Top Suits and Monkey Hats

Despite the advance warning, no Ukrainian butchers have yet moved in. Lauren and I come home from work each day with the dread of finding the kitchen awash with the blood of sheep and pigs, entrails scattered around the living room and four Vodka drunk foreigners forcing themselves on Lauren. But so far we have been saved and we are still the only ones living here. We have no idea if they have been denied visas or they are late coming because of the volcanic ash from Iceland. Maybe they aren't even coming at all. The possibilities hang over us like the sword of Damocles and we sleep uneasily in our beds. We could ring the landlord and ask what is going on, but that would spoil the fun...

Will they be waiting for us? Only time will tell...

Last night, Lauren and I donned our best bibs and tuckers as we had been cordially invited to dine with Logan Josh and his lovely wife. We were picked up at 1920hrs on the dot by what can only be described as a strategically shaved monkey, who, upon closer inspection, was discovered to be none other than Logan Josh himself. He whisked us at breakneck speed to their pile located within the rabbit warren that is Huntington. The warren like appearance of the estate is a piece of border-line genius tactical planning to keep the riff-raff out. It provides avenues of movement that funnel poor people into killing zones swept by machine gun fire. We, however, were safe as we were in the chariot of Logan Josh. Number plate recognition cameras allowed us safe passage. Throughout the journey Lauren and I were blindfolded so as not to be able to disclose our eventual location to ne'er-do-wells. But Logan Josh eased our discomfort throughout the journey by telling us tales of Sir Stanners and his deeds of daring do at Nostell.

'You can go back to your village now, I have cleared your lands of the beast. I just demand twenty of your maidens in payment...'

Arrival was greeted by glasses of alcohol thrust upon us, the first of many. And on a school night as well! And then Dinner was served. I had previously been asked by Logan Josh if there were any foods to which I was not partial to. Lauren and I both have a fear of mushrooms, sweetcorn and peas and we both told him. He then told me that he would be serving a raw mushroom, sweetcorn and pea pasta dish. A quick aside is in order. I know mushrooms are supposed to be the food of the Gods, but I have had a pathological fear of them from an early age. It has now grown out of all proportion that they could taste like the fucking nectar that drips out of Natalie Portman's tit, but they ain't going anywhere near my fucking mouth. Peas and sweetcorn are a texture thing, I can eat them when they are in something else, but I don't enjoy it. Sweetcorn I never understood anyway. This shit doesn't break down in your gut. Like rats and cockroaches it would survive a nuclear holocaust. What the Hell is that about? In a thousand years, when archaeologists of the future, with laser trowels and hover shovels, come to dig up our remains they will find skeletons with undigested sweetcorn in the stomach areas. It will be surmised that everyone's last ritual meal was sweetcorn. A sweetcorn cult. Children of the corn. I digress. The meal that Logan Josh dished up had not one mushroom, not one pea or not one sweetcorn in it. It was a lovely curry.

Om nom nom...

As the evening passed the booze flowed, Logan Josh became more boorish and out came the hats. Logan Josh is known in hat collecting circles as somewhat of a fanatic when it comes to hattage. We were forced to don various hats by a drunken Josh, much like the costume shop owner in Mr Ben, but with more threats of violence. I'll leave you with a series of photographs showing a minscule portion of his collection of head coverings and Toys R Us uniforms.











And here's a goodnight kiss from Logan Josh himself...