that's never gonna fit in there

“Tell us where it is or we will cut something else off”

I glanced down at the bucket of water next to me on the floor. I knew what it was for. The sponge was dry. For now...

“Stop! Alright, alright I can't take anymore I’ll tell you. Just don’t do anything else, please”

Cleaners & these were the worst kind.

Sent to collect a debt at any cost. They always seemed to work in pairs. The skinny gaunt looking one did all the talking whilst the big hairy ape just tied me to the chair & grunted occasionally. My compliance was inevitable I knew that, they knew that but we had to go through the ritual first. A game of cat & mouse or snakes & ladders even. Except these snakes had left their ladders outside.The skinny one smirked at the ease with which I had capitulated as he folded away his knife & placed it back in his pocket.

They had caught me off guard as I answered the front door, bundled me into the front room & sat me down in a dining chair. Skinny one had then proceeded to cut strips off my wife’s best curtains & the big ape used them to tie me to the chair.

Oh the agony! When Mrs Peeler gets home & casts her winky over this mess I will be for it. With the curtains gone she will go bonkers at the thought of having to do her fitness video in the front room in full view of Pervy Pete our neighbour across the road.I can just picture the scenario. She will be jumping up & down to the instructions of the leotarded dolly bird on the telly. As she shimmy’s to the left she will catch a glimpse of the Perv Master himself peeping out of his bedroom window. Then she will shriek my name & I will have to march across the road, knock on his door & declare war.

Sigh! Eyes roll.

I recall the last time we fell out. That was the start of the Great Corset War. He was so miffed that I had stopped him cocking an eye over at Mr Peelers living room acrobatics that he made his wife parade around their bedroom in her corset with the lights on at bedtime. FOR A MONTH! Now that might cause one or two to raise an enthusiastic eyebrow but let me tell you, just one glimpse of her rippling flesh would turn even the most robust peeper to stone.

Glady’s I’m afraid was no oil painting & she would only make it into the glossy magazines in the before & after section as “a before” well to be perfectly blunt “a before, before”. I am not saying she was ugly but the local council had fired her from her job as a lollipop lady because none of the school kids would cross the road at her crossing point. She would in my opinion have been excellent at keeping young children away from the fireplace. I resolved to tell her husband this next time I was driving past him in the street.

I had once suggested to the love of my life that we invite her mother around in order to retaliate but I never heard the answer due to the ringing noise in my ears which had coincidently started at that very precise moment.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of the door slamming shut. The cleaners had left. I was lucky to be alive & needed to get out of the chair before my beloved returned so I began to shuffle out of the front room down the hall & into the kitchen. If I could only open a drawer with my teeth & get hold of a knife or a pair of scissors even, then perhaps I could escape & clean up this mess.After an age I had managed to get one of the drawers open I gritted my teeth & bent my head in. I nosed around for a bit & managed to bite onto something.

A cheese grater. A f***ing cheese grater. Strooth.

Well beggars can’t be choosers & all that, I bent my head forward & eventually managed to un-grate myself just as Mrs Peeler came in the front door. I quickly glanced over at the book shelf & noticed that the tin had been opened. Damn! They had found it.

She glided into the kitchen & took one look at the mess.

“You didn’t pay the WINDOW CLEANER again did you?” She yodelled sweetly.

“They didn’t really do a very good job dearest” I replied manfully.

“It only costs four quid you tight fisted Muppet” she answered lovingly.

Pride (0) Smears On Glass (3)

ira bumfanackle

Cousin Ira was a strong lad of few words. Ira Bumfanackle of One Eye Creek, Alabama. Yep cousin Ira was a bona fide Doodle Dandy. I first met him when I was a young man. Dad & I were on a tour of Barmerica & we stopped off in One Eye Creek to “Meet the folks” as dad put it. I must say I got to know Ira pretty well & we became very close in the thirty minutes I spent attempting to hide from him.

I’d only heard a handful of words utter forth from his lips as we stood outback in the dusty yard, “Varmint, Wrestle & Y’all look lark a pirdy gurl, eeh dog”, when I realised that was enough to confirm my suspicions that this tall, gangly, spotty, ginger haired relative of mine with one single eyebrow right across the front of his head was going to spoil my immediate sense of well being.

