"...ah, that's the one: why are we on Southend Pier?"
"Specifically because today is the hottest day ever recorded in Great Britain and this is the hottest spot on the mainland."
"We are not on the mainland - it must be hotter in the town centre."
"Normally yes, today the last third of a mile of this pier burned away into The Thames Estuary. We needed a news-worthy domain to transport to - one that was familiar to you both and available through an electronic link. The fire, and the record temperature has made this spot very popular on the International Superhighway - enough traffic to hide our escape."
"...oh good, we escaped then?"
"Thanks to @Journey2's mobile telephone, yes. In terms you will understand, I clicked on the link to this domain and we were forwarded here. I set fire to the room we were in before, the atmospheric conditions had to be similar to avoid too much shock to your chemical make-up and it was also a perfect distraction. @Deity1 will have transported to a new domain too and will be wondering if his orders were carried out. He will quickly decide that they were not. He will be looking for us - all the @Deitys will be looking for us."
"Hey, kid - Give the phone back to the nice man and... where's the nearest pub? I'm thirsty or drunk or both, any help?"
"Welcome back, @Journey2. This is @Bradl, you used to follow each other on the social network site called 'Twitter' - we have a few things to discuss. As far as your thirst is concerned, you will be pleased to hear we have an app for that."
The lights in the two rooms on the third floor of The Palace Hotel fade slowly to black. The temperature drops dramatically. @Deity17 looks to the sky as snowflakes start to fall...
"We may have been at this spot for too long. The fire and the record temperature are no longer newsworthy, the traffic has returned to a trickle so the domain has been downgraded to a default setting. We are now simply in an out-of-season seaside town...let me see..."
@Deity17 peers at the phone, scrolling and pressing keys at tremendous speed.
"Are you going to give me my phone back or do I have to box your ears?"
"I am @Deity17, you are alive, so is your friend."
@Journey2 is slumped against the pier bench, sitting on the wooden boards of the floor. He is breathing. @Bradl had one or two questions to ask, but the next seven questions after that were getting in the way.
"Wha?",was all he could manage. It was a start.
"I was given the responsibility of disposing of your friend. It was my mistake that endangered him and you would have paid the price for his death. I.... decided this would not happen. I gave @Journey2 the same drug that left you unconscious, instead of a lethal injection - the beating he received was not my work, merely carried out to prove a violent confrontation between the two of you. I have his mobile telephone here and I have adapted it or 'upgraded' if you like, for your safety it is best it remains with me."
"...ah, that's the one: why are we on Southend Pier?"
"Specifically because today is the hottest day ever recorded in Great Britain and this is the hottest spot on the mainland."
"We are not on the mainland - it must be hotter in the town centre."
"Normally yes, today the last third of a mile of this pier burned away into The Thames Estuary. We needed a news-worthy domain to transport to - one that was familiar to you both and available through an electronic link. The fire, and the record temperature has made this spot very popular on the International Superhighway - enough traffic to hide our escape."
"...oh good, we escaped then?"
"Thanks to @Journey2's mobile telephone, yes. In terms you will understand, I clicked on the link to this domain and we were forwarded here. I set fire to the room we were in before, the atmospheric conditions had to be similar to avoid too much shock to your chemical make-up and it was also a perfect distraction. @Deity1 will have transported to a new domain too and will be wondering if his orders were carried out. He will quickly decide that they were not. He will be looking for us - all the @Deitys will be looking for us."
"Hey, kid - Give the phone back to the nice man and... where's the nearest pub? I'm thirsty or drunk or both, any help?"
"Welcome back, @Journey2. This is @Bradl, you used to follow each other on the social network site called 'Twitter' - we have a few things to discuss. As far as your thirst is concerned, you will be pleased to hear we have an app for that."
The lights in the two rooms on the third floor of The Palace Hotel fade slowly to black. The temperature drops dramatically. @Deity17 looks to the sky as snowflakes start to fall...
"We may have been at this spot for too long. The fire and the record temperature are no longer newsworthy, the traffic has returned to a trickle so the domain has been downgraded to a default setting. We are now simply in an out-of-season seaside town...let me see..."
@Deity17 peers at the phone, scrolling and pressing keys at tremendous speed.
"Are you going to give me my phone back or do I have to box your ears?"
Wednesday 21 December 2011
DM4 #1
@Bradl refreshes the screen again, clicks 'mentions' - no change, back to 'timeline'. A hashtag game is going but it is well over an hour old, so he'd have to check the previous entries to see if anyone had got there first... it was now twenty minutes since he'd replied to @Deity1 - the heavyweight had made a brilliant joke but @Bradl had a flash of inspiration and, for once, thought it worth elaborating on the original. As the minutes ticked by, @Bradl regretted the impulse - @Deity1 had never replied before and it looked increasingly unlikely he'd see fit to do so now.
An hour later, with 'mentions' still unchanged, @Bradl again considers unfollowing the @Deity1 but only for a second. Back to 'timeline' and @Journey2 [one of @Bradl's first followees and followers] seems to be locked in a conversation with @Deity1. Opening the tweet history..... sure enough, the two have been arguing for thirty minutes with links to sites, blogs and other conversations too. Trying to read between these lines, @Bradl concludes that one is accusing the other of some kind of literary theft - a tweet, the bones of an article, a domain - it is difficult to tell as the stream continues...
