I hope you all (yes, even you) have a really brilliant and thigh-slappingly wonderful Christmas.
If you do not celebrate Christmas, then I wish you a fantastic Saturday because I’m in a good mood, on account of it being Christmas.
HAVE A FANTASTIC CHRISTMAS.
Glen.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Being a snowflake
Hello, today I’m over at Real Bloggers United. For those of you who weren’t around last year, or who may have forgotten it, I would love it if you could pop over and perhaps leave a comment over there on my post all about Jamie’s School Christmas show.
I’m quite proud of it – and of him for that matter. This year he was promoted to Narrator and was fantastic – however, last year …
He was a snowflake – click here to read it – thanks!
I’m quite proud of it – and of him for that matter. This year he was promoted to Narrator and was fantastic – however, last year …
He was a snowflake – click here to read it – thanks!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Christmas break
Today I went to watch Daniel's music concert at school. Daniel is learning the Cello and today his music class did a concert. It was a mix of 7,8 & 9 year olds and consisted of 110 instruments which is very impressive. The school is quite a big believer in music - and why not? Sadly over 80 of the instruments were Violins, the rest Cellos.
So the result? 80 Violins and 30 Cellos all in the hands of children? How exactly can I put this?
It was - er - Lovely?
I personally love hearing 110 different cats being strangled at ever so slightly different times and in ever so slightly different tunes. It is now my personal favorite thing.
Bless them. They all tried hard and they all beamed with delight at the applause, so you can't really argue with that can you? I just wish 109 of them could have tried harder to keep in time with my boy.
I am very proud of him. The concert was.... lovely. Honest!
On another note; Christmas is coming and I’m almost done for the year, which is brilliant – I am quite excited.
In fact I finish working tomorrow and have some seriously good time off to look forward too. This is great news for me as I am well ready for it.
It is bad news for my blog life though, because I lose my main writing time, which is during my commute. I’m absolutely going to prioritise having some quality time with my family and that doesn’t just mean playing with the boys during the day. It also means spending some nice evenings with my lovely wife, instead of sitting with my laptop on my knee reading blogs. Tomorrow’s post is already written, but after that I’m empty.
So I’m afraid blog posts from me will be a bit sparse during the holidays, as will comments and reading your sites. I hope you forgive that and understand that at the end of the day, what would be the point of writing about being a Dad and a Husband if you aren’t going to take the chance to actually do it for real at Christmas?
I know what I am like, there is no way on this planet that I won’t be checking in now and again, there is no way I won’t be having a sneaky read or write when an opportunity knocks, but on the whole I shall be spending some very nice time with those people who are both the light and the dark of my life.
They might be monsters, but they are my monsters – and I love them!
That said; where are my keys? I’m off to the pub; it’s bloody noisy in this house. The kids are running around like over-excited maniacs and Jo keeps pointing out all the things she thinks I should be helping with. I need to get out for a bit!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
James Bond would know what to do
Hi there, it’s me – Breeze. This week I am standing in for young Daniel Radcliffe in his latest wizard film, Hairy Munter and the Philosopher’s bone. It’s a little odd because the rest of the normal cast aren’t in the film and I can’t remember reading that particular book either, but like all the other films in the series, it is bound to be a monumental success.
I had a moment of panic as they got in the Limo, because I had not anticipated they would travel by car at all. I was on foot. Luckily travel on Oxford’s roads is only really possible by bus or bike, so in the end I was easily able to keep up with the stretched vehicle as it slowly ‘sped’ its way through the traffic. In fact I was able to pop in to WHSmith and buy a newspaper to hide behind, should they become suspicious of the brightly coloured tourist following on behind them.
One brisk walk for me later, and the car pulled up at a small end terrace house not too far from the centre of Oxford. Something was wrong with this picture for me. This house looked tiny, and yet all seven actors got out of the car, followed by seven personal assistants, three bag carriers, two make up artists, and one driver all of which looked virtually identical.
Identical to Lulu!
This whole entourage of oddities squeezed themselves into this tiny house. Somehow I had to get in there and see what was going on. This was going to take some serious thought; I would need to be careful. I had no idea of the danger Lulu could be in, I had no idea how mental these guys could be. They weren’t firing on all cylinders, that was for sure. I wondered just how deep their issue could be. What had happened to them so that at the same time as the curve in their fortunes had peaked so high, their grasp of reality had dropped so low? What had caused this amazing change in their perspective?
Then I remembered what had caused all this. Every inch of me shuddered as the memory flooded back. Of course, how could I not know it already? The cause was me. They had met Breeze Van Santo and everything had changed. Their lives had been pushed over the cliff of despair, and there had been no rope to climb back out of the mire that they had fallen into. I’d focused their minds and turned them into tiny, depraved evil versions of their formally decent selves. I had created monsters, but then…
My head went into overdrive to try and justify my involvement in ruining these people’s lives and turning them to the dark side. Suddenly I remembered that the woman who was currently missing, who was being held here in this tiny Oxfordshire hell hole, was also the same woman that had started it all. I would never have met these guys at all had it not been for her blackmailing me in the first place. Lulu was the cause of all this, not me. I had just been an innocent pawn in an unnatural game being played by a self obsessed, beautiful maniac.
Why did I feel so confused? Bond would not have been confused, he would have just blown the whole building up and then popped back into town to shag the girl in the Apollo ticket office. What’s more, Bond would have already had a quick one with Lulu anyway. I’m not Bond; that much is clear. I still hadn’t as much as flirted with Miss. Moneypenny yet, never mind anything else.
I really did feel confused. I should have walked away. I should have just given up on Lulu and left her to rot in the compost heap of depravity that she had created. I should have, I really should. Somehow I knew that I couldn’t leave it now though. Somehow I had to get her out of there and find that inner beauty that I just knew she had. I’d seen it in her eyes, I’d felt in her arms. I’d heard it in her voice when she told me that she loved me. She had meant it – I was certain of that. Somewhere deep inside that tainted soul was an angel being kept prisoner, waiting to be released. I just had to find the key.
Where to start looking though? How deep would you have to search to find that hidden angel? One thing was for sure and that was that the angel was in there. I had seen it and I needed it. I had to try, I had to release Lulu’s inner beauty and allow it to shine as much as the blinding light that her body already provides.
To do that I was fist of all going to have to rescue her, and that meant solving the riddle that stood before me now.
The enigma I stood staring at now, the puzzle to end all puzzles. I could feel that I was close to an answer and yet I was nowhere near it, how on Earth was I going to get Lulu out of the house?
Any way I need to go, Daniel has got a bit over excited and needs his stand in – it truly is a tough job I do, but someone’s got to do it.
Ciao.
