Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Living with an Ex Hells Angel and Nymphomaniac

I left the sex offenders residence and moved in with the ex-Hells Angel, Ross and his girlfriend, Jacky. It was fabulous. I loved it there. Our house was upside down; the living room upstairs and the bedrooms below. It was called rather grandly Australia house. We had parties regularly. At the time I was really into home brewing, making beer from scratch, using malt and hops, never kits. My beer was awesome. So whenever I had made enough beer, usually four barrels worth, we had a party and everyone was invited. The barstaff at our local pubs fought to have the evening off for the party.

We had a few ground rules, it wasn't a bring a bottle party, you just come. NO spirits were allowed. No vodka, whiskey, gin or anything like that, just beer cider and wine. Our theory being that people who drink spirits get drunk real quick and then get violent. People who drink beer just fall asleep. I'm sure people will come up with anecdotal evidence that disputes this, but on the whole it's pretty much a truism.

We would have upwards of about sixty people at any of our parties, I made the beer and Ross was do the barbecue under canvas with fairy lights all round. I was never happier.

Ross was an ex-Hells Angel he had a police record as long as your arm but when I moved in he was cool. he'd calmed down and all his youthful anti-social behaviour was a thing of the past. He was a landscape gardener. But he was still very big and very strong, very sure of himself. You didn't mess with him.
So what about the nymphomaniac? Jacky was lovely, a vegetarian, but hey who cares. she was very cute. The only trouble was she was after me. Despite the fact that Ross and I were best friends by now. One day I was home and she pounced on me. I was terrified about the repercussions if Ross found out so I fought her off. God! I wanted her. But broken limbs is a huge disinsentive. So we, Jacky and I, had this fight in our upstairs sitting room, she was desperate and I was terrified, and she ended up with carpet burns on her elbows as I threw her across the room to get her off me. She had to explain it to Ross later that she'd fallen over.
One time we went to a christmas party and Ross stayed at home. By this time we had a fourth person living with us Brian. It was a Christmas party and Jacky got really pissed. Brian was driving so he was completely sober. Jacky was falling down drunk and I wasn't far behind her. She sat in the front with Brian and I was in the back. Suddenly she fell sideways. I was worried that her falling on to Brian would hinder his driving so I tried to sit her up again. Brian was adamant that she was OK where she was. I tried again and he got angry. It was only then that I realised that while we were driving at 80 mph she was giving him a blow job. The car would speed up suddenly as he lost control of his legs. I was too pissed to care. We made it home and nothing was said. She staggered out of the car like nothing had happened. I gave Brian a look and he just grinned at me. Bastard!
We used to work on cars a lot. But I'm no good at cars. I don't know the first thing. but I'd get greasy just as much as Ross and Brian and they'd tell me to go into the house and get coffe for us. Jacky would be waiting for me. She'd be wearing a white t-shirt. As I walked into the kitchen she'd grab me and start kissing me. I couldn't fight her off without leaving tell tale marks on her white T-shirt and she knew it.
Ross would shout out "Where's the coffee?" and Jacky would say "Just coming darling."
But the coffee wouldn't come, so Ross would come into the house, we'd hear him coming and I would be in a fearful panic knowing that if he caught me with Jacky, my life would end right there, right then. She'd be kissing me and touching me until the last second. Then as he walked in she'd let go and say "Coffees ready darling." and I'd be standing there shaking. As if everything was absolutely normal she'd hand him his cup of coffee along with a kiss. While I'd be shell shocked and traumatised. She did this to me on numerous ocassions. Women can have such power over men. I was young I didn't know squat. I didn't know the rules to the game I was a victim. I was naive.But I confess I wanted to shag her. I never did. But my freindship with Ross was more important than a quick shag.

I later found out that he had caught her two timing him and had left her,. But that was before he found out about me supposedly shagging her, courtesey my brother in law. But that's another story.

Do you want to know about that? Vote now. OK I know it isn't Monday but this is another vote extra to what you normally get.
Leave your mark. If you can't spell your name just type X.

Do you want more? Do you want to know how Ross nearly ripped me limb from limb due to a misunderstanding? Vote now or forever hold your piece.
But if you hold your piece don't do it in public. you could be arrested and put on the sex offenders list. Your call.

Mikel

iPod now playing - Wooden Heart by Elvis Presley

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Zen and The Art of Being a Roadie

So you voted for being a roadie huh? So be it. Thanks for all the help with my word files you guys.

This is the story of how I first got into the music business, accidently. I never planned it. In the story I don't I was mention travelling with my good friend Robin, but he was there. He's the one who used to wear flourescent socks at school and to this day 30 years later he still wears outrageous socks under his sensible work suits.

I was hitchhiking up the A1 standing at the old Sandy junction, having just been dropped off by a previous lift from Bedford. I was on my way home. Not that I considered home to be home, at this time I was a sort of vagrant, moving about the country stopping off at various friends along the route, always hitchhiking and never staying anywhere longer than two days for fear of out staying my welcome and not being invited back. My theory being was, that if I left while they were still begging me to stay I could go back. If I stayed long enough for them to get fed up with me, I’d lose a perfectly good sacking out place, and in my position, any sack out was a good sack out.
So I’m standing on the side of the A1 and a Luton van pulls up a few yards ahead, I run toward it, you don’t dawdle when someone is offering you a lift. The door is opened and inside are two guys. They’re quite young with long hair and one of them sports a leather waistcoat.
“Where you going?”
“Peterborough.”
“Hop in, we’re going past there.”
I climb in. The guys tell me they are going to Leeds. They are the road crew for a band. Cheap Flights. The band would be playing at Fforde Green in Leeds that night.
So we chat about the band and music and one of them says “Why don’t you come with us?”
“What to Leeds?”
“Sure why not?”
“OK.”
So we sped past Norman Cross, now Junction 17 and carried on northwards.
Fforde Green is a pub on a busy cross roads. It’s a big pub, huge, in the centre is a stage, on the right, stairs leading upstairs to the dressing rooms.
We started unloading the van and wheeling the massive speakers across the floor to the stage. Bass bins, monitors, amplifiers, mike stands, drums. Then all the wires each on needing to be placed and taped down where necessary.
The Manager walked up “OK boys, when’s the band arriving?”
“They’re coming up separately behind us, they’ll be here soon.” Says Andy one of the roadies. We carried on working. The pub started filling up and still the band hadn’t arrived. The manager came to us again and was clearly agitated.
“Where’s the bloody band?” Andy and Rod, the other roadie, looked at each other, they didn’t know what to say, so I stepped in with
“They never turn up too early because they don’t need to set up any equipment, they’ve got us for that, they just turn up and play, so don’t worry, they’ll be here.”
“Oh OK then.” He walks off. Andy and Rod look at me.
“Good thinking. God knows where they are they should have been here ages ago.”
We finished setting up and I said perhaps we should keep looking busy, rather than standing around looking panicked. It was 8:30 and the pub was full.
The manager came back to me.
“What the hells going on? If you’re band doesn’t turn up soon I’m going to have to give all the money back.”
“You don’t want to do that.” I said.
“Too damn right I don’t.”
“Yes I know but don’t be too hasty, if you give the punters their money back, now they’ll just go. At the moment they’re all here drinking beer, so while they’re drinking you’re making money, band or no band.”
That hit the spot. The manager muttered something and walked off.
The crowd was admittedly getting restless. Steve and Rod were alternatively going outside to look up and down the road.
Nine o’clock came and the Manager stormed up. “That’s it I’ve had it with you lot. The band hasn’t got here, and I’m going to have to start giving refunds.”
“Look it’s just nine o’clock, the band is playing two sets with half and hour in between. Give it a little while more, people are still drinking, and the boys will play straight through so you’ll still get your moneys worth.”
The manager looked at his watch, he was not happy but agreed to another fifteen minutes. Ten minutes later John and the boys came running into the pub. Their car had broken down in the middle of nowhere.
There was no time for anything, the boys just got on stage and played. They were brilliant, the crowd went wild.
At the end we all crowded into the dressing room and John Grimaldi noticed me for the first time. “Hello. Who are you?”
Andy and Rod explained that I’d saved the gig, the landlord had wanted to cancel and refund all the ticket money but I’d talked him out of it.
“Great going.” Says John, “Thanks a lot.”
We packed up all the equipment into the back of the Luton van and John says “Mike where are you staying tonight.”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“What? You have no plan?”
“That is my plan, I never have a plan, that’s what makes life so interesting, I didn’t plan to come here tonight, I just did.”
“Well you can sleep in the back of the van if you want and we’ll take you back tomorrow.”
“That would work.”
So I slept on top of the speakers wrapped in my sleeping bag and blankets.
The next day, the boys woke me up, "time to hit the road."
"Where you going?"
"London Kensington, then the Corn Dolly in Oxford. Why? Wanna come?"
"You wanna new roadie?"
I never went home, I spent the rest of the summer touring with the band.

Being a roadie was not such a draw for Robin and he went home

iPod now playing - On the road by Canned Heat

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Monday, November 29, 2004

Stress

Stress? Wanna know about stress? I have a new PC. My old PC has been playing up for ages causing me untold misery, especially as I have to use it for my business. Well I splashed out and bought this new PC. Not a problem you'd think but I have to transfer data across from one to the other. First the CD writer has packed up. So I couldn't transfer every thing on a couple of CD's. So how about using floppy discs? Slower but possible. But wouldn't you know it my old PC works on a different format to the new one, so while I can fill a floppy disc, the new one can't read it. Then the A drive packs in anyway. SO now I have an old PC with no CD, no floppy and a hard drive that's looking definitely dodgy.
I have all my back log of stories on the old PC, I can't access them for the monday vote. And even if I could the new PC doesn't recognise the format they're written in. You see I've been using microsoft word, my new PC has microsoft office 2003. They are NOT compatible. Can you believe that? Un-fucking believable. All my drafts for my novel are on the old computer. So I'm stuck.
Luckily my friend Smashy is coming to the rescue with his super plug in data storage device. It's the size of a cigarette lighter and plugs into the USB port. He could save my life and what's left of my hair.
SO if any one can tell me how to make my word files readable on both formats I'd be grateful. You'd think people as clever as microsoft would have thought of this.