Naturally my only thoughts in response to the sheer terror of this situation was

a) Why is dad in the barn with Uncle Buford drinking that strange water from the thing that doesn’t move?

&

b) RUN.

I was running with my arms in the air screaming. Around in circles at first, screaming in my blind panic like a heart attack until I was kindly defribulated by Ira. Well clothes lined actually, his right arm gently caressed my exposed throat….. & down. I came around moments later, in the dust.

“Wrestle varmint” hollered Ira gently.

“Ain’t this fun pirdy gurl” whooped Ira as he ruffled my hair playfully & proceeded to flip me over on to my front in an instant. They say fortune favours the brave & I managed to gently tickle his rib cage with my elbow giving cousin Ira a moment to pause for thought.

Well what do you know I was off & running again, still with my hands in the air but not in circles this time. I would have to work on controlling those arms at a later stage, but for now I was just concentrating on the legs.

I saw what looked like an opening into some woods & went for it. All the while an image of one of those greased piglets kept popping into my head & a strange banjo like noise seemed to be plucking away in the distance.

“Run pirdy gurl, run” Whooped Ira as he gave chase. I was a little dismayed that my best attempt at breaking his ribcage into little pieces had failed somewhat. There was only one sensible thing left to do & that was to keep running. ‘For Gods sake keep running’ I thought to myself as I started to climb up the tallest tree I could find.

Why is it that when we make bad decisions fate can’t just leave it at that. No, it has to let us know whilst we are in the process of following our incorrect choice that we are wrong.

“You stuck now pirdy gurl” chirped Ira. “I’m a gunna shoot ya’ll rart darn offem thaart there tree, varmint.”

“Ha” I responded in a confident manner. “What with Ira Bumfanackle you don’t even have a gun.”

“You’re rart, pirdy gurl, I don’t have a gurn” agreed Ira. His obvious delusion had started to give me hope that I could out fox this backwater Doodle Dandy.

“HA HA Ira, what ya gonna shoot me with Ira? YA FINGAS?!, HAHAHAHAAA!” I reasoned politely from altitude.

“Yup!” replied the delusional doodle.

“Hahahahahaaaaah! Ira’s gonna shoot me with his fingers & I’m not gonna feel it, cause Ira is a loony”

It was at this moment I decided that a little showboating was in order & proceeded to stand up on my branch & shake my thang a little.

“Ira is a loony, Ira is a loony, he says he’s gonna shoot me, Ira is a loony” I sang whilst I danced.

Ira on the other hand wasn’t taking any notice of my rather excellent display of victory. He was to busy removing the catapult from his rear pocket & searching on the ground for a suitably sized rock.

The horror!

“Thart should just about do it” mumbled Ira.

AIM. STRETCH. THWACK. CRACK.

Right between my eyes. The pain would have started immediately if it wasn’t temporarily delayed by the sudden realisation that I was about to fall. It would appear that Ira realised at the same time as me that I was gonna fall. I could see elation in his face turn to terror as he realised that our game of wrestle the guest to the floor was in fact going to immediately resume. It’s a this point I always like to remember Ira fondly, for his act of unselfish bravery in the way in which he broke my fall, saving me from almost certain bruising.

Thud!

“Hrrumph!” went Ira’s breath as I bounced off him.

Up & running with hands on forehead this time rubbing the egg that had just hatched there. "If I ever see your ugly mug again Ira I'm gonna tie you up & shave off that ginger caterpillar on your face" I shouted over my shoulder. I was off again this time I managed to make it back the car where I could see dad stood talking to Uncle Buford.

“I hope you two boys have been enjoying yourselves” chimed Uncle Buford.

“We sure have Pa!” clucked Ira quickly catching up to me.

“Well come on son, it’s time we were off”, said dad getting in the car.

“See you soon liddle cousin” added Ira. ‘Not bloody likely’ I thought as I quickly jumped in next to dad.

With a quick wave we were off. My only regret from the visit being that I was unable to spend more time staring at Ira’s eyebrow.

“Don’t worry son, you will have plenty more time to get to know Ira”

“What do you mean dad?” I whispered.

“He’s coming over to Tingland to spend the summer holidays with us, won’t that be fun? ”

“Fan f**king tastic” said I.

CRACK.

"Language" said my dad.

Average Joe (0) Sinister Banjo’s (1)

randy hootler

“Hitler had a twin brother?”