I had a moment of panic as they got in the Limo, because I had not anticipated they would travel by car at all. I was on foot. Luckily travel on Oxford’s roads is only really possible by bus or bike, so in the end I was easily able to keep up with the stretched vehicle as it slowly ‘sped’ its way through the traffic. In fact I was able to pop in to WHSmith and buy a newspaper to hide behind, should they become suspicious of the brightly coloured tourist following on behind them.
One brisk walk for me later, and the car pulled up at a small end terrace house not too far from the centre of Oxford. Something was wrong with this picture for me. This house looked tiny, and yet all seven actors got out of the car, followed by seven personal assistants, three bag carriers, two make up artists, and one driver all of which looked virtually identical.
Identical to Lulu!
This whole entourage of oddities squeezed themselves into this tiny house. Somehow I had to get in there and see what was going on. This was going to take some serious thought; I would need to be careful. I had no idea of the danger Lulu could be in, I had no idea how mental these guys could be. They weren’t firing on all cylinders, that was for sure. I wondered just how deep their issue could be. What had happened to them so that at the same time as the curve in their fortunes had peaked so high, their grasp of reality had dropped so low? What had caused this amazing change in their perspective?
Then I remembered what had caused all this. Every inch of me shuddered as the memory flooded back. Of course, how could I not know it already? The cause was me. They had met Breeze Van Santo and everything had changed. Their lives had been pushed over the cliff of despair, and there had been no rope to climb back out of the mire that they had fallen into. I’d focused their minds and turned them into tiny, depraved evil versions of their formally decent selves. I had created monsters, but then…
My head went into overdrive to try and justify my involvement in ruining these people’s lives and turning them to the dark side. Suddenly I remembered that the woman who was currently missing, who was being held here in this tiny Oxfordshire hell hole, was also the same woman that had started it all. I would never have met these guys at all had it not been for her blackmailing me in the first place. Lulu was the cause of all this, not me. I had just been an innocent pawn in an unnatural game being played by a self obsessed, beautiful maniac.
Why did I feel so confused? Bond would not have been confused, he would have just blown the whole building up and then popped back into town to shag the girl in the Apollo ticket office. What’s more, Bond would have already had a quick one with Lulu anyway. I’m not Bond; that much is clear. I still hadn’t as much as flirted with Miss. Moneypenny yet, never mind anything else.
I really did feel confused. I should have walked away. I should have just given up on Lulu and left her to rot in the compost heap of depravity that she had created. I should have, I really should. Somehow I knew that I couldn’t leave it now though. Somehow I had to get her out of there and find that inner beauty that I just knew she had. I’d seen it in her eyes, I’d felt in her arms. I’d heard it in her voice when she told me that she loved me. She had meant it – I was certain of that. Somewhere deep inside that tainted soul was an angel being kept prisoner, waiting to be released. I just had to find the key.
Where to start looking though? How deep would you have to search to find that hidden angel? One thing was for sure and that was that the angel was in there. I had seen it and I needed it. I had to try, I had to release Lulu’s inner beauty and allow it to shine as much as the blinding light that her body already provides.
To do that I was fist of all going to have to rescue her, and that meant solving the riddle that stood before me now.
The enigma I stood staring at now, the puzzle to end all puzzles. I could feel that I was close to an answer and yet I was nowhere near it, how on Earth was I going to get Lulu out of the house?
Any way I need to go, Daniel has got a bit over excited and needs his stand in – it truly is a tough job I do, but someone’s got to do it.
Ciao.
Monday, December 13, 2010
My Christmas party 2010
Okay, that was different. Maybe this years Christmas party was slightly less normal than most.
For one thing, I’m pretty sure we didn’t have a full on fire last year, that wound up being put out by Rolling Stone’s Ronnie Wood.
I’ve checked through my deepest memories and cannot remember there being a drag act last year either.
This year things were a little different.
This year we were in Soho.
My work’s Christmas party was held at Madame Jo Jo’s in deepest darkest Soho, here in old London town. This venue is everything that you might expect a place in this location with a name like Madame Jo Jo’s to be, which is a little bit seedy but fun. Depending on what night you are there it can be either a burlesque club or a Transvestite’s club. Take your pick.
It was a somewhat unusual choice for a Telecoms company – let’s face it. We arrived and found the small door way, which was surrounded by gay bars and porn emporiums, blocked by the widest bouncer in the world (and also possibly the oldest). He was already besieged by a huddle of engineers all manfully proving how straight they were by ‘joking’ amusingly about the clientele of the neighbouring clubs, and desperately trying to get inside Madame Jo Jo’s as fast as possible in case they accidentally caught gayism while waiting.
The next thing we saw was a Ronnie Wood look a like who apparently was very much in charge. It was clear he either manages or owns the place by the way he walked about.
The beers flowed, the mood relaxed.
And then there was a fire.
A proper one.
The smoke was billowing from the toilets so we headed up the stairs and back out into the streets. The last thing I saw as I headed out was Ronnie headed for the toilets carrying an extinguisher.
A few minutes later we were back in, the situation under control and Ronnie was mopping the toilet floor, slightly dancing. It was kind of surreal.
A few minutes later, Lady Ga Ga came in.
I told you it was surreal.
This Lady had balls though – I’ll give her that!
When ‘she’ sang I was impressed, the voice was pretty good and indeed the look was striking. There is something about seeing a seven foot burly and frankly quite butch looking “by day he is a builder but at night she is…” man in six inch heels, stockings and Basque that frankly defies description. His voice was pretty good and I wished that he would have just done more singing. I could have quite enjoyed his act if he had just spent all his time mincing about in his ahem sexy costumes and belting out songs – but he didn’t.
Sadly he was joined by two of the least convincing women I have ever seen, and then they basically just – how can I put this – were gay.
I’m not sure being gay is really a stage act is it? Surely you have to do more than that don’t you?
For all I know these guys might well be straight – who knows? It is just a job they were doing after all, and I don’t think being gay is compulsory. Indeed that may have been the problem. Maybe that was the problem right there, they had confused being a drag act with being what they think gay people are. So they simply got on stage in women’s underwear and wigs, put on some Kylie and mimed. That’s what real gays do isn’t it? I’m no expert but I think it must be.
It was a bit of a shame they did that, because they didn’t dance, they just swanned about and mimed badly to bad tunes. Really though, is that entertainment? If they had at least danced while miming I’d have been happy, but even that was too much to ask.
Let the lady sing more I say, and ditch the backing troupe.
The night wore on, and I did a lot of dancing because lager told me that I would be good at it. Lager was wrong of course, but then it so often is. However this year I refrained from doing the Caterpillar or taking my clothes off, and as far as I know I didn’t offend anyone so I call that a success.
Okay so it’s about ten years since I last stayed out drinking that late and may well be the last time ever – but I don’t see how that is relevant – I’m not 40 yet, and I managed to stay out past midnight!
