tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45562357111362931172023-11-15T05:43:17.327-08:00Laylo's vented spleenA place of sanityLaylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-87540735498226839382013-07-18T01:09:00.000-07:002013-07-18T07:07:09.094-07:00Be Pretty<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">Be pretty </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">Be good to the cat when i die </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">For you may not know that i used to lie </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">In that place in the sun he loves so much </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">When the house was silent and free of mockery </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">I used to lie there and plot and scheme </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">Till one of us should fall </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">It must be me or reading this will mean nothing </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">It must be me but know that </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">When you lie in that place in the sun </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">I will be the sun's fingers </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">Caressing your neck </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d4141; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeueRoman, HelveticaNeue-Roman, 'Helvetica Neue Roman', TeXGyreHerosRegular, Helvetica, Tahoma, Geneva, Arial, sans-serif;">And your blushing cheeks </span>Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-12889577349004556212012-10-08T05:52:00.001-07:002012-10-08T05:52:36.957-07:00Dirty movieExt: A windswept, raining, grotty looking city street<br />
The camera spots and follows a man dressed in a dark raincoat and
baseball cap as he moves furtively up the street. He reaches an entrance
to an old style movie theatre and goes inside<br />
<br />
Int: A darkened cinema room<br />
Our figure enters and the light momentarily shows a screen of similarly
perverted-looking men simulating naughty acts alone and in pairs and
groups<br />
Our figure wanders down the aisle, find a seat and slips down low into it.<br />
The camera pans towards the screen to display the title of the movie 'The Jimmy Savile Story'<br />
<br />
The crowd: (in a perverted way) Yeahhhhh<br />
<br />
The Screen: 'A BBC Production'<br />
<br />
The Crowd: Oh for f**ks sake<br />
<br />
Camera pans away<br />
<br />
Savile: Uh UH UH etc Howsaabout that then boys and girls?<br />
<br />
END
Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-12905108837031853592012-09-16T14:50:00.000-07:002012-09-16T14:50:23.425-07:00ClassINT: A Room<br />
Three men of equal height stand facing the camera<br />
<br />
LEFTIE: I'm middle class. I look down on him but up..<br />
<br />
MIDDLE-IE: No, no, sorry. I'm middle class. You're upper class.<br />
<br />
LEFTIE: I am not. I'm middleclass.<br />
<br />
RIGHTIE: and me!<br />
<br />
MIDDLE-IE: (To LEFTIE) You are not! You live in South Ken, you've a
country pile out in Sussex somewhere, you play polo for f**k's sake!<br />
<br />
LEFTIE: Ah! But I watch X-Factor....and the footie. Chelsea! Chelsea! Chelsea! Anton Ferdinand, I ask you.<br />
<br />
MIDDLE-IE: What the f**k are you on about? And you! (Turning to RIGHTIE)
You were on Jeremy Kyle, you're on jobseekers, the CSA are after you
for payments<br />
<br />
RIGHTIE: Yeah but I've got a conservatory, a cardigan and I love those little triangular sandwiches, innit?<br />
<br />
MIDDLE-IE: I...What?! What's that got to do with anything?! I can't work like this!<br />
<br />
(MIDDLE-IE storms off)<br />
<br />
RIGHTIE: Fancy a pint geez?<br />
<br />
LEFTIE: Spiffing
Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-45647209843789330802012-09-05T10:38:00.000-07:002012-09-05T10:38:08.422-07:00The Golden DongInt: TV Gameshow Studio<br />
<br />
GERRY: Welcome back to the Golden Dong, the gameshow where contestants
are just forty seven different, perplexingly complicated steps from
winning ONE MILLION POUNDS!<br />
<br />
(Woops from audience)<br />
<br />
GERRY: Before the break, Toby, a pest eradication expert from Taunton,
had just bust the Golden Nut after chirpsing The Golden Doris once
acquiring the Golden Aftershave. (beat) <br />
Now Toby, are you ready to play for the Golden Rash of Golden Shame?<br />
<br />
TOBY: Err, yes I am Gerry<br />
<br />
GERRY: OK! Right then, to proceed into the rash matrix you need to answer this simple question: Why don't women like me?<br />
<br />
TOBY: Err, you what?<br />
<br />
GERRY: Why don't women like me? I mean, I'm not bad looking, if I say so
myself, hey. Is it my breath? I get a little paranoid about my breath
but I do brush three times a day so it can't be my breath, can it? Is
it? I try to be funny and kind and all that. I even watched The Vagina
Monologues once although, not my cup of darjeeling if I'm honest. I try I
really do. So, what is it? Why don't they like me?<br />
<br />
TOBY: I don't know. You're trying too hard maybe.<br />
<br />
GERRY: (Consults card) No, I'm sorry, it's because of my puritanical
religious beliefs combined with my wandering hands. (beat) I bet it was
Linda who did this. That beautiful beautiful angelic filthy WHORE!
