Profile for Captn Hood-Butter:
I am a musician, living on the Island of South Ronaldsay in Orkney
This was taken in 2019 from my back garden. The old ruin used to be the blacksmiths cottage, now my shed.
Buy my album or don't. I'm easy.
.
There's 4 large outbuildings where I have 6 rehearsal spaces and a fully functional recording studio where we can record analogue or digital. It has a top spec drum kit, loads of amps, guitars and a few basses and a recently restored Moog System 55 plus a decent collection of modern and vintage syntesizers, pianos and a Hammond B3. I recorded my solo album here using the anlogue gear which is on sale, available by post.
Special b3ta prices inc P&P £5 CD with 8 pg booklet £7 LP plus 2 sided insert. Add b3ta20 in the first line of your address
Just go to www.paulmaguire.scot
This is where I live now. I was fortunate to be left a fuck ton of cash by an aunt and bought this smashing house near a beautiful bay in Orkney.
We often see the aurora borialis in the winter months and regular sightings of orca, whales and dolphins and even the odd sea eagle..
I wouldn't go back to England for anything now.
I run a studio and rehearsal spaces and have accomodation for whole bands. We have 6 spare bedrooms all fully furnished, Air source heating and air con throughout. There's also a 20' boat to fuck about on
and a handful of 4x4s to go larking about on the dunes.
There's no crime here, or homelessness or even a food bank. All the shops we had back daan saaf and everything you could wish for.
What we don't have is USA fast food outlets, US coffee shops, trafic lights, crime and no arseholes. We do have whisky, rum and gin distileries, a couple of brewerys (Dark Island Reserve 20%) and the best food in the UK plus load of ancient history. Very strangely it is far warmer here in the winter months than it was in Cambridge thanks to the gulf stream which encapsulates the islands. I've never had to scrape ice off the screen here. Also it's not quite as bastard hot in the summer, just right really.
Our island is the one at the top of this picture and is connected by road over the Churchill Barriers in Scapa Flow to Mainland Orkney. There are 4 causeways which connect 5 islands. Driving over them in winter is often bum clenching with the waves crashing over the car as you cross over. I actually quite enjoy it. Some of the oldest history in the UK, even the world is on our doorstep. Our henges like the Ring of Brodgar or the Standing Stones of Stenness are a couple of thousand years older than Stonehenge and even older than the pyramids.
pix upload
Orkney
Recent front page messages:
It's a bit like that here today. It's been fine and calm all week now we are getting it. They're even putting the cattle in sheds as they will get blown over. I drove over to the other side of the island today and my 4x4 was being blown sideways at one point. It took me 20mins to do 3 miles. Hello.
(Wed 23rd Feb 2022, 18:44, More)
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I am a musician, living on the Island of South Ronaldsay in Orkney
This was taken in 2019 from my back garden. The old ruin used to be the blacksmiths cottage, now my shed.
Buy my album or don't. I'm easy.
.
There's 4 large outbuildings where I have 6 rehearsal spaces and a fully functional recording studio where we can record analogue or digital. It has a top spec drum kit, loads of amps, guitars and a few basses and a recently restored Moog System 55 plus a decent collection of modern and vintage syntesizers, pianos and a Hammond B3. I recorded my solo album here using the anlogue gear which is on sale, available by post.
Special b3ta prices inc P&P £5 CD with 8 pg booklet £7 LP plus 2 sided insert. Add b3ta20 in the first line of your address
Just go to www.paulmaguire.scot
This is where I live now. I was fortunate to be left a fuck ton of cash by an aunt and bought this smashing house near a beautiful bay in Orkney.
We often see the aurora borialis in the winter months and regular sightings of orca, whales and dolphins and even the odd sea eagle..
I wouldn't go back to England for anything now.
I run a studio and rehearsal spaces and have accomodation for whole bands. We have 6 spare bedrooms all fully furnished, Air source heating and air con throughout. There's also a 20' boat to fuck about on
and a handful of 4x4s to go larking about on the dunes.
There's no crime here, or homelessness or even a food bank. All the shops we had back daan saaf and everything you could wish for.