Ronnie photo from
 |
| Ronnie Wood |
For one thing, I’m pretty sure we didn’t have a full on fire last year, that wound up being put out by Rolling Stone’s Ronnie Wood.
I’ve checked through my deepest memories and cannot remember there being a drag act last year either.
This year things were a little different.
This year we were in Soho.
My work’s Christmas party was held at Madame Jo Jo’s in deepest darkest Soho, here in old London town. This venue is everything that you might expect a place in this location with a name like Madame Jo Jo’s to be, which is a little bit seedy but fun. Depending on what night you are there it can be either a burlesque club or a Transvestite’s club. Take your pick.
It was a somewhat unusual choice for a Telecoms company – let’s face it. We arrived and found the small door way, which was surrounded by gay bars and porn emporiums, blocked by the widest bouncer in the world (and also possibly the oldest). He was already besieged by a huddle of engineers all manfully proving how straight they were by ‘joking’ amusingly about the clientele of the neighbouring clubs, and desperately trying to get inside Madame Jo Jo’s as fast as possible in case they accidentally caught gayism while waiting.
The next thing we saw was a Ronnie Wood look a like who apparently was very much in charge. It was clear he either manages or owns the place by the way he walked about.
The beers flowed, the mood relaxed.
And then there was a fire.
A proper one.
The smoke was billowing from the toilets so we headed up the stairs and back out into the streets. The last thing I saw as I headed out was Ronnie headed for the toilets carrying an extinguisher.
A few minutes later we were back in, the situation under control and Ronnie was mopping the toilet floor, slightly dancing. It was kind of surreal.
A few minutes later, Lady Ga Ga came in.
I told you it was surreal.
This Lady had balls though – I’ll give her that!
When ‘she’ sang I was impressed, the voice was pretty good and indeed the look was striking. There is something about seeing a seven foot burly and frankly quite butch looking “by day he is a builder but at night she is…” man in six inch heels, stockings and Basque that frankly defies description. His voice was pretty good and I wished that he would have just done more singing. I could have quite enjoyed his act if he had just spent all his time mincing about in his ahem sexy costumes and belting out songs – but he didn’t.
Sadly he was joined by two of the least convincing women I have ever seen, and then they basically just – how can I put this – were gay.
 |
| At least they had dresses on at this point... |
I’m not sure being gay is really a stage act is it? Surely you have to do more than that don’t you?
For all I know these guys might well be straight – who knows? It is just a job they were doing after all, and I don’t think being gay is compulsory. Indeed that may have been the problem. Maybe that was the problem right there, they had confused being a drag act with being what they think gay people are. So they simply got on stage in women’s underwear and wigs, put on some Kylie and mimed. That’s what real gays do isn’t it? I’m no expert but I think it must be.
It was a bit of a shame they did that, because they didn’t dance, they just swanned about and mimed badly to bad tunes. Really though, is that entertainment? If they had at least danced while miming I’d have been happy, but even that was too much to ask.
Let the lady sing more I say, and ditch the backing troupe.
The night wore on, and I did a lot of dancing because lager told me that I would be good at it. Lager was wrong of course, but then it so often is. However this year I refrained from doing the Caterpillar or taking my clothes off, and as far as I know I didn’t offend anyone so I call that a success.
 |
| Me before the lager told me to go and dance. |
After a long and cold wait for a night bus (no this is not the movies, we did not walk out of the club and instantly hail a passing ‘London Taxi’ with a smiling chirpy Cockney driving it. This never actually happens – ever. The night bus was as fun as night busses always are, and eventually I found my way to my hotel room. I don’t want to brag but it was after 3 in the morning when I got to bed – I’m still young people – of yeah.
Okay so it’s about ten years since I last stayed out drinking that late and may well be the last time ever – but I don’t see how that is relevant – I’m not 40 yet, and I managed to stay out past midnight!
Ronnie photo from
Transvestites care of Madame Jo Jo's http://www.madamejojos.com/
Saturday, December 11, 2010
GRRRR I need an editor
BAH and GRRRRRR talk about 'blog-a-vu', this post is going to seem really familiar!
I relised this morning that in my rush to put this post out on Thursday evening I completely forgot to put the actual links in that the post was attempting to point you towards - what an arse!
Any way - at the risk of freaking you out, here it is again - with links ...
I am really struggling to know what to write about today, but I know that I won’t get chance to write anything else this week due to lager commitments and I don’t want to leave you with Breeze for the whole weekend!
The thing is that I actually have loads to talk about but I’ve already said it. I’m having a BLOG-A-VU week. Everything that is going on I’ve already written about extensively.
Both my boys have had their Christmas shows today at School (and they were absolutely fantastic) but not only have I already written about going to your kid’s Christmas show on Glen’s Life before, but I have also re hashed that post for my submission later this month on RBU so I can hardly go over it all again now can I?
Then I have my Work’s Christmas party TONIGHT! And I wrote about that last year too – see it is HERE.
Then to top it all off I’m going to Cambridge on Friday and I already wrote about that as well HERE.
So I’m sorry, I’m absolutely not repeating myself over and over again, so this post will just have to cover it I’m afraid.
Oh - and while we are taking a trip down 'old unread posts' memory lane (like the last episode in a series of Friends) if you are new around here and want to know about my experience as a PAID STRIPPER (and yes I do mean the saucy kind - not a decorator) then have a read of HERE. I mention this purely because I have a horrible feeling it will be relevant by the end of tonight's party, and I don't want to have to type it all out again...
Do you suffer with Blog-a-vu? If so – what do you do about it?
I relised this morning that in my rush to put this post out on Thursday evening I completely forgot to put the actual links in that the post was attempting to point you towards - what an arse!
Any way - at the risk of freaking you out, here it is again - with links ...
I am really struggling to know what to write about today, but I know that I won’t get chance to write anything else this week due to lager commitments and I don’t want to leave you with Breeze for the whole weekend!
The thing is that I actually have loads to talk about but I’ve already said it. I’m having a BLOG-A-VU week. Everything that is going on I’ve already written about extensively.
Both my boys have had their Christmas shows today at School (and they were absolutely fantastic) but not only have I already written about going to your kid’s Christmas show on Glen’s Life before, but I have also re hashed that post for my submission later this month on RBU so I can hardly go over it all again now can I?
Then I have my Work’s Christmas party TONIGHT! And I wrote about that last year too – see it is HERE.
Then to top it all off I’m going to Cambridge on Friday and I already wrote about that as well HERE.
So I’m sorry, I’m absolutely not repeating myself over and over again, so this post will just have to cover it I’m afraid.
Oh - and while we are taking a trip down 'old unread posts' memory lane (like the last episode in a series of Friends) if you are new around here and want to know about my experience as a PAID STRIPPER (and yes I do mean the saucy kind - not a decorator) then have a read of HERE. I mention this purely because I have a horrible feeling it will be relevant by the end of tonight's party, and I don't want to have to type it all out again...