Anyway, bad luck Toby
Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-83226804972081208922012-08-19T15:18:00.000-07:002012-08-19T15:18:10.839-07:00Arnold's Gardening ServicesExt: A Garden. ARNOLD (dressed in gardening clothes) is speaking to Mr LAWRENCE (an old and deviant looking man)<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: Hello Mr Lawrence! We spoke on the phone. I'm Arnold. I've come to talk about doing your gardening for you.<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: Hello! I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me but i don't trust you. You'll have to answer some devilish questions before i'll consent to give you my custom m'laddo.<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: Ri...<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: (pointing) What's that?!<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: Oh, that's Lavender. Likes it quite dry and not too rich.<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: (pointing) Oh. What's that?!<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: Camelia. Blooms in early spring. Dead head it and it'll bloom more vigourously next season.<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: (pointing) Oh. What's that?!<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: What?<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: That, there.<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: Where? Behind my van?<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: So, you know it's name.<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: My van?<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: Yes, and??<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: (beat) It likes diesel. Is full of tools. Occasionally a bit tricksy to start on cold mornings. Does this weird thing with the electric windows sometimes.<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: (Pointing) Oh. What's that?!<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: That appears to be a life size cardboard cut out of BBC Sports presenter Hazel Irvine.<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: Yes?<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: While equally adept in football, rugby, athletics or show jumping, Hazel really thrives on snooker and i suspect is getting a portion off John Virgo.<br />
<br />
MR LAWRENCE: My Hazel? With that big brute from Big Break? Never! Never I say!<br />
<br />
(He composes himself)<br />
<br />
Well, everything appears to be in order. Can you start on Wednesday?<br />
<br />
ARNOLD: No.<br />
<br />Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-15182623885346463962012-08-10T00:22:00.001-07:002012-08-10T00:22:42.389-07:00Morse: The Early YearsVoice-over: And now on ITV3, back to the concluding part of Morse: The early years<br />
<br />
Int Police Station Cell-block. Decor and cut of uniforms gives off a
late 70s feel. MORSE is in a Seargents Uniform, LEWIS is in a PC's
uniform<br />
<br />
LEWIS: (in
Newcastle accent) So, Seargent Morse, divent ye nar n allreet n all
that pet, like. So, Lady Caroline is dead. Sir Charles is in a coma.
