Luck be a Musician Tonight

I am one of those people who secretly doesn’t know how lucky they are.

That’s a lie, actually.

I am one of those people who occasionally is convinced that luck completely passes them by but, in actuality, it washes up like waves on a beach more often than not. For every instance of not putting one of those new five pound notes in my wallet (everywhere else they jump out and I’m a fiver down) there is something else waiting round the corner, be it a clear run into work on a morning or a one in a mil find on eBay.

Let me tell you about the 23 June 2019.

I am invited by a friend to go to a gig in case someone drops out. I am officially on the ‘waiting’ list so to speak. The closer it gets to the gig it is quite clear that the other person is not coming so the ticket is offered to me, and despite my pleas it is given for free (no, I’m not spitting rhymes over a hot beat, the sentence came out that way). The gig in question is Nick Cave in Conversation at the Sage. I have dabbled in wor Nick and the Bad Seeds over the years with mixed results. This is not the kind of evening that you say no to; you grab it with your sweaty hands and you run away screaming like a frantic, happy loon.

So I turn up and meet the rest of the friends group, who are all rallied round drinking wine, and everyone seems really nice. The usual polite tidbits of conversation are floated round although that doesn’t last for very long because out of the corner of my eye I can see a man approaching. He is coming directly for us.

“How many are in your group?” he says. We all look at each other, we need someone to volunteer as spokesperson. I don’t remember who but a few people stumble up that there are six of us. “Great,” says the guy, “how would you fancy sitting on stage with Nick? You have to be by this door at exactly 7pm (11 minutes time!) and wear these special bands. I’ll run you through the rest of the rules when you’re led to your seats.”

We all look at each other again; what just happened there? There’s not much time to lose though so we all rush to the toilet and head to the door. More stagehands lead us right onto the stage: there are tables set aside with candles on, creating a kind of arc around the middle, which contains a beautiful piano and nothing more. The rules are pretty simple; shut the fuck up, don’t go near him and don’t bother him. Even I, with my primitive brain can handle this.

Nick Cave talks and plays music for almost three hours. He is roughly ten feet from where I am sitting. Nobody is allowed to take photos of him when he is performing meaning that the only memento I have, apart from the ticket and the special band, is a picture of an empty piano with no-one playing it taken about half an hour before it all started. He was amazing, a voice still raw and strong, a plethora of songs all hand-picked on the night, right there and then, whatever people suggest or he feels like playing is done. I have never seen anything like it and I doubt I will ever again.

A Deliberate Accident

So recently I was pondering a question that nobody has yet dared to answer. Everyone knows what an accident is but what if someone was to do one on purpose? You see it all the time in films, TV and books; people set it up so something bad will happen to an unsuspecting person. It’s a deliberate accident. So why is it that there isn’t a word for this?

Both Chris and Kev couldn’t help with this conundrum, so it was down to me to bring this puppy home. After musing for the best part of a week it finally hit me on the way to work this morning. Combine the best part of both words and what do you get? Delibadent – a deliberate accident. It’s so simple I don’t know what it never occurred to me sooner. Hell, it should have occurred to more intelligent people a lot earlier than 2019.

Thankfully this now means the world is a better place for having my word, no, our word. It is my gift to the world. Go forth everybody and watch out for delibadents.

Tributes and Insults – Christopher Marshall

Look at this big ol’ berk here:

Look at his massive face. Why does anyone need a face that big? What has he done to his face to make it that big? All of these questions need answering and the sad fact that it is unlikely that we will ever get the responses we need.

The worst part about knowing Chris is that he’s always calling on a regular basis asking how I am and letting me tell him all my problems. There I am, trying to sit in my puddle of self pity, and he’s on the phone for about an hour trying to cheer me up. That’s the worst, it really is, however it gets worse than that. There have been times when he has not only encouraged my questionable behaviour but he has also actively joined in, such as the time that we both wrote letters to each other and did it in weird, wonderful ways. I still have most of them in a box somewhere. The most enduring, and awkward, of the letters was the one written on one continuous single line of paper that stretches on for what seems like miles. I’m struggling for space as it is and to have to find somewhere for this is just plain selfish.

