This blog is pretty much defunct nowadays. I have kinda lost interest, but also don't really have too much time to write stuff for it. That's not to say I may pick it up again at some point in the future, but until I do I will occasionally publish real text message conversations I have with He-Who-Cannto-Be-Named. Like this recent one:
Him: I was wondering if you'd like to be in a home movie I'm going to make. It will be released on the internet. Do you still have your crotchless spider man costume?
Me: What is it about? Will I be the star?
Him: It's a super hero movie, a kind of 'unofficial' adaptation of Alan Moore's Watchmen. Working title is 'Crotchmen'. How do you feel about working with animals?
Me: Sounds great! I like Roger Moore, he's my favourite James Bund. They say never work with children or animals. But I've certainly 'worked' with both before, if you know what I mean?
Him: I think I do know what you mean! That's why I think you'd be perfect for this role. Do you know what your pain threshold is for electricity?
Me: I've not tested it fully. Will this be like method acting?
Him: Yes. Don't worry about it. Just 'be' your character. The more authentic it looks, the better.
Me: Is it going to be guerilla style cinema?
Him: There may be a gorilla involved, yes. Or at least a bonobo or a chimp.
Me: That doesn't sound much like a super hero film. Have you got a script I could have a look at?
Him: It doesn't really have a script. This is proper Ken Loach style movie making. Improvised realism is key. Besides there won't be much dialogue anyway, cos most of the time you'll have something stuffed in your mouth.
Me: OK, well it would be nice to meet some of my fellow actors, you know, to get a feel of how we'll work together.
Him: No need. You're all professionals. Just turn n the day and it will be fine. I'll pay you thirty pounds for eight hours work, take it or leave it. You need to bring some nipple clamps too.
Me: OK, I guess I have been an out of work actor for so long any job is worth taking. Thanks for this opportunity!
Him: Don't mention it. I mean that literally. Don't tell anyone about this.
Me: Ooh, all hush hush? I love secret projects!
Him: Good, cos if you go blabbing about this one I'll break your fucking knees.
Me: Wow, this is exciting, a really big secret!
Him: Shut the fuck up and go and get a full body wax.
Me: I like a director who takes control.
Him: I hope you like a chimp that takes control too.
Then it all went quiet for a bit until I got this:
Him: I keep getting texts from Dominoes Pizza, almost every day. I never reply but they keep texting me. Do you think they fancy me or something?
Me: Text them back, see if they want to go for a drink.
Him: I called Dominoes, they didn't want to go for a drink but they said I could come round for a pizza! I'm so excited! I just need to decide what to wear!
Showing posts with label Tarquin Sheen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tarquin Sheen. Show all posts
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Hungry Hungry Hippos
First of all, read a brand new interview with Abwehrschlacht conducted by Crucifixion 'Zine HERE.
He-who-cannot-be-named showed up at my house on Sunday morning and set fire to it. I ran out into the street with only the clothes on my back and everything else perishing in the fire. He stood there in front of me as I wept on the pavement and said 'You might as well come to and see a film with me, now that you're out of the house.' Being in an unstable state of mind I agreed and he dragged me bodily across York to the cinema to see The Hunger Games. He dumped my battered, charred and bruised body in the worst seat in the cinema and proceeded to masturbate throughout the film despite my protestations. I guess the sight of children killing each other is enough to get him going. He was quickly ejected by security as it became very apparent early on that two mid thirty year old men was not the demographic the film wished to reach. This is the first time I have been surrounded by adolescent girls since I was at school. I sank low in my chair just in case the Police decided to do a quick sweep of the theatre and my name ended up on their fucking register. Again.
The film is actually pretty good and explores some very adult themes for what is essentially a teeny movie marketed like Twiglet. The characters are fleshed out; in particular Woody Harrelson, as the former Humger Games winner and mentor of the new combatant kids. He starts off as a drunken oaf and as HWCBN pointed out, so would you be if you'd just had to kill 23 other children then spend the rest of your career teaching other children to do the same to other children. I'm not sure how much of the dystopian future, reality TV satire was recognised by the target audience, but it had two hunks competing for the beautiful heroine, so I guess they still went home happy. Over all I enjoyed it and would recommend that you see it if you were already considering going but don't break the doors of the cinema down to see it. Anyway, here is my in depth review:
Ratchet Formangler (Joe Bonomo) is an American First World War pilot flying for the Escadrille Layfayette in France in 1917. As a high scoring Ace, Formangler leads his squadron into a fray with the legendary Flying Circus of the Red Baron, he is separated from his flight during an unfair fight against 17 enemy machines. As he twists and turns above the French countryside, firing at the occasional Fokker that gets in his path, his plane is suddenly struck by lightening. Formangler is knocked unconscious by the strike and when he comes to he finds he is flying over a desert landscape unknown to him. He puts his battered SE5A down on a strip of land near an oasis and begins to drink from the pond. As he does so, he is approached by a beautiful woman (Yareli Arizmendi) dressed only in animal furs carrying a wooden spear. Initially cautious Formangler tries to make nice and discovers the woman only speaks in a primitive language unknown to him. She refers to herself as Ugg. Suddenly four men appear, dressed in furs and carrying clubs. One bashes Formangler unconscious and they drag Ugg off by her hair kicking and screaming. The hours pass and Formangler wakes to find Ugg gone but tracks leading off into the distance. He follows the trail, pistol at the ready and eventually comes across a cave dwelling where the four men and a tribe of others are gathered around a large fire dancing a sacred dance and banging drums made from human skulls. In the middle of the gathering is a large totem pole to which Ugg is bound. As Formangler watches, and formulates a plan of rescue, a Tyrannosaurus Rex appears above the mountain tops and advances on the congregation. Formangler suddenly realises that he was sent back in time during the dogfight! The crowd scatter leaving the struggling Ugg tied to the pole as a sacrifice prompting Formangler to run back to his plane. Quickly synthesising petrol from a nearby tar pit he starts the engine and takes to sky to do battle once again but this time against a dinosaur! As he presses home the attack on the T. Rex, a Pterosaur swoops down from the clouds and tries to bring the plane down. Quickly dispatching the flying menace, Formangler makes short work of the T. Rex with his remaining ammunition. Landing the plane again, he frees Ugg and plants a huge kiss on her. As this is a modern construct she has no idea what he is doing, but likes it. With the T. Rex dead the tribe return to their cave home and begin worshipping Formangler like a God, sacrificing the four men in his honour. Formangler marries Ugg in a primitive ceremony and lives out a long and fruitful life teaching the cave people the wonders of interpretive dance.
7 on 10
He-who-cannot-be-named showed up at my house on Sunday morning and set fire to it. I ran out into the street with only the clothes on my back and everything else perishing in the fire. He stood there in front of me as I wept on the pavement and said 'You might as well come to and see a film with me, now that you're out of the house.' Being in an unstable state of mind I agreed and he dragged me bodily across York to the cinema to see The Hunger Games. He dumped my battered, charred and bruised body in the worst seat in the cinema and proceeded to masturbate throughout the film despite my protestations. I guess the sight of children killing each other is enough to get him going. He was quickly ejected by security as it became very apparent early on that two mid thirty year old men was not the demographic the film wished to reach. This is the first time I have been surrounded by adolescent girls since I was at school. I sank low in my chair just in case the Police decided to do a quick sweep of the theatre and my name ended up on their fucking register. Again.
Shoot the dirty old man!
The film is actually pretty good and explores some very adult themes for what is essentially a teeny movie marketed like Twiglet. The characters are fleshed out; in particular Woody Harrelson, as the former Humger Games winner and mentor of the new combatant kids. He starts off as a drunken oaf and as HWCBN pointed out, so would you be if you'd just had to kill 23 other children then spend the rest of your career teaching other children to do the same to other children. I'm not sure how much of the dystopian future, reality TV satire was recognised by the target audience, but it had two hunks competing for the beautiful heroine, so I guess they still went home happy. Over all I enjoyed it and would recommend that you see it if you were already considering going but don't break the doors of the cinema down to see it. Anyway, here is my in depth review:
Ratchet Formangler (Joe Bonomo) is an American First World War pilot flying for the Escadrille Layfayette in France in 1917. As a high scoring Ace, Formangler leads his squadron into a fray with the legendary Flying Circus of the Red Baron, he is separated from his flight during an unfair fight against 17 enemy machines. As he twists and turns above the French countryside, firing at the occasional Fokker that gets in his path, his plane is suddenly struck by lightening. Formangler is knocked unconscious by the strike and when he comes to he finds he is flying over a desert landscape unknown to him. He puts his battered SE5A down on a strip of land near an oasis and begins to drink from the pond. As he does so, he is approached by a beautiful woman (Yareli Arizmendi) dressed only in animal furs carrying a wooden spear. Initially cautious Formangler tries to make nice and discovers the woman only speaks in a primitive language unknown to him. She refers to herself as Ugg. Suddenly four men appear, dressed in furs and carrying clubs. One bashes Formangler unconscious and they drag Ugg off by her hair kicking and screaming. The hours pass and Formangler wakes to find Ugg gone but tracks leading off into the distance. He follows the trail, pistol at the ready and eventually comes across a cave dwelling where the four men and a tribe of others are gathered around a large fire dancing a sacred dance and banging drums made from human skulls. In the middle of the gathering is a large totem pole to which Ugg is bound. As Formangler watches, and formulates a plan of rescue, a Tyrannosaurus Rex appears above the mountain tops and advances on the congregation. Formangler suddenly realises that he was sent back in time during the dogfight! The crowd scatter leaving the struggling Ugg tied to the pole as a sacrifice prompting Formangler to run back to his plane. Quickly synthesising petrol from a nearby tar pit he starts the engine and takes to sky to do battle once again but this time against a dinosaur! As he presses home the attack on the T. Rex, a Pterosaur swoops down from the clouds and tries to bring the plane down. Quickly dispatching the flying menace, Formangler makes short work of the T. Rex with his remaining ammunition. Landing the plane again, he frees Ugg and plants a huge kiss on her. As this is a modern construct she has no idea what he is doing, but likes it. With the T. Rex dead the tribe return to their cave home and begin worshipping Formangler like a God, sacrificing the four men in his honour. Formangler marries Ugg in a primitive ceremony and lives out a long and fruitful life teaching the cave people the wonders of interpretive dance.
