You will never believe what just happened to me! The short version is that I am currently being paid to not work. I am at home right now not working. If I try to work I will be shouted at profusely so I am sat not working on a beanbag listening to the radio.
The year 2020 has been a strange one so far and it continues to get weirder the more we slide through it. The outside world is still there, I can see it, through the big windows in the living room, and it looks fantastic. I reckon that for the moment I am going to stay here and admire it from afar. Besides, it looks a little chilly and I’ve got this patch of dry skin on my hands that the low temperature will not do any favours for.
I have decided to try and do one drawing, sketch or doodle a day for something to look forward to and possibly upload on Twitter (the Book of Faces does not deserve my “talents”) for the world to admire. I hope to have a wall of my efforts with which I can look back on and laugh slobbily, possibly sell to some passing rich aristocrat (they’re always using the footpaths round here) and then retire to the country, doing the same thing I’m doing now, but with a little more style, panache and some hot ladies in a hot tub serving hot drinks.
Look at the time. Now we’re late. What were you thinking?
As we have pirouetted into both a new year and a new decade we need to address a massive problem that has been in plain sight all this time and nobody has bothered to address. Luckily I have the brass cohonies to step up to the plate and plok that sucker right out of the park (what?) unlike everyone else.
Chris’ personal hero and best friend, Gary Wilmot, hasn’t been seen much recently. In fact the last time I saw him anywhere was around 2010 when he was playing the role of ‘guy in a tuxedo’ in some production of Chicago. You know, because he can sing and dance, and everyone loves him as a showman and all round entertainer? I expect his plate is full of meaty morsels however I want to bring him back to where Wilmers really shines and that’s on the television.
Here’s my idea – ‘Wilmot in the Wild’. It’s a light entertainment show, perfect for the 6:00pm to 8:00pm Saturday evening slot. Each week a series of contestants, those lucky members of the general public, are given some clues as to the whereabouts of where Gary Wilmot is hiding. They follow the clues to more clues and it’s a gigantic treasure hunt where Wilmers is the pot of gold waiting at the end. The first contestants to find him win a luxury hamper and get to perform a duet with Gary, on stage, at the local karaoke bar. We move around to a different city each week so we can really take in the sights up and down the country. The hampers can offer various local produce. I can even get some of my meat balls in there to really seal the deal in a wigwam.
Wilmers will, as a bonus, secretly stalk the contestants as they look for him with a view to offering a post-modern take on the gameshow format. He will also interview passers-by, usually dressed in a hilarious disguise, so nobody knows who he is.
This cannot fail. With the right financial backing I know that I can get this project up and running in time for the Autumn schedule. Start sending your money right now, please!
You’ve made it. You’ve finally made it. All the way here. And now, all that stands between you and Three Cornered Stanley himself is the garden gate. Go on – reach over, open the latch, push the gate open and step in. Step right in to the world of Three Cornered Stanley.
This is it. Your dreams are about to come true. It’s going to be alright now you’re with Three Cornered Stanley. He’s got a corner for every occasion and he’ll share them with you.
I spend a lot of time pondering things. Not the important questions such as ‘where are we going?’ and ‘why haven’t you got a proper job yet, you ape?’ more of a sort of middle ground, the kinds of dregs that search engines have where they sigh when someone asks ‘how many cakes are in a baker’s dozen?’ or ‘where did I leave my keys?’. I don’t believe that anyone is currently wondering where Middlesex went, other than me that is.
What was once a huge, bustling place is now a nothing. It’s a pimple. It’s a memory. There was once a time when everything came from Middlesex. It sat at the top of the hill and rolled blocks of cheese down at all the other counties, because it could. It was a bit of a back-handed compliment due to the fact that they were handing out cheese for free yet sending it at such high speeds that it was causing accidents and injuries; if you got hit by a huge wheel of Edam then you were not going to work for the rest of the week, that’s for sure.
So where did it go? Did it disappear in the mists like ‘Brigadoon’ and it only reappears one day every year? That would be incredible. Imagine walking around the shops munching on a bacon sandwich only for Middlesex to magically appear right in front of you. Wouldn’t that be special?
I think it’s only fair that the people get to know what happened. It is a story that will take all of my psychic powers to deduce, for only a tale like this can be told through the sketchy paranormal scientific field of psychokinesis. In my book I will shuffle through the wheat fields of the mind, dredging up the where, the why and the who. Maybe even the odd what. Possibly even a few wag-pasties. Yes, that is a real word because the internet said so.
Also this book has more sex than the entirety of the ‘Fifty Shades…’ trilogy. Not the kind that you want but it’s still sex, right?
As I have wallowed in video games for the last thirty years or so, it would be prudent to describe me as some kind of a master or genius. I have devoted a large portion of my life to putting blocks in place, shooting demons in the face and running around two dimensional landscapes dressed as a plumber; I am sure we are all aware of the delights of Italian Stereotype Brothers – Deluxe Edition. So what’s all this about, Ian? Why are you wasting one of your valuable posts with this bin bag of erudite chunder? There are tons of video games about Lord of the Rings. Go look for them you sad sack!