So I had a choice either be a meglomaniac dictator again and just give you the Tuesday story on a take it or leave it basis or write another story.
Look I'm busy, OK? But I was up at 6:00am to write you a story.
So it's not much of a vote but it is a vote, I'm giving you back your democracy.
Todays choice is

Zen and the Art of Being a Roadie

Zen and the Art of Dentistry

Zen and the Art of Hitch Hiking

For those who have told me they are enjoying the "Living with ..." series,. it will continue with "Living with an Ex- Hells Angel and a Nymphomaniac." watch this space.
Oh yeah before I go you've all heard of the Atkins diet and the Cambridge diet and all those others? Well my daughter Gemmalah has just lost over a stone (fourteen pounds), she's recovering from the Mumps, she couldn't eat. last time we spoke, she was eating baked beans with a cocktail stick because she couldn't open her mouth enough to get anything bigger into it.

In the meantime, get voting, how difficult can it be?

iPod now playing - Blurry by Puddle of mud


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Friday, November 26, 2004

Living with a sex offender

To continue my short season of "Living with.........." posts. Here's what happened after I left the YMCA.
I moved in with this old man, Pat, who had a spare room in his house. He seemed very respectable, he had a photograph of himself shaking hands with Harold Wilson on the mantlepiece. He used to be quite big in the trade union movement, a staunch labour supporter. But now he was retired. I never suspected anything at first. Until one day he said "Do you see that lovely Bethany?"
"Who?"
"Bethany she works at your place, at the Ministry."
"OH THAT Bethany. How do you know her?"
"She lived with me here for a while."
I thought no more about it until I got to work next morning and bumped into Bethany. "So we have a mutual friend." I said.
"Who's that?"
I said the guys name and she went white, speachless for a moment then
"Fucking pervert bastard he's no friend of mine." She started choking up and then ran away to her office. I stood there thinking "What did I say?"
A secretary came out "What have you done to upset Bethany?"
"I don't know honestly. I just said I knew Pat....."
"Well that's it isn't it? Don't you realise what you've done?"
"No tell me."
"He's a pervert he put her through all manner of stuff before she had to leave. But of course there was no proof. It started off with him allowing her to catch him reading porn magazines. Then he'd actively start showing her the pictures, then he'd be suggesting things and finally he started touching her which is when she had to leave. She's still upset about it."
Well that told me. I returned "home" that evening feeling a little unsure and a little wary, everything the secretary had told me was going through my mind. I was young fresh faced and barely shaving. Pat was sitting in his usual armchair as I walked in he turned his head round to say "hello".
"I've got you a present." he says. "I hope you don't mind but I'm giving it the once over to make sure it's OK for you."
"What's that Pat?"
"Oh just a magazine." and he holds up a copy of 'Rustler', "thought you'd like it." I felt sick and turned away, muttering something along the lines of putting my bag in my room. He calls out across the house to me "Just the thing for a young man, great bedtime reading if you know what I mean?"
It's started already. I walk back into the sitting room. "No thanks Pat, I don't read that sort of magazine."
He gets up, eyes me up and down, head slightly tilted to one side as if he doesn't believe me. "What a strapping young lad like you doesn't like the odd titillating photo?" And he grabs my arm pretending to test my muscles.
I shrugged him off and said I was going out. "I hope I haven't offended you?" he calls out after me. "I'll leave the magazine for you, where you can find it... OK?......"
I didn't answer. I went out and down the road to the phone box. I called my boss and said I needed to get somewhere else to live.
"So you've found out then?" he says.
"What? You already knew? You never said anything, thanks a bunch."
"You can look after yourself, he's an old man he's lonely, what can he do?"
"He doesn't have to do anything physical, it doesn't matter how old or unfit he is. It's the mental things going on that's just as dangerous."
"I'm sure you're exaggerating. What's he done?"
I suddenly felt rather stupid because all he did was buy me a porno magazine. It was my own fears, my own revulsion, my disgust at un warranted and unasked for attention. Tell that one in court. So I said "Nothing!"
"Look if you really want to get out, I know someone who's looking for a third to share a house. It's out of town so you'll have to travel to work. But I can give you the number if you want."
I got the number, within hours I was the third resident in a detached house in Church Crookham. My new house mates were an Ex-Hells Angel and a nymphomaniac, but that's another story.

iPod now playing - She's Electric by Oasis

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Living with a poof

You've had "Living with an Alcoholic" I thought I'd better temper that with "Living with a poof". I'd just left university and got my first job working for the Ministry of agriculture, I had no where to live so someone very sensibly suggested the YMCA. And we all know what that means don't we boys and girls? Yep you guessed it I had to share a room with Dennis the queer hairdresser from Guildford.
Dennis was a very gentle guy. Now you may notice that I said living with a poof not living with a homosexual. There's a subtle difference. OK Dennis was gay but he was a poofter. Our bathroom was full of various types of hair shampoo and conditioners and glass jars full of pastel coloured cotton wool balls. After shave, preshave, body lotion, body cream, face cream, fake tan, hair gel, you name it we had it in our bathroom. I had a bar of soap and my toothbrush.
Dennis had a fascination for maps. he would sit on the floor of our flat and spread maps all around him planning his trips arounbd the world. One night I asked him where he'd been.
"Nowhere." he said.
"What you haven't been anywhere?"
"No. I've lived in Guildford all my life."
"So why look at all these maps?"
"I'm thinking of where I might go. I like to imagine these places."
"So why don't you just pack your bags and go. I would."
"Would you?"
"Of course. I do it all the time."
"OH where have you been?"
"Cyprus, France, Germany, Austria, Yugoslavia, Greece, Italy, Spain."
Suddenly I was his hero. He started asking me about all sort of places. "Have you been here?"
"Yes."
"What's it like?"
"Go and see."
"But it's so easy for you."
"For chrissakes Dennis just get on the fucking ferry. It's not difficult, just do it."
"But where do you stay? How do you know where to go?"
"you sleep where you fall. You sleep on the trains. You sleep on the beach. It doesn't matter. You just go."
"ooooh I don't think I could do that."
"Shit I need a beer let's go to the pub."
"I don't go to pubs." I'm thinking that Dennis is the wrong name for this boy he should be soppy Walter. But I drag him to the pub and I order a pint of beer.
"Oh I couldn't drink beer. Is it alright if I have a gin and tonic?"he says.
I buy him a gin and tonic, much to my disgust. he sits there sipping it with his little finger sticking out. he may be a poof but he's never had sex with anyone. he confesses as much to me and asks me what he should do.
"How the fuck should I know?"
But he's lost. He's a trainee homosexual. He knows what he wants but doesn't know or have the confidence to get it. he's doing all the poofy things already but it's not enough. Meanwhile I'm pointing out cute girls but he's not impressed with that. Suddenly he nudges me and says "He's nice, what do you think?"
There's a big rugby player type at the bar. I say "I'm not about to scrape you off the pavement."
"So how do I know?" he's almost in tears. I want to hug him and tell him it'll be alright in the end but I don't want to give the wrong signals. So I just say "You'll just know when it's right."
"But how?" he's desperate to know. But I don't know myself. He's looking to me to tell him, to teach him how to score with another man. And I don't know. So I try and equate it with what I know about girls, "Just give them a look."
"What sort of look?"
"I don't know a look. How the hell do I know what sort of look you give someone. You just look."
"Then what?"
"They might look back."
"And then....."
"And then you'll know."
"How will I know?"
"Oh Fuck! You will just know. Alright Dennis? You'll know. I can't explain it more than that."
"But is there a particular look? Something that I can look for?"
"Dennis you are going to do my head in."
"I'm sorry."
"Do you want another drink." I got up to go to the bar.
"Do you think I should have a beer?" he asked, "Do you think I should try to drink beer?"
"I don't fucking care at this point."
He had a beer and spent the rest of the evening sipping it.

The next day at work someone told me that there was a room available to rent with an old man. It had to be better than living with a poof. So I said my farewells to Dennis. He was OK really, I had no problem with him, to be honest most of my problem was living at the YMCA. He stood there, tears in his eyes. He wanted to hug me but instead stood there flapping his arms by his sides. I never saw him ever again. I moved in with the old man.

A week later I found out the old man was a convicted child molester and pervert. But that's another story.

iPod now playing - YMCA by The Village People

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Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Living with an Alcoholic

I had this great idea to write a piece about living with an alcoholic that was really funny. But the more I thought about it the more the humour disappeared. I could have easily have written this to make you laugh, but it's too serious a subject. It nearly killed me.

I met Sally three months after I left my wife. She was so exciting, the life and soul of any party. She was a joy to be with, everything was fun with her. OK she drank but then didn't we all. She would have parties every week. Invite friends round and have a great time. She loved music. She asked me to move in with her. I couldn't believe my luck. We'd listen to music play guitar and drink. At first I didn't think anything of it I was having a great time. But then it got wearing. I had to work the next day and after a while I was having difficulty getting up partying all the time was too much for me. OK call me an old fogey if you like but I defy anyone to party 24/7 week after week. You need to rest, you need to detox.