7 on 10
Fuck Yeah!!
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Got Milk?
As I mentioned in the last post I went along to see War Horse with He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named as he made his way to York from D***** we had the following text conversation:
Him: Dear alex, i should be getting to york about ten past one. Shall i come to yours for lunch, or do you want to meet in town? Lots of love, ****
Me: Dear ****, I'm sorry to tell you I'm in Basingstoke today. So your journey is wasted. I hope you die. Lots of love Alex.
Me: Actually, i didn't check cinema times, did you?
Him: Yes, there's a show at 4pm. So you're not in Basingstoke? Was that some kind of fucking joke? Did you think you were funny, clown boy? Did you?
Me: I don't even know where Basingstoke is. Do you want to come here, but buy some tickets on the way over? We can have lunch here. What do you want?
Him: I'll eat whatever you put in my face, you know that. I'll get tickets on the way over. Basingstoke is in Hampshire.
Me: OK, I might get us a pizza! I don't know where Hampshire is. Or give a fuck for that matter.
Him: Hampshire is somewhere south of sheffield, that's all you need to know. I fucking hate pizza, and if you get pizza i'll throw it in your FUCKING FACE.
Me: Then I'm certainly not interested. What flavour do you want on your pizza. I know you love pizza.
Him: I don't mind. Get avocado ice cream flavour if you can. Or margherita.
Me: Pepperoni? Only gays eat gay flavour pizza.
Him: Yeah that's fine. Thanks petal.
Two hours later
Him: I'm at D***** station, i just bought my ticket to york, now i'm sitting on a bench waiting for my train to arrive.
Me: So?
Him: I just thought you might like to know that everything is going to plan so far.
Me: Fuck you and fuck your plan.
Five minutes later:
Me: In light of that, I'm changing dinner plans. We're having Mexican wraps instead.
Him: You can't fuck with the plans like that, it was all arranged. Now you've fucked everything up. And you probably expect me to pick up the pieces, as usual.
Me: Yeah.
Him: I just got on my train. At least i'm following the plan. Let's see if we can salvage something from this shipwreck of a sunday.
Me: Make sure you get good fucking seats at the cinema or I will set the dogs on you.
Him: Where would you like to sit?
Me: In the middle, you know where.
Fifteen minutes later
Me: And can you get some milk, please, I love you.
Him: For fuck's sake.
Me: I love you.
Him: Fuck off. You're only saying that so i'll get you some milk.
Me: No, I do.
Him: Right i've got the tickets. I'll pick up some milk. anything else i can get you? The golden fleece perhaps? The holy grail?
Me: Actually, I've decided i don't want to go to the cinema after all. I'm gonna stay in and paint some tanks. So don't bother coming over.
Him: Okay. I guess i'll see you around at some point.
Me: Don't count on it. Actually, will you put the milk on my doorstep? ring the bell so i know it's you, but fuck off immediately.
Him: If you let me in i can put the milk in the fridge for you. I wouldn't want you to over exert yourself by going all the way to the front door to pick it up.
Me: But I'd still have to get up to let you in. And I'd see you. No dice.
Him: I've left milk on window sill, i'm going back to d*****
I looked up and there was a pint of milk on the window sill.
Him: Dear alex, i should be getting to york about ten past one. Shall i come to yours for lunch, or do you want to meet in town? Lots of love, ****
Me: Dear ****, I'm sorry to tell you I'm in Basingstoke today. So your journey is wasted. I hope you die. Lots of love Alex.
Me: Actually, i didn't check cinema times, did you?
Him: Yes, there's a show at 4pm. So you're not in Basingstoke? Was that some kind of fucking joke? Did you think you were funny, clown boy? Did you?
Me: I don't even know where Basingstoke is. Do you want to come here, but buy some tickets on the way over? We can have lunch here. What do you want?
Him: I'll eat whatever you put in my face, you know that. I'll get tickets on the way over. Basingstoke is in Hampshire.
Me: OK, I might get us a pizza! I don't know where Hampshire is. Or give a fuck for that matter.
Him: Hampshire is somewhere south of sheffield, that's all you need to know. I fucking hate pizza, and if you get pizza i'll throw it in your FUCKING FACE.
Me: Then I'm certainly not interested. What flavour do you want on your pizza. I know you love pizza.
Him: I don't mind. Get avocado ice cream flavour if you can. Or margherita.
Me: Pepperoni? Only gays eat gay flavour pizza.
Him: Yeah that's fine. Thanks petal.
Two hours later
Him: I'm at D***** station, i just bought my ticket to york, now i'm sitting on a bench waiting for my train to arrive.
Me: So?
Him: I just thought you might like to know that everything is going to plan so far.
Me: Fuck you and fuck your plan.
Five minutes later:
Me: In light of that, I'm changing dinner plans. We're having Mexican wraps instead.
Him: You can't fuck with the plans like that, it was all arranged. Now you've fucked everything up. And you probably expect me to pick up the pieces, as usual.
Me: Yeah.
Him: I just got on my train. At least i'm following the plan. Let's see if we can salvage something from this shipwreck of a sunday.
Me: Make sure you get good fucking seats at the cinema or I will set the dogs on you.
Him: Where would you like to sit?
Me: In the middle, you know where.
Fifteen minutes later
Me: And can you get some milk, please, I love you.
Him: For fuck's sake.
Me: I love you.
Him: Fuck off. You're only saying that so i'll get you some milk.
Me: No, I do.
Him: Right i've got the tickets. I'll pick up some milk. anything else i can get you? The golden fleece perhaps? The holy grail?
Me: Actually, I've decided i don't want to go to the cinema after all. I'm gonna stay in and paint some tanks. So don't bother coming over.
Him: Okay. I guess i'll see you around at some point.
Me: Don't count on it. Actually, will you put the milk on my doorstep? ring the bell so i know it's you, but fuck off immediately.
Him: If you let me in i can put the milk in the fridge for you. I wouldn't want you to over exert yourself by going all the way to the front door to pick it up.
Me: But I'd still have to get up to let you in. And I'd see you. No dice.
Him: I've left milk on window sill, i'm going back to d*****
I looked up and there was a pint of milk on the window sill.
Friday, 18 November 2011
Horse Droppings
I was standing talking to Tab the Muffer on Tuesday afternoon when I got the following text of He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named...
Him: I got given a flyer for a student 'loveshack club night'. Do you think I should go? It's just that the flyer counts as an invitation, and it would be rude to turn it down.
Me: It sounds like fun, I would go if i were you. You may see some of your students there. Then at least you'd know someone.
Him: That's true, i could hang out with them the whole evening. It wouldn't be awkward because i already know them and we could talk about medieval things.
Me: Yeah, or you could break down their latest essay marks with them. You might even get a staff discount for the door entry.
Him: Yes I have some student supervisions coming up, i could schedule them for loveshack wednesday, i think that would be most convenient for all concerned.
Me: They'd probably love you for that. They'd know you were always thinking of their education.
Him: I think i will go along. I'll let you know how it goes.
It all went quiet until Wednesday 22:12
Him: Ok, i'm at loveshack night, i think i see some of my students, i'll go and say hello
Me: Yeah, Good luck! I'm sure they'll be really excited to see you.
Him: It's pretty crowded and noisy in here. I'm waving but don't seem to have noticed me yet. I'll see if i can get closer.
Me: Are they on the dancefloor?
Him: Yes i am trying to get to them. It's really hot in here, i shouldn't have brought my jacket and jumper. I get really irritated when it's too hot.
Me: Is there a cloakroom? Or is it expensive?
Him: I don't know, i was invited here, i didn't expect it to be so hot. Just tried talking to one of my students but she walked away, it is quite dark, she probably didn't recognise me, she must just think i'm some random weirdo.
Me: Go and make sure she knows who you are. You're there for them, remember.
Him: Fucking shit this guy with her just punched me and gave me a nosebleed
Me: What the fuck? Do they know who you are?
Him: He's not one of mine, he might be her boyfriend. I've stopped the bleeding, it's ok, must just be a misunderstanding. I'll try again.
Me: Keep at it, they'll appreciate it.
Then nothing until Thursday morning 08:13
Him: I'm in a graveyard. I don't remember how I got here. And i'm wearing someone else's clothes and my wallet is missing
Me: OK first thing to do is not to panic.
Him: How am i not supposed to panic, i'm giving a lecture in half an hour, i don't even know where i am and i feel sick
Me: Can you call in sick? Surely there must be a sign near the graveyard?
Him: Right i've found my way to the lecture theatre but there's like only three students here, and one of them is crying.
Me: At least they showed up. Do you recognise any of them from last night?
Him: Hard to say, i don't remember much of it and they are all avoiding eye contact. Guess i'll give my lecture anyway, we'll see how it goes.
Me: Are you still wearing someone else's clothes? That might be it.
Him: I vomited on the slide projector and a couple of students. The head of dept wants to see me.
Me: it might have been a bad idea to go last night.
Him: I got given a flyer for a student 'loveshack club night'. Do you think I should go? It's just that the flyer counts as an invitation, and it would be rude to turn it down.
Me: It sounds like fun, I would go if i were you. You may see some of your students there. Then at least you'd know someone.
Him: That's true, i could hang out with them the whole evening. It wouldn't be awkward because i already know them and we could talk about medieval things.
Me: Yeah, or you could break down their latest essay marks with them. You might even get a staff discount for the door entry.
Him: Yes I have some student supervisions coming up, i could schedule them for loveshack wednesday, i think that would be most convenient for all concerned.
Me: They'd probably love you for that. They'd know you were always thinking of their education.
Him: I think i will go along. I'll let you know how it goes.
It all went quiet until Wednesday 22:12
Him: Ok, i'm at loveshack night, i think i see some of my students, i'll go and say hello
Me: Yeah, Good luck! I'm sure they'll be really excited to see you.