“Identical to be exact” replied Colonel Blimley head of the under arm surveillance wing.


Under arm surveillance was the very basic forerunner to today’s more sophisticated under cover surveillance branch. In the early days the surveillance unit was untrained & financially disadvantaged. Agents would follow targets & if the target became suspicious or paranoid & looked round, the agent would just quickly put his arm across his face & peep. Hence the name. Obviously there was a very low success rate & a lot of paranoid suspects. For years the government used propaganda to deflect public suspicion blaming this wave of paranoia on cannabis use...

..."Doctor I think I am being followed by government agents."

"Nonsense Mr Profumo. Now tell me have you ever smoked dope?"


“Hitler had an identical twin brother? I repeated in absolute amazement. “What was he called Sir?”


“Randolph.”


“Randolph Hitler!?” I could hardly believe my ears. “But what happened to him, how come no one has ever heard of him?”


“Peeler my boy” said the Colonel leaning back into his Chesterfield armchair in his favourite corner of the Gentlemen’s Club. “He wasn’t a soldier or a politician. He was nothing like his brother, quite the opposite in fact. He was a pastry chef of all things……”


So that’s when I first heard the story of Randolph Hitler, pastry chef & identical twin brother of old Adolf himself. Apparently towards the end of the war Randolph had realised that things weren’t going too well in Germany & had decided to see if he could get over to the Untied States of Barmerica to avoid any undue flack that might come his way. So legend has it that he approached the Barmericans & pleaded his case. The Barmerican Intelligence Service keen to get close to the enemy welcomed him with open arms.


Of course they insisted that he take on a new identity to help keep him secret, so they suggested he should change his name.


“What name did he choose Sir?”


“Hootler, he chose Hootler my boy.”


“Randolph Hootler Sir?!” I gasped trying to stifle a large guffaw. Easier said than done with big teeth.


“That’s correct Peeler, he ended up working in a diner in NewYodel. Although the Americans felt that he needed to go a little further with his identity change, so Randolph reluctantly agreed & further changed his name to Randy.”


“Randy Hootler!?” I blurted almost falling off my chair & spraying the Colonel with a mouthful of Earl Grey. “Strooth! Randy Hootler the identical twin of Adolf Hitler who would have thought it?”


“At first no one. They placed him in a safe house with a few other dodgy types one chap went by the name of Sumo Samovic ex Russian agent I think & the other was known as the Butcher of Birmingham”


Samovic earned his moniker Sumo due to his extreme paranoia, he thought that everyone was out to get or double cross him. He would wear his entire wardrobe at once when he went out so as not to leave anything behind that his house mates’ could steal & the result was he looked rather big. The Butcher of Birmingham on the other hand was in fact, a butcher, from Birmingham. He had also heard about the land of opportunity that was Barmerica & had set off to make his fortune there. All did not go to plan however. On his arrival the customs officials didn’t like the look of him & contacted the Barmerican Intelligence Service. They couldn’t understand his strong west midlands accent & didn’t like his large very hairy hands so they suspected he might be a spy. That’s how the trio came to live in the same safe house & become lifelong buddies.


Of the three Randy became quite successful. Whilst working at the diner he was able to keep his hand in as a pastry chef & was even credited with inventing the Surprise Birthday Cake. You have probably seen the giant cake which is wheeled into the room at parties & a scantily clad female jumps out surprising the guest of honour by shouting “Surprise!” or “Überraschung!” as Randy’s brother would probably have said on more than one occasion. In fact I suspect that Randy had picked up the whole Trojan Cake idea from Adolf & I strongly suspect that the dictators cake didn’t contain any scantily clad females either. In my minds eye I couldn’t help but picture a sinister uniformed figure with a little moustache jumping out of a German Überraschung Birthday Cake at some party or other und saying,


“Überraschung! Das party ist uber. Shtoppen sie laughing. Zis ist ein invasion”


Big surprise birthday cakes wasn’t Randy’s only success he went on to open a whole string of bars called “HOOTLERS” or some such name. I thing it had something to do with big birds. Probably Owls judging by the title. He never forgot his friends though I will give him that. He employed the Birmingham Butcher & Sumo Sam as doormen. Sumo’s larger than life appearance & the Butchers inaccurate reputation seemed to work out just fine. Indeed large clothing & dodgy reputations seemed to set a precedent for future doormen.


