» Local Nutters

Elvis 1 & 2 and Britney Spears' grandmother
The Broadgate Circle by Liverpool St in London is an ice rink in winter, an arena for duff entertainment in summer. Apparently the champagne swilling customers of Corney & Barrow need something to watch from the bar's balconies.

Anyway, an annual feature of the 'entertainments' is the line dancing which sees about 30 oaps bused in to teeter through the works of Billy Ray Virus much to the bemusement of the local suits.

And this attracts three of the oddest twunts I have ever seen.

One is a woman who looks about seventy and dresses like Britney Spears playing the lead in a Dolly Parton biopic. In fact I imagine young Britney will grow to look like this in some 50 years hence. The woman dances like an arthritic whore.

The two men appear to be Elvis fans. Both have wigs. One is happy to be seen wearing a wig, the other wants you to believe it is his real hair. They must be in their late 50s. They dress entirely in man made fibres and wear ludricous plastic shades.

The overt wig wearer shimmies his hips and steps from side to side. He thinks this is sexy and hip.

The covert wig wearer merely stamps out a death march with one foot to the strange tunes he hears in his own head.

They do not take part in the major event. They dance on the fringes. One year the idiot employed to make banal comments over a microphone (normally refered to as a compere) made some bitter laced remark about "our friends over there, they come every year, we don't ask them."

And indeed they do come every year. I used to think they were on day release, now I'm not so sure.

They would lead to comments like "I saw your mum out in the Circle at lunchtime" when you got back to the office. Little Britain hasn't created better comedy characters and they have that vital element of actually being a little scary as well as funny.

I saw them wrecking the afternoon of some luckless busker down by Embankment recently. That made me both chuckle and yet feel rather sad at the same time.

Anyone else know who I mean?
(Fri 17th Sep 2004, 17:31, More)

» Dad Jokes

Not so much a joker
My old man was never very good on an emotional level. One particular moment stands out vividly. My stepmother's brother-in-law (complex I know but bear with me) had killed himself with a shotgun. The old man at the time ran a pub and when one of the locals came in that night he was confronted with: "If you're thinking of sending Alan a Christmas card, don't bother, he's topped himself."
I didn't know where to look. With hindsight there is some black humour in this but he was just trying to break the news.
I also remember him telling me I was 'about as much use as a barbed wire johnny.'
I was 8 at the time.
(Wed 10th Dec 2003, 15:22, More)

» Local Nutters

Re Cheltenham, Bath Road area
I thought about nominating Derek but I'm not convinced about the truth behind him. Is he really loaded? A girl who worked in Threshers told me he was but then she was fucking mental herself - she lived with 1) a satanist who looked like a rat and had an inverted cucifix tattooed on his back and 2) a witch-girl who used to show visitors naked pictures of herself. I remember Derek wore an old Cheltonian tie but I don't see that as proof of extreme affluence. We'd never heard anything about him at school - obviously not one for the headmaster to bring up in assembly but you would think if some local brain fried wino was a product of your school you would hear about it. Besides, I could walk around London wearing an MC tie shouting 'Clitmonkeys all of you!' to my heart's content but it wouldn't mean I knew anything about cricket.

Is Derek still alive?
(Mon 20th Sep 2004, 14:22, More)

» Local Nutters

Radio Man
Cheltenham's Radio Man always mystified me. A large seemingly respectable man who wore a tweed jacket and normally a mustard polo neck jumper. What set him apart was the small red radio that was almost permanently clutched to the side of his head. He used to meander on an extremely inefficient route across town. I would see him heading one way in the morning and then back the same way in the evening. Was never quite sure where he was coming from and where he was going to. An old girlfriend told me he would set up camp in what is known as the beer gardens; precious radio released from his loving grasp and placed on the ground for him to dance around.

He really looked normal apart from the radio. And the insane grin. A giveaway I guess.

He once scared the shit out of me and a mate in the local swimming pool. That wasn't nice being followed about by him (note above: he was a big man and obviously not sound of mind). My mate didn't believe me about the radio aspect of the man's life. The proof was later found in the changing rooms in the shape of 'naked' Radio Man.

I don't go back there much.
(Fri 17th Sep 2004, 16:47, More)

» People with Stupid Names

Scandi names
Working with Scandinavians helps. I particularly like Randi-Karin Barstad.
The name Knut is also value for the number of times it is spelt wrong. Sample letter from Korea begins "Dear Mr Kunt!".
(Fri 27th Aug 2004, 14:46, More)