Him: It's pretty crowded and noisy in here. I'm waving but don't seem to have noticed me yet. I'll see if i can get closer.
Me: Are they on the dancefloor?
Him: Yes i am trying to get to them. It's really hot in here, i shouldn't have brought my jacket and jumper. I get really irritated when it's too hot.
Me: Is there a cloakroom? Or is it expensive?
Him: I don't know, i was invited here, i didn't expect it to be so hot. Just tried talking to one of my students but she walked away, it is quite dark, she probably didn't recognise me, she must just think i'm some random weirdo.
Me: Go and make sure she knows who you are. You're there for them, remember.
Him: Fucking shit this guy with her just punched me and gave me a nosebleed
Me: What the fuck? Do they know who you are?
Him: He's not one of mine, he might be her boyfriend. I've stopped the bleeding, it's ok, must just be a misunderstanding. I'll try again.
Me: Keep at it, they'll appreciate it.
Then nothing until Thursday morning 08:13
Him: I'm in a graveyard. I don't remember how I got here. And i'm wearing someone else's clothes and my wallet is missing
Me: OK first thing to do is not to panic.
Him: How am i not supposed to panic, i'm giving a lecture in half an hour, i don't even know where i am and i feel sick
Me: Can you call in sick? Surely there must be a sign near the graveyard?
Him: Right i've found my way to the lecture theatre but there's like only three students here, and one of them is crying.
Me: At least they showed up. Do you recognise any of them from last night?
Him: Hard to say, i don't remember much of it and they are all avoiding eye contact. Guess i'll give my lecture anyway, we'll see how it goes.
Me: Are you still wearing someone else's clothes? That might be it.
Him: I vomited on the slide projector and a couple of students. The head of dept wants to see me.
Me: it might have been a bad idea to go last night.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
A Torrent of Shit
More texts from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. It was his birthday:
Me: Happy Birthday, you shit
Him: I can do anything i want today, i think i might fucking stab someone in the gut.
Me: Well, it's your special day princess.
Him: That's what I'll tell the coppers, i'm a princess and it's my special day so they can fuck off.
Me: You tell 'em girlfriend!
Him: The copper was being a dick so i stabbed him too. Then more cops came. Now i'm hiding in the fun factory at the harvester restaurant where i was having my birthday party before the police spoiled it.
Me: OK. It's a pretty tricky situation you've got yourself into. At least you're in a place with food so you should be able to hold out for a while.
Him: I've taken a bunch of toddlers hostage, should i start cutting them now to show i'm serious, or should i wait for a bit, or maybe just cut one to start with
Him: The little shits won't stop screaming and crying, i can hardly think with all this fucking noise
Me: Give them some chips that will keep them quiet
Him: Awesome idea thanks, that worked really well. One of them would not shut up so i cut her and put her outside, problem solved! We make a great team.
Me: I'm just giving you advice. We are not a team. In fact i was the one who called the police in the first place.
Him: Bullshit, you're not getting out that easily. You said it was my special day. You said i was a princess. You as good as stabbed that girl yourself.
Not the only ridiculous text messages I received this week, however, were from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named, I got the following off of Berny:
Thinkin about doin a riot in york, u in? I know a big furniture shop where i hav a hire purchase account with, could start there, yeah? Then always wanted a blackberry, there is a nice hat shop i like, after wine store then finish off with sex shop. Sound good?
Me: Happy Birthday, you shit
Him: I can do anything i want today, i think i might fucking stab someone in the gut.
Me: Well, it's your special day princess.
Him: That's what I'll tell the coppers, i'm a princess and it's my special day so they can fuck off.
Me: You tell 'em girlfriend!
Him: The copper was being a dick so i stabbed him too. Then more cops came. Now i'm hiding in the fun factory at the harvester restaurant where i was having my birthday party before the police spoiled it.
Me: OK. It's a pretty tricky situation you've got yourself into. At least you're in a place with food so you should be able to hold out for a while.
Him: I've taken a bunch of toddlers hostage, should i start cutting them now to show i'm serious, or should i wait for a bit, or maybe just cut one to start with
Him: The little shits won't stop screaming and crying, i can hardly think with all this fucking noise
Me: Give them some chips that will keep them quiet
Him: Awesome idea thanks, that worked really well. One of them would not shut up so i cut her and put her outside, problem solved! We make a great team.
Me: I'm just giving you advice. We are not a team. In fact i was the one who called the police in the first place.
Him: Bullshit, you're not getting out that easily. You said it was my special day. You said i was a princess. You as good as stabbed that girl yourself.
Not the only ridiculous text messages I received this week, however, were from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named, I got the following off of Berny:
Thinkin about doin a riot in york, u in? I know a big furniture shop where i hav a hire purchase account with, could start there, yeah? Then always wanted a blackberry, there is a nice hat shop i like, after wine store then finish off with sex shop. Sound good?
Saturday, 6 August 2011
All the Fun of the Fair
Some background, Sam is excavating in Durham, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named wanted to see the excavation so I put the two in touch. He went to see her and I received the following text messages:
Him: I went to see sam's dig. She got all the other people to hold me down in the dirt while she stamped on my stomach. 'this is from alex' she said. It was awful.
Me: Well I guess she only did it because you deserve it. I don't remember telling her to do that but i guess i must have.
Him: I don't care whose idea it was, it has ruined my afternoon
Me: That was the plan. So it's worked?
Him: Yes. Even the dig was fake, the thing was an elaborate hoax to humiliate me. I guess it was you who arranged all my students to be there too. Jerk.
Me: That was me! I admit it! Was your departmental head there as well? He was invited.
Him: He couldn't make it. He sent his wife and kids though. There was a candy floss seller and a small funfair, and donkey rides. Everyone was having fun except me.
Me: I did tell the mayor of durham about it so he must have set the whole thing up. I had nothing to do with the funfair. I'm pleased it came off though.
Him: I went to see sam's dig. She got all the other people to hold me down in the dirt while she stamped on my stomach. 'this is from alex' she said. It was awful.
Me: Well I guess she only did it because you deserve it. I don't remember telling her to do that but i guess i must have.
Him: I don't care whose idea it was, it has ruined my afternoon
Me: That was the plan. So it's worked?
Him: Yes. Even the dig was fake, the thing was an elaborate hoax to humiliate me. I guess it was you who arranged all my students to be there too. Jerk.
Me: That was me! I admit it! Was your departmental head there as well? He was invited.
Him: He couldn't make it. He sent his wife and kids though. There was a candy floss seller and a small funfair, and donkey rides. Everyone was having fun except me.
Me: I did tell the mayor of durham about it so he must have set the whole thing up. I had nothing to do with the funfair. I'm pleased it came off though.
Monday, 1 August 2011
Knightmare
This weekend started off well, Kate bought me a teapot and cup (with a cat on it) for my birthday. I've been wanting a teapot for a while but it is usually the last thing I think of when I'm out shopping. I'm generally starving and too keen on packing up the trolley with things I can eat on the way home rather than planning for a full week of meals or porcelain items. Anyway, the teapot was also accompanied by a trip out to Silverwood to see some training trenches dug by the Barnsley Pals in the olden days when there was an important war on. That was good and I liked it.
That wasn't the only war themed occurrence this weekend. Whilst working out at Bridlington I drove past Sledmere House everyday and saw that there was a living history event on this weekend and had decided to go a long time ago. Thing is, I wasn't keen on the idea of going alone, I mean reenactors are always better when you have someone else to laugh at them with. So I got on the Bat Phone and informed He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named that there was something astir. He checked it out and saw there were a bunch of fucking Romans riding about on horses and wet his pants over it. He duly turned up at my house about 6.30am on Sunday morning demanding tea (which I made with the new tea pot...) and blathering on and on about the fucking Romans.
We hit Sledmere about midday and the dressing up fun had already begun. The Sealed Knot were doing a drill practise with pikes. Now, call me cynical, but I always thought a pike block would consist of about one thousand young and physically fit men. What we got was seven middle-aged fat men:
As we were sitting watching the drill display a chap sat down next to me dressed as a Parlimentarian (or a Royalist, I couldn't really tell, it's not my period, the English Civil War...) and lit up a fag. I asked him if the cigarette was a genuine seventeenth century one. It wasn't but it gave him cue to tell us all about himself for the next half an hour. I was quite interested in why a man of nearly fifty would suddenly decided to take up (fake) arms and join in the dressing up fun. I skirted around asking him when his wife had left him or if he was just going through some sort of mid-life crisis. He didn't need to tell me directly, the amount of money he'd spent on his gun told me he was single. He was a nice guy and at the end of the day it's a case of whatever floats your boat, so if he gets off on dressing up as a soldier from four hundred years ago then more power to him. All the while at the front the fatties did some nice baton twirling with the flags, even if the guy doing it looked like he spent the rest of his free time LARPing:
The Romans were up next and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was leaping about like a Romanian dancing bear and whooping like a banshee. They pranced about on the horses and showed off their various skills in how to bring down the Hun. We thought there would be a better spectacular if a bunch of Vandal reenactors charged on from stage left and sacked the Roman camp for four days solid. But sadly, they didn't show up. It got me thinking, getting a barbarian reenactment society together would be pretty cheap, all you need is a bunch of sticks for spears and some blue body paint. No expensive armour or clothes when you're skyclad!
Then it was time for the mums and dads to take the kids down to the front to stroke the Romans. He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named begged and begged for me to take him down to the front, I told him he wasn't allowed to go down there on his own, but his nagging was so incessant I had to accompany him. He was frightened by the horse's big faces, but managed to chat up Gimli the Dwarf about his dragon flag thing.
Next up were the Knights in Battle. I was most looking forward to these, but they were very disappointing; it was just a bunch of nobs smacking each other with swords. Their commentator was rubbish as well. I couldn't tell who was winning or losing or even who was who due to her bad commentary. It also made me mad because she was dressed as a Nun.