What we don't have is USA fast food outlets, US coffee shops, trafic lights, crime and no arseholes. We do have whisky, rum and gin distileries, a couple of brewerys (Dark Island Reserve 20%) and the best food in the UK plus load of ancient history. Very strangely it is far warmer here in the winter months than it was in Cambridge thanks to the gulf stream which encapsulates the islands. I've never had to scrape ice off the screen here. Also it's not quite as bastard hot in the summer, just right really.
Our island is the one at the top of this picture and is connected by road over the Churchill Barriers in Scapa Flow to Mainland Orkney. There are 4 causeways which connect 5 islands. Driving over them in winter is often bum clenching with the waves crashing over the car as you cross over. I actually quite enjoy it. Some of the oldest history in the UK, even the world is on our doorstep. Our henges like the Ring of Brodgar or the Standing Stones of Stenness are a couple of thousand years older than Stonehenge and even older than the pyramids.
pix upload
Orkney
Recent front page messages:
'ning
A wet, foggy day today so I stopped in and done some art. You're welcome.
(Fri 24th Jun 2022, 21:42, More)
A wet, foggy day today so I stopped in and done some art. You're welcome.
(Fri 24th Jun 2022, 21:42, More)
It's a bit like that here today. It's been fine and calm all week now we are getting it. They're even putting the cattle in sheds as they will get blown over. I drove over to the other side of the island today and my 4x4 was being blown sideways at one point. It took me 20mins to do 3 miles. Hello.
(Wed 23rd Feb 2022, 18:44, More)
Hello . I'm pretty sure this has binduntodeath but...
MUCH MUCH MUCH MUCH BIGGERER
(Mon 11th Jun 2012, 14:01, More)
MUCH MUCH MUCH MUCH BIGGERER
(Mon 11th Jun 2012, 14:01, More)
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» In the Army Now - The joy of the Armed Forces
Back in 1981
I was nursing my wounds after a messy marriage break up and decided to take my uncles advice and try to join the Royal Marines. My idea was to join the RM Band and travel the world. Problem was, I was a fit fucker then, and got an A1 fitness pass so I ended up being selected for special duties, ended up in the SBS and went to the Falklands. My story is here. I'm back in the music business now.
(Fri 24th Mar 2006, 10:50, More)
Back in 1981
I was nursing my wounds after a messy marriage break up and decided to take my uncles advice and try to join the Royal Marines. My idea was to join the RM Band and travel the world. Problem was, I was a fit fucker then, and got an A1 fitness pass so I ended up being selected for special duties, ended up in the SBS and went to the Falklands. My story is here. I'm back in the music business now.
(Fri 24th Mar 2006, 10:50, More)
» Letters they'll never read
Dear Mr Waterstone.
Recently I purchased a copy of the Karma Sutra from your online slaes site. I would like to say that it arrived very quickly and within the time promised. I should like to return the book as it has caused some unrest in this household.
I would like to point out several entries in the book which in my opinion could not only cause harm but could result in a breach of health and safety regulations. I would appreciate your feedback at the earliest opportunity.
1. Page 37 Number 29: Now this is supposed to be The Scissors where the gentleman gains entry to the muff while laying in opposite directions. This position is impossible and climax can can only be achieved by lesbians. All we manged to do was fart up eachother's arseholes. Do you not understand that when a man has a broom on it needs to face north. No amount of bending or twisting will allow one's chopper to face the feet with that quantity of blood in it.
We tried it out which resulted in me pulling a muscle in my chap and an embarrassing visit to my GP who failed to contain her surgerylols.
2. Page 41 Number 37: The alternative oral position. What is wrong with a 69? Why do you find it necessary to invent another way? I can only assume this is classed as an oral position as we discovered, all you can actually do is talk about it.
3. Page 61 Number 52: The Dive. Now this is just silly. The diagram (fig 1) clearly shows the man who is clearly nursing a full stiffie belly flopping on top of the woman from a standing position, not only scoring a bull but also both parties escaping injury free.