Do you suffer with Blog-a-vu? If so – what do you do about it?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
BLOG-A-VU
I am really struggling to know what to write about today, but I know that I won’t get chance to write anything else this week due to lager commitments and I don’t want to leave you with Breeze for the whole weekend!
The thing is that I actually have loads to talk about but I’ve already said it. I’m having a BLOG-A-VU week. Everything that is gong on I’ve already written about extensively.
Both my boys have had their Christmas shows today at School (and they were absolutely fantastic) but not only have I already written about going to your kid’s Christmas show on Glen’s Life before, but I have also re hashed that post for my submission later this month on RBU so I can hardly go over it all again now can I?
Then I have my Work’s Christmas party TONIGHT! And I wrote about that last year too – see it is.
Then to top it all off I’m going to Cambridge on Friday and I already wrote about that as well.
So I’m sorry, I’m absolutely not repeating myself over and over again, so this post will just have to cover it I’m afraid.
Oh - and while we are taking a trip down 'old unread posts' memory lane (like the last episode in a series of Friends) if you are new around here and want to know about my experience as a PAID STRIPPER (and yes I do mean the saucy kind - not a decorator) then have a read of. I mention this purely because I have a horrible feeling it will be relevant by the end of tonight's party, and I don't want to have to type it all out again...
Do you suffer with Blog-a-vu? If so – what do you do about it?
The thing is that I actually have loads to talk about but I’ve already said it. I’m having a BLOG-A-VU week. Everything that is gong on I’ve already written about extensively.
Both my boys have had their Christmas shows today at School (and they were absolutely fantastic) but not only have I already written about going to your kid’s Christmas show on Glen’s Life before, but I have also re hashed that post for my submission later this month on RBU so I can hardly go over it all again now can I?
Then I have my Work’s Christmas party TONIGHT! And I wrote about that last year too – see it is
Then to top it all off I’m going to Cambridge on Friday and I already wrote about that as well
So I’m sorry, I’m absolutely not repeating myself over and over again, so this post will just have to cover it I’m afraid.
Oh - and while we are taking a trip down 'old unread posts' memory lane (like the last episode in a series of Friends) if you are new around here and want to know about my experience as a PAID STRIPPER (and yes I do mean the saucy kind - not a decorator) then have a read of
Do you suffer with Blog-a-vu? If so – what do you do about it?
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
I really had to face it, I was addicted to love...
Hey you – how’s it going? Breeze is back, did you miss me? I’m afraid I really do not have long this week; things are a little hectic here on the set of The Muppets do Dallas. The film marks a startling change in direction for Kermit and his friends, but it is easily the most interesting looking film I’ve ever worked on, and for a very specific niche market, it’s sure to be a huge success.
It took a week of very late nights sat at my PC to find them. I’d completely forgotten these guys’ names, and burned the declaration that they had signed after Lulu had discovered it. Without their names I’d had to work my way through every sub feet tall actor’s profile this side of Cardiff. Every theatre showing Snow White had to be researched and ticked off. I nested myself into my study and stayed there – glued to the screen. Occasionally Miranda would come in with a Cheeseburger and some Cola, which was an absolute godsend. My skin may have been suffering, but my heart was pumping good and fast and that was what I needed right now.
Finally I found them at the Oxford Apollo, and the discovery blew me away. My memory had been spot on the money. Now I knew ABSOLUTELY that I had been right. I laughed, high fived my monitor and burnt my mouth taking an over enthusiastic bite out of an apple pie.
A snippet from the Oxfordshire Chronicle Online read like this…
“Callthorpe and his troupe’s awesome, heart wrenching play ‘Kramer Vs. Kramer 30 years later’ has set the Apollo’s stage alight. The triumphant return of Callthorpe’s bijou acrobats to Oxfordshire is a welcome relief after Dale Winton’s recent residency performing the Vagina Monologues. The play delves deep into one’s soul as one takes an emotional rollercoaster ride with this ageing couple while they fight over the guardianship of their Granddaughter. The six spatially compact actors stack themselves high to stand tall as this loveable odd couple. Callthorpe himself creates a show stopping and completely believable Granddaughter. I challenge anyone in the audience not to cry when ‘she’ powerfully delivers the famous line, “…but if I love Grandma – why can’t you?”
Gotcha!
I knew where they were, but I still didn’t know where Lulu was. One thing was absolutely clear to me, however, and that was that my search had to start in Oxford. The blessed Internet provided me with a hotel, directions and a pizza – I was sick to death of McDonalds. I made a few calls and pulled in some favours with some of the guys I know from the movies, and in a couple of days I had a disguise and some props. All I needed now was a plan. I figured that would come to me later, right now I needed to hit the road.
The next afternoon, after an unsettled nights sleep in a lonely hotel room, I sat myself in Costa opposite the theatre and waited. I knew they were doing their Matinee and so I just had to stay patient. I’d considered buying tickets but who ever goes to a Matinee? It’s just never the same is it?
Three cups of SkinnyMochachinesspresomachiata, or whatever, later and I forced myself to stay calm as the crowd emerged from the Apollo and headed off to find restaurants. A small crowd hung around the stage door and so I quickly grabbed my Sombrero and headed over. I had, of course, been somewhat sceptical when the guys had suggested I disguise myself as a British tourist in Spain, complete with straw donkey, but as the day had progressed I’d begun to understand the logic. Nobody noticed my face at all. The only things that anyone noticed were my cleverly painted beetroot legs exploding from my Union Flag shorts, Hawaiian shirt, donkey and Sombrero. The outfit was genius, I was practically invisible.
I joined the crowd at the door and waited. My heart jumped as the door opened and seven unsuspecting actors headed towards me. Part of me felt impressed and somehow proud of them. These guys had hit rock bottom when I met them, but look where they were now. No longer were they the comedy relief in the background of some low grade pantomime, or the stars of an even lower grade bukake photo shoot, now these guys were the highly regarded stars of an impressively successful play in the heart of English academia.
I found this both impressive and troubling. With everything going so right for them, surely I must have made a mistake? Why would they risk losing all their success by getting involved in such a crazy and bizarre scam like kidnapping Lulu? I was tempted to just turn around and run. I’d wasted my time following the wrong trail, I needed to cut my losses and move on.
But then… No, it just wasn’t right. They had been there that day, I know they had. They were wearing their costumes and had disappeared as quickly as Lulu had. There were simply too many coincidences to ignore. I had to stick with this lead and see where it went. I could still pull out and go back to the drawing board later.
As the guys worked the crowd signing autographs I considered removing my impressive false ‘sunburned and peeling’ nose, and just asking them outright where Lulu was. Perhaps the surprise would catch them out and make them break down? Why do this the hard way? Maybe I could wrap this up right now.