Enough was enough and we headed home to have a barbecue and finished off the weekend with a visit to the cinema to see Captain America. Here is a review ala Logan Josh:
Set during the time of the Boxer Rebellion, Captain America is a tale of teenage angst and desperation in the face of overwhelming odds. Chris Evans plays Dexter Mooches, a 17 year old child violin prodigy sent away from home for the first time to Magic School on the west coast of Sudan. At school Dexter is bullied mercilessly due to his short stature and receding forehead. His only friend is an invisible mouse called Midge Ure. Only Dexter can see this mouse, but he manages to convince one of the other boys, Marian Cleeble (Whoopie Goldberg, playing brilliantly against type) of its existence. The three set off on a journey to find the elixir of life when it is discovered that their ancient Professor (Hank Williams, uncredited) has only minutes left to live. The plucky trio confront several adversities on their journey. In one brilliant set piece, Dexter and Marian have to battle their way out of a siege armed only with colanders and a spatula. Spoiler alert! It is revealed part way through that Midge is not actually a mouse, but is a young woman after all (played by Mädchen Amick) and has been searching for a true heart to unlock the curse that she has been living under. Dexter's sense of duty and compassion are the key to breaking this voodoo. Although she is still invisible to every one except Dexter, they quickly fall in love and are married in the Spring. Having gained the elixir and saved the Professor the three heroes live happily ever after on a yacht trading rum between Caribbean islands. 0 out of 100!!! Make sue you miss this one!
Hello mum!
That wasn't the only war themed occurrence this weekend. Whilst working out at Bridlington I drove past Sledmere House everyday and saw that there was a living history event on this weekend and had decided to go a long time ago. Thing is, I wasn't keen on the idea of going alone, I mean reenactors are always better when you have someone else to laugh at them with. So I got on the Bat Phone and informed He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named that there was something astir. He checked it out and saw there were a bunch of fucking Romans riding about on horses and wet his pants over it. He duly turned up at my house about 6.30am on Sunday morning demanding tea (which I made with the new tea pot...) and blathering on and on about the fucking Romans.
Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooring
We hit Sledmere about midday and the dressing up fun had already begun. The Sealed Knot were doing a drill practise with pikes. Now, call me cynical, but I always thought a pike block would consist of about one thousand young and physically fit men. What we got was seven middle-aged fat men:
It's hardly the Battle of Edgehill, is it?
As we were sitting watching the drill display a chap sat down next to me dressed as a Parlimentarian (or a Royalist, I couldn't really tell, it's not my period, the English Civil War...) and lit up a fag. I asked him if the cigarette was a genuine seventeenth century one. It wasn't but it gave him cue to tell us all about himself for the next half an hour. I was quite interested in why a man of nearly fifty would suddenly decided to take up (fake) arms and join in the dressing up fun. I skirted around asking him when his wife had left him or if he was just going through some sort of mid-life crisis. He didn't need to tell me directly, the amount of money he'd spent on his gun told me he was single. He was a nice guy and at the end of the day it's a case of whatever floats your boat, so if he gets off on dressing up as a soldier from four hundred years ago then more power to him. All the while at the front the fatties did some nice baton twirling with the flags, even if the guy doing it looked like he spent the rest of his free time LARPing:
I bet your mother is so proud!
The Romans were up next and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was leaping about like a Romanian dancing bear and whooping like a banshee. They pranced about on the horses and showed off their various skills in how to bring down the Hun. We thought there would be a better spectacular if a bunch of Vandal reenactors charged on from stage left and sacked the Roman camp for four days solid. But sadly, they didn't show up. It got me thinking, getting a barbarian reenactment society together would be pretty cheap, all you need is a bunch of sticks for spears and some blue body paint. No expensive armour or clothes when you're skyclad!
How much did that lot cost?
Then it was time for the mums and dads to take the kids down to the front to stroke the Romans. He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named begged and begged for me to take him down to the front, I told him he wasn't allowed to go down there on his own, but his nagging was so incessant I had to accompany him. He was frightened by the horse's big faces, but managed to chat up Gimli the Dwarf about his dragon flag thing.
'So is it a real dragon?'
'No, you fucking oaf, it's made out of metal.'
Next up were the Knights in Battle. I was most looking forward to these, but they were very disappointing; it was just a bunch of nobs smacking each other with swords. Their commentator was rubbish as well. I couldn't tell who was winning or losing or even who was who due to her bad commentary. It also made me mad because she was dressed as a Nun.
WHAT'S GOING ON?
Enough was enough and we headed home to have a barbecue and finished off the weekend with a visit to the cinema to see Captain America. Here is a review ala Logan Josh:
Set during the time of the Boxer Rebellion, Captain America is a tale of teenage angst and desperation in the face of overwhelming odds. Chris Evans plays Dexter Mooches, a 17 year old child violin prodigy sent away from home for the first time to Magic School on the west coast of Sudan. At school Dexter is bullied mercilessly due to his short stature and receding forehead. His only friend is an invisible mouse called Midge Ure. Only Dexter can see this mouse, but he manages to convince one of the other boys, Marian Cleeble (Whoopie Goldberg, playing brilliantly against type) of its existence. The three set off on a journey to find the elixir of life when it is discovered that their ancient Professor (Hank Williams, uncredited) has only minutes left to live. The plucky trio confront several adversities on their journey. In one brilliant set piece, Dexter and Marian have to battle their way out of a siege armed only with colanders and a spatula. Spoiler alert! It is revealed part way through that Midge is not actually a mouse, but is a young woman after all (played by Mädchen Amick) and has been searching for a true heart to unlock the curse that she has been living under. Dexter's sense of duty and compassion are the key to breaking this voodoo. Although she is still invisible to every one except Dexter, they quickly fall in love and are married in the Spring. Having gained the elixir and saved the Professor the three heroes live happily ever after on a yacht trading rum between Caribbean islands. 0 out of 100!!! Make sue you miss this one!
Meh.
Saturday, 9 July 2011
Intermission
I was chatting with Kamil last night and he said I should post more of Tarquin Sheen and my's textual relationships, so this is one that happened on Friday:
Me: Bite it you scum
Him: You make me sick. I mean literally sick. When I got your last text i sicked up all over myself.
Me: Good
Him: No it is not good. I was on a hot date with a babe. Some of the sick got on her too.
Me: Right. Now I know you're lying.
Him: All right it wasn't a date. And there was no babe. But i was sick all down myself.
Me: That was probably nothing to do with me anyway, just coincidence that i sent the text at the same time.
Him: Is there something i can do for you? Some of us have work to do.
Me: Bite it you scum
Him: You make me sick. I mean literally sick. When I got your last text i sicked up all over myself.
Me: Good
Him: No it is not good. I was on a hot date with a babe. Some of the sick got on her too.
Me: Right. Now I know you're lying.
Him: All right it wasn't a date. And there was no babe. But i was sick all down myself.
Me: That was probably nothing to do with me anyway, just coincidence that i sent the text at the same time.
Him: Is there something i can do for you? Some of us have work to do.
Thursday, 7 July 2011
Tea's Up
A trio of octogenarian amateur archaeologists stumbled onto site the other day. It was my own fault, I'd told them they should come back and see how work was progressing when they tipped up on site last week and proceeded to almost walk under the wheels of a fully loaded Moxy. Archaeology is about people after all and therefore people have an interest in it, so I don't actually mind amateur archaeologists, even when they are telling me that the desk based assessment (DBA) that I am basing my knowledge of the site on is wrong. The DBA with its map regression and thorough search of the local Sites and Monuments Record for any known archaeological features and/or previous excavations. The DBA that is studied by the county archaeologist prior to any decision to go ahead and excavate a proposed development site. I don't even mind them telling me that their 'local knowledge' allows them to pinpoint exactly where the stash of buried Jewish gold left by the Nazis after World War One is, through a study of a copy of the 1398 vellum bound Ordnance Survey map that they discovered in the loft of the house once owned by Lord Screaming Sutcliffe of Rudston. They can even tell me that a study of the Ley Lines shown on said map draw a Star of David with a Crown atop that overlay the village of Fimber and this is the precise point the gold must be and we are digging in the wrong place. No that doesn't bother me at all. What does fucking bother me, is them turning up half way through my fucking tea break so I have to walk around showing them various holes we've dug and making up some bullshit story about how I know what the fuck is going on. They said they'd be back to see how we progress. I said make sure it's not between ten and ten thirty and one and one thirty, so I can enjoy a nice relaxing cup of fucking tea that I deserve for wading through tons and tons of chalk and clay compacted by four millennia of top soil.
Tuesday was an interesting night. I met a girl I have not seen for five years. We had left off on what could be called acrimonious terms back in 2006 but I heard over the weekend she had come a little unstuck in her personal life and I thought reconciliation may be in order, coincidentally she was now living half an hour down the road. She needed friends and as we were once close, I thought I'd man up, swallow my pride and see if she wanted to meet up for a little bit of friendly support. I passed on my details through a mutual friend and it turns out she did. It also turns out little has changed, the man she once married is still an arsehole (as I always thought) and her Top Five Celebrity Shags are still the same. I had a great evening with her talking shit, catching up and generally putting a big tick in the 'Good Alex' tick box; God knows, I need a few more of those right now.
I shit you not, today I had a text conversation with Tarquin Sheen that went like this:
Me: Your turn (this is a reference to Battlefield Academy, a turn based computer game we were playing)
Him: Who is this? How did you get my number? If you contact me again I'm calling the police.
Me: it IS the police
Him: In that case the guy you want is called alex sotheran, he lives in york. He can tell you were the bodies are. I had nothing to do with it.
Me: Funny, he said the same of you.
Him: All i did was drive the car. I didn't even know what was in the bin bag. He said he'd cut me up if i didn't help him. I'm as much a victim as those girls.
Me: The ones we are investigating aren't girls. Would you care to tell us more?
Him: Shit. I'm not saying anything until I see my lawyer.
Me: You will. We'll beat it out of you.
Him: You can't do this. I know my rights. This is police brutality.
Me: What rights did you show your victims?
Him: THOSE WHORES HAD NO RIGHTS! THEY GOT WHAT WAS COMING TO THEM, THE FILTHY CUNTS!