Asleep at the computer again.
The next day there is a new message. A DM from @Deity1. "@Bradl Thank you for your interest, it is appreciated. Would you meet me at the following address this evening at 6pm? I know you can make it."
A square building of grey concrete, some of the windows blocked crudely with wooden panels. Only two rooms seem to be windowed and lit. No security entrance formalities - porch and foyer door open. The apartment is on the third floor, the same floor as the light. The door to 3A opens automatically as @Bradl approaches. The room is square, the centre of the room is a square space surrounded by a linked square of desks. There are twenty chairs at the desks. @Deity is recognisable from his avatar, but that likeness must be twenty five or even thirty years old - on show now is a withered frame hunched over a set of apparatus. Opposite there appears to be an exact double.... until closer inspection reveals a female dressed identically. In seventeen of the other eighteen chairs sit children, identical children, exactly like their....parents? They stare into computer screens. This isn't the room with the light, or the windows - the screens provide the only illumination.
"@Bradl, thank you for getting here. A cup of tea, just how you like it - milk and two sugars. You follow me, yes? You also follow @Journey2. You are aware that we have differences of opinion?"
"I saw something..."
"We know what you've seen. @Journey2 tried to send you a Direct Message - he wanted your assistance regarding our little argument. You see, we used something of his, one of my little ones stole some information, we did not credit @Journey2 and this rightly irked your friend. It seems your Twitter history can prove that we were not first to the information - you replied to @Journey2 and so are a witness. The little one has been punished, it should not happen again but the damage has been done and this damage has to be limited for a greater good, you understand?"
"What do you wa...
"You do not possess a mobile telephone. You live at least one hour from this building. An hour is a long time on Twitter. Your account has been hacked, @Journey2's account has also been hacked. Over the last hour or so, the two of you have been locked in a fierce argument about tweet theft, joke theft, Twitter rules, Twitter laws, quite a spectacle. It has been made obvious to your respective followers that you are unlikely to be breaking bread anytime soon.."
"But what do you want from me?"
"To be here now. Your friend @Journey2 is safely enclosed in another room, there he will stay, and so will you. We will close your accounts. Your followers will assume you have tired of Twitter, you may be mourned on-line for a day or so but life goes on..
"But what about life, we exist beyond Twitter - after a while someone is going to notice I'm not at work..
"The doors to this building are now locked. There was an extra something in your tea and in a moment you will be asleep, when you wake you will be alone in the adjoining room with the deceased @Journey2. It will be obvious from your final tweets why you killed him."
An hour later, with 'mentions' still unchanged, @Bradl again considers unfollowing the @Deity1 but only for a second. Back to 'timeline' and @Journey2 [one of @Bradl's first followees and followers] seems to be locked in a conversation with @Deity1. Opening the tweet history..... sure enough, the two have been arguing for thirty minutes with links to sites, blogs and other conversations too. Trying to read between these lines, @Bradl concludes that one is accusing the other of some kind of literary theft - a tweet, the bones of an article, a domain - it is difficult to tell as the stream continues...
Asleep at the computer again.
The next day there is a new message. A DM from @Deity1. "@Bradl Thank you for your interest, it is appreciated. Would you meet me at the following address this evening at 6pm? I know you can make it."
A square building of grey concrete, some of the windows blocked crudely with wooden panels. Only two rooms seem to be windowed and lit. No security entrance formalities - porch and foyer door open. The apartment is on the third floor, the same floor as the light. The door to 3A opens automatically as @Bradl approaches. The room is square, the centre of the room is a square space surrounded by a linked square of desks. There are twenty chairs at the desks. @Deity is recognisable from his avatar, but that likeness must be twenty five or even thirty years old - on show now is a withered frame hunched over a set of apparatus. Opposite there appears to be an exact double.... until closer inspection reveals a female dressed identically. In seventeen of the other eighteen chairs sit children, identical children, exactly like their....parents? They stare into computer screens. This isn't the room with the light, or the windows - the screens provide the only illumination.
"@Bradl, thank you for getting here. A cup of tea, just how you like it - milk and two sugars. You follow me, yes? You also follow @Journey2. You are aware that we have differences of opinion?"
"I saw something..."
"We know what you've seen. @Journey2 tried to send you a Direct Message - he wanted your assistance regarding our little argument. You see, we used something of his, one of my little ones stole some information, we did not credit @Journey2 and this rightly irked your friend. It seems your Twitter history can prove that we were not first to the information - you replied to @Journey2 and so are a witness. The little one has been punished, it should not happen again but the damage has been done and this damage has to be limited for a greater good, you understand?"
"What do you wa...
"You do not possess a mobile telephone. You live at least one hour from this building. An hour is a long time on Twitter. Your account has been hacked, @Journey2's account has also been hacked. Over the last hour or so, the two of you have been locked in a fierce argument about tweet theft, joke theft, Twitter rules, Twitter laws, quite a spectacle. It has been made obvious to your respective followers that you are unlikely to be breaking bread anytime soon.."