I started getting worried that I was drinking too much myself so I began to refuse drinks. I started going to bed early. Sally got angry with me. She wanted to continue. I begged her to stop and come to bed, but that just brought on more fury.
Some nights we'd finish all the drink in the house and she'd call the local greek restaurant to deliver yet another bottle of wine at one in the morning costing her £9 for a £2 bottle of plonk.
We started argueing. I had to sleep. I had to function at work. I was fed up with feeling like shit ALL the time.

One night I went to bed early leaving her with her drink. Eventually she came to bed, and wanted sex. Despite my tiredness I obliged, she was on top. Suddenly she threw up all over me. It was all down the side of my face and in my ears. I felt disgusted and got up. I wanted to wash, have a shower, anything.
"Where are you going?" she screamed at me.
"I'm going to have a wash. You've just been sick all over me."
"You come back here and finish what you started you bastard!"
There was no way I was going back. She started screaming abuse at me "Well fuck off then. Fuck off back to your ownj place. I don't need you." so I got dressed and walked home.
I was home for about 20 minutes when she phoned, all sweetness and nice. "Where are you?"
"Obviously I'm home, you've just phoned me here."
"Why aren't you here with me?"
"Because you threw me out Sally."
"I didn't, I couldn't have. I love you."
"Well you had a great way of showing it." and I told her what she said. This precipitated another tirade of abuse. I hung up the phone.

For my birthday we'd planned to go out. I got to hers after work and she told me she had a surprise for me. She went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Champagne. "It's for your birthday." she said.
I was really pleased. It's not often I get bought champagne for my birthday. So we had two and a half glasses each and I was getting ready to go out for my birthday.
"Hang on." she said "I've another surprise."
"Great!" I said "What is it?"
She pulled another bottle of champagne out the fridge.
"Oh Sally the first bottle was lovely but you shouldn't have bought two."
"But it's your birthday." she cooed.
Well I was feeling good after the first bottle so another wouldn't hurt. We drank that as well. Then damn me if she didn't pull a third bottle out the fridge. This is getting stupid I thought. I was torn between her thinking of me on my birthday and her trying to be nice and dreading having to drink anymore. By 8:30 she was wrecked. I wasn't much better. My birthday was ruined and we were argueing again. I couldn't believ that a girl who could be so nice and so much fun could turn into this monster after a few drinks. My stress levels were getting very high. I left her after nine months on prescription tranquillisers and a nervous breakdown.

I remember one evening I was sitting in my car with a friend, not Sally, we were going for a quiet drink, and we were in this pub car park and I was crying like a baby. I couldn't help it. It was embarrassing. We had to sit there for twenty minutes while I composed myself enough to go into the pub. At work I would be talking to customers and I'd suddenly burst into tears. I had no control anymore. You want to be embarrassed? then have a nervous breakdown. It's not a lot of fun. It's not funny. I actually thought I'd write a funny piece about this. I thought I would make you laugh about it. But it really isn't funny at all. I try but I can't make light of it. I still drink to this day. Maybe I drink too much by medical standards. But I never drink shorts and I know when to stop.

When I finally left Sally for my own sanity, she ran away to Thailand where she is to this day. A mutual friend of ours came to see me today. Sally is now a teacher in a Thai primary school teaching English using song and dance. She has stopped drinking and by selling her house she is now very rich in Thailand. She has moved out into the country, out of the city and lives a very simple life, she has a new boyfriend called Kidd, he's a Thai, they are very much in love and are planning a family. I am so pleased for her. She has found herself finally. She will never come back to this country.

IN a way I feel priveliged to have known her, she was excellent when she was sober. You would have loved her yourselves. She was so nice and kind and caring, until she'd had a few drinks. We had a lot of good times together. Unfortunately the bad times wiped out the good. I thought I could change her but ultimately only she could do that for herself.

I'm not about to start preaching about the evil of drink. I've seen it all. Just don't begin to think of drink as your friend. It's really not that funny.
Do what you like but do it in moderation.

I bet you didn't expect this. Mike Da Hat funny as always? Well no. IN between the funny and the humourous, life goes on. It can be shit. I just thought that you needed to know this. I like humour, I prefer life to be perfect, but it isn't. We all get shit thrown at us and we pretend that everything is a bed of roses. We have our public face and our private face. It's about time you know the truth about my life it's not all fun and jolly japes.

Mikel

iPod isn't playing tonight

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Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Zenand the Art of Picnics

OK Gang you didn't vote for it but you're getting it anyway. Here is the sequel to the sheep story.


The week following the “sheep” incident, the weather was still fabulous, and as Mandy was now sufficiently calm she agreed to another trek “up river” in the canoes. So I stowed, in waterproof containers, in the back of my canoe, victuals and wine and a picnic blanket and other such finery. This time we, or rather I, decided that we should paddle up stream away from civilisation, saying “We don’t want anything to remind us of last week do we?” Not mentioning once that there were several excellent shagging spots up river and virtually none down stream toward the city.
So loaded up we started paddling. The sun shone like the previous week in a cloudless sky and all was well with the world. This was no training exercise or endurance record attempt so the paddling was very lazy, with our attention on conversation and laughter, than actually getting anywhere. But we did progress up river a ways despite the fact families of walkers regularly over took us as they marched determinedly along the bank.
“Nice day.” They’d call over to us, stating the bleeding obvious.
“Yes lovely.” We’d reply. “that’s the fourth ‘nice day’” we laughed.
Finally, but hardly by accident, we chanced up an secluded island with long grass and a vista that went for miles all round, no chance of being caught unawares here.
“This looks like a good spot for a picnic. “ I said innocently.
Mandy just said “OK.”
So we paddled toward the bank and got out. Pulling the canoes out of the water I unloaded the picnic from the back of my canoe and we went in search of the perfect spot. We found it quite quickly, a patch of grass with yellow gorse bushes dotted here and there around, blue vetch and clover, bright red Herb Robert.
I spread the blanket and laid out the food. Ham, salad, cheese and finally a very respectable white Chardonnay complete with plastic cups. I thought if I don’t score now I never will. I’ll hand in my membership card and become a monk, take the vow and never return. I’ll spend the rest of my days growing sweat peas and doing genetic research and never again even attempt to enjoy the softness and delight that is a girl, I will never again endeavour to accomplish the congress of the tiger.
I poured the wine and we ate our picnic, then I poured more wine and laying on our sides we sipped and talked. I looked into her eyes, they were smiling, I edged closer. I reached over and brushed some of her long brown hair away from her face. She smiled some more and turned her cheek toward my hand almost inperceptively. Leaning forward I ventured a kiss, the softest, slightest, butterfly kiss on her lips.
With the speed that would surprise a striking cobra she was on me, her sweet innocence gone. Locked in furious snogging she was tearing at my clothes.
Jesus Mary and Joseph, I’d given her two cups of wine. Result. I reciprocated and started undoing various buttons zips and straps. Within a minute we were both as nature intended our clothes thrown all over bushes and around us.
Thank you God! My period of celibacy was over. I wasn’t going to have to start wearing a brown habit with rusty chains underneath as penance for my wrong doings. I was going to throw away that packet of sweet pea seeds. The shaggers life for me. Whoooppeeeee!
So we lay there post coital, enjoying that feeling of fulfilment. Basking in the sunlight and the warm gentle breeze. Eyes shut we lay there listening to the insects buzzing around. A bee hummed nearby. Bliss. This is what we fought two world wars for. The bee got closer. I don’t know how they have the energy to be so industrious in this heat. Then the bee got louder and through the fog of ecstasy I realised that perhaps it wasn’t a bee at all. It was too loud. Mandy opened her eyes and looked up.
“WHAT?” she sat bolt upright knocking me over and grabbed the picnic blanket. I looked up as the picnic stuff flew everywhere and the last of the wine toppled over. Directly overhead was a helicopter. Faces looking out the window at us and waving. Even from this distance we could make out the thumbs up sign. So I guess they could equally see our V signals. The helicopter flew a final circuit and then off now the show was over.
Mandy sat there with the picnic blanket wrapped round her naked body. “I’d like to go home now.” She said.
Damn! Damn! Damn! I’d still got two left in my packet of three.

iPod now playing - Three steps to heaven by Eddie Cochran

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Monday, November 22, 2004

Why is it in films that after a night of torrid sex and debauchery, the hero gets out of bed still wearing his boxer shorts? And why is it that the leading lady is so shy she has to wrap herself up in the bed sheet to run to the bathroom. Christ! hasn't the man seen every inch of her naked body already? So why bother covering up?
OK I know it's because of the film censors and that we're not supposed to see ladies front bottoms and mens dangly bits on 12a rated films but it really takes away the reality factor.
I saw "the day after tomorrow" yesterday. A good film but.... How come after telling his son that under no circumstances was he to go outside. The Father takes it upon himself to do exactly the opposite and walk god knows how many miles in the snow? What's he going to do when he get's there? Actually he does nothing in the film he just gets there and then they all have to be rescued by helicopter. Pointless.
And how come when they are trying to save as many people as possible they see fit toi send a politician on one of the helicopters to give the hero a big hug thus taking up a valuable space in said helicopter for a potential rescue victim.
And while we're at it how come at the beginning of the film the pilot of a helicoper was frozen just sticking his head out the door and the young hero's managed to run half a mile while everything was freezing up solid and windows shattering with cold around them. How come they didn't freeze at the same rate?
And how come when they were supposed to be keeping warm they built a fire in the biggest room? And how come when they'd built the fire they also built a wall of books in front of the fire to block of the radiant heat from themselves. And why did the telephone still work when it was completely submerged under water? And how did a ship manage to navigate itself without crew through the streets of manhattan?
And how come when the Library was full of starving people no one thought to raid the cafeteria before?
And how come when all the roads were blocked and nothing was moving suddenly someone turned up at the hospital in an ambulance? To pick up the doctor and her patient a small child with leukemia or something?
Oh yeah what's a smallchild with leukemia got to do with the plot anyway?
SO Roger Spottiswoode next time you make a film maybe you'd like to consult me first. I'm available as a consultant at very reasonable rates.