Me: Erm. OK. Time out. This is not the police. I was just kidding. Jesus.
Him: Uh i knew that, i was joking too, i never killed anyone.
Me: We'll soon find out. I've forwarded this little conversation onto the police. It's up to them to find out the truth now.
I didn't hear another thing, so I'm guessing he's finally been rounded up.
Tuesday was an interesting night. I met a girl I have not seen for five years. We had left off on what could be called acrimonious terms back in 2006 but I heard over the weekend she had come a little unstuck in her personal life and I thought reconciliation may be in order, coincidentally she was now living half an hour down the road. She needed friends and as we were once close, I thought I'd man up, swallow my pride and see if she wanted to meet up for a little bit of friendly support. I passed on my details through a mutual friend and it turns out she did. It also turns out little has changed, the man she once married is still an arsehole (as I always thought) and her Top Five Celebrity Shags are still the same. I had a great evening with her talking shit, catching up and generally putting a big tick in the 'Good Alex' tick box; God knows, I need a few more of those right now.
I shit you not, today I had a text conversation with Tarquin Sheen that went like this:
Me: Your turn (this is a reference to Battlefield Academy, a turn based computer game we were playing)
Him: Who is this? How did you get my number? If you contact me again I'm calling the police.
Me: it IS the police
Him: In that case the guy you want is called alex sotheran, he lives in york. He can tell you were the bodies are. I had nothing to do with it.
Me: Funny, he said the same of you.
Him: All i did was drive the car. I didn't even know what was in the bin bag. He said he'd cut me up if i didn't help him. I'm as much a victim as those girls.
Me: The ones we are investigating aren't girls. Would you care to tell us more?
Him: Shit. I'm not saying anything until I see my lawyer.
Me: You will. We'll beat it out of you.
Him: You can't do this. I know my rights. This is police brutality.
Me: What rights did you show your victims?
Him: THOSE WHORES HAD NO RIGHTS! THEY GOT WHAT WAS COMING TO THEM, THE FILTHY CUNTS!
Me: Erm. OK. Time out. This is not the police. I was just kidding. Jesus.
Him: Uh i knew that, i was joking too, i never killed anyone.
Me: We'll soon find out. I've forwarded this little conversation onto the police. It's up to them to find out the truth now.
I didn't hear another thing, so I'm guessing he's finally been rounded up.
Monday, 4 July 2011
Over the Top!
I have had a busy couple of weekends recently and have fallen behind with updating this blog on that score, so here I shall try to remedy it. It may turn into a long post, if it does, I don't care. Suck it up, use your phone to call someone that fucking cares, etc. I have been up and down the country in the past fortnight, I have been as far north in England than any man has ever been and I have also been so far down south that I actually ended up in France. Now, if you settle down in your seats, I shall tell you how...
Knowing full well what crimes against humanity Tarquin Sheen is capable of I have dutifully avoided ever going to his house in Durham. I was duped, however, the other week when he invited myself, Moogdroog and Helen out for what he called 'a day of fun' at Lindisfarne. I assumed that the company of others would lessen the blow of horror that awaited in that dark corner of the country. I was wrong. His idea of fun was forcing me to drive for hours and hours even though I hadn't slept for four days. He kept me awake at the wheel by screaming at me through a megaphone every time I would start to drop off. Himself and his brother Nole, would punch me in the back of the head at every opportunity, usually when overtaking a large goods vehicle... Having been forced to drive to the edge of England (apparently Berwick is NOT in Scotland, no matter how many people I asked. Why they are flying Scottish flags all over the fucking place was never successfully explained, however...) and back down to Holy Island, he then frog marched the group over hill and dale to look at the Lime Kilns. He wouldn't even let us stop to admire the villager's jam collections. Moogdroog was concerned about this in particular; 'what if there was a jamergency' she was heard to say... We were death marched into the museum and had to wait whilst he read every single word on the museum displays. Since he can't actually read, this took quite some time. I amused myself by looking at the Viking stones on display:
Back at Sheen's dungeon we were subjected to a two hour battering of the shite that is Game of Thrones before I was finally allowed to collapse into a fitful sleep on his cold damp cellar floor. The following morning Sheen and I went into Durham town, saying sad farewells to Helen at the cathedral. Tarquin gave me his own personal tour of the cathedral, which appeared to be split between the Catholic, Jewish and Greek Orthodox churches, if his explanations were to be believed. He also did it in a German accent for some unfathomable reason.
This weekend just passed was the 1st of July and I hot footed it out of the country to France and the Somme, to the commemorations that were happening there. I have a passing interest in the Great War. I also have a passing interest in the aviation of the First World War. It came as a great delight and surprise that Peter Hart would be joining us for the trip. An eminent historian from the Imperial War Museum, Peter had written two books of which I was rather fond: Bloody April and Falling Aces, so it was with baited breath that wanted to meet him. What a fucking disappointment he was. All he did was swear at everyone, get drunk and belligerent and call everyone he knew 'a cunt'. I have never been more shocked in all my life. I never ever swear, especially in public, and to hear this man turn the very air blue gave me a funny turn. I will never look at his books in the same light again.
Weird things always happen when I go to France and this time was no different. We were sitting there relaxing, having a nice drink when a bunch of French farmers pulled up, eager to show us something once they found out there were archaeologists amongst our number. From out of the back of their car they pulled the fuselage tail section of a BF-109f. In immaculate condition...
They invited us to come and have a look at the other 'special stuff' they had in various barns across the countryside. Between them they'd built a museum that housed several aircraft engines they'd pulled out of the ground, all restored and displayed as only enthusiasts can...
We were then took around various other farms to look at barn doors with Great War painting still intact, more rusted metal from various airplane crash sites, Great War graffiti on church walls and best of all a still working cannon from a BF-109 that had lain in the ground for seventy years!
Yes, being a nerd can sometimes have its advantages. To see more pictures from France, CLICK HERE. The rest of the weekend was made up of visiting the sunken lane at 7.30am on the 1st and paying our respects to the men who fought and died there. I also attended the Ulster Tower memorial service, where I got my photo taken with a real life Canadian Mountie and won a two Euro bet with Dr Kenyon, who egged me on to get my picture with her. Unfortunately I didn't win the five Euro bet which would have seen me wearing her hat...
The afternoons and evenings were swamped with booze and I am still recovering two days later. Sorry, I've just realised none of this is actually funny. So I'll stop.
Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up...
Knowing full well what crimes against humanity Tarquin Sheen is capable of I have dutifully avoided ever going to his house in Durham. I was duped, however, the other week when he invited myself, Moogdroog and Helen out for what he called 'a day of fun' at Lindisfarne. I assumed that the company of others would lessen the blow of horror that awaited in that dark corner of the country. I was wrong. His idea of fun was forcing me to drive for hours and hours even though I hadn't slept for four days. He kept me awake at the wheel by screaming at me through a megaphone every time I would start to drop off. Himself and his brother Nole, would punch me in the back of the head at every opportunity, usually when overtaking a large goods vehicle... Having been forced to drive to the edge of England (apparently Berwick is NOT in Scotland, no matter how many people I asked. Why they are flying Scottish flags all over the fucking place was never successfully explained, however...) and back down to Holy Island, he then frog marched the group over hill and dale to look at the Lime Kilns. He wouldn't even let us stop to admire the villager's jam collections. Moogdroog was concerned about this in particular; 'what if there was a jamergency' she was heard to say... We were death marched into the museum and had to wait whilst he read every single word on the museum displays. Since he can't actually read, this took quite some time. I amused myself by looking at the Viking stones on display:
Best thing in Lindsifarne
Back at Sheen's dungeon we were subjected to a two hour battering of the shite that is Game of Thrones before I was finally allowed to collapse into a fitful sleep on his cold damp cellar floor. The following morning Sheen and I went into Durham town, saying sad farewells to Helen at the cathedral. Tarquin gave me his own personal tour of the cathedral, which appeared to be split between the Catholic, Jewish and Greek Orthodox churches, if his explanations were to be believed. He also did it in a German accent for some unfathomable reason.
What a dump
This weekend just passed was the 1st of July and I hot footed it out of the country to France and the Somme, to the commemorations that were happening there. I have a passing interest in the Great War. I also have a passing interest in the aviation of the First World War. It came as a great delight and surprise that Peter Hart would be joining us for the trip. An eminent historian from the Imperial War Museum, Peter had written two books of which I was rather fond: Bloody April and Falling Aces, so it was with baited breath that wanted to meet him. What a fucking disappointment he was. All he did was swear at everyone, get drunk and belligerent and call everyone he knew 'a cunt'. I have never been more shocked in all my life. I never ever swear, especially in public, and to hear this man turn the very air blue gave me a funny turn. I will never look at his books in the same light again.
I used to like your books...
Weird things always happen when I go to France and this time was no different. We were sitting there relaxing, having a nice drink when a bunch of French farmers pulled up, eager to show us something once they found out there were archaeologists amongst our number. From out of the back of their car they pulled the fuselage tail section of a BF-109f. In immaculate condition...
Om nom nom...
They invited us to come and have a look at the other 'special stuff' they had in various barns across the countryside. Between them they'd built a museum that housed several aircraft engines they'd pulled out of the ground, all restored and displayed as only enthusiasts can...
Double om nom nom...
We were then took around various other farms to look at barn doors with Great War painting still intact, more rusted metal from various airplane crash sites, Great War graffiti on church walls and best of all a still working cannon from a BF-109 that had lain in the ground for seventy years!
DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!!
Yes, being a nerd can sometimes have its advantages. To see more pictures from France, CLICK HERE. The rest of the weekend was made up of visiting the sunken lane at 7.30am on the 1st and paying our respects to the men who fought and died there. I also attended the Ulster Tower memorial service, where I got my photo taken with a real life Canadian Mountie and won a two Euro bet with Dr Kenyon, who egged me on to get my picture with her. Unfortunately I didn't win the five Euro bet which would have seen me wearing her hat...
The Mounties always get their man...