"But what do you want from me?"
"To be here now. Your friend @Journey2 is safely enclosed in another room, there he will stay, and so will you. We will close your accounts. Your followers will assume you have tired of Twitter, you may be mourned on-line for a day or so but life goes on..
"But what about life, we exist beyond Twitter - after a while someone is going to notice I'm not at work..
"The doors to this building are now locked. There was an extra something in your tea and in a moment you will be asleep, when you wake you will be alone in the adjoining room with the deceased @Journey2. It will be obvious from your final tweets why you killed him."
Sunday 18 December 2011
Warbling In The Air
It is almost unimpossible to either over, under or accurately overestimate the unimportance or otherwise of 'The X-Factor'. If we have a scale from say -6 to 18, you might say "Oh, it's definitely a 21!" or "Pah, it's a -2 if it's lucky" or "I don't watch the motherfucker, get out of my way or I'll tear you a new one." Either, neither or threether* way you might be better off sticking a kazoo up your arse and farting 'Jerusalem'. I'd pay to see that.
There was a song that banged on about karaoke being easy on a Saturday night but don't get carried away and think you're a star because it aint so easy in front of the cameras and even if you do really well there are always people ready to knock you down back where you came from. This is about karaoke, local karaoke. I've never been to a big karaoke bar and have no desire to either - I expect it's busy and difficult to get served and the toilets are crowded - I prefer The Railway. Take Friday night:
You get there at eight and the guys who were drinking at lunchtime and got comfy, are in front of the fire - the music will be a cue for them to wander home. M.C. Pete is setting up the P.A. alone - his 'roadie' Daniel having got in with a rum crowd and gone off the rails. Daniel wasn't the same after the death of his idol Michael Jackson. He'd get a two song slot where a sparkly glove would appear from the back pocket like that of a very camp golfer - he was good but never did enough "HeeeHeee"s for the baying audience, who had to fill in for him. Pete warms everyone up with 'Pretty Woman' as the little tickets are passed around and songs chosen. "Mercy"
9:00 sharp: 'We're Walking In The Air'. Up steps Muriel. Muriel and Clive are the backbone, fulcrum, crux some say scaffolding on which the night is built. They are always there, even following Peter around the entire North Norfolk area to oke their karas. You may remember this song from a popular Christmas cartoon 'The Snowman' but here Muriel transports us back to the days of Warhol's factory and Nico is on 'vox'.
An Irish guy in the pool-playing area is asking any cowardly Englishmen if they'd like to go outside and discuss various historical differences at this point. He was nice as pie eight hours ago when he started drinking, amazing what comes over people. He is ejected noisily by governor Dave [five years in charge, ladies and gentlemen].
9:25: 'Funky Moped'. Clive's turn and much like Muriel's transformation this is now Leonard Cohen doing Jasper Carrot. Clive is so much more than a voice - he's a shake of the head from side-to-side like a pill-popping David Gray, a tiger pattern t-shirt and just the one note. It still works and if you think about it, an almost unstoppable plan. We love Clive and Muriel.
10:00: 'Runaway'. Norm [for it is his name] sometimes comes in straight from the fields mid-harvest [or whatever it is that farmers do all the time], orders and downs a pint of Guinness® in one or two gulps, strides to the stage and belts out his favourite tune. Everybody loves Norm. Norm, we love him. Tonight he will stick around for a duet with Muriel, 'Johnny Remember Me' and knock them bandy.
10:30: 'Rebel Rebel'. Norm's son Will has returned from work already relaxed from a Christmas party. He allows Janice, Carla and Sam to make him up Ziggy-style. He also does a very good 'Bohemian Rhapsody' where he reads a book or juggles or both during the bits that don't have singing in them. Will is almost as loved as Norm. We love Norm.
10:45: 'Some Sort Of Hideous Grease Medley'. 'The Kids From Fame' we call them - about 12 in number [only two mics, remember] and not much older, pushed onto the stage by their pushy mums. They are dressed in leotards because they were at ballet class before. If the police were to walk in on this scene of underage burlesque, our feet wouldn't touch the ground. Good time for a piss, or if you prefer, a cigarette.
11:00: 'Wonderwall'. Shame you've just had that piss because this is another ideal opportunity. Words, there are not enough of you of sufficient length or description to successfully communicate to fellow humans the depth, breadth or tallness of my hatred for this song. At least Bill is doing it, so it is tons better than the original.
The Irish fella is back, this time with the wife, to apologise to Dave and anyone who'll listen - they are un-barred and their is much rejoicing.
Try not to do the same song twice - it will make you less bothered about getting it right or wrong as you'll have an excuse. Duets are fun, even funner if you stick a pin in the book and do whatever you hit. 'Staying Alive' is as near to impossible as you can get so take a run-up. We've all had a drink and we're all in it together so give respect to anyone who has a go. Oh, and unlike 'The X-Factor' it is all about the music.x.
*new word for either when three things are involved, run with it if you like.