So I'm in the mood now. So this week I'm going to be a fascist dictator and make a unilateral desicion to not have a vote. Last week you voted for the sheep story so this week we're going to have the sequel. Picnic.

Now you can possibly vote anyway and try and overthrow my decision, after all we are in a deomcracy here. But I will warn you I have the bit between my teeth today. You'll have to come up with something special to make me change my mind on this one.

So I'm in the shopping centre and my clothes are in tatters and my shoes worn beyond belief and I think maybe I'll get some new shoes. I boldly walk into the shoe shop, I walk up toi the mens section and am immediately confronted by a wall of shoes all shapes and sizes and prices. I start out in a cold sweat my breathing becomes rapid I'm having a panic attack. I can't do this today. I turn and with growing relief I run out the shop. I walk into a clothes shop, maybe buy myself a new shirt. The same thing happens. So no new clothes this week. Probably not next week or next month. I can walk into a music shop and spend £500 on a new guitar but buying clothes. Eeeek I can't remember the last time I bought new clothes. I don't particularly like new clothes.
My darling Helene bought me a new jumper once, it took me six months to get used to the idea of wearing it. I still have a jumper bought by my mother last christmas unworn and still in it's bag.
I buy new jeans occasionally. But then I know exactly what I want. So I take a deep breath run in and grab two pairs of exactly the same jeans I always wear exactly the same size and run to the till before ther panic sets in. If I have to think about it I'm lost. I was with someone once and she said "Aren't you going to try them on first?"
"No."
"But that's half the fun. Trying on new clothes."
"FUN? That's not fun it's torture. I've got to get out of here quick."
"You're hopeless."
"I know."

Sundays shopping trip was a result of Saturday night when this certain young girl decided that she wouldn't be seen dead with me wearing the same old clothes anymore. Bless her she was trying to help me choose. So while she's still standing there saying stuff like "I think this would suit you........... mikel? MIKEL!" I'm gone. I'm finding MP3 digital recorders a lot more fascinating.
Finally in desperation I make a run for the car. "I can't do this today. Don't make me look at anymore clothes ."

iPod now playing - Handbags and Gladrags by the Stereophonics

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Friday, November 19, 2004

Desk toys

It's official my elastic band ball, made up of the elastic bands dropped by my postman and collected from other sources has grown to a massive 10.5cm. Customers come into the shop and pick it up saying "Hey that's cool.How many elastic bands made this?"
Well I don't know but it must be hundreds. Possibly thousands. In bored moments I bounce my ball around the shop.

My other desk toys are a 1942 second world war marching compass, my priceless collection of paper clips on a magnetic base, a large mango seed, an ugly brass fish with hinged lid which contains my vast, but not valuable, collection of foreign coins slipped to us by the public.

I'll let you know if I slip in some actual work along the way.

Rock on dudes

iPod now playing - Silver machine by Hawkwind

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Thursday, November 18, 2004

....with built in FM Radio

I guess you must have seen them advertised here and there. An everyday object made useless by the addition of an FM radio. I've seen loads. Golf club with built in FM radio. Biro with built in FM radio. Torch with built in FM Radio. How could we possibly survive without these essential items. Who thinks these up? Especially who thinks to take an already useless item and make it even more tacky by the addition of the ubiquitous built in FM fucking Radio?
But yesterday I found the pinnacle of crap. The nobel prize winner of bad taste. And the scary thing is it could be in a poundland near you right now. A sales rep came to the shop with this months special offer list. I couldn't believe my eyes.
"This can't be right."
"Which one?"
"This one. Are they taking the piss or what?"
"Ah that one. I haven't sold any of those yet. I don't think I will."
And friends what it was, was the very essential toilet roll holder with built in FM Radio and ALARM CLOCK. Wall mounted of course.
For fucks sake! It makes the mind boggle that they think people need an alarm clock for when they're sitting on the throne. Are they going to be falling asleep whilst taking a dump?Do they have a time limit.
"OH darling I'm going to the toilet. No don't worry dear I'll set the alarm."
I wonder if it has a snooze button.
Beep Beeeep Beeeep Beeeep
"Oh no, just a few more minutes sitting here would be great!"
Just long enough to read the sports pages.

iPod now playing - My oh My by David Gray

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Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Basildon Disaster Appeal

ESSEX HURRICANE APPEAL


A mojor hurricane (Shazza) measuring 9.9 on the beaufort scale hit in the early hours of Monday. The main force of the wind hit Basildon Essex. Victims were seen wandering around aimless muttering "Bleeeedin' 'ell".The hurricane decimated the area causing approximately £30 worth of damage. Several priceless collections of momentos from the balearics and the Spanish Costas, straw donkeys and mexican hats were damaged beyond repair. Three areas of historic burnt out cars were disturbed and many locals were waken by the tempest well before their Giros were due to arrive.

Essex FM reported that hundreds of residents were confused and bewildered, still trying to come to terms with the fact that something interesting had occurred in basildon.

One resident Tracy Sharon Smith, a 15 year old mother of five said "It was such a shock my daughter Chardonnay Mercedes came running into my bedroom crying. Tyson and Beckham needed immediate treatment with Sunny Delight and the two youngest Kylie Morgan and Megan Storm slept through it. I was still shaking when Trisha came on the next morning."

The good news is that the lootings, muggings and car crime carried on as normal. The British red cross ,first on the scene, has already managed to ship in 4,00o crates of Sunny Delight. Medecine Sans Frontieres have sent a consignment of Stella Artois for the most urgent cases.
Rescue workers are still searching the rubble and have so far found large quantities of personal belongings including benefit books, jewelry from Elzabeth Duke at Argos and Bone china from the Poundland.

HOW CAN YOU HELP?

This appeal is to raise money for food and clothes parcels for those unfortunate enough to be caught up in this disaster. Clothing is most sought after, items needed most include:

Fila or Burberry baseball caps

Kappa track suit tops (his and hers)

Shell suits (female)

White sport socks

Nike Trainers

Clown necklaces

Food parcels may be harder to come by but with your help and support we know we can save many from this tragedy and give them back the life they have known. Required foodstuffs include.

Microwave meals

Baked beans (Aldi as a preference)

Ice cream

Cans of Colt 45 or Special Brew


STOP PRESS - BREAKING NEWS

The government has declared a state of emergency and have requested assistance from the United States. President George Bush has sent crack M.A.S.H. units to the scene. MacDonalds Army Sandwich Hospital. They are now administering Big Macs and Fries to the afflicted.

Rescue workers found a girl in the rubble smothered in Tomato ketchup. "Where are you bleeding from?" they asked.
"Romford" replied the girl "Woss that got to do wiv it?"


So give what you can. Even a small amount can make a difference.

Remember. Just 10p can buy a biro to fill out the claim forms. £2 will buy a tray of chips, crisps and a blue fizzy drink. £5 will pay for a packet of lambert and Butler and a lighter. £7.99 will buy a genuine Elizabeth Duke moving clown Pendant crystal set, chain length 46cm/18" cat no: 234/3019. £10 gets you 10-1 at Chepstow third race. These things are needed now.

Don't delay call our hotline now where a trained operator will take your money.

Call now on

O8OO 2428 7286 that's O8OO CHAV SCUM

CHAVSCUM is a registered charity no: 8748302
Registered Offices: Beckham House, 10 Wayne Rooney Road, Basildon BS1 4BS
Directors Wayne Darren Smith, Sharon Kylie Smith, Britney Chelsea Smith and Lance.


iPod now playing - Eve of destruction by Barry Maguire

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Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Zen and The Art of Canoeing

The vote was overwhelmingly in favour of Sheep. So here it is:

