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In the cellar there was a low
...whirr, and occasional bouts of evenly-spaced phhhts. There was also the murmur of muted voices and music from beyond. These suddenly became loud and clear as the door swung open, and the barman propped it open with his foot. He was laden with a cumbrous barrel, which he heaved on in. The door closed behind him, and the voices and music became muted once again. He manouevred it to the rear corner of the cellar. It wasn't particularly roomy. He lifted and swung it in order to hurdle another obstructive barrel. In doing so, the barrel tapped some guttering attached the wall, with was used to channel excess liquid. At the end of this conduit hung a bucket, into which the overspill of beer drained. It hadn't been emptied for about a month, and atop the cesspool of rancid ale sat about an inch of off-white mouldy scum. The bucket teetered.
He knew exactly what would happen next, but was powerless to prevent it. He was still carrying the heavy barrel, and had time only to watch the bucket slide from its flimsy mooring, drop lazily to the ground, and project the spume in all directions about the cellar, and all over him.
It fucking stank. And this happened in the very first five minutes of my last shift behind the bar at The Ship Of Fools. And proved to be an omen for the rest of the evening. I had to wash my head and change my shirt and everything. Twatting yuck.
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2.5.05 23:28
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Just to break away from the
...regular format, here are some bits and bobs from my weekend :
- I got an email from Nooma, in response to asking her when she'd be back. She said she didn't know, but it would probably be very soon as she'd almost run out of money. As such, she urged me to keep every night free for the next month, just in case. If the rumours are true, when she returns, she might be moving in with her (*spit*) boyfriend. Evidently the six months travelling seems to have cemented their relationship, rather than prove to her that he's a poseur and an extremely self-centred cock. Nuts.
- I went for an epic surf in the sunshine, then drank Pimm's and lemonade on Saturday afternoon. This was quite wonderful. So it was a bit of a shame that I had to cut off the fun mid-flow to go to work, where I got covered in rancid beer. Some of you may already know this.
- On Sunday I hung out with my sister and her man, drank boozahol, ate curry, and watched almost every episode of 'The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy'. I am now very excited about seeing the film. My sister's bloke's surname is Darling, and as such I am willing for them to get married as soon as possible. Gals - if you could take any surname, what would it be ?
- I started to become legitimately ill yesterday. As such, I was expecting that having to do the quiz last night would be a real ballache. On the contrary, it was a lot of fun. Even the bit when someone littered the floor about him with his toys as there hadn't been a sports round (it's my quiz, and - what can I say ? - I don't like sports) was good, as I got to inform him that he was taking a pub quiz far too seriously, whereupon he looked shame-faced to the floor. But even better than that was one of the gals on one of the teams was really rather lovely. She was quite short, with short dark hair and thick-rimmed specs, and had been liberally doused with nerdy cool. At one point I asked the question "If someone suffers from Daltonism, what's wrong with them ?" She called out "Are they given to compulsively hosting pub quizzes ?" I responded that the inferrence was that there was something wrong with me. To which she replied "No, not at all... I love you." I replied that I loved her too, but felt a flush across my face.
At the end of the evening I was about to leave, but returned to tell a new barman of this wonderous occurrence. He asked me if I'd done anything more about it. I hadn't, but figured it wasn't time-critical as the group had said they'd return for the quiz next week. "I'm not sure if they will..." said the barman; "they're just down visiting from London." But then he offered to do some sleuthing later on, and asked for my number so that he could keep me informed. So I wrote it down for him, and he said "Or... I could just give her this, if you want." "Er... Fuck it; go on then," I replied. I'm now slightly scared. This is all a bit pro-active for me. I haven't heard anything back just yet.
...And now that I've written it on here, I probably won't hear anything back at all. It's the 20Jinx.
- Today I am poorly. So be nice.
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3.5.05 11:38
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May the 4th
...be with you.
And 'Episode III' is on general release in two weeks' time ? Methinks their marketing division missed a trick there.