Baronness Aldershot has an alibi and even Sir Nigel, the self-made
millionaire industrialist with a chip on his shoulder, is in the clear. I
just don't understand it, like. It looks like someone is going to get
away with murder. Ya canna believe it man. This is the seventies, like!<br />
<br />
MORSE: The seventies? (Beat) My God, Lewis, I've been so stupid!<br />
<br />
Cut to: A police Mini Metro gunning down the street. A squeal of tires and it skids to a halt.<br />
<br />
Cut to: Int Police Interview room. A wide eyed, scared looking black man
with bruises on his face is in the background as MORSE and INSPECTOR
are talking as they leave the room and enter the corridor, Camera
follows them.<br />
<br />
INSPECTOR: So Morse, you're telling me this Jamaican man who, judging by
the ticket stubs in his pocket, was in London at the time of the
murder, is in fact the murderer.<br />
<br />
MORSE: He confessed sir!<br />
<br />
INSPECTOR: Oh right, let's all go and get pissed then.<br />
<br />
INSPECTOR walks back in to interview room. <br />
<br />
INSPECTOR: (from off screen)I say, MORSE, this man has broken fingers and he appears to have(beat) shat himself.<br />
<br />
MORSE: (looking sheepish) Yes, sir.<br />
<br />
INSPECTOR walks back into corridor<br />
<br />
INSPECTOR: I say, bloody good policing. You'll go far MORSE, you'll go far. Just, one thing puzzles me. Why a jamaican?<br />
<br />
LEWIS: Cos we couldn't find an Irishman.<br />
<br />
ALL three laugh heartily.<br />Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-53063359765581117842012-08-05T10:13:00.000-07:002012-08-05T10:13:10.689-07:00Job InterviewInt Office<br />
RICHARD is interviewing WALTER. They are both american.<br />
<br />
RICHARD: So, why do you want this job?<br />
<br />
WALTER: I, err, want to explore strange new worlds<br />
<br />
RICHARD: Yes<br />
<br />
WALTER: Seek out new life and new civilisations<br />
<br />
RICHARD: Yes, can I stop you there. That's from Star Trek.<br />
<br />
WALTER: I'm sorry, I know. I have pop cultural tourettes syndrome.<br />
<br />
(Checks watch)<br />
<br />
Uh oh. Fifteen minutes to Judge Wapner.<br />
<br />
RICHARD: I see...there seems to be a large gap in your resume. Would you care to explain that.<br />
<br />
WALTER: Theorizing that one could time travel in his own lifetime Dr Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum accelerator and..<br />
<br />
(Whispers)<br />
<br />
..vanished.<br />
<br />
RICHARD: (Looking suspicious) I see<br />
<br />
(beat)<br />
<br />
WALTER: Oh Boy<br />
<br />
RICHARD: Let's move on. Do you have a clean driver's licence?<br />
<br />
WALTER: (Rocking slightly) I'm an excellent driver. I'm an excellent driver.<br />
<br />
RICHARD: (Gives a deep sigh) Can you tell me anything about your ambitions?<br />
<br />
WALTER: As far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a gangster.<br />
<br />
RICHARD: Right!! Well, I think that's everything I need to know. Your name will be added to the shortlist.<br />
<br />
WALTER: The list is an absolute good. The list is life. All around its margins lies the gulf.<br />
<br />
RICHARD: Uh huh. (beat) well, we'll see you at the next round of
interviews but between you and me I think you got it man. I look forward
to working with you here on the script team of Family Guy.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-22300326231030728032012-07-18T01:33:00.001-07:002012-07-18T01:33:30.860-07:00Welshnt: Living Room<br />
<br />
A young man is talking to his parents<br />
<br />
Son: Come on mum, sit down. I've got something to tell you.<br />
<br />
Mum: But why not have a cup of tea first?<br />
<br />
Son: Mum, please, just sit down. This is important.<br />
<br />
Dad: What is it son?<br />
<br />
Son: (on the verge of tears) Dad (beat) Mum. I think I'm Welsh.<br />
<br />
Mum: Oh Darl..<br />
<br />
Dad: You think or you know?<br />
<br />
Son: (beat) I know<br />
<br />
Dad: Since when?<br />
<br />
Son: Since always I think. I believe I was born Welsh.<br />
<br />
Dad: You were born in Bracknell. Unless... (turning to Mum accusingly)<br />
<br />
Mum: (To Dad) Don't be silly dear. I'd never go with a Welshman. (Turning to son) No offence son. (Beat)<br />
It's because I listened to Men of Harlech when you were a baby isn't it? And those trips to Aberystwyth when you were small?<br />
<br />
Son: Don't blame yourself Mum. There's nothing to be blamed for. I'm fine!<br />
<br />
Mum: I knew it all along you know. All that time spent moping around as a teenager.<br />
<br />
Son: Yes! It was really my national dourness and pessimism!<br />
<br />
Mum: It explains so much<br />
<br />
Son: Anyway, I'd best away. Me and some of the lads are going to speak
Welsh around some english people for no other reason than to make them
feel uncomfortable..(beat) Ah, I feel so much better.<br />
<br />
Dad: Now, we've got that out of the way might you be settling down with a nice girlfriend any time soon?<br />
<br />
Son: Oh that? I like cock Dad, didn't you know? Anyway, Hwyl!
Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-69505702740454783402012-07-10T08:10:00.000-07:002012-07-10T08:10:34.740-07:00Based on a true storyInt House: Hallway<br />
A middle aged man, Bob, is pushing buttons on a fax machine. A young man, his son, Dave, walks up to him.<br />
<br />
DAVE: Are you still using the fax machine. Why don't you send an email?<br />
<br />
BOB: Son, I like faxes. You know where you are with a fax machine.<br />
<br />
(The fax machine gets a ring tone and dials)<br />
<br />
Voice From out of the fax machine: Hello? Hello? HELLLLOOOO?! Hello? FOr god's sake<br />
<br />
BOB: FAX! It's a FAX! FAX!!<br />
<br />
DAVE: Dad, she can't hear you. It's a fax machine. It hasn't got a microphone<br />
<br />
Voice: Hello???<br />
<br />
BOB: FAX!<br />
<br />
(Fax machine hangs up)<br />
<br />
DAVE: You've dialled a phone number, not a fax number. I bet that's what you've done.<br />
<br />
BOB: Why doesn't she switch it over?<br />
<br />
DAVE: Because it's not a fax number and she can't. She might be nothing to do with whoever you're sending a fax to.<br />
<br />
BOB: Are you sure it's got ink in it<br />
<br />
DAVE: Ink? The sending and receiving of faxes has got nothing to do with ink dad, we've been through this before.<br />
<br />
BOB: Go check on your grandad<br />
<br />
DAVE: Just cancel and redial<br />
<br />
(BOB starts to open the fax machine to check for ink)<br />
<br />
DAVE: It's nothing to do with...<br />
<br />
BOB: Go check on grandad<br />
<br />
INT Sitting room<br />
<br />
Grandad is asleep in the armchair in front of the TV with his feet
stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The dog, a labrador, comes in
and starts to heave and then promptly throws up on grandad's feet.<br />
<br />
We see Dave start to open his mouth and then stop again. <br />
<br />
BOB: (From out in the hallway) FAX! FAX! FAX!<br />
<br />
Dave sits down and places his head in his hands...<br />
<br />
We hear the dog start to eat his own sick...<br />
<br />
DAVE: (quietly) Good dog. Good dog<br />
<br />
As said, this is based on a true story. It's actually a combination of two stories and is probably a waste of both. My father has an unhealthy relationship with the fax machine combined with a shockingly poor grasp of the technology behind it. This leads him to misdial regularly and then shout 'FAX!' at the fax machine. It was funny the first time. After the hundredth time it can get a little tedious, particularly after having explained the situation every time. He genuinely believes sending a fax requires ink and, of course, that shouting 'FAX!' will somehow make the person at the other end know what to do with it.<br />
<br />
The other part, i used to babysit my grandad. When my grandad was living with us it seemed like my folks were always out every evening. This was a bummer because it meant i was in charge of grandad but also a good thing because i could sneak out the back and smoke a spliff. (This is also the reason i'd volunteer to walk grandad home, so i could smoke a jay on the way back). So, grandad is asleep. I'm buzzin out my tiny teenage mind, in walks the dog and throws up all over his feet. I sit there thinking "did that really just happen?" and eventually manage to snap out of it. I go to get a cloth and some water. While i'm doing that the dog's thinking "Hey, what's this? Food!" so the dog gets most of it up. Luckily, grandad is wearing patent leather slippers so it's fairly easy to wipe his feet clean. I'm trying to be as quiet as possible. He opens one eye at one point but goes back to sleep. Think i rewarded myself with another zoot. <br />
<br />
Cool story bro etc...Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-64440508711534115092012-06-29T09:51:00.000-07:002012-06-29T09:52:22.210-07:00To boldly goInt: Bridge of Spaceship. CAPT GRANT, a human, is speaking to NARNON, a
blue hairy alien type; use your imagination. They are both sitting.<br />
<br />
CAPT: So, what makes you feel you'd be right as a pilot?<br />