As I was just about to throw my Sombrero to the floor though, I spotted something that just seemed odd. I realised that their PA, following behind them looking vexed, was a tall buxom red head. Their two-girl security team were both identical replicas of the PA, and one quick look at the driver of their Limo confirmed my suspicion. The driver was tall, breasty and brunette. These seven guys had a touch of the Robert Palmer about them when it came to recruiting staff, and all of their people, every single one of them, bore uncanny resemblances to the woman I love.
They all looked like Lulu.
Any way, I must go, Miss. Piggy needs a towel.
Ciao.
It took a week of very late nights sat at my PC to find them. I’d completely forgotten these guys’ names, and burned the declaration that they had signed after Lulu had discovered it. Without their names I’d had to work my way through every sub feet tall actor’s profile this side of Cardiff. Every theatre showing Snow White had to be researched and ticked off. I nested myself into my study and stayed there – glued to the screen. Occasionally Miranda would come in with a Cheeseburger and some Cola, which was an absolute godsend. My skin may have been suffering, but my heart was pumping good and fast and that was what I needed right now.
Finally I found them at the Oxford Apollo, and the discovery blew me away. My memory had been spot on the money. Now I knew ABSOLUTELY that I had been right. I laughed, high fived my monitor and burnt my mouth taking an over enthusiastic bite out of an apple pie.
A snippet from the Oxfordshire Chronicle Online read like this…
“Callthorpe and his troupe’s awesome, heart wrenching play ‘Kramer Vs. Kramer 30 years later’ has set the Apollo’s stage alight. The triumphant return of Callthorpe’s bijou acrobats to Oxfordshire is a welcome relief after Dale Winton’s recent residency performing the Vagina Monologues. The play delves deep into one’s soul as one takes an emotional rollercoaster ride with this ageing couple while they fight over the guardianship of their Granddaughter. The six spatially compact actors stack themselves high to stand tall as this loveable odd couple. Callthorpe himself creates a show stopping and completely believable Granddaughter. I challenge anyone in the audience not to cry when ‘she’ powerfully delivers the famous line, “…but if I love Grandma – why can’t you?”
Gotcha!
I knew where they were, but I still didn’t know where Lulu was. One thing was absolutely clear to me, however, and that was that my search had to start in Oxford. The blessed Internet provided me with a hotel, directions and a pizza – I was sick to death of McDonalds. I made a few calls and pulled in some favours with some of the guys I know from the movies, and in a couple of days I had a disguise and some props. All I needed now was a plan. I figured that would come to me later, right now I needed to hit the road.
The next afternoon, after an unsettled nights sleep in a lonely hotel room, I sat myself in Costa opposite the theatre and waited. I knew they were doing their Matinee and so I just had to stay patient. I’d considered buying tickets but who ever goes to a Matinee? It’s just never the same is it?
Three cups of SkinnyMochachinesspresomachiata, or whatever, later and I forced myself to stay calm as the crowd emerged from the Apollo and headed off to find restaurants. A small crowd hung around the stage door and so I quickly grabbed my Sombrero and headed over. I had, of course, been somewhat sceptical when the guys had suggested I disguise myself as a British tourist in Spain, complete with straw donkey, but as the day had progressed I’d begun to understand the logic. Nobody noticed my face at all. The only things that anyone noticed were my cleverly painted beetroot legs exploding from my Union Flag shorts, Hawaiian shirt, donkey and Sombrero. The outfit was genius, I was practically invisible.
I joined the crowd at the door and waited. My heart jumped as the door opened and seven unsuspecting actors headed towards me. Part of me felt impressed and somehow proud of them. These guys had hit rock bottom when I met them, but look where they were now. No longer were they the comedy relief in the background of some low grade pantomime, or the stars of an even lower grade bukake photo shoot, now these guys were the highly regarded stars of an impressively successful play in the heart of English academia.
I found this both impressive and troubling. With everything going so right for them, surely I must have made a mistake? Why would they risk losing all their success by getting involved in such a crazy and bizarre scam like kidnapping Lulu? I was tempted to just turn around and run. I’d wasted my time following the wrong trail, I needed to cut my losses and move on.
But then… No, it just wasn’t right. They had been there that day, I know they had. They were wearing their costumes and had disappeared as quickly as Lulu had. There were simply too many coincidences to ignore. I had to stick with this lead and see where it went. I could still pull out and go back to the drawing board later.
As the guys worked the crowd signing autographs I considered removing my impressive false ‘sunburned and peeling’ nose, and just asking them outright where Lulu was. Perhaps the surprise would catch them out and make them break down? Why do this the hard way? Maybe I could wrap this up right now.
As I was just about to throw my Sombrero to the floor though, I spotted something that just seemed odd. I realised that their PA, following behind them looking vexed, was a tall buxom red head. Their two-girl security team were both identical replicas of the PA, and one quick look at the driver of their Limo confirmed my suspicion. The driver was tall, breasty and brunette. These seven guys had a touch of the Robert Palmer about them when it came to recruiting staff, and all of their people, every single one of them, bore uncanny resemblances to the woman I love.
They all looked like Lulu.
Any way, I must go, Miss. Piggy needs a towel.
Ciao.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Stealthy winds
Tonight I have to face that deadly peril that occasionally us commuters are forced to face.
Somewhere near me, somebody is suffering form some quite foul flatulence, and it is starting to make me feel sick.
Now as I am surrounded by people it is somewhat difficult to pinpoint the source so finding a way to plug the leak is proving difficult. I realise I could stand up and move down the train, but I fought tooth and nail for this seat and I’m not giving it up easily.
I can probably rule out the women in the seats about me so that leaves me with about five possible culprits.
It is a well known fact that women do not fart and hence they must clearly be innocent. Okay I probably need to be a little clearer on this, single women don’t fart – married ones do. I’ve looked closely and can’t see any wedding rings on the girls to my left and the one in front was just on the phone talking to who I assume was her man, and she never once gave him a mundane job to do or told him off for anything so they must still be only dating too. Therefore it can’t be them.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much – there is after all, quite a pleasantly powerful feeling invoked when you get away with secretly guffing on a train. I’m no stranger to the addictive nature of stealth farting. Only last week I sat and really struggled to remain covert, when the smug satisfaction of letting out the perfect silent distant shot (where the cloud has managed to travel a few feet away from you before the oxygen has had chance to mix in and alert people to its presence, hence appearing to ‘start’ three seats down) turned into a giggle. It suddenly occurred to me that I had my earphones in the music was turned up loud. I had no way of being one hundred percent certain that my heroic effort had, in fact, been silent. For all I knew a posse of dazed commuters with pitch forks and flaming torches were heading my way already. I almost laughed out loud at the silliness of it all which would have given the game away once and for all.
So I guess I have to accept that you reap what you sow and put up with the smell that is forcing its way into my lungs.