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4.5.05 09:18
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I'd like to revisit a
... question posed by Laurieloo - to wit, what has been your most memorable 20Six moment ? I thought this was a very interesting one, and one which I'd like to answer in more depth. My memory blows, so there's bound to be some fab stuff I've forgotten. Anyway, here are three general 'moments', and another three more specifically related to myself. Other than this division, there is no particular order : General- The introduction of The Gallery. In my opinion, this has been the best idea of all of the "all-in, who wants to play..." blogs. Hats off to the Baboon for that one. - The assault on bigotry that can be found here. This is compelling reading, particularly Beckett's wonderfully articulate attack on the vile hatemonger Silverbear (I especially like the bit where he calls the 'ordained minister' a "hypocrite and a fool"). I find this both uplifting and depressing as, despite the astute arguments presented, those clearly in the wrong will never learn from them. It nicely encapsulates what is right about people, and what is wrong with them. - Yaggers finds love. Ok, admittedly that's a little bit gay. But what can I say... I'm a bit old-fashioned and I like happy endings. Especially when they happen to good people. Even though I outwardly express that it's all a bit sickening, this kind of thing makes me feel wiggly. There's hope for us all. Even - possibly - me. ...And for Squash- The bit where Gamba (R.I.P. - though I understand her spectre still haunts this site) insulted my ass on this blog, without realising that it was actually mine. That made me happy. - Being Blog Crushed for the first time (though this blog has long since been erased from the ethereal noticeboard, the culprit can still be found here), and by lovely Beso (even though I had to share it with a couple of losers). *Sigh*. I'm a big fan of Blog Crush (though not so much the most recent non-anonymous 20Six-approved incarnation). I guess that's pretty childish for someone my age, but I think the whole notion of someone being attracted to the way in which you write provides a nice antithesis to the notion of Saturday-night grooming and meat-mongering. Although the sweet sweet lovin' at the end of it would be a welcome addition... - The bit when Fiona McCann got offended by Nooma's joke about scalping goats made me laugh so much I almost did a wee. It's a crying shame that she deleted her comment, as it was gold. It was something like "Scalping goats ? That's not funny. That's sick." I hasten to add that the reason why I'm writing this entry is because it's an itch I wanted to scratch after Laurieloo brought it up, and not through a hankering for the good old days. There have been a lot of complaints lately that - like Steve Martin and Viz - 20Six isn't as good as it used to be. Well chaps and chappesses, you know whose duty it is to keep it interesting ? That's right. Ours. So thumbs out of asses peeps. EditApologies if you tried to read this entry whilst it didn't make any sense. Amazing what a couple of missing speech marks in the HTML can do. If you still can't understand it, I can't help you.
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4.5.05 14:16
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Everybody in the office is
...badmouthing the local Labour candidate. I grant that she's totally incompetent, impossible to get hold of, and would crumble under pressure like an all-butter thin that's been soaking up tea for eight minutes; but she's so lovely. *Sigh*. I'm not one of the workforce that's being made to graft until four in the morning tonight, but I would gladly - for free - if it meant I got to see the tears of joy roll down her face if Labour win this seat. Although, admittedly, they probably won't.
They're even dissing her for having large teeth. How unkind. If she wins, the pre-written story begins 'Labour candidate [glorious honey] was relieved when she clung to the [area] seat by the skin of her...' Well... I think you can guess the rest. Journalists are cunts.
In other news, I've been considering what might be the worst song ever written. Contenders are 'Delta Dawn' by Tanya Tucker (unlistenable); 'The Truth' by Scandinavian rappers (sic) Clawfinger (although this is admittedly very funny; particularly the chorus which goes 'Truth... Tell me the truth... The truth motherfucker... Tell me the truth... Tell me the truth... Tell me the truth... The truth you sucker'); or 'It's Raining Men'. Any thoughts ?
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5.5.05 12:12
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Well, that was
...entertaining, moving, touching; but the outcome was most satisfying. It made me happy. But enough about 'Garden State'; I see that cunt Blair's got in again.
I was expecting a very slow day. Most of Editorial - who stayed up until about five - are having a lie-in; so I figured I'd be able to spend the morning blogging, dozing, and nursing my hangover. Instead, I've got to man the phones, and have been handed enough work by the sports editor to last me until the Lib Dems come in to power. Groo.
In other news, I bumped into a fellow last night who was sitting in a group with a rather gorgeous young lady at The Ship Of Fools quiz a couple of weeks ago. I made inquiries, and discovered that she's very religious. So - in terms of point scoring - getting ordained as a reverend might well be the way forward. In actual fact, unless he's just trying to throw me off the scent, this is a very offputting factor. I once didn't want to get involved with a young lady because she had a slightly protruding forehead. What's the most arbitrary thing you've ever held against a potential suitor ?