On the face of it Randy appeared to have adjusted well to life in Barmerica & became one of it’s success stories but despite all the cakes, bars & owls there was one thing that always seemed to bother him. It was what later became known in the nursery school world as “the evil twin syndrome.” Where ever he went people always seemed to stare despite all the effort he had gone to, in order to change his identity. He just couldn’t stand being compared to his murderous sibling & was really finding it hard with the ladies!


It was after closing time late one night that he confided his anguish to his two chums. All three were sat at the bar having a few beers when Randy started to bare his heart.


“I vish zey vud not stare at me so. How vill I ever find a vife if zey sink I am ze dictator. I haf changed mein name vat more can I do.”


“Da!” agreed Sumo “It is big problem, yes?” Followed by a sigh & a long silence before returning his gaze back to the large hairy hands of the butcher.


“You could always try shaving off your little square moustache?” offered the Butcher of Birmingham tactfully.


Mysteries Solved (1) Photographs Together (0)

hairy clowns

Ankles Murphy wasn’t very good with heights. He earned the moniker Ankles after he broke both of his jumping from a ladies bedroom window after nearly getting caught by her soldier husband who had arrived home a little unexpected. Ankles hadn’t actually meant to jump so far but he had gotten so drunk that he thought he was in a bungalow.

It took him six hours to crawl back to his caravan. You see Ankles was a clown with Flopatino’s Travelling Circus. He had grown up in the circus, son of The Great Dangolini a legendary Italian trapeze artist from a long line of Italian trapeze artistes.

“Benda your kneesa boy, when a you land” his dad would shout during training in a strange accent that Ankles could never work out. You see Ankles’ dad was not really from the continent, no he was from Tingland. Northern Tingland to be precise.

“It’s a for a de showbiz” The Great Dangolini would say whenever his young son would enquire about his dads odd vernacular. “But no one is listening except me dad”.

“Pappa, I’m a your pappa. How many a times do I gotta tell ya”.

“But no one is listening except me pappa”.

“Dats notta di pointe sunny shiny, I hava di image to protecta. Ita paya de sponduli. Di circus wantsa di Italiano trapeze act. Di peoples wantsa di Italiano trapeze act. No Italiano, no jobba, capiche”

The Great Dangolini took pride in the fact that he was from a long line of Italian trapeze artists & in fact he was the only Italian in the Circus Flopatino except of course for Mancini the Magnificent who was the larger than life Italian lion tamer from a long line of Italian lion tamers.

Mancini the Magnificent was big in both height & girth, he wore a large black handle bar moustache & a corset to keep his belly in & chest out. Everybody new he wore a moustache because they could see it & everyone new he wore a corset because Mrs Stuppenfeltz the circus costume maker had told everyone except for The Great Dangalini. Mrs Stuppenfeltz was German you see & couldn’t understand fast Italian & every time she tried to speak with Dangalini he appeared to get angry & would speaka very fast in a di strange language and a wava di arms around like hot blooded continentals do. No it was best to avoid conversation with irritable hot heads.

Another person that never spoke with The Great Dangolini was Mancini the Magnificent. When one entered the big top the other would leave. The Great Dangolini had been avoiding Mancini the Magnificent for years. As we have established The Great Dangolini isn’t actually Italian & can’t speak a word of the language. So if he were to maintain the façade of being a legendary Italian trapeze artist Dangolini had to avoid getting caught in conversation with Mancini the Magnificent who spent most of his time taming the already tame lions. I mean lets face it you can only tame a lion once after that it's just petting.

On one occasion he had come very close to having to speak directly with Mancini. Dangolini was just finishing a practice session in the Big Top when Mancini accompanied by his tame lions entered the arena. Mancini looked up & gestured that Dangolini should vacate the ring so that Mancini could himself have a little practice. Not wishing to climb down the ladder & come face to face with Mancini, Dangolini gestured back that he would stay up on the trapeze & watch from above.

Obviously it wasn’t quite as simple as that, there brief & infrequent conversations never were. Mancini gestured up shouting something in fast Italian that Dangolini couldn’t understand & in turn Dangolini gestured down in very fast Italian something that Mancini couldn’t quite hear. Eventually Mancini lost patience & proceeded to tame the already tame lions. The other acts just assumed that the two never got on as they always appeared to shout at each other from distance & gesticulate excitedly towards each other which apparently was quite normal for hot blooded continentals. Rumour had it that it was down to an old family feud which had started back in the old country.