It’s curry for tea tonight though, so these guys can stand by for some gastro revenge tomorrow.
Somewhere near me, somebody is suffering form some quite foul flatulence, and it is starting to make me feel sick.
Now as I am surrounded by people it is somewhat difficult to pinpoint the source so finding a way to plug the leak is proving difficult. I realise I could stand up and move down the train, but I fought tooth and nail for this seat and I’m not giving it up easily.
I can probably rule out the women in the seats about me so that leaves me with about five possible culprits.
It is a well known fact that women do not fart and hence they must clearly be innocent. Okay I probably need to be a little clearer on this, single women don’t fart – married ones do. I’ve looked closely and can’t see any wedding rings on the girls to my left and the one in front was just on the phone talking to who I assume was her man, and she never once gave him a mundane job to do or told him off for anything so they must still be only dating too. Therefore it can’t be them.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much – there is after all, quite a pleasantly powerful feeling invoked when you get away with secretly guffing on a train. I’m no stranger to the addictive nature of stealth farting. Only last week I sat and really struggled to remain covert, when the smug satisfaction of letting out the perfect silent distant shot (where the cloud has managed to travel a few feet away from you before the oxygen has had chance to mix in and alert people to its presence, hence appearing to ‘start’ three seats down) turned into a giggle. It suddenly occurred to me that I had my earphones in the music was turned up loud. I had no way of being one hundred percent certain that my heroic effort had, in fact, been silent. For all I knew a posse of dazed commuters with pitch forks and flaming torches were heading my way already. I almost laughed out loud at the silliness of it all which would have given the game away once and for all.
So I guess I have to accept that you reap what you sow and put up with the smell that is forcing its way into my lungs.
It’s curry for tea tonight though, so these guys can stand by for some gastro revenge tomorrow.
Monday, December 6, 2010
My celebrity lifestyle
I’m not one to brag (as you may or may not believe) but sometimes things happen in my life that are pretty cool.
I don’t want to name drop but…
I wound up having a bit of a chat with a VERY famous guy this weekend; quite a long converstaion in fact. He was really interested in me and my family as well. It goes to show that some of the A list celebrities can still be really decent people away from all the hype.
So I can excitedly report that I mix in some very top circles because this weekend I met Santa.
Not just any old “one of his helpers” either.
Santa.
The real one.
He must have been the real one because he knew my children’s names and where they lived without having to be told it. I mean granted he got a bit mixed up as to which was Daniel and which was Jamie, and then had forgotten all about the Christmas letters they had both sent him – but then he drinks a lot of Sherry so this is only to be expected. None the less, I could see in my two boy’s eyes the wonder and magic of Christmas as he told them about Crashing his Sleigh into Didcot Power Station last year, near where they live… My 6 year old was in complete awe, my confused 9 year old was even more confused than ever. Utterly Brilliant.
Neither of my children ever, even for a moment considered it anything other than a coincidence that the Elf outside had chatted with them at length about who they were and where they lived, before they had gone inside, that was just irrelevant.
We were in Oxford, by the castle and I have to say I was really impressed with this Grotto. I think it is one of the nicest I have seen.
It is not the biggest, it is not the flashest or most exciting. It is the nicest. Over the years we have been to see Santa in a number of places and had some exciting experiences. Big posh and expensive, set ups with train rides and snow, and all sorts of different styles of Santa from the genuinely bearded old men to the weasel faced young spotty teenager in half a roll of cotton wool. In there own way they were all good, if somewhat overpriced sometimes.
Why can I recommend the one in Oxford so much then?
Well for one thing it was free.
Any regular reader will know that this will score highly for me straight away, but there is more.
The boys did get a small bag from Santa with some crayons, a finger puppet and a small chocolate bar in it, but the key of that Grotto was that their present was not the important thing. The important thing was - A: the meeting with Santa which was made into a very personal and nice moment (Santa was a very good Santa) and B: The real meaning of Christmas.
There was no charge to see Santa but there was a voluntary thing that you could do (and believe me it was not forced at you, there was a very small sign but it was never mentioned or asked for), what they were asking for, was for us to take them a present, for us to leave a small gift behind. The gifts will then be taken, by Santa on Christmas Eve (I think or near Christmas anyway) to Helen Douglas House, to be given to the children in there. Helen Douglas House is a Hospice for terminally ill children so you can immediately see how exciting it will be for Santa to turn up with these nice gifts.
I personally think that it bangs the commercial face of Christmas smack bang on the nose when these kind of things happen, and I love it. From my perspective I took my boys to see Santa and spent maybe a little more doing so than the size of the actual Grotto merited if you see what I mean, but I hadn’t just paid to see Santa, I’d done something else.
My boys learned something about how lucky they are, and how little things can mean so much to others, as well as meeting the real Santa Claus – you can’t argue with that now can you?
So there – I met Father Christmas this weekend – beat that!
http://www.helenanddouglas.org.uk/
P.S. Get well soon Marla from Butts & Ashes.
I don’t want to name drop but…
I wound up having a bit of a chat with a VERY famous guy this weekend; quite a long converstaion in fact. He was really interested in me and my family as well. It goes to show that some of the A list celebrities can still be really decent people away from all the hype.
So I can excitedly report that I mix in some very top circles because this weekend I met Santa.
Not just any old “one of his helpers” either.
Santa.
The real one.
He must have been the real one because he knew my children’s names and where they lived without having to be told it. I mean granted he got a bit mixed up as to which was Daniel and which was Jamie, and then had forgotten all about the Christmas letters they had both sent him – but then he drinks a lot of Sherry so this is only to be expected. None the less, I could see in my two boy’s eyes the wonder and magic of Christmas as he told them about Crashing his Sleigh into Didcot Power Station last year, near where they live… My 6 year old was in complete awe, my confused 9 year old was even more confused than ever. Utterly Brilliant.
Neither of my children ever, even for a moment considered it anything other than a coincidence that the Elf outside had chatted with them at length about who they were and where they lived, before they had gone inside, that was just irrelevant.
We were in Oxford, by the castle and I have to say I was really impressed with this Grotto. I think it is one of the nicest I have seen.
It is not the biggest, it is not the flashest or most exciting. It is the nicest. Over the years we have been to see Santa in a number of places and had some exciting experiences. Big posh and expensive, set ups with train rides and snow, and all sorts of different styles of Santa from the genuinely bearded old men to the weasel faced young spotty teenager in half a roll of cotton wool. In there own way they were all good, if somewhat overpriced sometimes.
Why can I recommend the one in Oxford so much then?
Well for one thing it was free.
Any regular reader will know that this will score highly for me straight away, but there is more.
The boys did get a small bag from Santa with some crayons, a finger puppet and a small chocolate bar in it, but the key of that Grotto was that their present was not the important thing. The important thing was - A: the meeting with Santa which was made into a very personal and nice moment (Santa was a very good Santa) and B: The real meaning of Christmas.
