Deep in the lair of Dagon...

As Marlow described the boat edging its way up the rivers of the Congo as a beetle scuttling across the floor of a lofty portico, I too, found myself scuttling into the Heart of Darkness in the Staffordshire badlands. Yes, the clarion of Lichfield was sounded and I answered the call. At 5.45am I was up with the Larch and found myself travelling south to Lichfield. I had been given a mission and for my sins I took it. A borehole survey was required and I was the only man that would never get off the boat.

Tamworth, shit, I'm still in Tamworth...

I haven’t been to Lichfield for three years, but not one atom has changed. Mind you, in the past five hundred years, not one atom of Lichfield has changed. The Civil War siege is still the main taking point at the coffee mornings across the city. ‘I don’t like those Roundheads, their eyes are too close together…’ ‘Coming over here, building their corner shops and filling the town with the smell of sweet meats…’ I previously spent a long time in Lichfield and it got under my skin, like a sliver of metal lost during a surgical procedure the town was still in me and as soon as we (Barry and I) stepped into town we made our way to Greggs, just like the old days. Stuffing our faces with greasy offerings we gaped in awe as Major Misunderstanding waltzed passed us with his pantaloons and swagger stick, ready to attack any scallywag of a youth who should cross his path… This was not the least of today’s spectacles. We took a seat in the market square to watch the passers-by and it was not long before Lichfield’s answer to the Blue Man Group appeared; two men dressed head to toe in red, even with red tights stretched across their heads. They had some form of Gladiator’s cudgels with which they battered each other with for five minutes then promptly disappeared. We rubbed our eyes, was this real? Did that really happen? What purpose was it for? They never asked for money, never made their issues known. They fought then disappeared, like red ninjas.

A red ninja, but nothing like the red ninjas I saw, unfortunately...

The Major and the Red Fellas were not the weirdest denizens of Lichfield that we saw today. Whilst still sitting in the market square, I spied a gentleman of a certain age (about 45), with a mullet firmly planted upon his bonce. This was the least of his problems. He was wearing a strange combination of army surplus wear. British Army pattern boots, DPM trousers and British Army jumper. Although all these items were tied together by theme it was the accoutrements that proved to be upsetting. Hanging from his chest, flapping in the breeze, was a FUCKING IRON CROSS! I shit you not! A German World War Two Iron Cross. Underneath this was a sewn on National Eagle patch. The only thing he was missing was the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler arm band and Panzer Kill patches. We reckoned he must have been Lichfield’s BNP candidate. There can be no other explanation why someone would be parading around in Nazi paraphernalia in the middle of the afternoon…

'Darling, I'm just off out, do you need anything from the market?'

Barry beat a hasty retreat back north in the afternoon and I was left alone with the hole borer. He can talk a lot, but he hasn’t bored me yet. Mind you, there is still time. As for digs, I am back in the soft bosom of Pauline, at the Mountains of Madness guesthouse. Like Lichfield, Pauline hasn’t changed a bit. I haven’t seen her for four years and when she answered the door, I said ‘do you remember me, Pauline?’ ‘Yeeeeees’ she answered in that unsure way that one uses when one is either covering up for a lack of long term memory or not fully understanding the question… I presumed the latter. On the way up to the room she told me ‘Stewart was going to have you, but I gave him Steve as Stewart can’t do breakfast on a Tuesday, and now I’ve got you.’ Literally, WTF? This week is going to be interesting…

Breakfast time at Pauline's...

I’m afraid that of late I have been treating this blog like a ginger stepchild and neglecting it, that is because I have been teaching and updating has had to take a second place to writing lectures. But since I last updated a couple of interesting things have happened. I slept in an Army barracks a couple of weekends ago, it was the annual AGM of No Man’s Land and instead of it being held in London, as it usually is, it was brought further north to Nottingham and Chelwynd barracks. So for once I could attend, the main reason was to see the ladies and gents of NML and to get drunk in a new town. This weekend, Moogdroog had a belated birthday party, held in the sci-fi style. Although it wasn’t a fancy dress theme, Logan and Mrs Josh hijacked it and demanded that we show up dressed in a sci-fi theme. Moogdroog made a great Scully from the X-factor. The Josh’s came as the gay robots from Star Trek. And me? The best costume of the night! A goddamn TIE Fighter! Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyo!!!!

Best costume... EVER!!

NEWS FLASH, reasons the hate Lichfield # 679: Having parked my car where we used to park the cars, behind Pauline’s house, I have just been informed that parking restrictions have been enforced. Pauline wasn’t even told and all the cars that belonged to her guests were ticketed the next day! This town is so fucking backwards!!