A life in furniture

Living above a bed shop, you’d think that the item of furniture most at risk of overwhelming my life would be beds. But no: here in the London Borough of Royksopp, it’s sofas we’re drowning in.

As you probably already know, my domestic co-habitant, Steve “Stevey” Stevingtons, is immensely and sickeningly rich: certainly a millionaire, possibly close to Jeff Bezos levels of financial liquidity. So it was that, a month ago, he splashed out on a new sofa to replace his old one. It was a real beast of a thing, a mo-fo so-fa to seat five, with a cornery bit and a separate footstool thing. Absolutely glorious. But as soon as it arrived we both saw the problem: as spacious as our living room is, it’s not big enough for two sofas to be practical.

The old sofa was moved to the balcony for a while, which is also vast, but that was short lived once it got rained on. Steve was forced to dispose of it and for a time we were back to a one-sofa arrangement, until it became clear that the new sofa – hand-stitched in a small village in the Alps and delivered by helicopter at a cost well into six figures – had a saggy ass in one of the seats.

The Stevingtons dynasty are not known for tolerating shoddy workmanship, least of all drooping upholstery, so the new sofa was broken up and this week a third, identical sofa arrived in its place.

I am pleased to report that seating arrangements in the penthouse are now entirely buoyant and without any saggage in the ass or any other region, and I am hopeful that this sofa-saturated period has finally drawn to a close. Thank you for your time.

You a voley mother f… intervention

Christopher. I’m talking to you as both your friend and your alien overlord.

It has recently come to my attention, well, to the attention of all of us that you seem to be showing signs of unwanted behaviour. There have been times over the last few months where doubt has been creeping into our collective consciousness as to whether you are able to cope. Cope with what, you ask? I’d like you to take a deep breath and read your comments under Kevin’s eleventh (what a hard-working trooper he is) podcast, Celebration Days.

I need you to understand our reasons. If you’re allowed to carry on like this then it can only lead to worse things. Your love of roads will turn to a love of voles. You’ll spend your weekends scurrying along riverbanks with blades of grass between your teeth. You’ll open a bowling alley called ‘Hollywood Vole’ where all the balls have vole faces on them, all the items on the evening menu have titles with voles in and when you press the soap dispenser in the gents it makes the sound of a vole chewing on a dandelion.

You have to remember that what we do is out of love and kindness, even now as we’ve strapped you to a chair and put a roll of newspaper in your mouth, soaked in petrol. We know that you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently, which is fine, and we don’t expect you to change immediately overnight. This is a process which will require you to change significantly. Your view of the world will need to be distorted, then broken, then fixed back together with PVA glue before you can set foot outside again.

All this talk of voles just isn’t healthy. It was okay once or twice but you repeatedly brought it up. After the first few days it was all you could say and then Zoe took a photo of you in Hampstead Heath. It was the most shocking thing any of us had ever seen, and I’ve seen the film ‘Grease 2’.

When I’m done talking, Steve Steveingtons is going to loosen the shackles around your ankles so that you can move a little more freely. We’re going to watch a short film about the horrors of voles and then, after a light lunch with a little Q & A, we’re going to let you loose into the kitchen so you can make everyone a nice hot beverage.

Congratulations! It’s an orb!

Pregnancy, eh? What’s all that about?

I mean we all know what it is about, don’t we? Humans making more humans to fill the spaces that other humans have left. It’s the great circle of life, the wheel of fortune. If we didn’t make more humans, who would sit in all those prams? Who would use them nappies? And, heavens above, who would leave all those tiny Lego pieces on the floor for you to stand on them and wish you didn’t have legs?

Kevin has the luxury of having one tiny chilblain with another on the way. But does he? Research taken earlier today by Professor Reuben does now suggest that Kev and his lovely wife Sarah may just be on the verge of having an orb instead of a human baby. The most recent scan taken by, pft, “doctors” shows a much rounder form than previously anticipated. The subject, Mrs S Hill, has a very orbular shape around the stomach and wombular areas. When I gently placed my hand on top of the orb it kicked, then it hummed and then my palm felt warm. Orbs are known for emitting both humming noises and warmth.

This came as quite a shock to the both of them. Myself and Professor Reuben set out the facts as we saw them in graphic detail, which involved several large sketch pads, a teatowel, three inhaler cups (thanks, Kev) and a dozen bottles of mayonnaise. Within mere minutes both of them were crying with what could only have been joy. Yes, it did mean ruining the surprise of rolling out a glowing orb on the big day although we believe it was for the best. Society has not come far enough to embrace the orbs and welcome them into the playground, the classroom and, most upsetting of all, into our hearts.

What does that mean for the prospective parents? What do they have in store if they will be caring for an orb instead of a baby? In the interests of stretching out one very basic idea into several posts I have decided to extend this simple premise into a few separate articles of writing. I mean, why not? It’s the flavour of the month. Tune in next time for tips on how to look after their and maybe even your orb.

Happy Christmas, Ian

Everyone loves Christmas. It’s a special time of the year when I get very stressed trying to buy and wrap presents for all the people in my life and then somehow deliver them all to the right people so they will get to enjoy them on Christmas Day.

Almost everyone in my life got their Christmas presents and, on Christmas Day, opened them and hopefully enjoyed them. But not everyone in my life follows the usual path. Not everyone lets themselves be led by the forces of what is “normal” or “sensible” or “in any way reasonable”. Such as, for example, Ian.

In advising me how to get my presents to him, Ian suggested I drop them off at his mum’s house. I did this, at approximately 5pm on Christmas Eve. Ian’s suggestion was not, however as sensible as it seemed, or indeed sensible at all, because he only got those presents on his next trip to Leeds, and that was yesterday.

I could have posted them to Newcastle and he could have had them on Christmas Day. I could have brought them to Newcastle when I was there last month to see him. But no. This is not his way. This is not how his Christmas rolls.

And so, now that Ian has finally got his presents in early March, I am wishing him a very happy Christmas, and offering him my best wishes for 2019.

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.

Four Word Reviews: State of Mind

Ah, Holly Valance. We meet again. We’ve already reviewed the living daylights out of Holly’s first album, Footprints, just a few short months ago. Now, she’s back with her second (2003) album, State of Mind, in a Four Word Reviews first. I cannot even begin to imagine how this came to land on my doorstep so soon after the first.

Live in concert

For one night only, Pouring Beans presents The Porcelainettes LIVE on stage in the concert auditorium below the bell tower. Don’t miss this once in a lifetime chance to catch one of the world’s most hotly tipped up-and-coming ceramic bands in the plush surroundings of this website!

Featuring great covers of classic sing-along hits such as:

“Livin’ Doll”
Nina Simone’s “Little Girl Blue”
Kraftwerk’s “The Model”
“Achey Breaky Ceramic Heart”
“Tiny Dancer”
Annie Lennox’s “Walking On Broken Glass (And Pottery)”
“Statue Got Me High” (it’s a TMBG song, I don’t expect you to get the reference, it’s just for me really)
“Fade to Grey (Hair)”

And many many many more.

Book now!

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.