There was a song that banged on about karaoke being easy on a Saturday night but don't get carried away and think you're a star because it aint so easy in front of the cameras and even if you do really well there are always people ready to knock you down back where you came from. This is about karaoke, local karaoke. I've never been to a big karaoke bar and have no desire to either - I expect it's busy and difficult to get served and the toilets are crowded - I prefer The Railway. Take Friday night:
You get there at eight and the guys who were drinking at lunchtime and got comfy, are in front of the fire - the music will be a cue for them to wander home. M.C. Pete is setting up the P.A. alone - his 'roadie' Daniel having got in with a rum crowd and gone off the rails. Daniel wasn't the same after the death of his idol Michael Jackson. He'd get a two song slot where a sparkly glove would appear from the back pocket like that of a very camp golfer - he was good but never did enough "HeeeHeee"s for the baying audience, who had to fill in for him. Pete warms everyone up with 'Pretty Woman' as the little tickets are passed around and songs chosen. "Mercy"
9:00 sharp: 'We're Walking In The Air'. Up steps Muriel. Muriel and Clive are the backbone, fulcrum, crux some say scaffolding on which the night is built. They are always there, even following Peter around the entire North Norfolk area to oke their karas. You may remember this song from a popular Christmas cartoon 'The Snowman' but here Muriel transports us back to the days of Warhol's factory and Nico is on 'vox'.
An Irish guy in the pool-playing area is asking any cowardly Englishmen if they'd like to go outside and discuss various historical differences at this point. He was nice as pie eight hours ago when he started drinking, amazing what comes over people. He is ejected noisily by governor Dave [five years in charge, ladies and gentlemen].
9:25: 'Funky Moped'. Clive's turn and much like Muriel's transformation this is now Leonard Cohen doing Jasper Carrot. Clive is so much more than a voice - he's a shake of the head from side-to-side like a pill-popping David Gray, a tiger pattern t-shirt and just the one note. It still works and if you think about it, an almost unstoppable plan. We love Clive and Muriel.
10:00: 'Runaway'. Norm [for it is his name] sometimes comes in straight from the fields mid-harvest [or whatever it is that farmers do all the time], orders and downs a pint of Guinness® in one or two gulps, strides to the stage and belts out his favourite tune. Everybody loves Norm. Norm, we love him. Tonight he will stick around for a duet with Muriel, 'Johnny Remember Me' and knock them bandy.
10:30: 'Rebel Rebel'. Norm's son Will has returned from work already relaxed from a Christmas party. He allows Janice, Carla and Sam to make him up Ziggy-style. He also does a very good 'Bohemian Rhapsody' where he reads a book or juggles or both during the bits that don't have singing in them. Will is almost as loved as Norm. We love Norm.
10:45: 'Some Sort Of Hideous Grease Medley'. 'The Kids From Fame' we call them - about 12 in number [only two mics, remember] and not much older, pushed onto the stage by their pushy mums. They are dressed in leotards because they were at ballet class before. If the police were to walk in on this scene of underage burlesque, our feet wouldn't touch the ground. Good time for a piss, or if you prefer, a cigarette.
11:00: 'Wonderwall'. Shame you've just had that piss because this is another ideal opportunity. Words, there are not enough of you of sufficient length or description to successfully communicate to fellow humans the depth, breadth or tallness of my hatred for this song. At least Bill is doing it, so it is tons better than the original.
The Irish fella is back, this time with the wife, to apologise to Dave and anyone who'll listen - they are un-barred and their is much rejoicing.
Try not to do the same song twice - it will make you less bothered about getting it right or wrong as you'll have an excuse. Duets are fun, even funner if you stick a pin in the book and do whatever you hit. 'Staying Alive' is as near to impossible as you can get so take a run-up. We've all had a drink and we're all in it together so give respect to anyone who has a go. Oh, and unlike 'The X-Factor' it is all about the music.x.
*new word for either when three things are involved, run with it if you like.
Monday 12 December 2011
My Part In Their Uprising #1
It is 1980, Margaret Thatcher is Prime Minister and mudskippers are starting to throw off the shackles of water and embrace the freedom of land. In Dagenham lived a boy called Rob who's dad's name was Bob (short for Rob) and who worked for EMI. Bob and subsequently Rob would get pre-released pressings of records (with white labels) and all sorts of surplus stock which Bob would move on (possibly illegally) to blokes (always blokes) for folding. Bob looked like Neil Morrissey when he was in 'Boon', Rob looked like his son and they were friends to us Browses. Once the 'obs found themselves with 250 copies of The King Singers' version of 'Strawberry Fields Forever' in red vinyl and inside a scratch'n'sniff cover. I would have been tempted to buy a copy for the novelty alone, at a discount perhaps, but to have so many to play with made us blasé and they ended up as air-rifle targets, experiments with stolen chemicals, and worse. One day Bob'n'Rob were visited by a Paul Di'anno, lead singer with an up & coming punk metal band called Iron Maiden, their first single 'Running Free' was being released and the B-side was ok (to this day the only track of theirs I can remember) - they were going to launch their LP at various pubs, clubs & record shops and wanted help with the first of these, in Barking.