I mean I am done with all of this. There is only so much that one person can take and really I have reached my limit. I hope that he is taking note of all of this because it is very personal and I mean every vicious, scalding word of it. You can take your pleasant, jolly attitude and your helpful, endearing friendship and you can shove it right up the puffin pipe.

You utter wanker.

Vague Answer Hotline

Sometimes you need answers:

What time will the train arrive?
When does the film start?
What time are we meeting in Leeds?

When you need these answers, what do you do? You refer to the source of the knowledge; The train timetable, cinema website or person you intend to meet.

There are other times however, when you need information but no matter how many times you ask you’ll never get a straight answer:

When are you going to do that thing Kev?
When is Chris in Leeds?
Ian, do you want a drink?

On these occasions why not make use of my new service, The Vague Answer Hotline.

Cut out the increasingly bizarre excuses!
Cut out 37 text messages where one will do!
Cut out obscure references to ‘celebrities’ you’ve never heard of and never will again!

Bored Operatives

Our operatives are sat around bored out of their minds, just waiting to give you a generic vague answer that will be just as much use to you as the answer you’ll eventually get anyway.

Why not try it for yourself and give us a call today?

Roll on with the Roll-On

Hey you, yes you, what’s up with you? Why do you smell so bad? It’s summer and you’ve got the sweats real bad. I could smell you from the other side of the room. So could all those other people who have now left because they couldn’t stand the smell.

I don’t mean to be completely judgemental but you need to sort yourself out and pretty quick. What you need is one of Kevindo Menendez’s new roll-ons:

The new range of roll-ons features fragrances and flavours not available on the current market, until now! You could very easily get one that smells like a dirty beach or a dank shower curtain but haven’t you always wanted to smell like a sausage roll? Or a spring roll? Or, for those with a sweet tooth, the confusingly titled roll-on jam roly-on poly-on? Kevindo Menendez has raised the bar when it comes to personal hygiene and you can be part of his roll-on revolution!

Get one now!

The Kevindo Menendez range features the following:

Sausage roll
Spring roll
Salmon spring roll
Jam roly poly
Bread rolls
And many more still to come…

In stores now. Kevindo Menendez; a family company.

A Big THANK you

There are a lot of heroes that never receive the recognition they deserve. They wander on, still doing their best, still going above and beyond the expectations of their peers and yet their trophy cabinet remains empty. It’s not as if they do what they do for the silverware though; they do it because nobody else can.

I would like to offer a warm slightly moist hug to those people and things. I open up my arms and welcome them into the happiness of my bosom, sometimes with a sympathetic tap to the head and a quiet word in their ear.

For there are many who don’t realise that without them the world would be a much darker place. I hope you all will join hands and put down your slush puppies, in that order, to slap a high five in the general direction of…

ELBOWS!

Chang’d Up / Chang’d Down

It is with a heavy heart and a great overwhelming sense of sadness that I must report that Kevin and his endless stream of DIY must unfortunately come to an end.

Having spoken with Britain’s ‘newest dad’ (TM) this weekend, he confirmed to me in an exclusive interview that he is done with doing up his diggs.

“Once I’ve finished painting the ceiling in the living room, that’s it, I’m done, no more!” he remarked without a hint of reluctance. At first I thought he was joking but the look on his face said it all, and woe betide me if he appeared almost relieved at the prospect of having a rest from scanting his chandeliers and blowing down his parquet beam shoddery.

What this means for the future is uncertain. The property will remain open to tourists for the next four months but will close prior to the summer period, usually when demand is highest. The rumoured eighth wing will no longer be in development and any hope of that elephant rack in the Southern district is completely off the cards.

All in all it means a net loss for the world and for England’s seventeenth biggest attraction.

Merry Christmas

Garforth LOVES Christmas.

If there is any doubt about that then this photo will silence all who dare to question it:

The day after this was taken some joker decided to blank out the ‘fucking’, so whilst the sentiment was still there it lost some of its potency.

I believe that Christmas is a magical time and if this is how Garforth feels about it then nobody has the right to take that away.

Pouring
Beans

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