In my youth I was a keen canoeist. One day I came up with one of the most pathetic chat up lines ever, “would you like me to teach you canoeing?”
I almost fell over when the young girl in question said “Yes please, that would be great.” Her name was Mandy, short brown hair and slim with a slight Princess Diana shyness to her.
So we arranged on Sunday I would pick her up and we’d have a day out on the river. Sunday came and my new friend Mandy and I, parked up and untied two canoes from the roof of my car. It was already getting warm and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Helping someone get in the canoe, especially a beautiful young thing is a very tactile business, with hands guiding various bits of anatomy into various parts of the boat. So it was a good start. She seemed to be enjoying the close personal attention of her very own instructor. Oh the power of command. I was in total charge of the situation. She was like putty in my hands. So after a few basics on paddling technique we set off. We weren’t going to hit any white water on the Nene so I didn’t get her to practice any Eskimo rolls or other technical stuff I just told her how to get out the canoe if she did happen to go over.
Paddling down a river on a warm summers day is great fun, the world drifts slowly past. People wave from the bank and fisherman cough loudly if you go too near their floats. After half an hour Mandy was getting into the swing of it, she’d stopped wobbling and as long as she was going in a straight line she was fine. Occassionally I’d have to nudge her a little with the front of my boat, but apart from that it was plain sailing or canoeing. We paddled down the river laughing, joking and chatting. I was definitely in with a chance here. Find a spot and it’ll be Shagsville Arizona
Further down the river some trees were overhanging the water. Mandy started drifting towards them. I thought it was deliberate, thinking to myself that it would be fun to canoe into the darkness below the trees. She went first and disappeared amongst the foliage. I was about to follow when she started screaming. It was ordinary screaming if you can call any sort of screaming ordinary. I say ordinary because it wasn’t the gurgling “I’m-underwater” type screaming. So obviously she hadn’t fallen in. I quickly paddled toward her.
“Get it off. MIKEL! Help Get it off.”
Under the tree I found her one hand grasping an over hanging branch the other hand holding a paddle, beating hell out of a sheep that had got tangled up in the safety rope that ran down the side of her canoe.
As Officer IC sheep defences I rushed in to the rescue. The sheep was motionless. My first thought was that she had beaten it senseless with the paddle. My second deduction was that it was already dead, the terrible stink coming from it’s fat bloated body being the biggest give away, That and the fact on closer examination it’s eyes had been eaten away by small fish leaving two empty sockets. Mandy had the sheep from hell tangled up with her canoe and she was still screaming. I tried to pull her backwards to open water. But couldn’t. I told her to let go of the branch. She let go and slowly with dead sheep in tow we made it to open water. On the opposite bank a crowd had gathered, curious to know what the screaming was all about. Out in the open I could give the sheep a push with my paddle and free it from the ropes where it spun round and round slowly in the water and drifted off down stream. The crowd wandered off disappointed that the body wasn’t human. Mandy sat in her canoe, head down. “I want to go home now.” She said. Damn and I’d got a picnic and everything. Bottle of wine, sandwiches treats and a packet of three.
We paddled silently back to the car. Mandy shocked and horrified by the evil that is nature. Me pissed off because yet another shag opportunity had come and been lost.
Back at the car Mandy finally said “Do you often find dead sheep in the river?”
“No, that’s the first one.” I said honestly.
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Well it was very nice until then.” She said looking at me sideways through the hair over hanging her eyes.
“Do you want to try again then?”
“That would be nice but not today, I’ve had enough of canoeing for one day.”
“Next Sunday then.”
“Yes OK if the weather is still nice.”
THANK YOU GOD!!!!! Game on again.
We went canoeing again the following week, but that’s another story.

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Monday, November 15, 2004

OMG it's another vote

Saturday night Del and I played the Exeter Arms Helpston. We couldn't think of a name for ourselves, despite all your suggestions (thanks for those) until we hit upon Delandahat. It seemed to say it all. Itwas our first gig together as just Del and I. A whole bunch of new songs and barely six hours rehearsal. Dels Fender telecaster was playing up so Saturday afternoon I had to dash over to my ex wifes house to borrow her Fender Stratocaster. She wasn't overly enthusiastic about the idea but she is a professional musician herself and so agreed to lend it to us.
I got to Dels after a lot of rushing about Diane was just serving up dinner to the kids. I suddenly realised that in all the rush I hadn't eaten since Friday. Hmmm so nothing new there then. I stood in their front room staring at their plates of food thinking "You aint going to eat ALL of that are you?" and thinking of ways to distract them while I stole their dinners. Diane said "Have you eaten?"
"er no. I forgot."
"Typical. Sit down dinner is on the way." She's a trooper is Diane. Within five minutes I had chicken and chips placed in front of me.
We finally got to the pub. Set up the equipment and started playing. What can I say? It was a little rough round the edges. Del was very experimental in his guitar work. During the second set Del decided to leave me to it. I was on a roll and he set about drinking the man who should not be named under the table. neither won that little contest. At the end we were paid and the landlord said we were brilliant and asked us to come back again. Result. WE can only get better as we keep on playing together.

So onto todays vote. I've written another story to add to the list. I must tell you that I don't always write funny stories so today you have a thirty three percent chancce of getting a story that isn't necessarily funny. Two of the six are not funny. But that's not to say they're not worth voting for. Oh listen to me blowing my own trumpet again. You know modesty is one of my finer points.

So here's the list:

Sheep - The usual mutant ninja sheep story, also involves a couple of canoes. Boring. Don't vote for this.

Picnic - This is the sequel to "Sheep" so I don't know why it's on the voting list no point voting for this one until you've voted for sheep.

Hungry Joe - I wouldn't vote for this either. Not unless you want to bore yourself rigid reading about overhead cams and twin choke webbers. Personally I'd rather put a gun to my own head.

Nose bag - God this one is so tedious I regret even writing it. Clip your toenails instead it'll be more exciting.

Pheasant - What could possibly be more boring than a twitcher/ornithologist spouting on about some feathered ex dinosaur he spotted. You've got better things to do.

Scuba - Some boring twat in a pub trying to impress his mates with tales of derring do. Derring don't more like. I'll have a half of mild. Now that's exciting. Who's got the crib board?

So vote away if you must, and tomorrow some tawdry little tale will appear on your screens.

Rock on Dudes

iPod now playing - Homburg by Procol Harum


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Friday, November 12, 2004

Ghosts

You know I told you I had a ghost. A little old man who smells of TCP. Well now I have a shit load of them. These new ones are my downstairs ghosts. They're illusive little bastards and wont let me see them properly. One is more brave than the other and I can tell she is a girl dressed in blue. The others are just dark shapes that flit in and out of my vision. It feels like I now have five ghosts. One upstairs, the little old man and four downstairs, or it could possibly be two the dark one who flits about very quickly. and the girl in blue. It's a long blue dress that reaches almost to the floor. They don't bother me much but they can be distracting when I'm trying to write. I've got visions of the film "truly madly deeply" where the first ghost decides I'm OK and then invites his friends round, because this is a safe haven for ghosts.

But it could be I'm hallucinating because I'm so tired and am not eating properly. To find the extra hours I've stopped cooking. Tonight I ate a slice of fruit cake topped with slices of cheese, followed by a banana and a few biscuits. Now let's work out the food groups here. Fruit cake: loads of carbohydrate and some vitamins. Cheese there's my protein, banana: vitamins and roughage. biscuits oh what the hell I like biscuits so that's my enjoyment a cup of decaff coffee with loads of sugar. I'm sorted. A few beers and there's my vitamin B6. Oh yes and I had half a pint of orange juice. Vitamin C. See you needn't worry. I was a biologist I know about these things.

My ghosts are quiet tonight. I haven't seen hide nor hair of them all day. Make s you wonder where they are. Where do they go to when they're not looking over my shoulder trying to see what I'm writing? They've never spoken to me. Miserable bastards! Sometimes I think they're taking the piss because I'm so laid back and don't give a shit. yesterday was a ghost fest. They were everywhere. Today nothing. What's that all about? Are they hiking from one place to another. I don't even see the old man every day. Yesterday I smelt his TCP but didn't see him. The girl in the long blue dress was most prominant.

Tonight I was rehearsing with Del. As I walked out the door I said "Are you having a haircut?"
"What? That's exactly what I was thinking just then."
MY psychic friend told me I was psychic myself. But I can't focus on it. It's beyond my power. I have thoughts but I don't know where they come from and I can't decipher whether they are psychic thoughts or not. That's why so many people, including me, are very sceptical about this sort of stuff. They will say it's just coincedence.To be honest that's exactly what I think. But so many things happen that it makes you wonder. As an ex-scientist I have to say that the probability of these things happening randomly or slightly outside the norm, is not significant enough to make me truly believe. BUt so many things happen outside the norm that I do wonder.

Before rehearsal I took my boy Jamie to the cinema. I wanted to see the new Bridgit Jones Movie. He said he wouldn't be seen dead watching that, so we saw "The grudge" a japanese horror film. It was aweful. I saw last week "Saw" unrelenting misery. Despite famous actors in it I could not see any redeeming features in it. There was no hope just torture and pain all the way through. No feel good ending. This new genre is deeply traumatic. It gives you no hope. No denouement. You leave the cinema on a downer. The good guys don't win. The men in the white hats don't come through. The bad guy wins in the end. I don't want that. I need hope. I like action, mayhem and murder but in the end the good guys must pull through. This new style of filming doesn't give you that feel good factor. I shall have to discuss it with Gemmalah. She knows more than I ever will about films. And she's my baby girl.

Tiredness is overcoming me., I haven't written any of my novel tonight. I have lost heart. I have lost the impetus. It's not worth the late nights. It's not worth the lack of sleep. I've had it. There's so much to do and no encouragement. I need to rest. But I can't I've got this gig Saturday night. My ex has gone away so I have to look after Jamie as well. People want things of me and I've got nothing left to give. I've come to a brick wall and I can't go on. Stop the month. I'll start again Monday. I need to rest. Forgive me there's only so much I can give.

Sleep on dudes

iPod now playing - Milk and alcohol by Doctor Feelgood

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Thursday, November 11, 2004

Idiot of the day!!!!!