<br />
NARNON: I'm a splendid communicator Captain Grant. I'm conversant in 400
languages including text speak and illiterate facebook chav.<br />
<br />
CAPT: Oh, really? I could never get my head around it at the academy.<br />
<br />
NARNON: It's not that complicated really. You just swap i's for y's and
end every sentence with 'innit blud' and you're halfway there.<br />
<br />
CAPT: It says here that you were almost part of the Technotronic Galaxial Royal Family.<br />
<br />
NARNON: Yes. I was due to marry Princess Mardiothon but I just couldn't go through with it.<br />
<br />
CAPT: Why ever not man?! Think of the money, the power, the pan, the
van, the Boursin. Besides, I heard technotrons can do strange and
wonderful things with their third inmurpredates.<br />
<br />
NARNON: (beat) There will be things I'll miss about her but it would
never have worked. The whole family support Accrington Stanley.<br />
<br />
CAPT: Accrington Stanley? Who are they?<br />
<br />
NARNON: A shit football team from the Northwest of
England....originally. But now, they are part of the Neo-scouse
Religious Soccer league. Games last days. Cars are ceremonially left on
bricks and it's frowned upon if you don't chant (in scouse accent)
'Exactly' over and over again. I just couldn't do it anymore.<br />
<br />
CAPT: So how did you get out of it then?<br />
<br />
NARNON: Oh, I just whistled the tune to Please Release Me until she
asked what I was singing. Then I sang her chorus while giving her the
finger. I still have bruises on my dwarfinin. <br />
<br />
CAPT: So, do you want the job.<br />
<br />
NARNON: Don't you need to see any credentials. You've not asked if I can fly the thing yet.<br />
<br />
CAPT: Fly? This is Transport for Pluto, Pal. We're on strike till next
year. You'll have plenty of time to learn. Welcome aboard comrade.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-42231760458571149462012-06-15T10:04:00.000-07:002012-06-15T10:45:34.262-07:00The warehouse sketchINT: Warehouse. Dave is mid 50s, Rupert is early 20s, student looking.<br />
<br />
DAVE: Is it you n me stackin' these pallets then?<br />
<br />
RUPERT: Looks that way, yeah.<br />
<br />
DAVE: I'm DAVE by the way, mate.<br />
<br />
RUPERT: RUPERT<br />
<br />
(DAVE looks digusted and confused)<br />
<br />
DAVE: Err<br />
<br />
RUPERT: I'm RUPERT<br />
<br />
(Dave looks more confused)<br />
<br />
DAVE: Ruth?<br />
<br />
RUPERT: No, Ru..pert. You know, like Rupert the Bear.<br />
<br />
DAVE: OH! Reaper.<br />
<br />
RUPERT: No, Rupert. Rooooo Perttttt. But call me Rupe if you like.<br />
<br />
DAVE: Oh! I get it. Of course. Sorry.<br />
<br />
RUPERT: No worries.<br />
<br />
DAVE: Right, shall we get on. Anyway, did you see the news? Blacks,
pakis, immigrants, taking our jobs, Diana? Never a goal, offside,
blacks, indians, shouldn't be allowed, the war, blacks, pakis.....<br />
<br />
Fade to black<br />
<br />
CAPTION READS 'THREE HOURS LATER'<br />
<br />
Fade in<br />
<br />
DAVE: Immigrants, shouldn't be allowed, taking our jobs, pakis.<br />
<br />
RUPERT: Uh huh.<br />
<br />
Bell rings.<br />
<br />
DAVE: Right, that's break time.<br />
<br />
INT: Break room, crowded with people drinking tea<br />
<br />
DAVE: Hey guys, this is Reece.<br />
<br />
RUPERT: err. Hi Everyone, I'm Reece. Pleased to meet you.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-84638024864369161322012-06-15T10:02:00.001-07:002012-06-15T10:02:54.324-07:00The third group game sketchFX: Crowd noise<br />
<br />
Commentator: Not much has happened in this Euro 2012 match so far as we
near half-time. TWO TIMING LOVE RAT picks it up near halfway. He passes
to FREQUENTER OF AGING PROSTITUTES who quickly returns it. There doesn't
seem to be anyway through and yes, I'm afraid it's going all the way
back to SEEMS LIKE A NICE GUY BUT THAT'S WHAT WE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT
WELSH CHAPPY; HE'S PROBABLY THE NEXT FRITZL.<br />
<br />