We tried it but it all went horribly wrong. I stood at the bottom of the bed with a cock like a car jack and as shown, I dived on top of my mrs who was laying on her back with her legs so far apart she was almost doing the splits. Her snapper was wide open and let's face it, it's not exactly a small target these days. She was quite horny and was dripping like a fucked fridge so I was confident this would be a pleasurable experience. Now you know that feeling when you're playing snooker and as soon as you hit the cue ball, you know instantly that you have missed the shot, well that is a realisation you do not want to experience when you are in mid air about to land on top of your wife. This resulted in me doing a diana.
(Again)
4. Page 104 Number 84a: I am not into that sort of thing!
5. Page 147 Number 222: The Wheelbarrow. I quite enjoyed this one at first. The idea is the woman lays face down on the floor while the gentleman lifts up her ankles waist high and she then walks around the room on her hands while the gentleman gains muff entry at the same time. We were getting quite good at it and due to my wife being a champion shot putter she was able to keep going for some time. Everything was going swimmingly until I tripped over the fucking book. I collapsed on top of her pulling another muscle in my fella. She faceplanted the pisspot which catapulted up in the air showering us both in cold piss and knocking a shotgun off the wall which went off blowing a huge hole in the ceiling, rupturing my water tank, flooding the house and to cap it all, my neighbour jumped naked from the wardrobe with his hands up.
I expect a full refund.
Your obedient servant
Captn' Horatio Clutterbuck Hood-Butter III (ret) VC VD and Bar
(Tue 9th Mar 2010, 12:54, More)
Dear Mr Waterstone.
Recently I purchased a copy of the Karma Sutra from your online slaes site. I would like to say that it arrived very quickly and within the time promised. I should like to return the book as it has caused some unrest in this household.
I would like to point out several entries in the book which in my opinion could not only cause harm but could result in a breach of health and safety regulations. I would appreciate your feedback at the earliest opportunity.
1. Page 37 Number 29: Now this is supposed to be The Scissors where the gentleman gains entry to the muff while laying in opposite directions. This position is impossible and climax can can only be achieved by lesbians. All we manged to do was fart up eachother's arseholes. Do you not understand that when a man has a broom on it needs to face north. No amount of bending or twisting will allow one's chopper to face the feet with that quantity of blood in it.
We tried it out which resulted in me pulling a muscle in my chap and an embarrassing visit to my GP who failed to contain her surgerylols.
2. Page 41 Number 37: The alternative oral position. What is wrong with a 69? Why do you find it necessary to invent another way? I can only assume this is classed as an oral position as we discovered, all you can actually do is talk about it.
3. Page 61 Number 52: The Dive. Now this is just silly. The diagram (fig 1) clearly shows the man who is clearly nursing a full stiffie belly flopping on top of the woman from a standing position, not only scoring a bull but also both parties escaping injury free.
We tried it but it all went horribly wrong. I stood at the bottom of the bed with a cock like a car jack and as shown, I dived on top of my mrs who was laying on her back with her legs so far apart she was almost doing the splits. Her snapper was wide open and let's face it, it's not exactly a small target these days. She was quite horny and was dripping like a fucked fridge so I was confident this would be a pleasurable experience. Now you know that feeling when you're playing snooker and as soon as you hit the cue ball, you know instantly that you have missed the shot, well that is a realisation you do not want to experience when you are in mid air about to land on top of your wife. This resulted in me doing a diana.
(Again)
4. Page 104 Number 84a: I am not into that sort of thing!
5. Page 147 Number 222: The Wheelbarrow. I quite enjoyed this one at first. The idea is the woman lays face down on the floor while the gentleman lifts up her ankles waist high and she then walks around the room on her hands while the gentleman gains muff entry at the same time. We were getting quite good at it and due to my wife being a champion shot putter she was able to keep going for some time. Everything was going swimmingly until I tripped over the fucking book. I collapsed on top of her pulling another muscle in my fella. She faceplanted the pisspot which catapulted up in the air showering us both in cold piss and knocking a shotgun off the wall which went off blowing a huge hole in the ceiling, rupturing my water tank, flooding the house and to cap it all, my neighbour jumped naked from the wardrobe with his hands up.
