End of the year

Good Morning ladies and gentlemen

It has been several months since the last official meeting of the British Mash Council. Since then we have acquired a plethora of new members. The profile of mash has grown considerably over the last six months and it only remains to say that this is all due to our hard work, commitment and fervour to the source material. Before, however, we crack open the champagne there is one final matter that we need to go through before the end of the year and that’s our new annual mash push over the next two months.

Granted we probably should have addressed these matters earlier given that November is but six days away however matters outside of our control (such as Gary’s vasectomy and Maureen’s slip on the cobblestones by the church) saw to that. There was simply no time to fit it in before now.

I therefore suggest a stealth drop of even more mash-based merriment through the usual advertising venues and an assault on social media. We already have a name, there’s no need to start handing out the pads of paper, Doris, so put them back in the lockbox. It was sitting right there in front of us the entire time and it has been plucked. ‘Christmash’ (not ‘Christ-mash’ which is what Tony thought it was when he first saw the sign, there’s a subtle art to it, Tony, I do hope you’ve cottoned on to that now) will be everywhere in the next few weeks. The signs have been printed and are currently sitting between the decorations and the unsold toys from last year’s ‘Mashtopia’ festival. I still am shocked that our selection of mash celebrities inclusing Paddy Mashdown, Richard Mashcroft, Mashley Cole, Mike Mashley and Jayne Middlemash did sell better given their likeness and overall quality. It just goes to show that you can know your audience and still not know your audience..

Do you know what I want to see? I want to see it all. I want to live in a world where instead of a white Christmas we have a slightly yellow, buttery hot ‘Christmash’ with kids playing and building Mashmen in the garden while mum and dad finish off the dinner. I want to live in a world where every tree is decorated in a blizzard of instant mash granules, topped off with a mash angel reaching out to the mashes of the world. I want to hear ‘Come All Ye Mashful’, ‘Oh Little Town of Mashlehem’ and ‘Mash to the World’ playing across the tops of houses, coming from behind the doors of churches and bellowing out of every carol singer in the Western hemisphere.

If we hit the ground running then we have nothing to worry about. I trust all of you to continue spreading the good name of mash and by this time in December it will the the best year for the British Mash Council since 2009!

Watchoo lookin’ at?

What’s your game, Gene Pitney?

Why you so smug, eh?

I see you, dressed in a sharp suit and turning towards the camera. That’s not a wry look on your face, Pitney, that’s the look of someone who knows something. So what do you know, Pitney? Do you know that you’ve got a great voice and before your passing in 2006 you were well-respected by pretty much everyone? Do you know that not only did you have a magnificent set of pipes but you also played instruments during the early part of your career? I didn’t know that but now I do.

Are you hiding the fact that you are also a gifted songwriter and had your fingers in a lot of pies in the 1960’s? Pretty chuffed that you wrote the lovely song ‘Hello Mary Lou’ for Ricky Nelson, later covered by Creedence Clearwater Revival?

Something in your pocket, Pitney? Perhaps it’s a diary of the time you were present when the Rolling Stones were recording their first album. What’s that? May have played some piano for them too?

Well I wouldn’t be that happy if I’d written the piss stain train tracks of ‘Rubber Ball’ by Bobby Vee, a song so irritating it should have cement poured on its feet and be thrown into the sea. Get in the sea, ‘Rubber Ball’. No more of that, Pitney.

Remember who you’re dealing with, Pitney. You’ll be twenty-four hours from my fist in your chops if you come at me like that again.

Newsboost – No more love songs

Devastating news has been reported from the United Nations after it was decided that, having reached the grand total of one billion love songs, there will be no more after midnight tonight.

When top-charting scuzz pop double act Mozz P released ‘Love Ring’ on streaming services at 9:01am this Monday little did they know how important a song it would end up being. I mean it’s not a great song, in fact it’s pretty awful and degrading to both men and women. I would even go so far as to say it’s less a song and more two idiots shouting, “LOVE RING! LOVE RING!” through an auto-tuner whilst someone else’s music plays in the background. It has, however, been decided that this will be the very last love song ever released and that moving forward no new love songs will be permitted. This may seem like a pretty harsh indictment but when you consider the evidence it makes perfect sense. Jupiter Bromport from the United Nations spoke with our reporter earlier this week.