Todays prize of "idiot of the day" goes to a customer of mine, she wins the Burberry baseball cap.
How did she win this prize? Well she came in to buy a couple of extension rods and a hand grip for her vacuum cleaner.
"Do they all fit together properly." she asks.
"Yes of course I'm a professional of course they fit together." I demonstrated by pushing one rod into the other and the bent end (hand grip) on to that.
"What about my floor tool?" she says.
"That will fit too." I put that on as well. She pays up and takes the lot to her car that she's left on the double yellow lines outside the shop. She opens the boot. tries to fit the assembled piece into the boot. It wouldn't fit. It was too long. So she tried it another way, then another.
I'm thinking "take it apart". She doesn't, she stands there at the back of her car scratching her head. She tries shutting the boot but it wouldn't without trapping the pipes.
"TAKE IT APART!" I'm screaming from inside the shop. She doesn't hear me.
So she goes to the back door of her car and tries it across the back seat. Unfortunately her little chavlings are in the back, and they have to play twister in the car so she can fit it diagonally across the back so she can finally shut the door. Junior chav has a floor tool stuck up his nose and the other three are stuck in various positions around the length of the pipes. She has a very very fat friend in the passenger seat of the car. So fat she has no neck. She says nothing just stares ahead and feeds her face from a huge bag of something. I am fascinated by this because she is dipping into the bag and putting stuff in her mouth at a fair rate. Every four seconds. I'm counting. She's like a mechanoid stuck in some looped routine and can't escape. Meanwhile the winner of the Burbury Hat baseball cap competition is swearing like a trooper at the chavlings. Fat girl offers her the bag momentarily, she refuses. She's too busy screaming at the young uns. Fat girl resumes the 15 a minute routine. Finally with everyone settled or slapped or both, she starts the car and pulls straight out into the traffic. Lot's of screaching of brakes and horns blaring ensues.
Sometimes I'm really proud to be British. Knowing we are the backbone of the world. We are the bench mark to which all other nations compare themselves. UNfortunately if they were comparing themselves with some of the "British" people I meet , they'd be pissing themselves with laughter. They'd go back to their tribes and think how lucky they were. Praying to the Gods of wind river and sky that Argos doesn't open a branch in Umtambazi. The Elizabeth Duke range of sacred necklaces to ward of the demon spirits wouldn't go down well with the elders of the tribe. There are no real lion claws or teeth ripped out by the young warriors bare hands after hand to claw combat with the king of the beasts. No eagles feathers obtained by climbing mountains without the aid of ropes. These symbols and talismans have the real value.
Not some cheap tat that Gerald Ratner would have been proud to sell. Help I'm rambling.........

iPod now playing - Talking to God by DJH

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Crisis Management

Oh dear I haven't posted much this week. I've been busy rehearsing for this Saturdays gig. We've got a whole new set of songs that we're doing. New equipment to get used to. It's not just learning the songs either it's learning the arrangements, little things like we both start and stop at the same time. We both play in the same key. that helps.
Del wants to play electric guitar over my Ovation acoustic. We're not sure if it's going to work too well but it has to be tried.
Meanwhile I'm struggling to write my novel. It's a lot harder than I thought. I don't mean writing is hard. That's a piece of piss. But the sheer volume that needs to be done. The target is 50,000 words by the end of November. It's now the 11th already and I've only managed 15,000 words so far. And a lot of that was already written in short stories. Eeek! One month to write a novel if only I had a an extra 6 hours a day to play with.

ON top of that my boy is doing a fortnights work experience so guess who has to be up at the crack of dawn to go and take him to work then battle through rush hour traffic to get back here. Yep c'est moi.

ON top of that I have my business to run. You that thing you do during the day that keeps a roof over your head. The music is the beer money. The writing is enjoyment. Huh?

I'm tired and I'm fed up. I need a break. The good news is I renegotiated the Christmas Eve gig and persuaded the landlord to pay us £300 for the night. Oh joy. Pay back time for all those hours struggling to learn guitar and practicing. Playing the same thing over and over again until you get it right.

Oh joy the ex -wife has just spoken to me she's going away for a few days I have to look after the boy. Not a problem I can do that. I can run over and cook him dinner in between everything else. I can take him to the cinema or something. How many hours are there in a day? There's not enough for everything I want to do and have to do. As it is I don't sleep as much as I should. I'm eating into valuable sleeping time just to keep up. There are no hours left. I've run out of margin. There's no leaway anymore. I could always skip eating that'll save me a few extra hours. Hmm I've already done that. I can't think of anything else.

Quick sidestep into crisis management. At which I am an expert. This is where you lurch from one crisis to the next. Take everything as it comes. No time to plan ahead, just go with the flow and roll with the punches.
How have I GOT TIME TO EVEN WRITE THIS? I'm at work. I have to be here. So I'm even eating into work time now. If I was any sort of boss I'd have to sack myself.

Fuck it. I'll make myself a coffee and think this through. NO there goes the phone. Shit!

Rock on dudes

iPod now playing - Whippin' Picadilly by Gomez

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Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Zen and The Art of Flies

Just as I think you guys are going to choose one particular story you surprise me and choose something else. I wont even try to explain or understand I'll just go with the flow. So "Flies" it is.

Breaking news: We may be on the verge of having a new blog to read. It's my very good friend Uncle Vodka from Moscow. As soon as he's up and running I'll stick a link on the ol' blogroll. You will learn all about the reds under the bed, in the bed, on the bed, bent over the freezer etc. Or not. What ever, have a read. You might learn something. Coming soon to a PC monitor near you.

Here's the story:


I worked for the Ministry of Agriculture Fisheries and Food, part of my job was to identify bird strike remains. That is, what was left of a bird after it had been through a Rolls Royce RB211 engine. As you can imagine there wasn’t much left. Most mornings I had a few small packets arrive on my desk containing little plastic zip bags of what looked like a ready rubbed tobacco, a rough shag. This would be the bird remains, after cleaning the feathers in Xylene and mounting the fragments on a microscope slide, using my Nikon binocular microscope, I could tell what the bird was. Then I’d fill in the forms with my findings, and send copies to the sender, The British Aviation Authority and the RAF.
One hot Tuesday I get a call from the Post Office in Guildford. They had a “soggy” they were desperate to get rid off. I got into my Landrover and drove down to the parcel depot.
The guys there were waiting for me. They didn’t even want to waste time having me sign for it they just quickly slung it into the back of the Landrover and ran away. The stench was incredible. A whole hot bank holidays worth of time to go rotten. I had to open all the windows and drove back to the office. Being young, keen and dedicated, despite the smell it was my duty to do my job. I placed the parcel on my desk, the corners soggy red with blood. I got out my swiss army knife and cut through the parcel tape. It was all that was holding the festering mass together. The box fell apart instantly and the whole content of the box slid out onto my desk and onto the floor. Maggots were everywhere writhing wriggling in the sudden daylight and scuttling around looking for somewhere dark to hide. Which in this case was under the filing cabinets and behind the skirting boards.
My boss walked in after receiving complaints about the smell coming from my office.
“Jesus Christ Mikel, What are you doing?”
“I’m identifying these birds.”
“They’re bloody Herons, alright? Get them into the incinerator now.”
"But....."
"How long have you been doing this job?"
"I need to count them, for the report. "
"Give me strength. Just get rid of them."
"OK if you're sure."
So as I tried scooping them up more maggots fell out. As fast as I got them back into the cardboard box, the box fell apart some more, flinging more maggots everywhere. Finally I got the lot into a big black dustbin bag and down to the incinerator, everyone was staring at me as I dragged the stinking mass down the corridor. I was a social leper. A pariah. What had the ministry let loose on them. I wasn't exactly the quiet studious type they were used to. But eventually peace reigned over the building once more.

Many days later, I get to work and it was quiet with gentle industry, the smell of early morning freshly brewed coffee pervaded the air, mixing nicely with the smell of freshly polished parquet flooring. I heard the tap tap tap of a typewriter. Looking through open doors I saw the various scientific officers sitting back in the chairs musing on various things, secretaries flicking through the days work sheets. All was well with the world. I walked further down the corridor of our workplace that was a grade two listed building. Oak panelled walls. As I approached my office I heard a hum. It got louder as I got nearer. I couldn’t remember leaving anything switched on. I opened the door.
Bluebottles! Millions of them, flew out in a frenzy, flying everywhere, instinctively I ducked down and they flew over my head and down the corridors, within seconds this peaceful environment, erupted into screams and shouts and people running around in a panic. Still the flies kept coming from my office. My boss came running down the corridor. Assessed the situation and screamed at me to “open the Bloody windows” I ran in to open them, a few flew out, but the vast majority preferred the door. With so many windows open paper work started flying around with the wind. Chaos ensued. Windows in every office were opened trying to get rid of the flies. Secretaries running around with folded newspapers trying to get them out. People coming through the front door just stared and said "What the f.....!"
When everything calmed down my boss said to me “It could only have been you.”
“It wasn’t my fault.” I pleaded.
“No but isn’t it strange how things always happen to you, never anyone else.”
“I guess I’m just lucky.” I said.
“I think you’d better make yourself scarce for the day. You my son are non persona grata. Your card has been marked. You are not flavour of the month.”
“OK I’ll go and count Lapwings at the airfield then. Not much can go wrong there….”
He looked at me as if to say “Oh yes it can, if you’re involved…..” and it did but that’s another story.


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Monday, November 08, 2004

The Monday Voterama

First off I'd like to thank everyone who sent me birthday greetings for yesterday. Your thoughts were appreciated and noted, even though I never replied at the time. In fact I had a great birthday. Saturday night I went out with Del and his wife, he wouldn't let me buy any drinks at all. I can't even tell you how much I drank because he was doing his usual of buying a pitcher of standard cocktails and adding to it, so although it tasted like pop, it was quite lethal. We went to a couple of watering holes, the second of which I was asked, then ordered to remove the hat. So my birthday announcement of "Happy birthday to Mike Da Hat" by the DJ in the night club sort of fell flat as I wasn't allowed to wear the hat. Oh well. But we had a fine curry after.
Sunday my actual birthday, I took my children out to dinner. I booked a table for four and Gemmalahs boyfriend turned up so we took him. When it came to pay the girl looked at the diary and charged us for four instead of five. So I didn't complain. We then drove to Lincoln to take Gemmalah back to University.