There was no charge to see Santa but there was a voluntary thing that you could do (and believe me it was not forced at you, there was a very small sign but it was never mentioned or asked for), what they were asking for, was for us to take them a present, for us to leave a small gift behind. The gifts will then be taken, by Santa on Christmas Eve (I think or near Christmas anyway) to Helen Douglas House, to be given to the children in there. Helen Douglas House is a Hospice for terminally ill children so you can immediately see how exciting it will be for Santa to turn up with these nice gifts.
I personally think that it bangs the commercial face of Christmas smack bang on the nose when these kind of things happen, and I love it. From my perspective I took my boys to see Santa and spent maybe a little more doing so than the size of the actual Grotto merited if you see what I mean, but I hadn’t just paid to see Santa, I’d done something else.
My boys learned something about how lucky they are, and how little things can mean so much to others, as well as meeting the real Santa Claus – you can’t argue with that now can you?
So there – I met Father Christmas this weekend – beat that!
http://www.helenanddouglas.org.uk/
P.S. Get well soon Marla from Butts & Ashes.
 |
| http://nationaljoke.com/home/picture-humour/santa-claus-is-coming/ |
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The week's news
There were a couple of things I read in the Metro (our lovely free commuter paper - available at all good stations) this week that I can’t resist having a little look at.
Firstly check out this old barmpot.
This quality man has been pottering about in his garage for a few years, slowly skiing on this project (probably taken from the Oxford English fictionary – to SKI = to Spend your Kids Inheritance).
John Hinton has managed, with the help originally of a mate who sadly never made it to the end of the project, to convert a ‘ride-on’ lawnmower into an amphibious vehicle. There are two things I love most of all about this whole thing. Firstly I just love his attitude, his outlook is one of never give up “he who dares wins Rodney” grandparent madness. I love it. He hasn’t just done this for his own amusement – oh no. He has attempted to sell it to Honda, for them to produce it commercially as the future of modern transport. John believes this is the answer to commuter hell on the roads. The fact that, at a top speed of 8Mph, it would be him causing the traffic jams is completely irrelevant. I love that barking mad outlook. Why shouldn’t he go for that? The man is sheer quality, a total nut job obviously, but a quality nut job.
His barking mad Granddad antics have very much made me remember my own two Granddads, and that has made me smile – a lot, so thank you John.
The last thing that particularly stood out to me in this report, and which really made me laugh out genuinely loud on the train this morning, was this comment from his wife. This is one hundred percent something that my Nan would have said, and completely sums up the joy of getting older with someone that you love. When asked what her opinion of her Husband’s achievement was, and of the hours that he had put into it, John’s loving wife Pat said…
“I was quite happy to get him out of the house, to be honest”
I just love it!
In other news I couldn’t resist picking up on this, but it very much comes with a disclaimer I’m afraid.
The piece of news I’m about to laugh at is deadly serious. I want you to know that I really don’t think drugs are funny at all. Their affects wreck families. However, I still could not help but laugh at this picture of the police in Rio doing a drugs bust this week. I mean, come on – look who they have decided to take in to the station for some detailed questioning and a really thorough search. I had to scan the picture in because, alas, the Metro did not deem the article important enough to put online.
Go on – I dare you not to laugh.
Firstly check out this old barmpot.
 |
| http://www.metro.co.uk/weird/848671-man-combines-boat-and-mower-to-create-shortcutter |
John Hinton has managed, with the help originally of a mate who sadly never made it to the end of the project, to convert a ‘ride-on’ lawnmower into an amphibious vehicle. There are two things I love most of all about this whole thing. Firstly I just love his attitude, his outlook is one of never give up “he who dares wins Rodney” grandparent madness. I love it. He hasn’t just done this for his own amusement – oh no. He has attempted to sell it to Honda, for them to produce it commercially as the future of modern transport. John believes this is the answer to commuter hell on the roads. The fact that, at a top speed of 8Mph, it would be him causing the traffic jams is completely irrelevant. I love that barking mad outlook. Why shouldn’t he go for that? The man is sheer quality, a total nut job obviously, but a quality nut job.
 |
| http://www.blogger.com/goog_258232470 |
The last thing that particularly stood out to me in this report, and which really made me laugh out genuinely loud on the train this morning, was this comment from his wife. This is one hundred percent something that my Nan would have said, and completely sums up the joy of getting older with someone that you love. When asked what her opinion of her Husband’s achievement was, and of the hours that he had put into it, John’s loving wife Pat said…
“I was quite happy to get him out of the house, to be honest”
I just love it!
In other news I couldn’t resist picking up on this, but it very much comes with a disclaimer I’m afraid.
The piece of news I’m about to laugh at is deadly serious. I want you to know that I really don’t think drugs are funny at all. Their affects wreck families. However, I still could not help but laugh at this picture of the police in Rio doing a drugs bust this week. I mean, come on – look who they have decided to take in to the station for some detailed questioning and a really thorough search. I had to scan the picture in because, alas, the Metro did not deem the article important enough to put online.
Go on – I dare you not to laugh.
 |
| http://www.metro.co.uk/ |
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The really wrong collective noun
“…Yeah I tried changing the batteries, it just doesn’t seem to be powerful enough to do the job. It makes a whole load of buzzing noises, but not much else happens. No I don’t want a replacement I want a refund, frankly it just doesn’t match the hype – it looks nothing like a rabbit and it didn’t even touch the sides on Kim Cattrall. My name? Van Santo, Breeze Van Santo. Sure I’ll hold…”
Days passed, each hour seeming longer than the last. Lulu had said that she loved me so why had she disappeared? Surely she couldn’t have been that upset with me for spinning her fiancé into a lamp post? I filled up her answer machine and used up all 300 of this month’s free texts asking her where she was. Nothing came back.
Lulu was punishing me for something; I just couldn’t work out what it was. She said she loved me – I heard it – what’s going on?
Lulu would undoubtedly be doubly pleased if she knew the extent of the punishment she had dished out. Out of pity, I’d let Edward come and stay with me for the remainder of his visit to England. Miranda was never far from his side and the two of them were absolutely rampant. I have to assume that Edward carries a package twice as big as he is judging by the noise that Miranda makes during sex. I used to live next to Heathrow and heard less noise than those two working their way around the Futon. I popped to the toilet one night during a lull in the action and discovered Miranda wearing a PVC Traffic Warden’s outfit, writing a ticket out for Edward who was ‘parked’ in the corner of the room wearing a fully ‘gagged’ Gimp outfit. Miranda winked at me before telling Edward that he had gone the wrong way up a one way street, and so now she would too…
On the plus side, Miranda would bring burgers, fries and scolding hot apple pies home for diner every night, so it wasn’t all bad.