It wouldn't be allowed now, and probably for good reason. Our job that day was to make sure that 20 LP covers were signed by all the band, to (under agedly) fetch beer and spirits from the offy around the corner and food from the McDonalds' around the other corner. I'm sad to report that Iron Maiden did not bite the heads off anything, smash anything up or do anything rude. They did have what I later learnt to be 'rock chicks' draping themselves over arms and no doubt having a nice game of cards with later. What I remember most is what great fellas they were and although I had no interest in their music, I always gave a little cheer if they won another 'Best This' or 'Best That' award and racked up the millions of sales and pounds. It's Paul who was the interesting one...
Of course the LP was on the turntable throughout the time we were there but Paul kept trying to swap it for 'Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols' arguing that here was a great record while theirs was "rubbish" (see, not even a swear word) - and I don't remember the rest of the band arguing either. I think it is safe to say that Paul was the 'looker' amongst a bunch of regular-looking apples (note to The Jacksons: apples don't grow in bunches, so "One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch girl..." is just wrong, if cute.x.) so, he had more rock chicks hanging off him, drank more and was increasingly more difficult to obtain autographs from. The 20th LP cover (anyone who says 'album' goes down a slight notch in my estimation then, now & always) was nervously placed in front of Paul....
"Tell you what Ed, why don't you give me your autograph for a change eh?"
*scribbles "Ed" in big black magic marker on Paul's leather (!) shirt*
*slow, drunken look up & down of shirt, then of tiny pen-holding wretch*
"This bloody shirt cost me twenty five quid!"
*ruffles hair of urchin*
I only saw Paul once after that - going into Bob/Rob's for a cuppa after leaving the band, which I think wasn't that long into their run. Google his name and 'arrested' 'prison' and 'released' are immediately available - I don't want to know, don't tell me. We were allowed to keep an LP for ourselves and I gave mine to a mate (and proper fan) who promised if he ever sold it he'd split the proceedings 50/50.... Gene? Hello, Gene? It's been a while old friend......... Gene?!
It wouldn't be allowed now, and probably for good reason. Our job that day was to make sure that 20 LP covers were signed by all the band, to (under agedly) fetch beer and spirits from the offy around the corner and food from the McDonalds' around the other corner. I'm sad to report that Iron Maiden did not bite the heads off anything, smash anything up or do anything rude. They did have what I later learnt to be 'rock chicks' draping themselves over arms and no doubt having a nice game of cards with later. What I remember most is what great fellas they were and although I had no interest in their music, I always gave a little cheer if they won another 'Best This' or 'Best That' award and racked up the millions of sales and pounds. It's Paul who was the interesting one...
Of course the LP was on the turntable throughout the time we were there but Paul kept trying to swap it for 'Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols' arguing that here was a great record while theirs was "rubbish" (see, not even a swear word) - and I don't remember the rest of the band arguing either. I think it is safe to say that Paul was the 'looker' amongst a bunch of regular-looking apples (note to The Jacksons: apples don't grow in bunches, so "One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch girl..." is just wrong, if cute.x.) so, he had more rock chicks hanging off him, drank more and was increasingly more difficult to obtain autographs from. The 20th LP cover (anyone who says 'album' goes down a slight notch in my estimation then, now & always) was nervously placed in front of Paul....
"Tell you what Ed, why don't you give me your autograph for a change eh?"
*scribbles "Ed" in big black magic marker on Paul's leather (!) shirt*
*slow, drunken look up & down of shirt, then of tiny pen-holding wretch*
"This bloody shirt cost me twenty five quid!"
*ruffles hair of urchin*
I only saw Paul once after that - going into Bob/Rob's for a cuppa after leaving the band, which I think wasn't that long into their run. Google his name and 'arrested' 'prison' and 'released' are immediately available - I don't want to know, don't tell me. We were allowed to keep an LP for ourselves and I gave mine to a mate (and proper fan) who promised if he ever sold it he'd split the proceedings 50/50.... Gene? Hello, Gene? It's been a while old friend......... Gene?!
Saturday 10 December 2011
Ones I Can Remember
When an eel bites your thumb and your arm goes all numb that's a moray.
At the seance we got a message from the other side: "Road dangerous, don't cross, cockadoodledoo."
You have to exaggerate on these application forms, for 'title' I've put "WBO Heavyweight Boxing Champion Of The World."
How much wood would Victoria Wood chuck if Victoria Wood would chuck wood, chuck?
Anyone else going to this year's Geneva convention?
A striker sleeps to dream of a goal per chance.
That Henry Heimlich, there's a guy who deserves a pat on the back.
I saw an ocean liner today - that's one enormous bit of plastic.
I've found more underground sources of water than you can wave a stick at.
"Ah Mr.Browse, you're our 10:30" "Please, call me '10'" - smooth as you like at the hairdressers.
Palindrome - Stadium at the centre of PythonWorld® #ued
I asked Mark Rothko to do my portrait - he just blocked me.
"Hey Spock! High five! No, you have to keep the fingers together........idiot."
My full name is Arnold Sebastian Algernon Perditer, which could explain why I keep getting asked to do everything.
According to the latest Straw Poll, scarecrows vote Liberal.
Anyone else entering this year's Nuremberg Rally?
I've got hat-hair, which saves a pretty penny on hats.
Here's my Frank Spencer impression: *Frank Spencer face* *Frank Spencer voice* "Hmmm Betty."