The book is coming on OK you can read the first five chapters if you've a mind. Chapter six is already written so that will be posted very soon. I'm not sure I'm goingto hit the target of 50,000 words but it's early days.

So to the business. This weeks voting list is as follows

Sheep - Four legged ninja sheep with masks roaming the country side, leaving death and destruction in their wake.

Picnic - Actually this is a sequel to "Sheep" so don't vote for this one yet. Oh alright if you must.

Flies - Moses would have been proud.

Hungry Joe - Joseph Heller first came up with this name in Catch 22. But we're not bombing our own airfields for anything.

Nose bag - A buxom wench serves me with two pints of Lager and a packet of crisps.

Pheasant - The Duke of Northumberland invites me to a shoot on the Glorious twelth. Yeah right! In your dreams guitar boy!

Get voting. You have until 8:30am Tuesday 9th November to cast your vote. That's tomorrow.
May your God be with you

Rock on and Keep the faith.

iPod now playing - Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads

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Thursday, November 04, 2004

My daughter Gemmalah came home today for the weekend. She's lost weight. Gone is the puppy fat, instead emerging is a very cute slim beautiful girl. I asked her what she was eating. She told me.She's been living on Tuna and mayonaise with strawberry jam sandwiches.
Jamie said "Cooooool" he loves his sister.
So I asked Jamie what HIS favourite sandwich was. He immediately pronounced chocolate spread and cheese sandwich. I had a think and the most bizarre sandwich I've had recently, that I thought was really nice, was Peanut butter banana and brie cheese sandwich.
So tonight I met up with Del and the one who should not be named. I asked them what their favourite sandwich was. The man who should not be named swore by Cheese and blackcurrant jam sandwiches. Then as a breakfast alternative he was partial to sausage and marmalade sandwiches. Explaining that it had to be the shredless variety of marmalade. Del favoured the left over curry or chilli con carne sandwich. Whereas Di. Dels wife was happy with a three tier ham and bread slice sandwich, no condiments, no butter, but good ham.
Mikey, Dels son, looked up from his gameboy long enough to tell me he like chocolate spread and cheese.

So I went to speak to Dave the chef to get the professional perspective, we'd already discussed putting walkers crisps into any sandwich to give it "the bite". But Dave the Chef poo pooed that one saying it was a chav thing it was below him. What was really needed in a professional "bite" was fresh ground black pepper. His Sandwich of choice was a freshly baked crusty bloomer cut thickly with fresh real butter, topped with mature pineapple slices (not tinned) and freshly ground black pepper for the bite.
Mustafa my ex Turkish policeman friend is a great fan of feta cheese and olives sandwiches. His take on that involves a George Foreman grill. I pointed out that Feta cheese was Greek and he is Turkish. "it's the only Greek thing I like." he replied.

Someone overhearing the conversation down the bar suggested, Sardines and mustard but I don't think they were serious. Then some one said "Do you know there is a world wide Branston Pickle shortage. "
Shit!! and Double Shit! Branston pickle is one of my staple foods. I can't live without Branston Pickle.

This is a foodie blog.Today my postman came into my shop. I ordered two gallon jars of pickles from him. If you live in England you will have seen the adverts for Haywards pickles that says "they bite back". Well I have to tell you that Haywoods pickles don't bite back at all, they just lick. Alan my postman gave me a freebie bottle of his pickles. Pickled shallots. Eating these is like doing drugs. You bite into them and they taste really nice and then they hit you. Straight between the eyes. They take the top of your head off. They don't take prisoners. It takes a masochist to eat them. Think of the hottest curry you've ever had.That blew your head off. Then you'll come close. This is pickling at it's best.

So if you'd like to share your favourite sandwich with us nows the time.

Meanwhile you may have noticed that on the right hand side of this blog is something new. It's a best of list. If you've missed any of the "Zen and The Art of ......" stories you can catch up. It's not complete yet. I've still got to work back through the list of stories. But the last two months are there so far.

Also you may or may not have noticed that I am writing a novel. For the November novel writing competition. Click on "My Novel" on the blogroll (it's the top one) to read what I've written so far. It's a love story. If you are interested. I think you can leave comments. But I'm not well up enough on html to be sure.
It's all alien to me and I just do stuff they tell me to. They give me the html code and I insert it at the relevant spots. Then I have to modify it. I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing. But it seems to work.

So according to the organisers I have to tell you what I'm doing so you can encourage me. You are supposed to egg me on to complete the story. I have to tell you that my target is 50.000 words. I've written 4,350 so far. That's not good enough. You are supposed to fuck into me to encourage me to write more. I want to get that symbol to put on my website that says "I have won" . I have acheived the required standard. But I need your support. I need you to push me. I need you guys to be on my case because I am a lazy bastard. I've got less thas one month to complete this. Without your support I will fail. I don't want to fail. Do you want me to fail?

So tomorrow I want either lots of suggestions for sandwiches or lots of criticism because I haven't written enough. Go on I know you can be vindictive. I know you guys can be cruel. (when you want to) don't hold back. Fuck into me. I need it. Be as cruel as you can to inspire me to write more. Helene will love you for it.
She wants this story told as much as myself.

Goodnight my internet buddies. I must sleep now.

iPod now playing - Mr soft by Steve Harley

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Wednesday, November 03, 2004

A day in the life of Mike Da hat

This is just an everyday story of everyday folk in the life of Mike Da hat. A day in the life of…………

Monday the day started normally enough, an eighteen year old Jamaican dude attempted to rob Mr Khan at the post office with a knife. My friend Mr Khan ducked below the counter and pushed the panic button. The youth legged it out the post office which is less than a hundred yards from my shop and ran off down the road. The police arrived and gave chase. PC Smith first on the scene followed directions from bystanders who saw the guy running. He found the discarded black balaclava and knelt down to take a look. He was jumped from behind and stabbed in the chest. He survived due to his stab jacket. Within minutes the area was swarming with police cars and dogs and helicopters.
After all that excitement I thought what better than to take my boy to the pub and have a quiet game of pool. It’ll be relaxing. A couple of beers and a few games with my teenage boy Jamie. We’d had a couple of games when this guy came running in shouting for an ambulance as an old man had collapsed in the street. It was my civic and moral duty to run out and try and help. So I ran. I found the guy quickly and assessed the situation. He was elderly, unable to move, in obvious distress clutching his chest and breathing very shallowly. His daughter was with him screaming at him to get up and every time she tried to move him he cried in pain holding his chest some more. She was trying to find his inhaler. Obviously an asthmatic. I called 999.
Within seconds it was chav central. The mans two sons turned up. Ignoring the old man they turned to me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Calling an ambulance.”
“Well fuck off it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“You want some of this?” and he raised his clenched fist at me. “We don’t need an ambulance so fuck off and mind your own business.”
I hung up the phone.
Two nurses came running up from the drug rehabilitation centre. They assessed the situation and demanded to know if anyone had called an ambulance.
I said I’d tried but was threatened.
“For chrissakes.” Shouted the nurse, “This man could be dieing.”
“Fuck off.”
Meanwhile the other nurse ran into the pub and had Ross the barman call and ambulance.
Chav turns to me and spits “You fucking still here?” We back off and nurse one and I move away to wait for the ambulance. Meanwhile a policeman arrives on the scene. He assesses the situation and verifies that an ambulance has been called on his radio. He is told to fuck off as well. Meanwhile the daughter is still screaming, she’s pissed anyway and father isn’t far behind. But he’s in a bad way. He still can’t move.
The ambulance arrives and two paramedics jump out. They are told to fuck off and mind their own business. They try to reason with the chavs but the abuse continues. The paramedics get back into the ambulance and drive off leaving the old man still lying in the road. The two sons then bodily pick up the father as he screams in pain and drag him home between him his toes scraping on the pavement. He could well be dead now as I write this.

So I go back into the pub and all is quiet except for this couple at the bar who are having a drink, she is of far eastern extraction and he is English, I’d seen them together many times, they seemed quite happy together. But tonight she was on a mission to goad him. And goad him some more. Dirty washing was aired in public. As we played pool we learnt more of their intimate home life than was comfortable. Two guys at the bar leant over and told her that although they were all good friends perhaps she should keep what went on behind closed doors to herself. Meanwhile the boyfriend just stood there quietly telling her to “Leave it.” And “Would you please shut up.” But she wouldn’t she went on with the criticisms. Now most people would have just walked away and continued the argument elsewhere in private but he stood his ground and took it. Even when she started punching him he took it. He kept his calm and kept on telling her to “be quiet.” Eventually the inevitable happened. At exactly 23:10 GMT after three hours of goading he snapped and with one sudden unexpected massive swing he punched her lights out. She went flying off the bar stool and landed unconscious on the floor amid broken glass and tables. Whether she was feigning unconsciousness or not he didn’t believe it and started screaming at her and giving her a kicking the two guys at the bar dragged him off but not before he’d grabbed a pint of beer and threw it in her face, calling her all the names under the sun.

She was down and I went to see if I could help. Moral and civic duty and all that. OK she deserved it but I couldn’t see her throw up and choke on her own vomit. So I went to put her in a recovery position as she was looking very dodgy. Lesley my pool playing partner said “Don’t get involved.”
“I can’t just leave her like that.”
“Yes you can Don’t get involved.”
“I’m not involved, but I must do something.” She was lying there retching. A combination of alcohol and the blow to the head. I stayed until I knew she was OK. Pissed but OK. Then we left. You’d think that was enough for one day wouldn’t you?