I expect a full refund.
Your obedient servant
Captn' Horatio Clutterbuck Hood-Butter III (ret) VC VD and Bar
(Tue 9th Mar 2010, 12:54, More)
» * PFFT *
Gurning out a rectal-puff in a supermarket is not big, nor clever, yet quite amusing.
I was strolling through Tescos with my trolly and suddenly I felt the warning rumble, predicting the imminent arrival of a possible copious emmision of Eau-de-Colon. I looked around to make sure nobody was nearby and decided to birth the proot in the cheese and dairy produce aisle. I sort of perched against the trolly to force the guff out at a controlled pace, so as not to make it too audible. Sadly, it was not to be and a size XXL air buffet was expelled from my walnut at great velocity, producing a very loud quacking raspberry.
Almost immediately I realised that the boquet was pungent beyond normallity and decided to make good my escape, leaving behind the stench for the next person to make their way to this particular part of the shop to procure their chosen dairy produce. As I turned I almost bumped into a woman who I had not detected, as she was crouched down low with a 6 pint bottle of semi-skimmed which she had picked from the lower part of the display.
It was a shockingly immediate realisation that this person, not only witnessed the full soundtrack but had actually received the anal gust full in the face.
I am a gentleman and promptly apologised and continued with my shopping. A few minutes later I found myself at the same checkout as the poor recipient of my repulsive fartage. For a while our eyes met very briefly, but devilment soon got the better of me. I turned to the woman who was looking decidedly uncomfortable, probably due to her feeling nauseous and possibly in a state of shock. Let's face it. I mean, the last thing you expect whilst shopping for milk in a supermarket is some cunt farting directly into your face.
Our eyes met and she gave me a look of disgust yet spoke no words. I stared back at her and without muse or emotion I simply said, "I think there's more". The woman hurried her shopping back into her basket and moved to another checkout much further up the store, and close to the exit. Our paths crossed briefly in the car park. She wound down the window of her Renault Megane, looked at me briefly and said briefly, yet assertivley, "Filty pig". I waved and bid her a pleasent journey.
I have dined out on this story for several years now, but I do feel rather sorry for this woman, as should she ever decides to recall these events, it will inevitably be met with mirth. Shame.
(Mon 16th Jul 2007, 11:48, More)
Gurning out a rectal-puff in a supermarket is not big, nor clever, yet quite amusing.
I was strolling through Tescos with my trolly and suddenly I felt the warning rumble, predicting the imminent arrival of a possible copious emmision of Eau-de-Colon. I looked around to make sure nobody was nearby and decided to birth the proot in the cheese and dairy produce aisle. I sort of perched against the trolly to force the guff out at a controlled pace, so as not to make it too audible. Sadly, it was not to be and a size XXL air buffet was expelled from my walnut at great velocity, producing a very loud quacking raspberry.
Almost immediately I realised that the boquet was pungent beyond normallity and decided to make good my escape, leaving behind the stench for the next person to make their way to this particular part of the shop to procure their chosen dairy produce. As I turned I almost bumped into a woman who I had not detected, as she was crouched down low with a 6 pint bottle of semi-skimmed which she had picked from the lower part of the display.
It was a shockingly immediate realisation that this person, not only witnessed the full soundtrack but had actually received the anal gust full in the face.
I am a gentleman and promptly apologised and continued with my shopping. A few minutes later I found myself at the same checkout as the poor recipient of my repulsive fartage. For a while our eyes met very briefly, but devilment soon got the better of me. I turned to the woman who was looking decidedly uncomfortable, probably due to her feeling nauseous and possibly in a state of shock. Let's face it. I mean, the last thing you expect whilst shopping for milk in a supermarket is some cunt farting directly into your face.
Our eyes met and she gave me a look of disgust yet spoke no words. I stared back at her and without muse or emotion I simply said, "I think there's more". The woman hurried her shopping back into her basket and moved to another checkout much further up the store, and close to the exit. Our paths crossed briefly in the car park. She wound down the window of her Renault Megane, looked at me briefly and said briefly, yet assertivley, "Filty pig". I waved and bid her a pleasent journey.
