Freakspotting

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would they want to do a thing like that? They chose not to choose life. They chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got Cosplay?

Yes, Cosplay, the biggest threat to the country since Hitler and his sharply dressed army. But, unlike the Nazis, this lot know nothing of discipline. In fact a good dose of National Service would sort them out. If you have no idea what I am talking about, let me explain. Cosplay is the attempt by people with nothing to wake up for in the morning to dress up as their favourite characters out of comics or TV series. It probably all began with Trekkies dressing up like General Kirk or Doctor Spock, but has gotten all out of control with people dressing up as minor characters in the Legend of Zilda or E.T. The Extra Testicle. It gives them a sense of being, a belonging in a world that hates them. They gather together and perform strange little rituals, usually at comic conventions. Which is where I gazed into the face of madness. I was attending Thought Bubble, 'an annual celebration of sequential art in all its forms' (LOL. Just call them comics!) Ninjasaurus Rex had brought it to my attention and he was desperate to get to a Japanese restaurant in Leeds again, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If only we'd killed one hundred Cosplayers with the same stone we would have come home happy men.

I arrived at the plaza between the Royal Armouries and the new Savile Building and gazed on what looked like a scene from the Fourth Circle of Hell. The avaricious with their cossetted material possessions danced about to the tuneless horns of Mars. Dressed as Manga characters. I panicked and telephoned Ninjasaurus who had been struck immobile by the scene of human degradation. Seeking comfort in numbers we banded together quickly and watched one anothers backs like hawks. Our fear was soon dissipated by the sight of the very chair SIR JIMMY SAVILE sat in:

Not only his Chair, but his car as well!! This was a man who was living the dream!

This was without doubt the best thing we saw all day and was well worth the ten pounds admission fee alone, but was nothing to do with the Comic Con. Which, frankly, was just loads and loads and loads of comics for sale. But then, what else did I expect it to be? Ninjasaurus saw some of his friends from the dark world of comic publishing and I bumped into the Big O, who rather kindly gave us a free comic each!

Cheers big man!!

Outside, the swirling mass of madness was gathering it's momentum and here are a few pictures to illustrate just what we saw. I beg you, gentle reader, do not allow your eyes to linger too long on these images...

Aren't you a little shit to be a Stormtrooper?

I wanted a photo, not a pose...

Electra's arse and Mario and Luigi. The mind boggles...

Is that a lightsaber or a lipstick?

Wrap up warm, love...

Interviewer: So what is missing in your life?

We retreated into the Armouries to look at real weapons, rather than over sized foam hammers and realised that we had a vantage point over the assembled freaks. After a few minutes of playing 'spot the tard' we both said in unison 'I wish I had a rifle.'

Sargent, three rounds rapid!

I was going to run up to him shouting 'Help! Help! Judge, I've just been raped in the Armouries toilets!' to see if he'd help, but I bottled it at the last minute. 

We finished the afternoon off by a visit to this authentic U-Boat which had surfaced in the docks.

It was captained by this fellow:

 

Table Cop

I was recently going through my documents and I came across these two scripts that I had begun but hadn't finished. I'm publishing them both here for the first time, unedited. A bit of background first. The Evil Nazi Herr Doktor John Clay and I (I think maybe also Craig and Ross, but memory fades...) came up with an idea for a TV show called Table Cop. It was a detective show based around the Wood Division of the Police force. Actually, John, if you have any further scripts you'd like me to put up here, email them to me and I'll post them. The main character was Pledge Manners, a fiftyish year old career cop. He was an unorthodox, pushy angry man. Early ideas for the show name was 'Against the Grain'. Manners had joined the wood Division due to him needing to get closure on a personal tragedy. His entire family had been wiped out in a yachting accident and he had only survived by clinging onto a table which washed him to shore. He felt he owed something to wood, so vowed to work only on cases involving wood and wooden objects. We'd fleshed the character out pretty well, he even had a girlfriend who was a table dancer in a lap dancing club. He was torn between his need for human contact and the abuse she was dealing out to the wooden tables with her high heels every night. We even had an actor pencilled in for the role, Michael Sheard. You'd know him best as Admiral Ozzel from The Empire Strikes Back and Mr Bronson from Grange Hill. His gravitas and acting ability would have brought a certain 'j'nais c'est qua' to the role. Only the stupid fucker went and died in 2005.

You ruined my chance for BBC light drama you stupid fucking bastard. RIP Michael

Pledge Manners wasn't the only character, he was helped by another wood detective (there were only two in the Wood Division, and they were fighting a losing battle against being closed down due to cut backs in the Police Force as a whole), named Tarquin Sheen. Again, we already had someone pencilled in. Dexter Fletcher was perfect. I remain fairly certain had we got off our arses and actually wrote a full episode and then sent it to Fletcher's agent and the agent hadn't rejected it out of hand and given it over to Fletcher to actually read, he would have been behind the project 100%. Sheen was a Detective Bobby Crocker to Manners' Kojak. A thrusting upstart, Sheen would be ever present on the Wood Scene of Crime.

Never mind Press Gang, Dexter, we'll make you a big star with Table Cop...

A final third character was included, a Female Beat Officer, WPC Ashley Beech. She was to be played by Heather-Jay Jones, who you will undoubtedly remember as the older sister, Melody Parker, in the TV show The Queen's Nose. Not too pretty to be distracting but not too shabby either. Beech would have been continually ignored by Manners, who saw women's roles as being in the kitchen rather than on the beat.