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6.5.05 09:41
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The most interesting bit of news from
...my weekend was seeing Nooma out on Saturday evening. I knew that she was going to be back sooner or later, but hadn't been prepared for bumping into her at The Ship Of Fools. She hadn't changed in the least. She wasn't particularly tanned, and her hair wasn't in dreads. And she didn't smell. In fact, she was very lovely indeed. And I think I became visibly over-excited (not like that, you grubby beasts), and spoke lots of crap at a thousand miles an hour. Not cool. She told me about skydiving with an instructor who had really reeky breath, despite chewing gum. I told her that I was pleased that she hadn't died at any point on her travels. And then she seemed to vanish. So that was short and sweet. In other news, I didn't think that the barman had passed on my number to the honey at last week's quiz, as I saw the docket on which I'd written my name and number kicking about behind the bar since. He informed me yesterday that he had passed it on, but had taken the liberty of transferring my masterstroke of lo-fi understatement onto a "more professional looking" Ship Of Fools business card, and had added the missive 'Call me x'. This is a disaster. 'Call me' ? How cheesy. You can imagine that being accompanied by a wink, a two index point, and a pair of leopard-skin fiddlies. It's no wonder she didn't call me. If she's at the quiz tonight, I will go a very warm shade of crimson. What is the cheesiest line you've ever used, or heard used ?
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9.5.05 12:42
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Until about November
...I used to live with Blonde Curly Physio. I did refer to her as 'my flatmate', which didn't really give her much of an identity; hence the new epithet. Anyway, you know who I mean... the one with the (since castrated) horny rabbit. Anyway, she lives next door to an old bloke on one side, and a young family on the other. The young family's two boys play football on the common round the back of the houses. They have their goalposts set up, and aren't interested in getting up to mischief. Just football. Old bloke doesn't like this. So he shouts at them to get the fuck off his land. They're about eight and ten. So the mother - not unreasonably - went round to have a word. She asked him to please not shout and swear at her children, and remind him that it wasn't his land anway - it's common land. He responded rather less reasonably by pushing her, and telling her to "fuck off". After they called the police, it was pointed out that the old guy was eighty, and the filth recommended that he be cut some slack. The mother's protestations that, despite being eighty, he was still a lot larger and a lot stronger than her, fell on deaf ears. Our man is clearly not well. His latest tactic has been to pour a bucket of piss over his back wall, in order that the tangy aroma of urea force the children away from that spot. Oh, and over Blonde Curly Physio's back wall too. Which makes hanging out in her garden, now that we're getting into summer again, less pleasant than one might otherwise expect. I'm not sure how people become so sour in their autumn years. It's very sad. It's also very twattish. Anyone here had any similar experiences ?
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9.5.05 16:34
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A young picture editor is
...woken up from sharpening an out-of-focus photograph of a group of elderly women gathering asymmetrically around a small cheque made out to The Stroke Club, and finds himself being questioned by the news editor. She huffs to his desk like a rusty old tank and asks him about the late Mrs Williams. The news editor's disquiet is catching. Her ankles bulge above her high-heels. It's not possible to tell her that - despite her sense of urgency concerning every aspect of her work - no-one's life depends on it. It seems she's prepared to challenge that theory by staking her own. Everyone in the office prays they won't be in on the day she dies at her desk. "Mrs Williams ?" he asks.
"Yes, Mrs Williams. Obit. Here's her picture, but I don't know who she is."
"Um... It rings a bell. I think it was a scan. I'll try and find out for you."
In the background, one of the subs asks the deputy editor what he had for dinner last night. She asks him this every day. There seems to be little else in his life to ask about. Just work. He had tuna sandwiches.
The picture editor finds the write-up of the obituary and prints it out. It is passed on to its author, a reporter who typed it up not one week before. He looks at it as if it's written in Cyrillic text. He has no recollection of Mrs Williams whatsoever.
The picture editor considers making a coffee, but is loathed to as he can see seven people whose turn it is to do so. At the same time the realisation that - though not in such an advanced state - he is no different from Mrs Williams insidiously takes a bite out of the marrow of his spirit. Outside the sun blazes, and life goes on.
I wake up.
I feel the clutch around me tighten, and a dulcifying voice sleepily asks "you ok ?"
"Er... I think so," I reply.
"You jumped."
"I was having a really weird dream."
"Don't worry... You're here now. Now go back to sleep. In a couple of hours you can make me breakfast."
"I'd love to," I mutter as I drift back off.