The afternoons and evenings were swamped with booze and I am still recovering two days later. Sorry, I've just realised none of this is actually funny. So I'll stop.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Harry takes her up the aisle
With the country on tenterhooks for the wedding of the Century tomorrow, I received the following text messages off the Evil Dr Clay this afternoon:
I couldn't sleep last night, i was so excited about the royal wedding! i don't think i'll get much sleep tonight either
I hope you've stocked up on tissues for the ceremony, i have! Not for drying my tears though!!!
If it rains on the royal wedding tomorrow i'm going to burn down a church to express my anger at god.
I hope there is a thunder storm and camilla parker 'whore' bowles is struck dead by lightning, it would serve her right after what she did to william's mum.
Then I received the following in an email from Clay:
I couldn't sleep last night, i was so excited about the royal wedding! i don't think i'll get much sleep tonight either
I hope you've stocked up on tissues for the ceremony, i have! Not for drying my tears though!!!
If it rains on the royal wedding tomorrow i'm going to burn down a church to express my anger at god.
I hope there is a thunder storm and camilla parker 'whore' bowles is struck dead by lightning, it would serve her right after what she did to william's mum.
Then I received the following in an email from Clay:
Monday, 4 April 2011
Caves of Forgotten Pretentiousness
So the Evil Docktor Clay was in town yesterday afternoon with his brother. They tipped up at my house and both began systematically beating me with a short length of rubber hose. They took it in turns and laughed like drains the entire time. After this ignoble entry, we walked down to town for the real reason he was in York for the afternoon, that is, to see the new Werner Herzog movie; Cave of Forgotten Dreams. All in glorious 3D! Like we were actually there! We paid our entry but in the fluster of getting the tickets and 3D glasses it slipped our attention that we'd been sold up the fucking river by the student behind the counter and he'd given us seats so far back in the theatre they were in the projection booth facing the fucking wall. I blamed Clay for this outrage as he wasn't watching what was going on, he'd already brought his own 3D glasses and had less on his mind than me. Anyway, we got in the theatre and saw that the place was empty (this was probably something to do with my insistence on arriving about six hours before a film is about to begin. I like to get good seats and prefer to wait for ages rather than end up on the front row in a crowded cinema staring up at the screen only to end up walking out like the hunchback of Notre Dame after two hours of spinal realignment). We looked around ourselves and realised that we'd got the worst seats in the house but as it was empty we made a beeline for the best seats, right in the centre of the theatre. We sat quite comfortably for five minutes, shooting the shit and talking about various pressing issues, like what is best, muffins or crumpets, when a couple arrived and made their way up the rows and straight to the fucking seats we were sitting in. There must have been over two hundred seats in the fucking theatre, so the chances of them having the exact same seats that we'd decided to sit in must have been about 0.5%! I, again, blamed Clay. Shamefaced we trudged up the stairs to the very top of the cinema to take our rightful places.
How was the film? Well, as you would expect from any Werner Herzog movie, it was pretty fucking pretentious. He was interviewing a French archaeologist who had done a laser scan of the entire cave that involved millions of laser plotted points and gave a graphical representation of the cave complex and all the paintings that lay therein. Werner asked 'What about these points? Do they have a memory, lives, heartbeat?' The archaeologist (who was previously a fucking juggler and a fucking unicyclist, regular readers will already know my temperate opinions on such people), fumbled through an answer about memories or some other shit. Do you know what I would have said? I would have answered 'NO, OF COURSE THEY DON'T HAVE A FUCKING MEMORY! OR A LIFE OR HEARTBEAT!! THEY ARE COMPUTER GENERATED POINTS IN A PROGRAMMED GRAPHICAL REPRESENTATION OF A CAVE, YOU STUPID FUCKING HIPPIE! GET BACK TO THE 60'S AND STOP HAVING ACID FLASHBACKS IN MY OFFICE!!!' Yeah, that's what I would have said.
The film was full of nonsense like this. There was one point where Werner was telling us that there was the footprint of child and wolf side by side. He postulated on this; 'Was the wolf stalking the child, did they walk side by side or were the prints made with thousands of years between them? We will never know!' No we will never know, but I'M GUESSING THE LAST FUCKING THEORY IS THE CORRECT ONE!! WHY EVEN BOTHER SAYING IT? WHY WERNER? WHY?? I'M GETTING ENRAGED JUST THINKING ABOUT THIS!! There was also this crazy Perfumer who was dragged into the caves to smell the past. Now, call me cynical, but WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT?? How can you smell the past? ARGHH!!! THE HATRED IS BUILDING UP INSIDE OF ME!!! The guy looked crazy as well, he looked like a bull about to charge, you know what I mean? That bovine way of crossed eyes and barely concealed taurine fuelled rage.
The paintings themselves looked like they'd been done by six year olds. Six year old tards. And they'd not even been coloured in properly. Some looked like potato stamp paintings that kids do in primary school. I was enraged. It was being touted as a prime example of human cultural and artistic beauty. But they were no 'Napoleon Crossing the Alps' I can tell you.
Yeah, this is mine, Z1
How was the film? Well, as you would expect from any Werner Herzog movie, it was pretty fucking pretentious. He was interviewing a French archaeologist who had done a laser scan of the entire cave that involved millions of laser plotted points and gave a graphical representation of the cave complex and all the paintings that lay therein. Werner asked 'What about these points? Do they have a memory, lives, heartbeat?' The archaeologist (who was previously a fucking juggler and a fucking unicyclist, regular readers will already know my temperate opinions on such people), fumbled through an answer about memories or some other shit. Do you know what I would have said? I would have answered 'NO, OF COURSE THEY DON'T HAVE A FUCKING MEMORY! OR A LIFE OR HEARTBEAT!! THEY ARE COMPUTER GENERATED POINTS IN A PROGRAMMED GRAPHICAL REPRESENTATION OF A CAVE, YOU STUPID FUCKING HIPPIE! GET BACK TO THE 60'S AND STOP HAVING ACID FLASHBACKS IN MY OFFICE!!!' Yeah, that's what I would have said.
'Does it breathe?'
'No, you cunt. it's a map.'
The film was full of nonsense like this. There was one point where Werner was telling us that there was the footprint of child and wolf side by side. He postulated on this; 'Was the wolf stalking the child, did they walk side by side or were the prints made with thousands of years between them? We will never know!' No we will never know, but I'M GUESSING THE LAST FUCKING THEORY IS THE CORRECT ONE!! WHY EVEN BOTHER SAYING IT? WHY WERNER? WHY?? I'M GETTING ENRAGED JUST THINKING ABOUT THIS!! There was also this crazy Perfumer who was dragged into the caves to smell the past. Now, call me cynical, but WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT?? How can you smell the past? ARGHH!!! THE HATRED IS BUILDING UP INSIDE OF ME!!! The guy looked crazy as well, he looked like a bull about to charge, you know what I mean? That bovine way of crossed eyes and barely concealed taurine fuelled rage.
'I can smell the past'
'No, that's just bullshit...'
The paintings themselves looked like they'd been done by six year olds. Six year old tards. And they'd not even been coloured in properly. Some looked like potato stamp paintings that kids do in primary school. I was enraged. It was being touted as a prime example of human cultural and artistic beauty. But they were no 'Napoleon Crossing the Alps' I can tell you.
Shit
Good
Sunday, 26 December 2010
Anti-Christ's Mass
So that's Crass Mess all finally over and only 364 shopping days left until the next one! I'm going to tell you what I've been up to since the last posting. After working in sub-zero temperatures during the day my nights have been packed with far more festive fare! Thursday night saw the annual Treeton Towers drink-a-thon at my local. The whole night was given a special festive sparkle when a fight erupted between Deveaux and Bennett which involved drinks being tossed across the room, karate chops to the neck, effeminate punches thrown and Bennett screaming 'Get him out of here, he hasn't even got a proper name!' It was akin to the misdemeanors of Kid Rock and altercations outside of a Waffle House, you can't get much more redneck than my Rovrum mates. Paul was calmed and sent home covered in beer and, allegedly, his own shit whilst Bennett was left to lament his bite marks and collapsed wind pipe. Funny how it was only the terminally unemployed ones that ended up scrapping... It also marred the arrival of Pettigrew in the village after an eighteen year absence.
Christ's Mass wouldn't be Christ's Mass without cards and this year was no exception. I got the usual amount of abusive cards from various friends, mostly with the words FUCK and OFF printed somewhere either on the outside or inside of the card. But the best by far were the two I received on Christ's Mass Eve from Justin and the Evil Herr Docktor Clay. I really have difficulty deciding which I like best. I like Justin's for its homemade qualities and I like John's for its thoughtfulness. I'll allow you to decided which you prefer.
Justin's card, made from a cheep lager box:
John's card, note the added beard, glasses and attention drawn to the feet of the character:
John's card interior.
And speaking of Clay, on a final note here is a text message I receievd from him on Christ's Mass eve:
It's christmas eve and i'm wandering around homebase in a raincoat with a bottle of sherry. Is this the shape of things to come?
'It's my round!'
'No, it's my round!'
Christ's Mass Eve was spent in the company of the family at large, drinking copious amounts to dull the pain of the afternoon. This was followed up on Christ's Mass day with a trip out to Mr and Mrs Cat's for the now famous annual quiz. This generally revolves around sport, so this makes it pretty tough for me, but given that the rest of the family have difficulty writing their own names, I tend to come out somewhere on top. Last year's quiz was under suspicion due to claims of cheating, with little Tommy aledgedly feeding answers to his dad, Darren. This year, precautions had been put in place to stop such nonsense. Tommy was tied up to a pole in the back garden. I came second, due to a tie-breaker situation, with my mother winning outright. We kept the prize in the family at least. My prize? A bag of vacuum packed dead robins:
Om Nom Nom
Christ's Mass wouldn't be Christ's Mass without cards and this year was no exception. I got the usual amount of abusive cards from various friends, mostly with the words FUCK and OFF printed somewhere either on the outside or inside of the card. But the best by far were the two I received on Christ's Mass Eve from Justin and the Evil Herr Docktor Clay. I really have difficulty deciding which I like best. I like Justin's for its homemade qualities and I like John's for its thoughtfulness. I'll allow you to decided which you prefer.