"Where to, guv'?" "Funky Town please." "Where's that?" "Second left after Boogie Wonderland." "Right you are, and nice 'fro too, sir."
"What's up Bones?" "It's Spock, Captain, just caught him playing Strip-4D Chess with Chekhov."
"Ah, Mr. Bond we've been expecting you - start in the attic and take special care when cleaning the lifts."
Terrier - more like Terry. #ued
Scottish football legend Gemmill plays trumpet in a Mexican style brass band "Mariachi?" That goal against Holland was good, but he's not my type.
You are not going to believe the size of Aunt Bessie's freezer.
Pioneering - lobe jewelry depicting the number 3.14159.... #ued
Do Americans call him Johnny Mathi?
Don't go shopping with greasy hands - it's much harder to get purchase.
I call my left testicle 'Kevin' - it's his nom de plum.
Our remote control is useless, located as it is on the Pacific island of Nuku Hiva.
I admit now that my story about being a mummy miraculously brought back to life was a complete fabrication.
If a mime artist falls down in the forest and no-one is around to hear it, does he still not make a noise?
My best mate stole my supply of Viagra - still, no hard feelings.
It's a converted barn set in two acres of reclaimed arable farmland - Jonathan ross calls it his 'country RT'
I've hired a stuntman in case I fall down the stairs.
Grinch - imperial measurement of snarl length. #ued
I've had it up to *here* with people who are five foot six and three quarters.
I've had it up to here with conspiracy theories, the sooner we get on to the practical exam the better.
Eventually Popeye had baby Spinach with Olive oil.
Alvin Stardust stands like that because the bar in his local is too high for him.
The ring-toned sloth is endangered because it is annoying and very, very slow.
I've got a shopping list as long as my arm - it just says "milk" which I admit is a waste of paper.
I sleep in a single bed, it's enormous. I also have a double bed because you never know when your double might come to stay.
I'm having all my organs tattooed on the outside of my body in case an inexperienced surgeon has to operate.
"Talk to the ears, the boobs ain't listening."
Ever tried speaking with forked tongue? It's very, very painful and everythin thoun li la.
3PO & R2 sitting in a tree, r.u.s.t.i.n.g.
June 4th 2023, March 30th 2015, November 3rd 2398. Laters.
Oblige - The Irish branch of Mary J.'s family.
Which cards make up a courtesy flush?
A pine cone is the closest a squirrel gets to a Rubik's Cube.
"So let's celebrate, I'm feelin' great, I'm the guy who found the lost chord." Jimmy Durante, relieved after a near-disastrous parachute incident.
With hindsight I wish I'd been the front half of the pantomime horse.
Good evening. The rest of this tweet is in mandarin: quack quack quack *waddle* quack quack *shakes arse* quack.
The first rule of Junior Fight club is no-one becomes a Tommy-tell-tale-tit.
"Anyone want to buzz? I'll have to hurry you..." "Mary, Magdalene:" "Is it an apple?" Very early University Challenge.
Whatever goes on Frances de la Tour, stays on Frances de la Tour.
The inventor of toothpaste was born in our village, you can't tell which house because there's no plaque on the outside.
Ssangyong is an anagram of sSangyong.
Bad news from the doctors, I've been diagnosed as having mightgetrunoverbyabustomorrowitis.
I'm your secret admirer, the komodo dragon you feed budgies to in the greenhouse is my favourite.
"Is it true we have no bananas?" "NO! We have 'yes' bananas, we have 'yes' bananas today!"
I hate 'yes' bananas, crawling around the rest of the bunch - I'd have 'no' bananas any day of the week. Today even.
Got a thirst walking around IKEA, but it's hard building up a thirst when you can't read the instructions.
Baby-sat last night, but I admit to being naughty, refusing to go to bed and insisting on tea & cake at 2 a.m.
Water and the laws of physics; whatever floats your boat.
All joking aside, I'd like to organise a charity football match between 22 comedians.
The life story of Mr. Magoo is to be made into a film - it's a myopic.
At the seance we got a message from the other side: "Road dangerous, don't cross, cockadoodledoo."
You have to exaggerate on these application forms, for 'title' I've put "WBO Heavyweight Boxing Champion Of The World."
How much wood would Victoria Wood chuck if Victoria Wood would chuck wood, chuck?
Anyone else going to this year's Geneva convention?
A striker sleeps to dream of a goal per chance.
That Henry Heimlich, there's a guy who deserves a pat on the back.
I saw an ocean liner today - that's one enormous bit of plastic.
I've found more underground sources of water than you can wave a stick at.
"Ah Mr.Browse, you're our 10:30" "Please, call me '10'" - smooth as you like at the hairdressers.
Palindrome - Stadium at the centre of PythonWorld® #ued
I asked Mark Rothko to do my portrait - he just blocked me.
"Hey Spock! High five! No, you have to keep the fingers together........idiot."
My full name is Arnold Sebastian Algernon Perditer, which could explain why I keep getting asked to do everything.
According to the latest Straw Poll, scarecrows vote Liberal.
Anyone else entering this year's Nuremberg Rally?
I've got hat-hair, which saves a pretty penny on hats.
