Avatar Memories (approaching the grey hemisphere)

It is now only two days until I pass into official middle age, two days before it all comes crashing down upon me. Actually that’s not true. I have long since been comfortable with my transformation from hip thirtysomething into a forty year old man. I’m sure that forty year olds have a lot going for them and, if not, then I’m here to shake things up for them.

I started reminiscing (even more than usual) about my youth and decide to record some of the lessor-known facts in case anyone was interested. They are in no particular order and most of them are probably not worth hearing anyway. Consider yourself warned:

Dad’s Army

I watched a lot of television as a child. A lot. I spent most days flicking through the TV guide circling what I wanted to watch in the upcoming week. On weekends it was worse, starting around 6:30am for the kids TV, taking a little break around lunchtime when the “adult” programs started and then coming back in the afternoon for more cartoons, sitcoms and anything else. The BBC repeated tons of sitcoms over the weekend and I was there for them. In my tiny child brain I would sing, “Who do you think you are kidding Mr Kipling?” when watching the opening for ‘Dad’s Army’. Don’t ask me why, it doesn’t quite scan properly (which may explain a lot of my efforts at writing poetry) and there is absolutely no correlation as far as I’m aware between the beloved cake-maker and the murderous dictator.

Wizards

Later on I wanted to be a space cowboy but earlier on in my life I wanted to be a wizard. This may have been spurred on by what I read in ‘George’s Marvellous Medicine’. I would steal various shampoos, conditioners, bubble baths and sometimes things from the kitchen cupboards (the bathroom was next to my bedroom so it was easier to sneak in and out with my effects) and mix them together to create potions. Did I have a proper cup or beaker to do so? No, I used the top of an old toy that had broken off. It was as curved green pot thing that was supposed to be the top of the tree. I think my mum noticed things were oozing out of the back of the small wooden desk in my bedroom so they broke in to look at what I had been doing. It seems as though I had also mixed in a dead spider to my current concoction to, I don’t know, heighten the potency of the potion. Needless to say I was politely asked to stop.

Showing off

I did a lot of showing off. I had three other siblings to compete with, I had no choice. Right? Right. I’m glad we’re on the same page. During the summer holidays my dad would “borrow” a video camera from the school he was working at and we would make home movies of varying quality, mostly terrible. In the quieter moments I would use the camera to record whatever I thought would be a good idea at the time. Once I made a stop-motion video of my pink dinosaur killing himself by jumping off the end of my parent’s bed, and when I say stop-motion I mean practically still shots with huge jumps in the middle rather than painstakingly moving the dinosaur into the next position. The crowning achievement however was the time I recorded five minutes of me narrating a fictitious race between… well that part is lost to me. It was a race though because I was doing my best Murray Walker impression. I was young and I had a cold so my enunciation was pretty terrible. I moved the camera wildly from side to side saying whatever came into my head. The film is notorious for one line that my brother and sisters still bring up to this day. I cannot tell you what I am actually saying because there is no substitution in the English language that would explain it yet I cannot fully believe I would say what I said at the age of 6 or 7. What did I say? Sigh. “I wanna see some boobies!” I didn’t fully know what boobies were at that age so why I would want to see them is anyone’s guess. It’s baffling knowing that it’s me and not being able to understand what I’m trying to say. The answer is lost to time.

Entrepreneur

One more before I go. I had a knack of trading things at an early age. In primary school I would take the toy or thing that came in the box of cereal and I would trade them at school with other kids for toy cars. I didn’t want the cereal toys, I wanted their toy cars and for some reason the other people thought this was a fair trade. In secondary school (you may have heard this one before) I would take the lunch that my mum had so carefully put together and sell it to someone in my form for the price of a school dinner which, I believe at the time, was £1.30. I did this every day so I came away with over a fiver a week to add to my pocket money pile. I used the money to go into town at the weekend to buy video games and CDs. My mum wouldn’t be home until after 5pm on a weekday so I would come home and eat bread (about a quarter of a loaf) and cereal to take away the hunger pangs I was feeling. She didn’t find out about this until I was in my twenties. I ate so much bread I believe it may have contributed to the intolerances I am now experiencing as an adult man, plus it made me round and chubby like the Pilsbury Doughboy from all the extra carbs.