“There’s too many of them. One billion songs? Are you kidding me?” mused Jupiter Bromport as she sipped a cappuccino from the side of her mouth. “We paid an intern to write an algorithm to work out the percentage of songs in the modern world concerning love and apparently a staggering 94.6% of all songs ever released are about love. We need a little more diversity. Considering the amount of “things” we have today it is strange that people still tend to dwell on the same ideas and notions. Nobody is condoning the universal appeal of love and all aspects of love but would it kill people to maybe write one about a pirate cat or a mud princess swimming in Stockport every once in a while? I personally would love more songs about what happens to your clean washing if you leave it on the floor for too long.”

The news has left several prominent song writers in quite a quandary. Ed Sheeran was seen downing a whole bag of ‘Pick ‘N’ Mix’ all at the same time. He refused to comment and spent over an hour hiding in the bathroom at the Butt and Oyster pub before climbing out the window. Billie Eilish openly protested when she heard the news; she threw a loud and nasal tantrum and then threw a tin of pop over a carousel horse in New York. Reports are still coming in however it has been mentioned that Ariana Grande may or may not have aggressively solved a child’s Rubik’s Cube in downtown Los Angeles. Whether it was to do with the news is still unconfirmed. We are still awaiting official news from Michael Buble and Lionel Ritchie.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. Roger Waters had been working on a new rock opera about the name change when cleaning product giant Jif changed to Cif in December 2000. Since the headlines first hit, his ticket sales have quadrupled, selling out venues all over the UK and Ireland.

Ian’s new book (new)

Yes, the moment you have all been waiting for is finally here. I know that I have asked a lot recently but the fact that you’ve all waited patiently means so much to me as a writer and a human being / doing.

Despite what some people have been spreading rumours about on here, as we and all the diehard fans know, ‘Three Shits to the Wind: The Secret Bathroom Attendant Within Me (M-Me)’ was a so-called spin-off book written by my old personal assistant and is not an official book in my ongoing series of self-help books. A hack can come in various different forms and there is nothing more hacky than passing yourself off as a competent author whilst releasing third-rate knock-off nonsense. Why settle for a mouse on toast when you could have the real thing right here, prime rib in your eyes? Disgusting behaviour.

The real deal. El trato real. La vraie affaire.

The name of my new book about to be released within the next week is ‘We: The New You’. Let me explain.

I have received letters from so many fans asking me to write a self-help book for those who have led multiple lives and may have multiple personalities within themselves. They can’t possibly use the assistance from my other multi award-winning volumes so it was only right that they have their time in the sun. Naturally I know that this will not be useful to everyone but as with my other New York Times’ best-selling books, even if you think you can’t learn anything new there’s bound to be something in there that will help you lead a better life. I guarantee it*

As well as that, ‘we’ can be applied to so many things: the royal ‘we’, ‘we’ as in couples, ‘we’ as in dogs and their owners, ‘we’ are in people living together etc. There are so many applications that it’s now my biggest book yet, literally; over one thousand pages of pure gold and at a low, low price of only £24.99 for the hardback and (coming in November) £17.99 for the paperback you can’t possibly go wrong. I’m not giving you this advice, I’m giving it to you for a reasonable price. I want you all to believe in yourselves and work through your problems in a safe and healthy environment, an environment full of hope and love and credenzas and little bowls filled with grapes and waterloo pumpkins.

*not guaranteed.

Chris GPT

An explanation is required. The temporary absence of Chris and the baffling disappearance of Kevin Hill (soon to be a hit West End musical) meant that up until recently I was facing the prospect of looking after the website on my own. Thankfully that didn’t end up being the case because with this much on the line (on the line!) there was a chance that 2007 Ian would come back from the pressure and nobody wants that. I was going to feed a bunch of Chris articles into AI and let them generate something to help post outside of my usual nonsense. Only one was fully finished so I present it to you as an indication of what could have happened…

I was wandering work thinking about the right temperature and colour of doilies when I decided that I needed a project. I needed something to get me back on trackingtons after several weeks on nightshifts with Lionel Ritchie. It was no use, nothing came to mind so I returned to France to ponder my future.