Here's my Frank Spencer impression: *Frank Spencer face* *Frank Spencer voice* "Hmmm Betty."
"Where to, guv'?" "Funky Town please." "Where's that?" "Second left after Boogie Wonderland." "Right you are, and nice 'fro too, sir."
"What's up Bones?" "It's Spock, Captain, just caught him playing Strip-4D Chess with Chekhov."
"Ah, Mr. Bond we've been expecting you - start in the attic and take special care when cleaning the lifts."
Terrier - more like Terry. #ued
Scottish football legend Gemmill plays trumpet in a Mexican style brass band "Mariachi?" That goal against Holland was good, but he's not my type.
You are not going to believe the size of Aunt Bessie's freezer.
Pioneering - lobe jewelry depicting the number 3.14159.... #ued
Do Americans call him Johnny Mathi?
Don't go shopping with greasy hands - it's much harder to get purchase.
I call my left testicle 'Kevin' - it's his nom de plum.
Our remote control is useless, located as it is on the Pacific island of Nuku Hiva.
I admit now that my story about being a mummy miraculously brought back to life was a complete fabrication.
If a mime artist falls down in the forest and no-one is around to hear it, does he still not make a noise?
My best mate stole my supply of Viagra - still, no hard feelings.
It's a converted barn set in two acres of reclaimed arable farmland - Jonathan ross calls it his 'country RT'
I've hired a stuntman in case I fall down the stairs.
Grinch - imperial measurement of snarl length. #ued
I've had it up to *here* with people who are five foot six and three quarters.
I've had it up to here with conspiracy theories, the sooner we get on to the practical exam the better.
Eventually Popeye had baby Spinach with Olive oil.
Alvin Stardust stands like that because the bar in his local is too high for him.
The ring-toned sloth is endangered because it is annoying and very, very slow.
I've got a shopping list as long as my arm - it just says "milk" which I admit is a waste of paper.
I sleep in a single bed, it's enormous. I also have a double bed because you never know when your double might come to stay.
I'm having all my organs tattooed on the outside of my body in case an inexperienced surgeon has to operate.
"Talk to the ears, the boobs ain't listening."
Ever tried speaking with forked tongue? It's very, very painful and everythin thoun li la.
3PO & R2 sitting in a tree, r.u.s.t.i.n.g.
June 4th 2023, March 30th 2015, November 3rd 2398. Laters.
Oblige - The Irish branch of Mary J.'s family.
Which cards make up a courtesy flush?
A pine cone is the closest a squirrel gets to a Rubik's Cube.
"So let's celebrate, I'm feelin' great, I'm the guy who found the lost chord." Jimmy Durante, relieved after a near-disastrous parachute incident.
With hindsight I wish I'd been the front half of the pantomime horse.
Good evening. The rest of this tweet is in mandarin: quack quack quack *waddle* quack quack *shakes arse* quack.
The first rule of Junior Fight club is no-one becomes a Tommy-tell-tale-tit.
"Anyone want to buzz? I'll have to hurry you..." "Mary, Magdalene:" "Is it an apple?" Very early University Challenge.
Whatever goes on Frances de la Tour, stays on Frances de la Tour.
The inventor of toothpaste was born in our village, you can't tell which house because there's no plaque on the outside.
Ssangyong is an anagram of sSangyong.
Bad news from the doctors, I've been diagnosed as having mightgetrunoverbyabustomorrowitis.
I'm your secret admirer, the komodo dragon you feed budgies to in the greenhouse is my favourite.
"Is it true we have no bananas?" "NO! We have 'yes' bananas, we have 'yes' bananas today!"
I hate 'yes' bananas, crawling around the rest of the bunch - I'd have 'no' bananas any day of the week. Today even.
Got a thirst walking around IKEA, but it's hard building up a thirst when you can't read the instructions.
Baby-sat last night, but I admit to being naughty, refusing to go to bed and insisting on tea & cake at 2 a.m.
Water and the laws of physics; whatever floats your boat.
All joking aside, I'd like to organise a charity football match between 22 comedians.
The life story of Mr. Magoo is to be made into a film - it's a myopic.
Lower Faster Quicker
We are doing the Olympics next year and we fear for the athletes queueing at the chilli-dog stand outside Piccadilly Circus. A buffed and honed sporting machine cannot live for two weeks on steamed eels and doner kebabs so The Sebastian Co. has asked a select band of miserable bastards to try and hurry things on a bit. The opening ceremony [always death] will be recorded by recently sacked Panto actors in February to allow the talent to crack on with the competition. The aim is to have it all over in time for the highlights on Monday evening so let's get quantatively easing....
1. Walking.
I know, ridiculous as it might seem walking can be done competitively. I've seen footage [no pun intended and hopefully none taken], it looks like the commuters on London Bridge late for their 8:30 and inappropriately dressed. You can be disqualified for running, which everyone knows is quicker than walking - what happened to "Faster, Sexier etc.?" No, we are not having that not no how. Let them run.
2. Running.
Faster. Further, at a pinch. The 100 metres stays so we know who is quickest. I would like to see a 2 metre sprint with 10 hurdles for a laugh [a honking noise could be sounded if anyone falls over]. The relay is the work of the devil - slow down a bit and pass the parcel at intervals? Undignified, and it gives the slower ones a chance. If we must have a relay then just have all four from each team holding hands - only problem here is the need for a 36 lane track.