Out on the sidelines BORING SPEECH IMPEDIMENT BUT DEFO NOT A TAX EVADER seems to be giving out some hurried instructions.<br />
<br />
The goalie rolls it out to RACIST FRIEND CUCKOLDER who offloads it to
DRUNKEN ASSAULTER. He turns, knocks it into FREQUENTER OF AGING
PROSTITUTES who knocks a superb ball down the line to HORRENDOUS DIVING
CHEAT. Oh, that's a lovely piece of skill to beat his man to the byline
and he whips in a good cross and (beat) SHAMEFULLY OVERPRICED WIFEBEATER
is there! but no, he holds it up and plays in AGING PROSITUTES (beat)
AGING PROSITUTES scores!!<br />
<br />
Oh! Doesn't it make you proud to be English?!<br />
<br />
That's right on the stroke of half-time too. Game on. Now back to the
studio where JUNKFOOD PEDDLING CRADLE SNATCHER is talking to NORTHERN
MORON and BLATENT CLOSET CASE.<br />
<br />
end.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-69274143439490736002012-06-15T10:01:00.003-07:002012-06-15T10:01:17.209-07:00Va Va Voom sketchFX: Birdsong, sound of crickets and cicadas<br />
<br />
FX: The sound of a car pulling up on gravel, a car door opens and closes<br />
<br />
Hunt: Papa?<br />
<br />
Older Frenchman: Nicole!<br />
<br />
Hunt: Papa?<br />
<br />
Older Frenchman: Nicole!<br />
<br />
Leveson: (lots of reverb)<br />
Mr Hunt?<br />
<br />
(Beat)<br />
<br />
(Clearer)<br />
<br />
Mr Hunt?<br />
<br />
Hunt: Huh? Where? Ah, yes Lord Leveson. I, er, don't know where I was just now? What were you saying?Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-22948687339861299912012-06-15T10:00:00.000-07:002012-06-15T10:00:11.468-07:00Goodbye Mr Fry sketchINT: 1950s Classroom, Black and white film<br />
<br />
An elderly teacher walks in. We see two pupils, PERCIVAL and GATSBY<br />
<br />
PERCIVAL: Hello Mr Fry!<br />
GATSBY: Hello Mr Fry!<br />
<br />
Mr Fry looks sad<br />
<br />
MR FRY: Oh Hello boys<br />
GATSBY: Are you ok sir?<br />
MR FRY: Oh, oh yes my dear dear boy. It is marvellous to see you all.<br />
<br />
GATSBY (TO PERCIVAL): I say, Mr Fry doesn't jolly well look happy at all. What could the matter be?<br />
PERCIVAL (TO GATSBY): Oh, it's probably that he misses his wife, Gatsby. I've heard the other teachers mention it.<br />
GATSBY: Sir! Are you sad about your wife?<br />
MR FRY: Oh, no no boys, you don't want to hear any rot about that. Bally silly if you ask me.<br />
GATSBY: But sir, anything we can do to help<br />
PERCIVAL: Yes, sir<br />
MR FRY: Oh, alright. My dear wife was the most amazing person. Could
suck a golf ball through a hosepipe. We met through an advert she placed
on one of those anonymous online dating sites. 'BBW MILF seeks MMF
action'<br />
(Smiles and looks into distance)<br />
I'll always remember that. She was looking to get DP'd and film it to fund her crack and heroin habit.<br />
We were married at once and for weeks and months we were happy, cruising
the Basingstoke swingers scene. Oh boys, my boys, you're too young to
know yet that life can start so hopefully, and so full of joy but before
you know it you're in a darkened room with a gimp suit, a strap on and a
pregnant dwarf. You can still Google it I think<br />
<br />
GATSBY: Oh, sir. I'm so sorry.<br />
<br />
MR FRY: Oh, my boy, my dear boy. Don't worry. She left me for the dwarf
and they live in Norwich. They had a son. He went up to Cambridge, you
know. Fine fellow. And I...I have my boys, my wonderful boys and my
alcoholism and my pornography. I shall be just splendid.<br />
And enough of this rot, turn your textbooks to page 77, quicksmart.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-81135997563819312842012-06-15T09:57:00.000-07:002012-06-15T09:57:22.028-07:00PMT SketchINT: Bedroom<br />
<br />
Close up of an horrendous looking HELL-BEAST with salivating mandibles and red eyes<br />
<br />
Camera pulls out slowly to a shot that frames the bed and the door to the left of it whilst<br />
<br />
FX: sickening growling sound in time with HELL-BEAST's breathing<br />
<br />
We see HELL-BEAST is sat up in bed wearing a tattered pink pyjama top.