Then it hit me; build a wasp art gallery! Everyone loves bees and they’re coming back big like a big elephant so why not help the little guys and build a gallery? Bad press for wasps can only mean bad press for everyone. This was my greatest idea and I loved it so much I spent all night drinking tea and wondering why nobody had thought of it sooner. In the morning when the moon was dead Kate brought me some biscuits and I tossed them out the window at nobody (it’s a private joke we both have). I drove over to the roads museum and looked at maps with my eyes. I adore maps and roads and how they bring me joy. Their joy inspired me to draft a huge blueprint of my precious art gallery. I included bathrooms because (wheeeeeeey!) everyone needs to go at some point, even Wontons and Mike.

It was structurally sound after ten minutes. Not a boaster, never boastingtons ever, but look at me and how I work! Hard work too, the likes of which world push past IT BBC logical dreams are made of. Look, you don’t need to be me and don’t have jealous because my tools made something happen. I called up Gary Wilmot (who?) for some advice and he threw it at me like a puffin going after a kelp. Monstrous.

It only took seven years but I am proud of my efforts. Now the wasps can view the world in a different light and give them culture where it never was before. They can see tiny Cezanne and Van Gogh and other wonderful works of art. Will they stop stinging everyone? Probably not because give and take in the world of nature. I’ve given something back and they will appreciate me for doing so.

Dual life

I couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t even that funny but for some reason there I was, stifling my laughter in the corner of a Norwegian supermarket in the sweet aisle.

I was deliberately on the lookout for products that had unusual or silly names because I’m that kind of person. I take a look at the beautiful scenery, soak in the culture, sample the local delicacies and then push everyone out the way in the hope of finding a t*tbar or a c*ck pellet for a cheap laugh. You can judge me all you want.

We had already gazed longingly at the huge waterfall at the top of the hill and taken a multitude of photographs so it was time to see what other delights were available in this tiny village. The bank had been turned into a tourist shop, one of about half a dozen within the vicinity, and you could tell this because the store clerk kept disappearing behind the door of a massive safe for further stock. It was the only time it rained whilst we were away so the local swimming area was mostly abandoned apart from a couple of thrill-seeking nutters who had bothered to bring their swimwear.

The food shops and convenience stores were a bit of an eye-opener. With one product it explained just how wide the gap is between the UK’s pound and Norway’s Krone. A box of Pound shop, Christmas-only, I’ve-never-seen-anyone- eating-these-before-in-my-life ‘Toffifee’ was 73.90 Krone or £5.53. Imagine being so desperate for ‘Toffifee’ and having to spend over a fiver for the privilege; let’s hope it never happens to you. Further into the aisle I went and there I found a box of sweets with a friendly bear on the front.

The Bjornar Sota (sweet bear) is a loving, caring kind of bear and you can tell this in the way he gently caresses the sweets in his furry bear hands. Is he planning on eating them? Probably not, he’s too lovely for that. He’ll be tucking them up in bed and popping on a night light before quietly placing mugs of hot cocoa on the bedside tables for them.

The Bjornar sura though (sour bear) is a tired, grouchy old Grinch-esque character who doesn’t want to share his sweets with you or anyone you know, so don’t even think about it, sunshine. He’s clinging onto that confectionary for dear life (the expression on the bear’s face is priceless) and no matter how nice you are to him, he will not let go. He’s sour about you, me and everyone else in the world.

Are the sweet bear and the sour bear the same bear? Does he lose his rag and transform into his nemesis, his Mr Hyde? Are the two bears part of the balancing act the universe carries out so gracefully to ensure life can exist? You’re asking the wrong person so don’t even bother. All I know is that, more than ever, we all should be a bit more bjornar sota than bjornar sura.

Nish lives on

I decided I was too “hairy on the go” and needed to cut down on a bit here and there. The most obvious place was the top of my head so I decided to go for a haircut.

Modern life dictates that if you do not have a preferred barber or hairdresser then you have to choose the one that’s most convenient for you. I have tried a number of places over the last few years and can’t quite settle on one. They’re all fine, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing too special to go back to though (apart from the one where they gave me lots of coffee and made a huge fuss over my haircut however it cost twice as much as usual). There are two barbers near my work so I opted to walk past both of them, gauge how many customers were in each and select the one that was the quietest.