“I sink zey haf bad blood from ze old country” vispered Mrs Stuppenfeltz to Beryl the Bearded Lady von mornink.

This in turn played on Beryl’s mind for the rest of the day almost causing her to accidentally shave off half her moustache as her mind wandered whilst she tried to work out what the two angry Italians were feuding about and where in fact the old country was?

"Phew that was a close shave." said Beryl out loud. 'The Beardless Lady just didn’t have the same ring', she thought as she rinsed off the remainder of the shaving foam. ‘What self respecting man would want to marry an out of work circus performer.’

Dangolini didn’t care whether the lions were tame or not he wasn’t coming down. He didn’t like big lions or big Italian tame lion tamers so he just sat there swinging high in the air. After a few hours Mancini the Magnificent & his tamed lions which were now even tamer than they were before they started, left the ring allowing a now very sore Dangolini to slowly descend. He had never had such a painful derrière. He wondered what the Italian was for a pain in the backside but suspected it was probably very similar to the Tinglish version & involved lots of fast talking & gesticulating.

Ultimately it was their mutual avoidance of each other which lead to them becoming the best of friends. Late one night Dangolini & Ankles were quietly returning to their beds, slowly & quietly tippy toeing past Mancini’s caravan so as not to bump into him, when they heard a long moaning sigh come from within. Curious as to the source Dangolini carefully approached an open window & peeked through a gap in the curtains. To his utter amazement Mancini the Magnificent had just taken off his wig & was removing the corset from around his now expanding waistline.

“That bloody corset was killing me” muttered a relieved Mancini to himself in the broadest Tinglish accent that Dangolini hade ever heard.

“Bugger me” rasped a shocked Dangolini stepping back quickly onto his sons foot causing him to cry out in pain which in turn caused a corsetless tame lion tamer to pop his head out of the window.

“Whatsa all a da noisa” growled Mancini.

“Never mind whatsa the bloody noise” replied Dangolini “You are about as Italian as Pizza Hut”.

So that’s how they became known as the whispering Italians. None of the other acts liked them before because they always appeared to be arguing now they had made up it was even worse they just started to whisper to each other when anyone else came within earshot, so as not to give their shared secret away. Except for Beryl the almost Beardless Lady who was used to people whispering & didn't even notice it anymore.

Ankles put off by all the deception that was involved in flying the high trapeze & the fact that he didn't like heights or couldn't speak fast italian eventually became a clown from a long line of mime artistes, which made for a happy ending for a while at least. Well until Mr Flopatino decided to take the circus on a european tour anyway.

“Oi you two!” shouted Beryl one morning as she walked into the Big Top. “Mr Flopatino’s been looking for you.”

“Whatta da for, pretty liedee” crooned Mancini as he gracefully twisted the end of his handlebar moustache.

“He wants you to give him a hand writing next months posters” blushed Beryl possibly, as she twisted the end of hers with a glint in her eye. Well it might have been a blush, if anyone could have seen her cheeks, obviously.

“Why he can’t do it im selfa?” Joined in Dangolini.

“Because he wants them written in Italian of course, now that your family feud is over Mr Flopatino wants do take us on a tour of the old country”.

“ITALSKI???????” cried the two Russian circus performers in angry russian, both from a very long line of angry Russian circus acts.

Linguistic Acrobatics (1) Hairy Weddings (0)

flash bang wallop

The first Trans-gendered football megastar in the modern age of the game. That’s what it said on the news at the new First Ministers first feel good press conference. It was really my story of course, part of my new job to keep the leader up to speed with the type of stories that would appeal to the younger generation.


Morgan Frown, the newly unelected First Minister of Tingland. Not an easy accomplishment getting yourself the top job when no one has asked you to do it. I mean normally whole nations speak up & say I would like that chap to be in charge. I suspect Morgan sneaked into the job on a bank holiday weekend.


It was around the time of Morgan’s back door entry into number 13 Clowning Street that I got my first break as a journalist. I became the press officer for the cupboard.


“Cabinet” said Giles my editor. “It’s not called a cupboard. The government is run by the Cabinet”.