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10.5.05 10:27
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I am trying to wean
...myself off this blog, and try and spend my time more productively. However, when I do this, lots of blogworthy things happen. I'm a bit too shaky and sweaty today to be particularly articulate, but I felt a quick round-up was in order :
- Busty Farm Girl has come down to ask for a job at The Ship Of Fools, and find lodgings, and was successful in doing both. There is also an option for me to live with her too. At the moment I pay half of what it would cost to live with her. However, I do live with the Odd Couple, so it might be worth the extra not to live with people who are my age in years, but middle-aged in attitude.
- Watching Nooma marching atop a table to the threads of '500 Miles' wearing Eskimo boots on Saturday night made me realise how much I've missed her over the last six months. I heart Nooma. *Sigh*
- I went to a hypnosis weekend at the Haunted Castle. This on its own warrants at least a couple of full-length entries. But - in short - I lap-danced for a bald man in his fifties (whilst not hypnotised), I found that I cannot be regressed into past lives (probably because I don't believe in them), my batophobia (fear of looking up very high things) may have been cured (though I am yet to put this to the test)... But the highlight was a gentle giant in his thirties, who was regressed into a 'past life' where he was a mass-murder, which both amused an put the shits up everyone in the room, not least his mother-in-law. The transformation from a big lug who wouldn't say boo to a goose into a foul-mouthed psychopath was quite startling. And then, in another 'life', he was a London gangster who's enemies went "swimming", and ended up getting iced - presumably by the Krays. When he was brought back to, he was visibly shaken, almost crying, and exclaimed "I thought I was a nice person..."
- I have been invited by my chum Bandy to go and watch Napalm Death in Swindon with him. Swindon is absolutely miles away from where I live, but it may well be worth the trek for such FURIOUS ROCK!
- I hate exclamation marks, but I just used one then. That is how FURIOUS the ROCK would be.
- I befriended a cat.
There is a lot more, but that will do for now.
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16.5.05 12:18
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I am presently debating
...whether or not I should continue living with the Odd Couple. Various folk (Surf-Film-Maker Chap, the Friendly Fisherman, Nooma etc) have been little short of gobsmacked at my decision to stay with them even temporarily. But despite the fact that they're boring, annoying and... well... odd, they are nice people, and they are asking absolutely minimal rent. Though I am obviously grateful for this, the edge is taken off somewhat by their insistence on reminding me of it every five minutes. Furthermore, the mi casa su casa rhetoric has been slightly obviated by having mentioned every day that if I don't meet the grade then hey, they can just kick me out. Admittedly it has been jokingly each time, but it's got to the 'all true things said in jest' point.
So Busty Farm Girl has been staying too over the last few days, looking for a place to live. For practical reasons, I'd offered her my room, but advised against taking it, as I knew that the Odd Couple would drive her up the wall. "They can't possibly be that bad," she protested before meeting them, and for the first evening they got along just dandy...
I drove Busty Farm Girl to the station this morning, and most of the journey she spent in a tirade. After only a couple of nights, she is quite prepared to stove in both of their faces. The conversation went a little like this (abridged) :
Busty Farm Girl : ...And the way [Odd Female] signed [Odd Male]'s birthday card 'Love from Me'. Her name isn't 'Me' - it's [Odd Female]. We're adults now.
Lemonsquash : Fair enough...
BFG : And her saying to her boyfriend that she loved every single bit of him. Please don't say that kind of thing in front of me, as I'll be sick.
LS : Nice.
BFG : And the way that they just decimated an entire tray of Dairy Box, leaving just one chocolate. Do you know what it was ? An apricot fucking creme.
[LemonSquash giggles]
BFG : And have you noticed that she's got no hips ?
LS : I try not to look at her body.
BFG : She's just straight, all the way down. She's solid. But I'll say this for her - I'd certainly trust her with a set of bricks...
[And on in this vein for about ten minutes]
Another nice moment was last night when she saw Odd Female's keyring. It features a picture of a chimp, and has Odd Female's name on it. To which the response was "I suppose she couldn't find one with a picture of a cross-eyed elephant". Unfortunately, the anonymous nature of this blog precludes me from posting a photo of Odd Female; but if I did, you'd probably laugh out some piss, like wot I almost did.
Though it would cost me twice as much, I'm leaning towards the idea of living with Busty Farm Girl instead.
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17.5.05 10:34
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We ran a story a
...few weeks ago about a group of old-timers who went to a screening of 'My House In Umbria', as an outing for a local branch of the Friendship Circle. With no advance warning, they were instead shown 'The Door In The Floor', which apparently features a lot of Jeff Bridges wandering around in the buff as Kim Basinger indulges in a saucy romp (I've clearly been working for a newspaper for too long). I was asked to source a picture of Kim looking a bit suggestive, and found a photo of her wearing nothing but chains. Despite the fact that you couldn't see her teatular areas - or her faff - the picture was deemed too racy to put in the paper, so I had to find another one.