I meandered into the barbers with a queue of one and a half in front of me (the half was already in the chair and almost done by my eye but then spent another ten minutes having very little to nothing done to his bonce) and took a seat next to a glass cabinet of hair supplies and accessories.

It was a warm day so I stared nonchalantly out the door and around the room. It was then that my attention was immediately brought to the collection of items a little above my eyeline:

There it was. Nish Man hairspray.

In my mind what happened is that our mythical status grew and grew so much that we spread to the outer parts of Europe and Asia. There a large group of Turkeys (Turkians, Turkish? Turkpeoples) decided that in order to spread the word of how talented and funny we were, they turned us into an aerosol. I know it’s not the greatest explanation but what were you expecting, really? It’s me here, everyone.

It’s a legacy of some kind I suppose and one that will make your hair a good hair. I had a look and there are other products available for all your grooming needs including wax, hair wax, hair on wax hair, volume powder, styling powder, hair on wax powder, eye gel, eyebrow powder wax and strong fixative yellow.

Now available in all good barbershops.

Disappointment squared

What does disappointment look like to you? Is it a flaccid (easy now) aubergine that hasn’t managed to grow fully in your allotment? Is it a shiny new 50p coin with a huge dent in the edge? Is it learning that Claire Richards from Steps is coming back with a new solo album? It comes in many shapes and forms and sadly there is no escaping the silky, wet glove that is disappointment.

I recently went on a ship and sailed to a different part of the world. It was excellent all the time (whispers, “all the time”) and even though I must have eaten twice my weight in steak and burgers a good holiday was had by all. The ship was swimming in luxury. If you wanted to sit in a hot tub all day sipping champagne and eating tiny desserts you could. If you wanted to go to their cinema and watch four films back to back you could. If you wanted to watch a questionable stage production by one time flatmate of Robbie Williams, Jonathan Wilkes, then you could (the only time we went to the theatre was on the last day when we were leaving and there was no more time for japes).

Families with children were also catered for on a higher level. In addition to the various play rooms and activities there were pools, swimming pools, pools with pizza stations next to them and some kind of sports facility on the very top deck. I would have investigated however we all know I am allergic to 85% of sports in the general population. Did I mention the pools? They even had a night time nursery service so if you wanted to leave little Billy with a responsible adult so you could go get shit-faced in the bar and then return around 1am to pick him up then you could. You really, really could.

As two adults with no small people there was little chance that we could take advantage of any of these facilities. Not that we wanted to but, hey, nobody likes being left out. When the holiday was being booked there was the hint made by the company that some celebrities who would be onboard for a meet and greet. I heard ‘Wallace’ and ‘Gromit’ and I knew that I had to get involved in this kind of action. For four days there was no mention of them anywhere in the leaflets they left outside your day to inform you about the daily activities going on. Nothing whatsoever. Finally on Wednesday morning, cowering towards the bottom and wedged between something called ‘Jukebox Hero’ and ‘Pilates’, was the following:

“Wallace & Gromit Special Appearance – A special appearance from Wallace and Gromit. Come and say hello to the cheese-loving inventor and his faithful four-legged friend.”

We had to go. There was no way we could miss such an event as this. The queue was very long and started snaking through the whole of the atrium; clearly this was a big event for all. We decided to keep back and watch from afar rather than getting too close. Our location meant we could see everything. Like a couple of divas they were ten minutes late. What then happened can only be… well it needs… look at the damn photo:

Not even two people in suits. We’ve got a fully-sized Wallace and a tiny Gromit that he can fully pick up with one hand, no doubt sewn to his hand because he never put him down. I don’t know if the organisers of this even have ever seen ‘Wallace and Gromit’ but they’re fairly even in height due to the latter walking on his hind legs for a lot of the time. The kids that were hugging and posing for photos were fine with the arrangement; not a single one asked to speak to the manager or had some quiet words with a member of staff. It was clear that we were in the minority so we slipped away and discussed our respective disappointment over coffee and cake.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Toasty” McIver