I just could not believe the disaster that had happened after such a brilliant moment. How could this keep happening to me? Just what is it I’ve done to deserve such pants treatment from fate? I was there, you were there – Lulu and I were together. We had said it, everything was out in the open, and everything was real. For those beautiful few seconds, I’d felt more real than the soil beneath my feet. In fact Lulu and I had been the only two real things in the Universe. Everything else was just a memory; we were the only things that mattered.
The moment played itself back and forth in my mind, was there something I’d missed? The miracle of spy movie technology allowed me to focus in from different angles and take in every detail close up. There was the girl with the ice cream, behind her the saluting American. To my left were the retired couple swaying slightly and smiling at each other. Nothing unexpected yet though.
My sleep was troubled and broken. Every dream replayed the scene in those few seconds before and after Edward’s attack. It was two in the morning when I awoke, startled and excited. What was that? Was it a dream or was it real? I delved deeply into the darkest corners of my memory and there it was, it hadn’t been a dream at all. There was definitely something odd going on just before Edward found his targets.
The retired couple in the crowd, blending into normality at the time, but now standing out through the glory of hindsight, like a straight man at a baby shower. The unreasonably tall old couple were wearing long Macs, but sporting ridiculously short arms. What were they? Why were they there? The ‘woman’ had looked particularly odd, far too much makeup, a badly fitting wig and besides, why was she stood like that? Her stance reminded me of how an eight year old boy would impersonate a lady, one hand cocked onto her hip and the other waving dramatically about in the air. Why were they both swaying in the wind like that? It was as if they were completely disjointed.
Oh God!
I knew exactly what they looked like. They looked like two stacks of three short guys under long raincoats, pretending to be a man and a woman! Six of them in front of me, and undoubtedly a seventh would be hidden out of view on lookout. This could only mean ONE thing!
Lulu had been kidnapped by a pantomime of dwarves. I searched my memories further and realised that I recognised the face of the ‘man’. Those faces would be burned into my brain for the rest of my life; it’s tough to get over the post traumatic stress of seeing what I had seen all those weeks before, and which Lulu had seen the photographic evidence for.
Why were they there? Why were they in disguise? Most importantly of all, why were they not there afterwards? When I had searched for Lulu they had disappeared too. Now I was worried. The providers of the cocktail had turned up out of nowhere and then, just as suddenly both they and Lulu had gone!
I switched on my computer and hit the ‘net, I had some research to do. These guys were jobbing actors – they were bound to have left a trail. I’d find them, I’d find Lulu.
A smile of excitement spread accross my face. The chase was on and I was the tortoise, no wait a minute, I mean I was the hare, no wait – oh whatever, I was the one that frickin won alright?
“Oh yes hello again, yes of course it is clean – no I don’t think Kim is either but I soaked it in bleach for four hours, so it should be absolutely fine now!”
Ciao.
Days passed, each hour seeming longer than the last. Lulu had said that she loved me so why had she disappeared? Surely she couldn’t have been that upset with me for spinning her fiancé into a lamp post? I filled up her answer machine and used up all 300 of this month’s free texts asking her where she was. Nothing came back.
Lulu was punishing me for something; I just couldn’t work out what it was. She said she loved me – I heard it – what’s going on?
Lulu would undoubtedly be doubly pleased if she knew the extent of the punishment she had dished out. Out of pity, I’d let Edward come and stay with me for the remainder of his visit to England. Miranda was never far from his side and the two of them were absolutely rampant. I have to assume that Edward carries a package twice as big as he is judging by the noise that Miranda makes during sex. I used to live next to Heathrow and heard less noise than those two working their way around the Futon. I popped to the toilet one night during a lull in the action and discovered Miranda wearing a PVC Traffic Warden’s outfit, writing a ticket out for Edward who was ‘parked’ in the corner of the room wearing a fully ‘gagged’ Gimp outfit. Miranda winked at me before telling Edward that he had gone the wrong way up a one way street, and so now she would too…
On the plus side, Miranda would bring burgers, fries and scolding hot apple pies home for diner every night, so it wasn’t all bad.
I just could not believe the disaster that had happened after such a brilliant moment. How could this keep happening to me? Just what is it I’ve done to deserve such pants treatment from fate? I was there, you were there – Lulu and I were together. We had said it, everything was out in the open, and everything was real. For those beautiful few seconds, I’d felt more real than the soil beneath my feet. In fact Lulu and I had been the only two real things in the Universe. Everything else was just a memory; we were the only things that mattered.
The moment played itself back and forth in my mind, was there something I’d missed? The miracle of spy movie technology allowed me to focus in from different angles and take in every detail close up. There was the girl with the ice cream, behind her the saluting American. To my left were the retired couple swaying slightly and smiling at each other. Nothing unexpected yet though.
My sleep was troubled and broken. Every dream replayed the scene in those few seconds before and after Edward’s attack. It was two in the morning when I awoke, startled and excited. What was that? Was it a dream or was it real? I delved deeply into the darkest corners of my memory and there it was, it hadn’t been a dream at all. There was definitely something odd going on just before Edward found his targets.
The retired couple in the crowd, blending into normality at the time, but now standing out through the glory of hindsight, like a straight man at a baby shower. The unreasonably tall old couple were wearing long Macs, but sporting ridiculously short arms. What were they? Why were they there? The ‘woman’ had looked particularly odd, far too much makeup, a badly fitting wig and besides, why was she stood like that? Her stance reminded me of how an eight year old boy would impersonate a lady, one hand cocked onto her hip and the other waving dramatically about in the air. Why were they both swaying in the wind like that? It was as if they were completely disjointed.
Oh God!
I knew exactly what they looked like. They looked like two stacks of three short guys under long raincoats, pretending to be a man and a woman! Six of them in front of me, and undoubtedly a seventh would be hidden out of view on lookout. This could only mean ONE thing!
Lulu had been kidnapped by a pantomime of dwarves. I searched my memories further and realised that I recognised the face of the ‘man’. Those faces would be burned into my brain for the rest of my life; it’s tough to get over the post traumatic stress of seeing what I had seen all those weeks before, and which Lulu had seen the photographic evidence for.
Why were they there? Why were they in disguise? Most importantly of all, why were they not there afterwards? When I had searched for Lulu they had disappeared too. Now I was worried. The providers of the cocktail had turned up out of nowhere and then, just as suddenly both they and Lulu had gone!
I switched on my computer and hit the ‘net, I had some research to do. These guys were jobbing actors – they were bound to have left a trail. I’d find them, I’d find Lulu.
A smile of excitement spread accross my face. The chase was on and I was the tortoise, no wait a minute, I mean I was the hare, no wait – oh whatever, I was the one that frickin won alright?
“Oh yes hello again, yes of course it is clean – no I don’t think Kim is either but I soaked it in bleach for four hours, so it should be absolutely fine now!”
Ciao.
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