It's a double bed and HELL-BEAST is in the bed on the side furthest from
the door.<br />
<br />
HELL-BEAST: (in a woman's voice)<br />
Dave! Are you bringing that hotwater bottle?<br />
<br />
DAVE: (from outside the room)<br />
Yeah, just doing it. Was waiting for the kettle to boil.<br />
<br />
HELL-BEAST: Have you burped it?<br />
<br />
DAVE: Sorry, love, what did you say?<br />
<br />
HELL-BEAST: HAVE YOU BURPED IT? I LIKE IT BURPED.<br />
<br />
DAVE: (Evenly)<br />
I know, I'm just doing it, won't be a sec<br />
<br />
Enter Dave in pyjama bottoms carrying hotwater bottle<br />
<br />
DAVE: Here you go love. Was just switching off in there.<br />
<br />
Dave hands over hotwater bottle and gets into bed. The both get settled.
From the bumps in the covers we see DAVE extend a leg over and rub down
HELL-BEAST's lower leg and foot.<br />
<br />
HELL-BEAST: Dave, f**king seriously?<br />
<br />
DAVE: (beat) Sorry, sorry.<br />
<br />
End.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-44889243621415900492012-06-15T09:54:00.000-07:002012-06-15T09:54:34.711-07:00Plane SketchINT: The Cabin of a commercial plane<br />
<br />
STEWARD A is standing at the head of the left hand aisle. STEWARDESS B is at the head of the right hand aisle. <br />
<br />
Announcer's voice comes over the tannoy<br />
<br />
ANNOUNCER: On behalf of Cheapskate Airlines we welcome you, ladies and
gentleman, to todays flight from Winchester (beat) International Airport<br />
<br />
FX: (From outside plane) A cow moos<br />
<br />
ANNOUNCER Cont: To Tenerife<br />
Please note, in the event of loss of cabin pressure a mask will drop
from the ceiling in front of you. Place the mask over the mouth and nose
like this<br />
<br />
STEWARD A and STEWARDESS B are miming fitting the mask<br />
<br />
Announcer cont: and then place a two pound coin in the slot provided to
switch on the oxygen. Please note that the machine only accepts correct
change. One of the cabin crew would be delighted to provide change for a
mere two pound surcharge. Please ensure that you pay for your own
oxygen before paying for that of children or other loved ones. Please
note sharing is prohibited. The machine can tell and will cut off your
oxygen.<br />
<br />
In the unlikely event that we make an emergency landing on water, please
note that life-jackets are available to buy from the cabin crew. They
are currently priced at 9.99. Buy now to avoid disappointment. To be
honest, if we have to land on water, the chances of us surviving are
fairly slim, especially with this Captain, so perhaps you'd prefer to
put that 9.99 towards one of our ham and egg sandwiches.<br />
Please note that we do not give credit and we do accept sexual favours. Or at least Dave does. Don't you Dave?<br />
<br />
Steward A smiles.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-35076418353563996422011-11-06T14:35:00.000-08:002011-11-06T14:35:26.616-08:00Music to watch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/t74BiBmBizk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
No comment really. Found this. It reminded me a my youth. Enjoy.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-90956285335312682512011-11-06T14:34:00.000-08:002011-11-06T14:34:10.406-08:00Black Eye<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
</w:Compatibility>
<w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ansi-language:#0400;
mso-fareast-language:#0400;
mso-bidi-language:#0400;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Little exercise I'm doing for a course. Not that pleased with it really but enjoy nonetheless.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">I hadn’t wanted to go to
that stupid party anyway but I’d been asked to spin tunes and you don’t say no
to big Tony. It was a terrible night, loads of drunken, flirty housewives
who you have to carefully flirt back to without giving them the wrong
idea. You never know who they’re married to. Their husbands might
be friends of Tony’s. I don’t like them kind of parties. The crowd
is too varied. If you’re playing one from the seventies they want one