In lieu of finding any decent pictures of Heather-Jay Jones, here is a picture of her younger co-star in the Queen's Nose: Victoria Shalet, who has certainly grown up well...

OK, enough waffling about the background of the show, let's take a look at the scripts and see what brilliance could have made it's way onto our screens. As I said both are unfinished and I was unsure as to were they fit into an episode, you'll have to work that out yourself. let you fucking imagination run away with you.

Table Cop Script Fragment One

Ext: Wooded area in mist, several Police Forensic Officers are working on what is obviously a crime scene. Close up on a body wrapped in a plastic bin bag, the arm is sticking out. It has been bothered by animals. Photographs are taken, samples sampled, etc.

Enter Pledge Manners and Tarquin Sheen. Manners strides ahead, Sheen trying to catch him.

Sheen: No, Pledge, please, for your own sake.

Manners: DI Albridge? Albridge?

Detective Inspector Albridge looks up from the body. He has a Yellow High Visibility Jacket on and PC’s Helmet. He is fortyish, stout, life long cop. There is tension between Manners and Albridge.

Albridge: (quietly) Christ, who let him in? (To Manners) Pledge, ah, how good to see you. Is this business or pleasure?

Manners: Business, always business. Listen Albridge, you’re searching for the wrong clues.

Albridge: Pledge, how can we be looking for the wrong clues at the scene of the crime? (Loudly to all in earshot) Has the Wood Department increased its arrest quota sufficiently to start telling us Forensics how to do our job? (The Forensic officers titter among themselves at Albridge’s put-downs) Do you think you two jokers can solve this murder with wood? (More laughter) (Mockingly) Oh look at me, I’m in the Wood Division, this murder was committed with a… WOODEN STICK! (Uproarious laughter) in a… WOOD! (Laughter, shouts of ‘Oh Yeah!’, ‘you d’Man!’ etc) by Pinocchio!! (Lots of ‘ooh ooh ooh ooh’ like in the Jerry Springer Show) Get out of here you clowns!

Manners: This time I know what I’m talking about Albridge, you are looking in the wrong area. You Forensic boys have your noses so far up a corpse’s arse you can’t see what’s in front of you.

Albridge: (Angrily) I’ll tell you what’s in front of you if you don’t get out of here, the fucking Police Commission Complaints board. Now take Marionette here and fuck off back behind your plastic desk.

Manners: (slowly and quietly) we’ve found paint chippings from the murderer’s car on some of the trees back there. (Indicating into the woods)

Albridge is momentarily shocked, but quickly recovers his composure. He moves in close to Manners.

Albridge: (almost whispered, barely contained rage) Listen, you fir fucker. I’m running this show. What I say goes. There is no paint on those trees, in fact there isn’t even any trees. If we haven’t found it, it doesn’t exist. And if someone goes around flapping his big mouth about things we may or may not have missed then they are going to find themselves in a world of pain. Do I make myself clear, monkey puzzle?

Manners and Albridge have a stare off for a few seconds.

Manners: C’mon Sheen, let’s get back to the office, I think I left the cap off that tin of wood polish.

Manners and Sheen walk off, leaving Albridge fuming.

Table Cop Script Fragment Two

Int: Backstage at the Cock and Balls Public house. A small time rock band, Bloodgoat, are readying themselves for a gig. The band is Ian; Keyboards, Nigel; Vocals, Ray; guitar, Roger; bass and Neville; drums. Ian is sitting in the corner with his hands down his jogging bottoms.

Nigel: For Christ’s sake Ian, give it a rest.

Ian: I’ve told you, me name’s not Ian, use me stage name, it helps me get in character.

Nigel: Alright Axe-lord, but will you stop playing with yourself. We’re meant to be a serious fucking band here.

Ian: That shows how much you know about rock and roll, man. I’m only doing what Iggy does before every show.

Nigel: Iggy doesn’t fucking tug himself off before a gig, you nobhead.

Ian: No but he makes his cock look bigger for the birds, you’d know if you’d ever seen him play live.

Nigel: I would do, but you never told me the fucking Stooges had reformed and were playing did you? You twat.

Ian: Don’t get bitter about it man, that’s history anyway.

Int: Bloodgoat are on stage, finishing the set. Ian is almost bent double over his keyboard his erection making it difficult for him to play. Nigel comes over to him after the last song.

Nigel: You idiot, you ruined the whole show. You’re on thin ice Axe-Lord.

Manners: Bellingham? Ian Bellingham?

Ian: (bent over) yeah, who wants to know?

Manners: (holding up his plastic badge) Pledge Manners, Wood Division. I want to ask you a few questions.

Ian: (still bent over) What about, is this about Shirley? I’ve already been through this with the cops. I thought you lot had finished with me.

Manners: Not us. I still have a few questions about the sawdust found on your trousers. We’ve run some tests…

Ian: (still bent over) I had nothing to do with the murder, I wasn’t even in the fucking country.

Manners: (shouting) Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking!

Ian: (still bent over but shouting) I could sue for Police harassment, you know

Manners: (shouting) you’re still a prime suspect Bellingham! You don’t have a leg to stand on!

Ian: (Stands up to reveal the erection poking obviously in his jogging trousers) This case has nothing to do with you Manners!

Manners: (shouting) We deal with any case involving wood!

The two are faced off close together, the only thing between them is Ian’s erection.

Fin