And you’d be right, there are, but none like the one that I am proposing. What the world needs is another rubbish one-on-one fighting game and I plan to elbow my way into the market using J.R.R Tolkien’s celebrated characters. I’ve seen the films a few times and I’ve read the graphic novel (sorry, adult comics) of ‘The Hobbit’ so I know what I’m talking about. I don’t even need to change the name because the title includes a bad pun that I can use for hilarious comedic effect.
Rings. Lord of the Rings. You have fights in rings and they’re fighting to become the best of the best i.e. the Lord, that Lord of all the others. And they may get a ring to celebrate the fact that they’ve won and they’re the Lord of the Rings. You get me? Shall I go through it again?
So we nick some fighting engine from another game, slap together some rubbish drawings of Frodo and the like, throw in some backgrounds near a castle and a volcano and then sell it on steam for £50.00. Steam. Steam? Steam. Who wouldn’t want to see Gandalf decking a tag team of hobbits? We can pretend that the ring has made them all go crazy and on the way to the Crack of Doom they stop for a bit of a punch up. Yeah. See? It all makes sense when I’m in charge. This is the right thing to do because kids can only connect with stories if they’re in some kind of media. The books are way too long and the films are decades (!) old now, nobody wants that. I can re-educate the nation through my shonky video game idea.
Chris, I know you’ve never played one before but a video game is similar to a board game but on a screen and there’s no dice.
Also if anyone wants to invest in my idea I’m going to need six million pounds.
The other day Ian sent me a text asking something about the new Beans editor, and I didn’t know the answer without having the editor in front of me to fiddle with. What I needed was a new post with some words in it. So I opened the Beans, made a new post, and started typing some nonsense to fill up the screen.
I just closed it when I’d seen what I needed to see, but next time I came here, my nonsense was still there, faithfully saved for me by the kindly Beans. At first I thought that was just because of some kind of auto-save function, but then I read it and realised: no. This was no automatic save. The Beans had seen what I had typed and recognised it for what it was. Sheer poetry. It calls to mind the most uplifting words in the English language. So, rather than keep it to myself, I have chosen to publish the words I wrote below, so that you can enjoy them too.
So now that we’ve hit the big cheese January shake-up, who is clamming for their next head-dunk into the world of greatness? As I am still assuming the role of Sherpa for you ingrates let me rustle up a steaming batch of hot sauce to keep you in the good books:
Fashion – light up your eye bulbs with this. So everyone thinks that lemonade sink holes are worth pursuing? Yeah, like a dog with cramp. Ditch that has-been and opt for Serlo Pumps, the best kind of shoes straight from Bulgaria. They’re sorted, they’re sassy and they’re climbing up your drainpipe for a little sweetness. Don’t close the window yet. If you’re ever gonna out-do Amelia Jossdon, with her pencil skirt and jam sandwiches, you need to plump up for pointed jodhpurs. That will make everyone scream like Mr Sheen.
TV – can you believe that they made eight seasons of Desperate Housewives? I gave up many, many moons ago yet for some reason and haven’t been back since. I expect it was because the smug voice-over put me into a coma every time an episode started. Russian export ‘Boots to the Roots’ is the latest new thing where famous people trace their family history, find distant relatives they’ve never met then turn up and kick the merry shit out of them. Australian docu-drama ‘Wazzock Paddock’ is also turning up the heat on both sides of the world. In it, a select group of idiots are kidnapped and thrown into a large paddock where they are asked questions to try and change their sexist / racist / misogynistic views, and if they don’t an angry kangaroo is lowered in.
Art – can beans be an art? Yes, they can. In honour of the wonderful food and snack Barry Wombfoot has enlisted the help of 100 people to create a massive hill of beans at the bottom of Ben Nevis in Scotland. Once it has been erected, Barry will use brown sauce to draw a picture of Phillip Schofield 200ft in the air whilst being suspended from a helicopter. To slightly more mundane activities where young artist Lilo Peel has knocked down her parent’s home in Dagenham, Essex and will build a new house entirely out of office supplies she has been stealing for the last two years from her place of work. The piece will be called ‘Self Eviction’ and has been both condoned by the Local Council and lauded by industrial showbiz wonderbot, Gary Wilmot.
Film – it’s a bit slow this time of year what with everyone gearing up for the awards season. That still hasn’t stopped the previously banned trilogy of films by Winky Bowson from sneaking into select cinemas in London. ‘Chop Chop’, ‘Chop Again’ and ‘Chop Chop Away’ have received the remastered treatment and for the cost of one sandwich in London (£365.17) you can catch all three in a special midnight screening in Camden Town. I won’t tell you why they were banned but let’s just say that you can’t do sit-ups that way anymore, times have changed and you shouldn’t use banana yoghurt in that capacity.
So there you go. You can waltz off into the night, safe in the knowledge that your level of cool is still off the chart. I’m running down to Doncaster for a nice sherry.