Avatar Tiny pig

Having recently been tasked with trying to find more photos for the upcoming 2024 Pouring Beans calendar, I was looking through the various photos on my phone in the hopes of locating the ones of the boxes I used to keep in the corner of my bedroom that were riddled with various quips, zingers and bizarre things written down during phone calls from over a decade ago. Needless to say, the search is currently ongoing (although the boxes may be hiding in the one cupboard in my flat).

As I flicked through the many, many pictures in my possession I came across a series involving a tiny toy guinea pig. These clearly were taken by one or all three of my nieces and transferred via the usual means of Whatsapp. I definitely do not own a tiny guinea pig and did not spend time putting them in hilarious places so that I could take photographs to mark the occasion. We’ve all met me, right? It is the kind of thing I could potentially do, I’ll admit, however this time I am not the culprit.

Given that everyone absolutely loves the PicCollages that I make, I have decided to make a PicCollage to collect the best of the six in my camera reel. Suck deep and bathe, my friends.

Avatar The first horror of Christmas

Every year the supermarkets try to outdo each other with horrific Christmas-flavour snacks and party food. You can tell that none of it is a good idea because none of it comes back for a second year. Anyway, this is just to warn you that Tesco have taken an early lead in the horrible Christmas snack mash-up stakes.

Tesco Pigs in Blankets Flavour Coated Peanuts

Avatar Excuse me!

Typical. You need to use the payphone and some idiot decides to jam a collection of old storage boxes folded into the tight space along with packing material thus taking up all the area I need in order to make my phone call. I mean I can hardly use the phone on the street, everyone will hear my conversation.

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me.

Avatar Heist movie

Right, lads. Thanks for gathering here in the seedy basement criminal headquarters round the back of the seedy basement criminal billiards hall. Grab a cocktail stick to chew. I’ve spread out a blueprint on the table so gather round and have a look.

As you all know, this is the big one, the heist of the year. We’re going to lift four million nicker in used five pence coins from the Coinstar machine by the tills in Morrisons.

First off, we all need code names. Kevil, you’re Mr Blancmange. Ian, we’ll call you Mr Trifle. I’ll be going by the name Mr Bread and Butter Pudding. No arguing now, those are the names, if you don’t like it you can walk out the door and miss out on the biggest haul of loose change this country has ever seen. Alright? Good. We’re all in.

Here’s the plan. Meet round the side of the Morrisons petrol station at 3.15. Mr Trifle and Mr Blancmange will be at the air machine feigning an argument about the correct tyre pressure for the rear wheels of a heavily loaded Dacia Sandero in cold weather. I’ll be in the shop buying a bag of Jelly Tots. If I come out and show you a car wash ticket for a number four programme with hot wax, the game is on.

At that point we all get into the Sandero sharpish. Mr Blancmange will drive. Mr Trifle will jump in the boot so the car doesn’t look too full. I’ll sit in the passenger seat and crack open the Jelly Tots. Then we swing it round to the front of Morrisons and ditch the wheels in a parent and child bay. They’ve got extra room for the doors to open and they’re right by the entrance. I don’t care if we get a ticket.

From there we make it to the Coinstar machine under cover of a montage. Mr Trifle will play in some lively montage music on a bluetooth speaker. Then we get indoors in five montage clips.

  • One, Mr Blancmange slides the stack of shopping baskets in the way of the automatic doors to wedge them open.
  • Two, Mr Trifle grabs us three copies of the free monthly Morrisons recipe magazine to hide our faces by pretending to read them.
  • Three, I’ll offer the security guard some Jelly Tots so he’s not looking at the CCTV.
  • Four, Mr Blancmange grabs a 10p plastic bag from the self checkouts and covers up the camera.
  • And five, Mr Trifle humorously pauses by the display of flowers to pull a rose from a bouquet and tuck it into the buttonhole on his suit jacket.

When we get to the Coinstar machine we have sixty seconds to get it away before the checkout supervisor sees what we’re up to and raises the alarm. Mr Blancmange and I will lift the floor panel next to it, revealing a manhole down to the drains. Mr Trifle will then announce that he’s “got this” and we will leave it to him to push the machine into the hole.

When that’s done we jump down after it and ride it away through the sewers like a big cash-filled surfboard. The current will tip us out at the riverside where we can get a number 65 bus back here to the lair.

Any questions? No? Good. In that case, you put your suits on and I’ll get the Sandero out of the lock up. Everyone synchronise watches. See you outside in five.

Avatar 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!

Avatar 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.