Today, one of the cases in court featured a fellow who was enangered after discovering that his girlfriend was carrying on with some other chap, and roughed her up. This particular event coincided with him interrupting her from masturbating her own anus with a carrot. I'm looking forward to how the subs plan to phrase that in keeping with the newspaper's style.
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17.5.05 15:39
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Since it was a beautiful clear
...evening, I thought it best to escape from the Odd Couple's house. So I took a book ('Success... And How To Avoid It' - although that's really teaching me how to suck eggs) down to the beach. Until I realised that it's still too cold in the evenings to do so. So I returned to the house, and wondered how best to continue avoiding my captors. This involved falling asleep, and spending time on the phone.
Enter Nooma (stop snickering at the back, please). I had a call demanding that I joined her and a curly-haired activist down at The Ship Of Fools for beer. This sounded like quite the best way in which to effect my escape, and therefore I agreed to do so.
And a jolly fine time was had. We talked about coprophagy, masturbating monkeys, Finger Mouse's nine appendages, and they insisted on assisting with my lack of love-life. Nooma was a bit drunken. And she told of how her and her boyfriend had been to pick up his dog, that he'd left with his boss's family whilst they were travelling. She said that the situation was contrived so that all six children were present, and all crying their eyes out, having to reluctantly return the dog - complete with stories of what tricks it had learnt, and who was its favourite child. So Nooma and her bloke still took the dog, but she felt like the most evil person alive. This was compounded by the fact that she's not overly fond of the dog, claiming it's a stupid pain-in-the-arse that's been totally spoiled, cannot be left alone, and has eaten five pairs of her shoes.
And then she admitted that she was jealous of the dog :
"He loves the dog more than me."
"Don't you think you're exaggerating, just a little ?"
"No, and I can prove it. He prefers talking to the dog to talking to me. Whenever I'm having a conversation with him, as soon as the dog comes into the room, the conversation's over. If he had to choose between me and the dog, he would definitely choose the dog - no contest."
The dog is really, really stupid. What is it they say about dogs and their owners again ?
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18.5.05 09:59
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One thing that sucks about
...living in the arse-end of nowhere is that we're too peripheral to warrant a visit from touring bands. Consequently, I've not been privy to any rock and roll antics for some time. I have been considering what the most rock and roll thing I've seen at a gig is, and the least. My brain is something of a torn net, so these may well be subject to change :
Most rock and roll
At the end of a set, the singer-guitarist of never-quite-made-its Baby Chaos hurls down his guitar, nuts his mic into the crowd, and takes a run at the drumkit. There is just enough time for the drummer to clock this and register a 'holy jumping fuck' look on his face, before he and his kit get taken down by a genuinely kamikaze dive.
Or possibly the folk who climbed a ludicrous height (20 to 25 feet) up the supporting column of the NME tent in Reading the first time the Foo Fighters played in the UK, just to take a leisurely plummet off again.
Least rock and roll
The singer-guitarist from The Wildhearts plays a lovely guitar for most of the set, but swaps it for a battered-up crap one for the last song. I wonder if he's going to smash it ?
What are your rock and roll peaks and troughs, peeps ?
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18.5.05 13:57
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Today is a
...good day at the office. This is because neither the editor, nor the massively stressed-out seconds-from-a-heart-attack news editor, are here. The office is very calm and cheery. Myself and a reporter went to the council halls to take a snap of a (very small) group of anti-Tetra mast protesters, who shouted wildly ill-informed and anecdotal 'reasons' as to why they oppose Tetra at our heads, and we cared not. We have reached a state of almost meditative chill. This was also helped in no small part by the fact that we could then spend about an hour chatting and having breakfast, and get back to the office safe in the knowledge that no-one would give a pirouetting fuck. Every day should be like this. In my state of almost Zen-like enlightenment, I almost felt something stir inside my usually stolid and emotionless frame when I had to edit this picture : This will not last. It might last until I get 'home', and the female half of the Odd Couple excitedly tells me in meticulous detail of a day so objectively tedious that normal folk would chew through their own cheeks and puncture their own lungs with rakes were they to live it; then I return to 'my' room to find that all of my stuff is covered in yet more cat hair. But it might not. It might endure. But it will certainly be shattered along with the peace on Monday. But - for the moment - it's blissful.
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19.5.05 12:09
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