I have dined out on this story for several years now, but I do feel rather sorry for this woman, as should she ever decides to recall these events, it will inevitably be met with mirth. Shame.
(Mon 16th Jul 2007, 11:48, More)
» The passive-aggressive guilt trip
I'm bad, I'm bad and I know it.
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I remember way back in the mid 1980's I had had quite a fair quantity to drink in my local pub and some friends decided to shave half my head and one eyebrow after I had passed out. The following day, I had no alternative but to shave the other half off, which I did.
I decided not to go back to the same pub for a while, at least until my eyebrows had grown back a bit and I had some hair on my head, so that evening I decided to visit a pub I had not been in for sometime. As soon as I walked in, I remembered why. It was full of arseholes. The moment I entered the bar, the chief arsehole, whose name was Neil laid in with the first insult, "Fuck me, look at you, had an argument with a lawn mower?", he snorted followed by a far to loud a laugh to accompany such a pathetic joke. How original I thought. Neil kept on and on and on, insult after insult to the point where I almost decked him until I heard him ask, "..so where did you get it cut then, the council?" He laughed out loud even more and had not noticed that the rest of the bar had spotted that I had begun to get a tad pissed off, and they knew that as an ex special services officer, recently returned from the Falklands War, if I did hit him, it wouldn't be too pretty.
At this point an evil thought came to mind. I turned towards him, I could feel the tension in the air, everyone thought I was going to kick off and it all went very quiet. Neil himself suddenly realised he might be in for some hospital food and he shut up. I staired him right in the face and aseritvely replied, "Well actually, cunt, have you ever heard of chaemotherapy?"
With this he looked as guilty as if he had just run over a child in a stolen 4X4 with big fuck-off bull-bars, and he left the pub very quickly. Everone else went even quieter until I turned around and winked at them and murmered, "Stupid bastard". The place erupted with laughter and nothing more was said.
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(Thu 13th Oct 2005, 16:20, More)
I'm bad, I'm bad and I know it.
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I remember way back in the mid 1980's I had had quite a fair quantity to drink in my local pub and some friends decided to shave half my head and one eyebrow after I had passed out. The following day, I had no alternative but to shave the other half off, which I did.
I decided not to go back to the same pub for a while, at least until my eyebrows had grown back a bit and I had some hair on my head, so that evening I decided to visit a pub I had not been in for sometime. As soon as I walked in, I remembered why. It was full of arseholes. The moment I entered the bar, the chief arsehole, whose name was Neil laid in with the first insult, "Fuck me, look at you, had an argument with a lawn mower?", he snorted followed by a far to loud a laugh to accompany such a pathetic joke. How original I thought. Neil kept on and on and on, insult after insult to the point where I almost decked him until I heard him ask, "..so where did you get it cut then, the council?" He laughed out loud even more and had not noticed that the rest of the bar had spotted that I had begun to get a tad pissed off, and they knew that as an ex special services officer, recently returned from the Falklands War, if I did hit him, it wouldn't be too pretty.
At this point an evil thought came to mind. I turned towards him, I could feel the tension in the air, everyone thought I was going to kick off and it all went very quiet. Neil himself suddenly realised he might be in for some hospital food and he shut up. I staired him right in the face and aseritvely replied, "Well actually, cunt, have you ever heard of chaemotherapy?"
With this he looked as guilty as if he had just run over a child in a stolen 4X4 with big fuck-off bull-bars, and he left the pub very quickly. Everone else went even quieter until I turned around and winked at them and murmered, "Stupid bastard". The place erupted with laughter and nothing more was said.
Will I go to Hell for this?
As if I fucking care!
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(Thu 13th Oct 2005, 16:20, More)
» Prejudice
In 1981 I owned some music shops and ran the one in Cambridge myself as it was my home town.