Justin's card, made from a cheep lager box:
John's card, note the added beard, glasses and attention drawn to the feet of the character:
John's card interior.
And speaking of Clay, on a final note here is a text message I receievd from him on Christ's Mass eve:
It's christmas eve and i'm wandering around homebase in a raincoat with a bottle of sherry. Is this the shape of things to come?
Thursday, 10 June 2010
All Shall Fall
Meanwhile, back at the ranch. The Ukrainian butchers seems to be multiplying. Another one hatched last Monday. We had formal introductions during which I missed his name. It is now beyond the embarrassing point where I could ask him again what it is, so I generally say 'hey!' or 'hi!' when greeting him. The house now seems very full with four Ukrainians (one in transit) and an Evil Herr Doktor doing human experimentation in the cellar. It was with great pomp and circumstance that the Doktor in question, Herr Clay announced this morning he would be leaving soon. He like me, is fed up of being awoke to the sounds of showering Ukrainians at five o'clock every morning. At least this means the beatings will stop and I may regain feeling in the right side of my body once again. But having got something of a Stockholm syndrome relationship with Clay I am sorry he will be off. Sad times indeed.
Clay's proposed leaving will not be the only thing that has drawn to a close this week and the excavations at Heslington wrapped up amidst the two wettest days of the century on Monday and Tuesday. The rain fell in sheets and reminded all involved of the great Tsunami of 2004. We slipped and slided our way to the end of site, I had finished everything I needed to do, except my context sheets. Well, I didn't want those doing post-ex to have to deal with a ball of wet paper so I left them to finish off back in the office. On Tuesday my team bought me a box of beer as a farewell present, I was so touched I prompty opened a bottle and passed it round them all. I thought they hated me for making them work outside and/or in the rain. Obviously they were harbouring some deep seated form of respect for me... It seemed to have paid off as we were the most efficient team on site and had everything wrapped up way before time. But, having said that, there was still more to do over on the Herr Doktor's area as he had jumped ship and buggered off to Germany for a long weekend of cheap frothy beer and cheaper Frauleins whilst the rest of the archaeology department cleared up his fucking mess.
And that brings me to the end of site 'party' held at Penny's. She was hosting a barbecue which I was fast running out of excuses to go to, so fortified by beer at Logan Josh's summoning I was driven out to the arse end of North Yorkshire to end up feeling slightly uncomfortable in the presence of my peers. The only thing to do was to down as much beer as humanly possible to get me through the night. It ended with Penny showing us pictures of a dog she hasn't yet taken ownership of on her computer. I was very glad when all the feigning 'awwws' and 'oooohs' were over and I was promptly dropped back at my gaff.
'It has been a pleasure, but I must away to Durham...'
Clay's proposed leaving will not be the only thing that has drawn to a close this week and the excavations at Heslington wrapped up amidst the two wettest days of the century on Monday and Tuesday. The rain fell in sheets and reminded all involved of the great Tsunami of 2004. We slipped and slided our way to the end of site, I had finished everything I needed to do, except my context sheets. Well, I didn't want those doing post-ex to have to deal with a ball of wet paper so I left them to finish off back in the office. On Tuesday my team bought me a box of beer as a farewell present, I was so touched I prompty opened a bottle and passed it round them all. I thought they hated me for making them work outside and/or in the rain. Obviously they were harbouring some deep seated form of respect for me... It seemed to have paid off as we were the most efficient team on site and had everything wrapped up way before time. But, having said that, there was still more to do over on the Herr Doktor's area as he had jumped ship and buggered off to Germany for a long weekend of cheap frothy beer and cheaper Frauleins whilst the rest of the archaeology department cleared up his fucking mess.
Up yours, Heslington East!!
And that brings me to the end of site 'party' held at Penny's. She was hosting a barbecue which I was fast running out of excuses to go to, so fortified by beer at Logan Josh's summoning I was driven out to the arse end of North Yorkshire to end up feeling slightly uncomfortable in the presence of my peers. The only thing to do was to down as much beer as humanly possible to get me through the night. It ended with Penny showing us pictures of a dog she hasn't yet taken ownership of on her computer. I was very glad when all the feigning 'awwws' and 'oooohs' were over and I was promptly dropped back at my gaff.
No-one barbecues in the rain, quite like the British...
Monday, 24 May 2010
Cleansing
Well, what a weekend that was... At work on Thursday Logan Josh came to me, cap doffed and head bowed (as is his usual way) and asked if the Lord of Violence (Dr Clay) and I would care to join him and his wife as they supped al fresco in their peasant dwelling on Friday. Dr Clay's latest 'experiment', Moogdroog was also invited to the ritual of fire and meat and she duly agreed. Well, she was far too dazed and drugged to offer any form of resistance. Clay and I thought it would be wise to take along someone else we could throw at Josh and his wife should the evening take an ugly turn for the worst and we should have to hasten an escape. We were escorted by a misshapen lump of an ape to the house and the evening began in high spirits. The flowing of alcohol only worsened the situation and it wasn't long before we were paraded around in military helmets to the wild gesticulations and amusement of Josh. Meanwhile, his wife planned a trip to France from road maps of the Gallic country all to the sound track of David Allan Coe. Before the evening panned out into it's usual drunken orgy of violence that comes from a trip to Josh's abode, we made our excuses and left hotfootdly!
I saw Josh again on Saturday afternoon, after dashing away from my stalker outside York Minister. He was drinking in the same pub as me, but with his OAP friends this time. I on the other hand was in the company of Kate, awaiting the arrival of Chris and Ryan. I stayed out all afternoon, drinking like the proverbial fish, before going to see Iron Man 2
with Clay and Moogdroog and Ryan. This is what it was like: AC/DC, girls, explosions, girls, fighting, AC/DC. Reasonably OK for a quick cinema fix on a Saturday night, read Dr Clay's betterer review of it HERE...
On Sunday, the unthinkable happened, and Mr David Main arrived in York. He was here because I was to give him a lift to Manchester to see the unbelievably good Wolves In The Throne Room play. They were playing in an old Satanic Mill and I had heard rumours of their blistering performances in the past. Fuck me, they did not disappoint. It was like a ritual from beginning to end and I think it ranks as one of the best gigs I have ever been to, if not the best... They also brought a load of limited edition vinyls with them. I managed to snatch three for a future EBay date before they were all sold out, even the band themselves didn't have any copies... Lucky me, ay? What wasn't so lucky was the two and a half hour journey back home via Rotherham to drop Mainy off, leaving me to get to bed about 2.00am. On a schoolnight as well! I should coco!
The neighbours hated BBQ season on Logan Josh's road...
I saw Josh again on Saturday afternoon, after dashing away from my stalker outside York Minister. He was drinking in the same pub as me, but with his OAP friends this time. I on the other hand was in the company of Kate, awaiting the arrival of Chris and Ryan. I stayed out all afternoon, drinking like the proverbial fish, before going to see Iron Man 2
with Clay and Moogdroog and Ryan. This is what it was like: AC/DC, girls, explosions, girls, fighting, AC/DC. Reasonably OK for a quick cinema fix on a Saturday night, read Dr Clay's betterer review of it HERE...
It's all just Bang, Bang, Bang...
On Sunday, the unthinkable happened, and Mr David Main arrived in York. He was here because I was to give him a lift to Manchester to see the unbelievably good Wolves In The Throne Room play. They were playing in an old Satanic Mill and I had heard rumours of their blistering performances in the past. Fuck me, they did not disappoint. It was like a ritual from beginning to end and I think it ranks as one of the best gigs I have ever been to, if not the best... They also brought a load of limited edition vinyls with them. I managed to snatch three for a future EBay date before they were all sold out, even the band themselves didn't have any copies... Lucky me, ay? What wasn't so lucky was the two and a half hour journey back home via Rotherham to drop Mainy off, leaving me to get to bed about 2.00am. On a schoolnight as well! I should coco!
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire
With nothing better to do on Sunday night I went to see the film The Road. I asked Ninjasaurus Rex if he and his wife would like to accompany me, but their response was something along the lines of 'fuck off you loser, we've got REAL friends coming over for dinner. We'd have invited you, but we both think you're a cunt. So die.' Then the phone line went dead. With their words ringing in my ears, I wept all the way to the cinema, ALONE.
There will be a couple of small spoilers in this next paragraph, so skip to just beyond the picture if you don't want to know them. The film was good, it had come recommended by Herr Doktor Clay. He'd told me it was depressing film with an uplifting end. I later asked him how he could call the impending bleak future faced by nuclear war survivors as an 'uplifting ending'. He said the guy didn't rape and eat his kid so that was uplifting in his book. It's a pretty depressing film throughout, not really a date movie, but damn good except for a few small points. Which I shall sum up for you now: Towards the end the man (non raper) and boy (non eaten) 'befriend' a kindly blind old man, who is white. A little later they are then robbed completely by a black man. I thought this to be slightly playing up to racial stereotypes a little. Mind you, I would probably complain if it was the other way around saying the PC brigade had had their hands all over it. There was also a scene where the man (non raping non cannibal) is shot in the leg by a bow and arrow weidling survivor. But the scene just doesn't go anywhere, except to add further complications to their quest.
One final, quite minor point (not a spoiler), but enough to wind me up, was that every skeleton that they came across was fully articulated. The rib cages standing up and all the bones connected by invisible tendons. This happens so often in films and it really winds me up. Once a body has decomposed there is nothing left to support the bones and they collapse in a heap. As an archaeologist I probably see this more than most, but I would have thought it was obvious to the layman as well. I know in films it's done for dramatic effect, but it still looks pretty fucking stupid. Besides this minor infraction the film is a frightening, depressing and realistic portrayal of the aftermath of a Nuclear Holocaust. It also has Charlize Theron in it, which is always a good reason to see a film.
Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Other than that I have moved into selling guitar pedals, well, buying two off Dave and selling them on at a profit. It works out well for both of us. He gets cash in hand to throw at strippers and I get money for when I need it. In a similar vein I have been trying to track down Colin to buy some books off him, but getting hold of Colin is akin to mucking out the rocking horse stables. Despite an email, a text message, a answer phone message and even sending Lauren after him, he has failed to emerge. Tomorrow is another day and hope springs eternal in the quest for the Magical Golden Mane. I might just fill his inbox up with abuse.
'Then I told him to Fuck Off! I could hear him crying as I put the phone down! Cheers!'
There will be a couple of small spoilers in this next paragraph, so skip to just beyond the picture if you don't want to know them. The film was good, it had come recommended by Herr Doktor Clay. He'd told me it was depressing film with an uplifting end. I later asked him how he could call the impending bleak future faced by nuclear war survivors as an 'uplifting ending'. He said the guy didn't rape and eat his kid so that was uplifting in his book. It's a pretty depressing film throughout, not really a date movie, but damn good except for a few small points. Which I shall sum up for you now: Towards the end the man (non raper) and boy (non eaten) 'befriend' a kindly blind old man, who is white. A little later they are then robbed completely by a black man. I thought this to be slightly playing up to racial stereotypes a little. Mind you, I would probably complain if it was the other way around saying the PC brigade had had their hands all over it. There was also a scene where the man (non raping non cannibal) is shot in the leg by a bow and arrow weidling survivor. But the scene just doesn't go anywhere, except to add further complications to their quest.
The worst Nuclear Winter since records began
One final, quite minor point (not a spoiler), but enough to wind me up, was that every skeleton that they came across was fully articulated. The rib cages standing up and all the bones connected by invisible tendons. This happens so often in films and it really winds me up. Once a body has decomposed there is nothing left to support the bones and they collapse in a heap. As an archaeologist I probably see this more than most, but I would have thought it was obvious to the layman as well. I know in films it's done for dramatic effect, but it still looks pretty fucking stupid. Besides this minor infraction the film is a frightening, depressing and realistic portrayal of the aftermath of a Nuclear Holocaust. It also has Charlize Theron in it, which is always a good reason to see a film.
Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Other than that I have moved into selling guitar pedals, well, buying two off Dave and selling them on at a profit. It works out well for both of us. He gets cash in hand to throw at strippers and I get money for when I need it. In a similar vein I have been trying to track down Colin to buy some books off him, but getting hold of Colin is akin to mucking out the rocking horse stables. Despite an email, a text message, a answer phone message and even sending Lauren after him, he has failed to emerge. Tomorrow is another day and hope springs eternal in the quest for the Magical Golden Mane. I might just fill his inbox up with abuse.
'Colin! Answer your fucking phone!'
Sunday, 27 September 2009
Table Cop 2
I asked Herr Docktor Clay if he had any Table Cop material hiding in the dark recesses of his computer. Apparently the stupid bastard must have deleted it all, as he said he didn't but I definitely remember him writing at least one script that had a great scene between Manners and his arch Nemesis the Phantom Whittler. I didn't mention the Whittler before, but he was another important character in the show. The Whittler would have been Manners' enemy throughout the series, a mysterious figure of whom only Manners could see the clues, the wood shavings at every crime scene, the bottle of wood polish in the darkened alleyway. I always imagined the Whittler to look a bit like the Phantom Flan Flinger from Tiswas, but with wood tools instead of the pies...
Anyway, the scene that Herr Docktor Clay had written involved a battle between Manners and the Whittler atop a miniature train in a park. I don't remember much of it except that Manners would have been foiled again and ousted from the roof of the last carriage. The final shot was the Whittler disappearing around the corner on the train laughing while Manners stood and shook his fist in rage.
The Docktor and I also had an idea about getting the program commissioned. We reckoned if there was enough public demand to see the show then the BBC would be forced to make it. With this in mind, John produced a teaser poster for the show, to be liberally displayed across the country. Obviously we hadn't made the program but this would lend weight to our pitch when we approached the Beeb with the idea.
On the subject of the Evil Nazi Herr Docktor Clay, he also sent me a poster he made for his new Political party he tried to set up in York. The Christo-Fascist Party. I'm not sure what his policies were, but I guess it involved not joining Europe and mandatory church for everyone. His main campaign was directed at Heartbeat Candy, a street entertainer in York. Heartbeat Candy is a York institution, he has an array of artifacts surrounding him, a store dummy dressed in Seventies style, various toys and best of all two Border Collies. The dogs help him on songs, like when he plays 'How much is that doggy in the window'. On the last note he plays his harmonica at a pitch that obviously causes the dogs some discomfort and they howl along with the music. Anyway, Clay got it into his head that this harmless old man is an evil paedophile and directed his vengeance against him with this poster campaign:
Take that Manners! Oh sorry, wrong show...
Anyway, the scene that Herr Docktor Clay had written involved a battle between Manners and the Whittler atop a miniature train in a park. I don't remember much of it except that Manners would have been foiled again and ousted from the roof of the last carriage. The final shot was the Whittler disappearing around the corner on the train laughing while Manners stood and shook his fist in rage.
Imagine a titanic battle between two opposing but unmovable forces across the carriages of this train and you have an idea of the 'missing' Table Cop scene...
The Docktor and I also had an idea about getting the program commissioned. We reckoned if there was enough public demand to see the show then the BBC would be forced to make it. With this in mind, John produced a teaser poster for the show, to be liberally displayed across the country. Obviously we hadn't made the program but this would lend weight to our pitch when we approached the Beeb with the idea.
Feel free to print out this poster and display it in the shitty office you invariably work in. Get your fellow workers excited about the possibility of a wood themed cop show...
On the subject of the Evil Nazi Herr Docktor Clay, he also sent me a poster he made for his new Political party he tried to set up in York. The Christo-Fascist Party. I'm not sure what his policies were, but I guess it involved not joining Europe and mandatory church for everyone. His main campaign was directed at Heartbeat Candy, a street entertainer in York. Heartbeat Candy is a York institution, he has an array of artifacts surrounding him, a store dummy dressed in Seventies style, various toys and best of all two Border Collies. The dogs help him on songs, like when he plays 'How much is that doggy in the window'. On the last note he plays his harmonica at a pitch that obviously causes the dogs some discomfort and they howl along with the music. Anyway, Clay got it into his head that this harmless old man is an evil paedophile and directed his vengeance against him with this poster campaign:
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Dad's Army
61 visitors since I posted the last entry and only 16 comments? Thank you for those that commented and fuck you for those that didn't. You shower of shit. I work my fingers to the bone writing this for nothing and you don't even bother commenting. And to answer Herr Docktor Clay, I imply you are an Evil Nazi Doctor, simply because you are an Evil Nazi Doctor.
With Brodsworth now finished for another year, I began work with Onsite again on Monday. I worked out it is almost exactly two years since I first worked for them on the Barbican site in York. All the old familiar faces were there: Lauren, Lord Sir Stanners, Alice and Wincey Willis. We are working at Nostell Priory outside Wakefield, it's Sir Stanner's country pile, he uses it as a summer house for siring himself upon the local wenches and virgins. Mind you, trying to find a virgin over the age of twelve in Wakefield is pretty tricky. He was showing me the front of the building today and I asked him which window was his bedroom, he said 'Second floor'. I asked which room on the second floor. He said 'No, all of the second floor.' In all seriousness, we were chatting about the house and Stanners said that it was too big to live in and he'd get paranoid that someone was having a party somewhere else in the house that he wouldn't be able to hear it.
Dudes! Where's the party at? No, Seriously, which room are you guys in?
In other unrelated chats, Wincey was telling us how to get a seat on a train. The method is to carry a bottle of piss with you and sprinkle it on yourself as you enter the carriage, this way no one will want to sit next to you for the duration of your journey. Whether he'd actually tried this out or not, he didn't say. Other funny things that happened over the last two days included a man with a 20 ton truck full of Aggregate who pulled up at the side of the site and asked me if we'd ordered it, I told him no, we were taking the stuff out rather than putting it back in. In sadder news I did something today that I never done in eight years of being a field archaeologist: I broke my trowel. That's right. It was a sad day for the 4" WHS that had accompanied me to Iceland. Like all archaeologists, I'm rather attached to my trowel and wept buckets for its demise. Actually, I didn't I just said some thing like 'bollocks' and used Wincey's instead.
The Evil Nazi Herr Docktor Clay explains his 'Doomsday Device MKII' to head Evil Nazis
With Brodsworth now finished for another year, I began work with Onsite again on Monday. I worked out it is almost exactly two years since I first worked for them on the Barbican site in York. All the old familiar faces were there: Lauren, Lord Sir Stanners, Alice and Wincey Willis. We are working at Nostell Priory outside Wakefield, it's Sir Stanner's country pile, he uses it as a summer house for siring himself upon the local wenches and virgins. Mind you, trying to find a virgin over the age of twelve in Wakefield is pretty tricky. He was showing me the front of the building today and I asked him which window was his bedroom, he said 'Second floor'. I asked which room on the second floor. He said 'No, all of the second floor.' In all seriousness, we were chatting about the house and Stanners said that it was too big to live in and he'd get paranoid that someone was having a party somewhere else in the house that he wouldn't be able to hear it.
Dudes! Where's the party at? No, Seriously, which room are you guys in?In other unrelated chats, Wincey was telling us how to get a seat on a train. The method is to carry a bottle of piss with you and sprinkle it on yourself as you enter the carriage, this way no one will want to sit next to you for the duration of your journey. Whether he'd actually tried this out or not, he didn't say. Other funny things that happened over the last two days included a man with a 20 ton truck full of Aggregate who pulled up at the side of the site and asked me if we'd ordered it, I told him no, we were taking the stuff out rather than putting it back in. In sadder news I did something today that I never done in eight years of being a field archaeologist: I broke my trowel. That's right. It was a sad day for the 4" WHS that had accompanied me to Iceland. Like all archaeologists, I'm rather attached to my trowel and wept buckets for its demise. Actually, I didn't I just said some thing like 'bollocks' and used Wincey's instead.
The all new WHS 4" for excavating around corners!
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