I rolled my eyes & sighed. A cabinet is just a posh cupboard I thought to myself. Giles was posh but he was more of a closet man. Well at least that’s what I overheard one of the girls in the canteen say.


“Like a closet, you mean” I replied hopeful that I was catching on with this high powered double meaning political speak that everyone around Number 13 appeared to use.


“What do you mean?” whispered Giles loudly as his eyes narrowed. “Who’s been talking about closets?”


“erh…well I overheard that you had been compromised in the cupboard with one of the secretaries.” narrowing my own eyes in the hope of achieving similar credibility.


As my eyes narrowed Giles eyes opened wide as he stood quickly upright. Now this was getting confusing, narrowing & opening of eyes. How would I know when to use each technique?


“Nonsense” blubbered Giles convincingly, “Loose lips sink ships old boy. I was looking for a pen.”


“Ah! The Navy” I said opening my eyes as wide as I could then realising that I was doing the same with my mouth. I quickly shot a look at Giles who appeared to be staring closely at me & slowly opening & closing his mouth with a rather puzzled look on his face.


“Navy???…NAVY. One fancy dress party & they won't let it drop” hissed a now slit eyed Giles leaning closer to my face.


“Well I just thought that perhaps you meant that you were discussing military secrets in the closet with the secretary. You know ships code for navy & lips code for discussing secrets!”


One of his eye’s popped open while the other remained slitty. His cheeks now a funny shade of purple. I would never be able to master this facial opera. Giles was obviously a giant in the subtle art of cat & mouse.


“Now listen here Peeler. It’s the FM’s first press conference tomorrow & he wants to finish off with something upbeat, cutting edge, something that no other newspaper has picked up on yet. So get me a story!!!!” he rasped soothingly. I was a little disheartened at this to be honest knowing that I would never be able to make the veins in my head swell & move with the same flare as Giles.


“Hello Arty. What have you got for me?”


Arty Buckle was a local football scout. He & my dad used to drink in the same pub. I had gotten quite a few stories off Arty when I worked for my first paper “The Farmers Cheese”.


I fondly remembered one of my earlier scoops.


CUT PRICE FOREIGN CHEESE SPARKS CHEDDAR WAR IN CHESHIRE


That snappy headline was followed up by


TINGLISH COWS FURIOUS


“Yes I can just about hear you Arty it's a bad line. He’s going where? He does what? Yep you're right it is spicy.”


“Are you sure about this Peeler?” squinted Giles. “Absolutely, straight from the scouts mouth” I answered, deciding to open & close my eyes at the same time just to cover all the bases.


“Right I’m off to brief the FM” crooned Giles.


“…..and to end my first official press conference” said Morgan Frown to a packed gathering of the worlds media in the press office of Number 13 “….I would like to congratulate Mavis Peckham. The first Trans-gendered football megastar in the modern age of the game. He is certainly a wonderful role model for all young aspiring transgendered sportspersons. Any questions?”


“Trans-American Sir” chuckled a reporter for the Tinglish Telegraph. “Mavis Peckham is the first Trans-AMERICAN soccer star Sir! He went over to play football with the yanks. But would you like to comment further about him wearing a dress?”


Morgan Frown, frowned, his eyes narrowed then widened, his face purpled.

“GILES.” he shrieked diplomatically.


My gaze turned to the far corner of the room along with that of the FM & the worlds media just in time to see a rather flushed looking Giles coming out of the closet with a rather important looking chap.


“Home Secretary, what are you & Giles up to in that cupboard?” bellowed the First Minister.


FLASH. CLICK. FLASH.


“Ah S-E-C-R-E-T-A-R-Y secretary” I smirked to myself whilst walking slowly backwards towards the exit.


Average Joe (1) Mobile Phone signals (0)

stop it... you'll go blind

“Be good boys” said Father Macafferty “or you’ll eeend up in heel & before d' heel comes d' prison“.


Father Macafferty new a lot of things about hell, prison & the devil.


“Discoootecks are de Divils Tambourines & Neeked Flesh is de Divils Bread”, he would shriek on a tuesday morning in class.


Being twelve, I had never been inside a discotheque or seen a woman naked, not for the lack of trying I might add. I imagined doing them both together would be really good but eternally damning at the same time, like an icecream headache.