But no earlier on in the evening I had been speaking to a friend of mine who was having an affair behind his wifes back. He’s my friend. I speak to my friends. I don’t judge them I don’t criticise them. What he does is his own business. He is a grown man he doesn’t need me to spell out the consequences of his actions. He is fully aware of the shit he is in. So as he is a good friend I listened.
Lesley was on my case. “Why are speaking to him?”
“He’s a friend.”
“He’s a lying cheating bastard.” She said. “By talking to him you are condoning his actions you are encouraging him. What about his wife and children?”
“That’s his problem not mine.”
“It should be yours. You should have nothing to do with him.”
“Lesley I suggest you stop this conversation right now. I will not be a judge to my friends.”
“He is cheating on his wife. He’s going to leave her for some floozy.”
“Floozy? Do you know the girl?”
“I don’t need to I know the type.”
“What type?”
“Her type.”
“God! You need help.” I said. “You have declared yourself judge jury and executioner. And you don’t know the first thing about anything. I notice you never criticised me when I left my wife.”
“That was different, your marriage was over.”
“So his isn’t?”
“He’s just a womaniser.”
By now I was so angry and we had got to my back door. I said “I’m going to stop this conversation now before YOU regret it.” The door was slammed shut.
I will not have people tell me what to think. I will not be told who my friends are. I will not sit in judgement over my friends. I will never take sides in any argument.

I was once told by someone when two of my best friends fell out that I should stop sitting on the fence and make a stand. I was threatened, in a way, that my standing in the group was in jeopardy if I didn’t choose one way or another. I chose to stand my ground and NOT take sides. The result is I still have my two best friends even though they don’t speak to each other and I see them on separate occasions. Result.

For our American friends, if you want to know more about Chavs you’d do worse than log on to chavscum.co.uk. It’s a great site. You can even find out what your future Chav children will be called. I typed my details in and my baby girl will be called Kylie Winona De Hat and my baby boy will be called Elvis Tyson De Hat. Good job I’ve had a vasectomy.
There’s also an article on how to spot chavs, that mentions Argos Bling, the Croydon face lift and the ubiquitous Burberry baseball cap. There’s also a check list of six points that make a chav. I’m thankful I didn’t even score one of them.

For our American friends Argos is a cut price retail outlet that sells amongst a lot of other things. Very cheap tacky jewellery. For instance a faux Sovereign ring. Or the clown pendant. The purchases of choice for real Chavs.

Did I tell you my boy Jamie is a genius? Well he’s been classed officially as gifted. He has an IQ of 156. So I’m told. So we were talking about regular everyday stuff like quantum physics and artificial intelligence in robots, and the parameters by which we set the standards of sentience in robots. Whether robots can ever be truly sentient or will they just be so clever that they give the impression of being sentient. Well Lesley walked in and asked “What are you guys talking about?”
Jamie told her. “Don’t you do small talk? Light conversation?”
Jamie looked at her as if she was mad. “Light conversation? This is light conversation for me.” I just sat back and laughed to myself.
She said “You know light conversation. What’s happening on Eastenders. The weather. How are you?”
I laughed some more because I knew Jamie had no concept of anything so trivial. He doesn’t have that many friends who can keep his interest. I can see already that he looks on Lesley as a bottom feeder. The end of the food chain. He tolerates her because it is his ambition to beat her at pool. He achieved this last night. He’s only been playing five weeks and she has been playing for five years. I am very proud of my boy, but I also feel sorry for him. He has to learn how to cope with people who compared to him are the most stupid people in the world. It’s a challenge. He has to learn not to be patronising. He has to learn to accept that people are not as clever as he is and give them space. If it wasn’t for the stupid people in the world he would not be clever. So he has to learn to love these people. To accept their inadequacies. To accept they don’t understand a fucking word he says. It’s a fine balance. But he’s getting there. You know people have disabilities. In some respects being over intelligent is a disability socially. It’s very hard for him to relate to the common person. But I know he will get there. He can be clever and interact with normal people.
Christ I learnt how to do it. So why can’t he? Ha ha.
That’s it. You can go forth and multiply now.

Ipod now playing – Rabbit Rabbit by Chav and Dave

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Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Zen And The Art of CCTV

The vote seemed overwhelmingly in favour of CCTV. I'm not sure what Watski voted for. It was an eventful night at the pub last night. I contemplated postponing the Tuesday story to tell you all about it. But I guess a decsription of a quiet night playing pool with my boy can wait until tomorrow. The ambulances have gone and I guess the old man is probably dead already so telling you the story now or tomorrow wont change anything. The lady who ended up unconscious on the floor will probably not remember anything either. So yes that's something for tomorrow. Meanwhile you voted for CCTV so I guess you'd better get on and read all about our marvellous in store closed circuit television system and the dangers it can bring.

Zen And The Art of CCTV

In our shop we have this lovely CCTV system designed and built by my brother who also works for me as my workshop manager. We can be in the workshop and watch what’s going on in the shop, or we can be in the shop and monitor our car park. It was all built at a cost of less than five pounds using TV’s rescued from dumpsters and scrap VCR’s. The wiring of this monster system was incredible with changeover switches here and there and a bank of old VCR’s. I’m not sure even bro knew exactly what everything did. Anyway bro also had a impressive library of porn videos. He was very protective of these and kept them hidden, although he did have regular visits from various friends who turned up and VHS cassettes changed hands rather furtively. Him and his friends would check over the merchandise on one of his many VCRs. One week bro was on holiday and my microwave engineer, Gazza, and I were a little bored. The subject of bro’s video collection came up and Gazza suggested we scour the workshop and find them, as they certainly wouldn’t be stored at his home. So we pulled out boxes and looked behind cupboards, climbed on work benches to look on the top shelves and finally at the back of a top shelf in an anonymous carboard box we found the tapes with titles such as “Red hot Scandinavians” and “Big hot and ready”. We selected a handful and one by one pushed them into a VCR in his workshop. The first depicted an enormous man pleasuring himself with a petite Philipino type girl who at the same time was pleasuring someone else. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but you know what I mean. Tape after tape showing much the same rumpy pumpy using every available orifice and position. Rapidly I got bored and decided to go back into the shop.
The shop was full. Everyones eyes was on the shops CCTV monitor. I looked and there was our carpark as normal. A woman in Hermes scarf at the counter turned to me and said “There’s hard core pornography on your CCTV monitor”
“What? NO it’s our carpark.” I said.
Then a man at the counter said “No really every so often hard core porn comes up on the screen.”
I tried to make light of it by ignoring their comments and said “OK who’s next?”
Suddenly a girl screamed “There it is again!”
I turned and looked in horror as in full view of all our customers, the car park had been replaced by Ben Dover giving it large with a big busty blond.
My assistant manager only 19 at the time and a sweet innocent young girl started flapping around “oh Oh Oh!” My mother who was in the shop as well was paralyzed with shock.
“How could that happen?” said the lady from the Hermes scarf set indignantly.
I blustered “It must be satellite interference.” Knowing full well it was the lamest excuse in the world. I quickly pushed the off button on the monitor and ran to the workshop. “Gazza turn off the bleedin tapes.”
“What? Why?”
“Because the films are being shown in the shop as well as in here.”
“Oh my God! Did anyone see?”
“Anyone? EVERYONE. There was a shop full.”
I walked across the car park back to the shop. The Hermes scarf lady was just coming out of the front of the shop. She stopped looked at me and gave me a knowing smile. Help! Back in the shop the customers had all gone and Mother turned to me, “I don’t think we’d better mention this to your father.”
“Er no best not eh?” I replied.
Then she said “It wouldn’t have been so bad but Mrs Biggerdyke-Smythe was just in and her husband is worshipful master of the local freemasons, she’s a member of my ladies club.”
“What Mrs Hermes scarf?”
“Yes that’s her.”
“I don’t think she’ll say anything. She seems quite broadminded to me.”


iPod now playing - Video killed the radio star by The Buggles

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Monday, November 01, 2004

Name that band: Win a puppy

It's Monday and it's voting time. But this time it's a vote with a difference. There's two parts to it this week and this week only. You see I now have a new band. OK let's not get too dramatic here, it's more of a duo, with Del and me. Our first gig with this new format is in two weeks time and we need a name for the band. Obviously I'm Mike Da Hat and with me is Del Montage (not our reals names) So along with your vote for tomorrows story if you could think of a name for the new band it will be taken into consideration, hence the two part vote. This is like London Zoo running a competition to name the new baby Tiger or something. You could be contributing to musical history. When we're rich and famous and appearing on TV you can say "I gave them that name." So get thinking......

Meanwhile on the starting line for this weeks vote:

SHEEP - I thought the devil came in goat form. Fundamenta ejus in montibus sanctis. Quick draw me a pentagram and let me step inside with you, we'll fight the forces of evil together mwah ha ha ha.

CCTV - Big brother upsets Mrs Chumbsley-Smythe, the Masons get involved, funny hand shakes all round.

FLIES - William Golding this isn't. Lord of the flies?.... anything but.

HUNGRY JOE - I aint hungry and don't call me Joe just strap me to a tree and call me Brenda. Get out your Haynes manual we don't take prisoners.

NOSE BAG - Like a scene from Hammer house of horror, but without the horror, but it's nothing to do with horses. But then Hammer house of horror had nothing to do with horror.

PHEASANT - An ornithologists nightmare, just put away the shotgun. Betty laughed while she crocheted the funeral shroud.


Get voting. I can't guarantee any of the descriptions of the stories are anything like clues to their content. But you never know.

Rock on Dudes

iPod now playing - Back in the night by Doctor Feelgood

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