It was called Cambridge Musician's Centre and I was sitting in the shop one day with a mate from the same band I was playing in at the time. (see previous reply to this qotw) His name was Murapa and he was a very large muscular black guy from Zimbabwe. He was about 6' 3" and was built like a brick shithouse. His large afro hairdo made him look even bigger. I had planned that Murapa would look after the shop while I went over to one of the other branches to sort out some shit and such. I had told him to lock up and meet me at a pub called the Free Press nearby to hand over the keys and maybe a swift one.
At that time I had more black mates than white ones and I completely forgot about prejudice for a second, which was much worse back then. You only need look at old episodes of 'Love Thy Neighbour' and 'Till Death Us Do Part" to see it was even acceptable on prime time TV back then. The pub was also the the local for the local police station and regularly have half a dozen filth from the Gene Hunt school of etiquette in there drinking halves. I got a bit held up and was late getting back to the pub and by the time I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to get into my shop if he had fucked off home so I popped back and I was relieved to see him inside. I went in and started to make my apollogies but before I could speak he stood up and began calling me all the names under the sun. When angry he sometimes reverted to his natural tongue so I'm not sure exactly what he was calling me but part of it went something like this, "....bastard, don't ever ask me to meet you in a place like that, you f..", etc etc.
I found out after he had calmed down that several of the filth had started talking loudly, laughing loudly and generally being racist cunts. I was so sorry and told him so. I just didn't think and I got it a bit wrong. A day or so later he was relating the incident to someone which gave me an idea. We planned that I would go inside the pub first then Murapa would follow. I would act like we were complete strangers and get involved with any racist banter only take it far too far. This is what happened.
As soon as he walked in, I was sat at the bar close to the three old bill who were in there as usual. As he walked through the door I said in a loud voice, "Oh fucking hell. Look what's walked in a facking sooty, there goes the pub down the shitter lads". The three policemen all laughed but then began to look a bit uneasy when Murapa did one of his angry faces which believe me could frighten a fucking police horse let alone let alone a couple of cuntsables. He looked directly at me. "What did you say!", he assertively bellowed. "You heard sooty! Why don't you fack orf back to the jungle?". By now there were only two filth as one had got to the bog. Murapa pointed out to me the worst offender from the previous time with a preplanned gesture. I made sure I got as close to the cunt as possible then Murapa ripped off his shirt and flexed his huge powerful muscles and positioned himself so we could have a slagging match with the racist cop in the middle.
I called him every degrogatory racist term I could muster and this cop was bricking it by now. He looked very uneasy and tried, usuccessfully to calm things down and had now entered the "best shut the fuck up and duck if necessary" state. Oh by the way the landlord was in on it too. I have to make that point as the rozzer who went for a slash had asked the landlord to phone the police station for back up. They were off duty, no radios and this is a good 12 years before the mobile phone. He just pretended to make the call. Meanwhile the argument had reached a point where a. Murapa was running out of threats and b. I was running out of racist insults. Then, as planned, Murapa looked at me and shouted, "What do you want from me?". I simply said in a normal polite voice, "Pint of bitter would be nice." Murapa then faced the landlord who by now was requiring a change of boxers and ordered in a very posh accent, "Two pints of IPA my good man and one for your good self." The copper litterally breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was then told by the landlord that it was a set up and that would teach him a lesson for being racist in his pub. He never came in again, well at least I never saw him again.
Murapa and I walked back to the shop pissing ourselves laughing. We got back to the shop and our singer was there looking after things. He was a Jamaican and was sitting reading the paper unaware of what we had just done. I went over to him and casually said, "Murapa called be a racist cunt bastard and threatened to punch my head off just now". Nev looked a bit puzzled, then Murapa piped up, "Because you called me a shit skin, a coon, a wog, a coon and told me to fuck off back to the jungle". Nev just dropped his paper and looked round and with a frowing puzzled look and asked what the fuck we were on about. We told him about the stunt and as we reminisced were all in so much pain from laughing about it I had to close up early.
Dedicated to my very good mate Jon Murapa who often dined out on this story and left this earth two years later.
(Sun 4th Apr 2010, 15:59, More)
In 1981 I owned some music shops and ran the one in Cambridge myself as it was my home town.