The snickers is a completely random 26 miles something-or-other because that was the distance from Buck House to Wembley - nothing to do with ancient Greece or modern Greece for that matter. The long-haul race should be 200 elite skinnies pointed north and the last one standing wins. Cars are better for going a long way, but they might not exist by the time of the games.
2a. Running and drugs.
Every competitor should be supplied with every chemical stimulant and performance-enhancing substance available. We'll still find out who's best, it might be funny and only the ones on ecstasy will believe it's 'all about the taking part.'
3. Throwing.
The spear and only the spear. Come next summer we'll all be hunting for our own food anyway so it'll be the only grass-roots activity represented. Perhaps the weightlifters could throw some gymnasts as both of these groups will be sadly unemployed in our edited festival. The Greeks can throw some plates if they like, as they did invent the whole thing in the first place.
4. Jumping.
The long jump we like - leaping up and down on the spot [minimum one jump per second] for as long as they can. They could do this at home if they like as long as Dale Winton or someone is there to make sure the rules are adhered to. We have ladders now so the high jump is obsolete, we don't expect the runners to run using flippers and gills - evolution isn't an accident. Snipers will be everywhere, so anyone trying the childish hop/skip/jump charade will be taken out.
5. Lifting.
Who cares? If anyone can lift up a lorry, give them a coconut.
6. Swimming.
We are land mammals, running is faster and most of us only think of swimming once we've fallen into Oulton Broad. It's an emergency reflex action and you don't see Olympic fire-fighting or first aid now do you? They don't even use the quickest stroke sometimes, idiots, and the endless permutations of medley and distance just to help the Australians rack up their medal tally? No.
200 elite speedos, pointed in the direction of America, if any are still going at 10:00pm.....
7. The Rest.
Mostly fannying about. Diving, bowls, gymbloodynastics [FFS], shooting, cards, toenail spinning, pylon erecting, tent deflating, bikes!, staring, give us a break.
In truth I'll be drawn in when it starts and you never know we might not completely balls the whole thing up. But: Boris Johnson - look on those words my pretties and despair. I wonder if we can get the winter games too, it's cold enough.
1. Walking.
I know, ridiculous as it might seem walking can be done competitively. I've seen footage [no pun intended and hopefully none taken], it looks like the commuters on London Bridge late for their 8:30 and inappropriately dressed. You can be disqualified for running, which everyone knows is quicker than walking - what happened to "Faster, Sexier etc.?" No, we are not having that not no how. Let them run.
2. Running.
Faster. Further, at a pinch. The 100 metres stays so we know who is quickest. I would like to see a 2 metre sprint with 10 hurdles for a laugh [a honking noise could be sounded if anyone falls over]. The relay is the work of the devil - slow down a bit and pass the parcel at intervals? Undignified, and it gives the slower ones a chance. If we must have a relay then just have all four from each team holding hands - only problem here is the need for a 36 lane track.
The snickers is a completely random 26 miles something-or-other because that was the distance from Buck House to Wembley - nothing to do with ancient Greece or modern Greece for that matter. The long-haul race should be 200 elite skinnies pointed north and the last one standing wins. Cars are better for going a long way, but they might not exist by the time of the games.
2a. Running and drugs.
Every competitor should be supplied with every chemical stimulant and performance-enhancing substance available. We'll still find out who's best, it might be funny and only the ones on ecstasy will believe it's 'all about the taking part.'
3. Throwing.
The spear and only the spear. Come next summer we'll all be hunting for our own food anyway so it'll be the only grass-roots activity represented. Perhaps the weightlifters could throw some gymnasts as both of these groups will be sadly unemployed in our edited festival. The Greeks can throw some plates if they like, as they did invent the whole thing in the first place.
4. Jumping.
The long jump we like - leaping up and down on the spot [minimum one jump per second] for as long as they can. They could do this at home if they like as long as Dale Winton or someone is there to make sure the rules are adhered to. We have ladders now so the high jump is obsolete, we don't expect the runners to run using flippers and gills - evolution isn't an accident. Snipers will be everywhere, so anyone trying the childish hop/skip/jump charade will be taken out.
5. Lifting.
Who cares? If anyone can lift up a lorry, give them a coconut.
6. Swimming.
We are land mammals, running is faster and most of us only think of swimming once we've fallen into Oulton Broad. It's an emergency reflex action and you don't see Olympic fire-fighting or first aid now do you? They don't even use the quickest stroke sometimes, idiots, and the endless permutations of medley and distance just to help the Australians rack up their medal tally? No.
200 elite speedos, pointed in the direction of America, if any are still going at 10:00pm.....
7. The Rest.
Mostly fannying about. Diving, bowls, gymbloodynastics [FFS], shooting, cards, toenail spinning, pylon erecting, tent deflating, bikes!, staring, give us a break.
In truth I'll be drawn in when it starts and you never know we might not completely balls the whole thing up. But: Boris Johnson - look on those words my pretties and despair. I wonder if we can get the winter games too, it's cold enough.
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