Oh god. I don’t think I could bear the pressure, just the thought of growing up & being invited to the naked disco after work was enough to make me put an extra jumper on.
What about all the people who went on those naturist camp sites that I had read about in dads purely educational magazines. Would they all be condemned to hell if they had a dance in the camp bar?


Topless sunbathing, surely that must mean a good stint in purgatory, such a shame!


No more John Travolta movies for me & by Father Macafferty‘s logic, disco John‘s going to need some flameproof underpants. Would the same apply to Olivia? Okay so it was a different movie but on the down side they did dance quite close together …..but on the other hand they weren’t in a disco in Grease & she definitely wasn’t naked, unfortunately? In fact disco’s hadn’t been invented then, so does that mean hell is only post Gloria Gaynor? Pre Punk even!


I’d heard the stories about hell & prison of course. No one ever leaves alive. You will need eyes in the back of your head.


I contemplate having eyes in the back of my head & wonder whether they will be instead of the ones in the front or as well as. I wouldn’t fancy having the front ones removed, that said I also wouldn’t relish the thought of having to learn to close the back set whilst walking forward & vice versa.

Now it seems to me that there are pro’s & con’s of having four perfectly functioning eyeballs.


Pro’s


An end to being stabbed in the back.
Being very clever at playing “hide & seek”.
Not having to look over your shoulder when reversing your car. (unless you have a big fancy car with big fancy head rests)
Going to the cinema, watching the movie & being able to look up the skirt of the girl behind.
Able to visit an Art Gallery twice as fast as everyone else.


Con’s


Never knowing whether you are coming or going.
Getting woken up by daylight even when you sleep face down.
Every time you look up means being able to see your own bum. (think about it)
Really having to concentrate hard to wink.
Problems deciding on which car to buy.
(“No sorry I do not wish to purchase that car, it is far too fancy & I have eyes in the back of my head”.)
Going to the cinema, looking up the skirt of the girl sat behind & being distracted by the movie.
Spending twice as much on sunglasses.
Having to have a fringe cut at the back of your head.


It would appear that the con’s outweigh the pro’s. So as I wasn’t ever going to get eyes in the back of my head I had to grow up avoiding disco’s & naked girls.


I remember one occasion being in a pub with my friend Larry. He said to me “You see those two gorgeous girls over there. They have being giving us the glad eye all night. If they come over just be cool & act natural”


“Okay” I eagerly responded not wishing to let the team down.


……& that’s when it happened. The most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on & her equally attractive friend, walked across the room as all heads turned, straight towards a salivating Larry & myself. Never again would we get the opportunity to meet such gorgeous girls as these.


“Would you like to dance” said the stunning creature.


The horror.


“F**k off you brazen hoor, you‘ll not tempt me through the gates of hell you disco dancing jezebel” I retorted proud in the knowledge that I had just saved my soul from the stain of eternal sin.


It was just a shame that the same couldn’t be said for my now wine coloured shirt.


“Could someone phone an ambulance…..” shouted the barmaid, “…….Larry’s just fainted”.

Success wid de ladies (0) Guilt laden & flawed decisions (7)

lost in crap nation

“Bun elth hesh il soo hunesh ickma das blif zo bis reminash t’tirlmut oso il soo ormins efer do das blurf, elth hesh utu roff bir dolgon zo bis ulfrap nuti bir wintsh gosh il bir zo bis das blif United Nation‘s”

“What did he say Peeler, come on man”!

“Sir he said ‘good morning & thank you for allowing our small country to speak at the United Nation’s’ Sir”.

“That’s it, Peeler. That’s it. But it took him half an hour. Are you sure? Do I need to find another interpreter”?

“I am positive Colonel Blimley. I am also the only registered interpreter that can speak fluent Blingtigistanish, Sir”.

Colonel Horatio ‘pim pim’ Blimley, Tinglish Ambassador to the UN. His specialist field, ’s**t stirring'.

Since leaving the armed forces & after a short stint in MI6 I found myself working as an interpreter at the United Nations building in New Yodel which was just a short hop over the water from Old Yodel. Well when I say water I mean the Drywater River. When I say hop its not really a hop it’s more of a stroll across the bridge & when I say river it‘s more of a muddy canal.

New Yodel was built after the Great Pigeon Plague of 1895. The residents of Old Yodel were being bombarded with bird muck caused by a pigeon infestation which was mainly due to old Mrs Brinkle who continually fed foreign bread to the birds in the old square.