It was called Cambridge Musician's Centre and I was sitting in the shop one day with a mate from the same band I was playing in at the time. (see previous reply to this qotw) His name was Murapa and he was a very large muscular black guy from Zimbabwe. He was about 6' 3" and was built like a brick shithouse. His large afro hairdo made him look even bigger. I had planned that Murapa would look after the shop while I went over to one of the other branches to sort out some shit and such. I had told him to lock up and meet me at a pub called the Free Press nearby to hand over the keys and maybe a swift one.
At that time I had more black mates than white ones and I completely forgot about prejudice for a second, which was much worse back then. You only need look at old episodes of 'Love Thy Neighbour' and 'Till Death Us Do Part" to see it was even acceptable on prime time TV back then. The pub was also the the local for the local police station and regularly have half a dozen filth from the Gene Hunt school of etiquette in there drinking halves. I got a bit held up and was late getting back to the pub and by the time I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to get into my shop if he had fucked off home so I popped back and I was relieved to see him inside. I went in and started to make my apollogies but before I could speak he stood up and began calling me all the names under the sun. When angry he sometimes reverted to his natural tongue so I'm not sure exactly what he was calling me but part of it went something like this, "....bastard, don't ever ask me to meet you in a place like that, you f..", etc etc.
I found out after he had calmed down that several of the filth had started talking loudly, laughing loudly and generally being racist cunts. I was so sorry and told him so. I just didn't think and I got it a bit wrong. A day or so later he was relating the incident to someone which gave me an idea. We planned that I would go inside the pub first then Murapa would follow. I would act like we were complete strangers and get involved with any racist banter only take it far too far. This is what happened.
As soon as he walked in, I was sat at the bar close to the three old bill who were in there as usual. As he walked through the door I said in a loud voice, "Oh fucking hell. Look what's walked in a facking sooty, there goes the pub down the shitter lads". The three policemen all laughed but then began to look a bit uneasy when Murapa did one of his angry faces which believe me could frighten a fucking police horse let alone let alone a couple of cuntsables. He looked directly at me. "What did you say!", he assertively bellowed. "You heard sooty! Why don't you fack orf back to the jungle?". By now there were only two filth as one had got to the bog. Murapa pointed out to me the worst offender from the previous time with a preplanned gesture. I made sure I got as close to the cunt as possible then Murapa ripped off his shirt and flexed his huge powerful muscles and positioned himself so we could have a slagging match with the racist cop in the middle.
I called him every degrogatory racist term I could muster and this cop was bricking it by now. He looked very uneasy and tried, usuccessfully to calm things down and had now entered the "best shut the fuck up and duck if necessary" state. Oh by the way the landlord was in on it too. I have to make that point as the rozzer who went for a slash had asked the landlord to phone the police station for back up. They were off duty, no radios and this is a good 12 years before the mobile phone. He just pretended to make the call. Meanwhile the argument had reached a point where a. Murapa was running out of threats and b. I was running out of racist insults. Then, as planned, Murapa looked at me and shouted, "What do you want from me?". I simply said in a normal polite voice, "Pint of bitter would be nice." Murapa then faced the landlord who by now was requiring a change of boxers and ordered in a very posh accent, "Two pints of IPA my good man and one for your good self." The copper litterally breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was then told by the landlord that it was a set up and that would teach him a lesson for being racist in his pub. He never came in again, well at least I never saw him again.
Murapa and I walked back to the shop pissing ourselves laughing. We got back to the shop and our singer was there looking after things. He was a Jamaican and was sitting reading the paper unaware of what we had just done. I went over to him and casually said, "Murapa called be a racist cunt bastard and threatened to punch my head off just now". Nev looked a bit puzzled, then Murapa piped up, "Because you called me a shit skin, a coon, a wog, a coon and told me to fuck off back to the jungle". Nev just dropped his paper and looked round and with a frowing puzzled look and asked what the fuck we were on about. We told him about the stunt and as we reminisced were all in so much pain from laughing about it I had to close up early.
Dedicated to my very good mate Jon Murapa who often dined out on this story and left this earth two years later.
(Sun 4th Apr 2010, 15:59, More)