The miners, who had spent the day getting covered in honest coal dust from down below, would then find themselves getting covered in dodgy bird sh*te from up above as they walked home. This appeared to be a no win situation which they found very irritating & would often blow raspberry’s at Mrs Brinkle as they walked through the Old square. Mrs Brinkle in turn would give them the ’finger’ & shout “Up yours“.

This ritual went on & on, day in day out.

“Thhhuuuuurpp”!

“Up yours”!

“Thhuuuurrpp”!

“Up yours”!

Constable Dollup found his Police Station constantly inundated with people complaining about the birds, the miners & Mrs Brinkle. Some people said that the bird muck was lucky. Constable Dullop didn’t think so. Not with all the s**t on his helmet.

So eventually the residents of the Old town became founders of the New Town, except of course Mrs Brinkle who was banned & Constable Dollup who rather enjoyed the sharp drop in the crime rate since everybody had moved over the mud. In fact he suspected he was in line for a promotion due to his exceptional work in clearing up the crime rate.

“Constable Dollup” said a young Inspector Blimley over the telephone.

“Yes Sir” answered Constable Dollup in a medium to well gloating manner, immediately standing to attention & closing his newspaper which had no headlines.

“Headquarters have just promoted you Constable, it’s due to your exceptional work in clearing up the crime rate over there. So you are being promoted to Sergeant of New Yodel as from Monday. Well done son”.

“No shit Sir” cried Old Constable Dollup of Old Yodel & now the New Sergeant of New Yodel.

“Pardon, Dollup”! said the Inspector.

“There will be no shit in New Yodel, sir”.

“That’s the Spirit Constable, I knew you were the right man for the job, zero tolerance that’s what we need”.

So very quickly New Yodel became the fastest growing city in the world.

NEW YODEL
“THERES NO MUCK ON US”

except for the miners

Population 1372.
Pigeons 0

Read the sign at the end of New Street. & so New Yodel eventually became the home of the United Nations, well it was more to do with Inspector Blimley eventually becoming the Chief Commissioner of Tingland prior to becoming Colonel Blimley & on hearing that the UN was going to be formed & needed a home. So he proposed New Yodel, as he personally knew the no nonsense Police Sergeant there & what a crime free town it was.

“Right Peeler you’re off to Blingtigistan to find out what the devil they’re up to” said an overly enthusiastic Colonel 'pim pim' Blimley.

So that’s how it happened, one minute I was in New Yodel the next thing I was being greeted off the plane on the hot tarmac of Blingtigistan which was a small but well evolved nation which baked lovely bread & exported it all over the world.

“Bun elth hesh il soo hunesh ickma das blif zo bis reminash t’tirlmut oso il soo ormins efer do das blurf, elth hesh utu roff bir dolgon zo bis ulfrap nuti bir wintsh gosh il bir zo bis das blif Blangtigistan”

‘Welcome to Blingtigistan’ said the Blingtigistanian Ambassador as he greeted me.

I was quickly whisked off to my hotel where a reception had been put on in my honour. It was mainly various types of local bread, it was however very delicious & I could see the potential for international trade.

I was conscious of the time & realised that I would have to sneak up to my hotel suite & radio a situation report back to HQ. I made my excuses of jet lag etc & after the Ambassador had finished saying good night an hour later I managed to nip off.

At the bottom of my suitcase was a secret compartment where the radio was hidden, along with several tins of beans which Mrs Peeler had kindly packed just in case the food was a bit dodgy.
I switched on the radio & began my transmission.

“Traveller to Camp Site come in over. Arrived safe, weather hot, over. I received a party invitation in my honour, over. It was wonderful they bake lovely bread which they export all over the world as they have methods of vast production, over”.

Crackle, crackle.

‘beep beep beep‘!

“It’s at radio transmission coming through from Peeler Sir”!

“What does he say private”? Barked Colonel Blimley

“Its very difficult to hear, the signal keeps breaking up. I’m getting ………HOT…crackle…..sounds like……..STARTING INVASION…hiss…..DEAD………ALL OVER THE WORLD…crackle…….WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION….then it went quite Sir”.

“I knew it, right get me a carrier pigeon I need to send an urgent message to First Minister Bloon, this means war”!!!!!!!!!!

Almighty Cock Ups (10) World Peace (0)