from the eighties. If you play a new one, they want an old one. A
sweet looking old lady came up to me and basically said I wasn’t very good, and
requested Eartha Kitt or something.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">I was supposed to be
driving the lads home but they’d been acting up. Apparently some famous
footballer was staying upstairs in the hotel<span>
</span>and the lads had found their way into the mail room and ‘half-inched’ a
package for him. Turns out it was full of Armani underwear. They
needed somewhere to stash it so muggins here ends up with stolen property under
the seat of his car. It got ruined later, more by the dirty water than
the fire.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">So, anyway, there’s me, in
an uncomfortable suit, playing music I don’t even like to people I despise, who
seem to despise me and certainly don’t like the way I’m doing it. The
whole thing was hacking me off.<span> </span>So, ok,
I made a big mistake.<span> </span>I admit it.<span> </span>I could feel the energy rising up from my
feet, through my chest and down my arms.<span>
</span>I was getting ready to blow.<span> </span>I
stuck a long player on and got over to the bar, gave the guy behind it a wink
to keep them coming.<span> </span>I bumped into Alex
and he was looking very blessed; had his sunglasses on in the dark.<span> </span>Thankfully, or unfortunately, he was holding
and I managed to talk him into giving me tick.<span>
</span>I even got him to cover the decks while I went to the toilet.<span> </span>I had to dodge some oldtimers talking about
the birthday girl, Tony’s sister, and slipped into the toilet cubicle.<span> </span>The sound of credit card plastic on porcelain
was music to my ears.<span> </span>Then, it was back
to the bar, keep ‘em coming good sir!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">The
last thing I remember is talking to this pretty girl at the bar.<span> </span>She was wearing a red satin dress, at least I
think it was, and she had a lovely smile.<span>
</span>The next I remember I was sitting in a cell with plain breezeblock
walls, a toilet with no seat and ‘Are you here because of drink or drugs.
Call…’ stencilled red on the ceiling.<span> </span>It
was hard to read with one eye.<span> </span>The other
was starting to close up.<span> </span>I was getting
a fat lip too.<span> </span>Worse than that was sitting
there and not knowing why.<span> </span>They tell me
everyone got out alright, although they aren’t talking to me now.<span> </span>No one was more surprised than me that I
minded. </span></span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span>Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-38309303630325798872010-02-04T08:38:00.000-08:002012-09-26T00:55:56.761-07:00Chip Shops in ChelseaSo, I've somehow gone from a very modest life in a rural and quiet corner of the country to life in the big smoke. What such a unreconstituted culture-phobe as myself is doing in the posh and trendy chelsea kensington borders is quite beyond me. One thing I've really noticed; where the hell are the chip shops? Ok, I can buy a panini with chicken, mozzerella and pesto (very nice btw) in about 30 different spots on the king's road but where oh where can i find some good old fashioned british grease? No fucking where, that's where. Oh, there is apparently one place at the far end of the king's road but that's miles dude! come on! Having said that, i may have to embark on an expedition soon.<br />
Other than that, and the army of plastics it's a very nice place. I've never really understood the attraction of London though. Pay unreal rents to live in a cramped house with a black hole of a garden (more of a square of concrete with 30 foot walls and dead plants), and for what? The paninis? Nope, still not getting it. So, in summary, London is a lovely place to visit but fuck living here permanently.<br />
<br />
Ta ta.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-71532426475558923532009-08-13T03:39:00.000-07:002009-08-13T07:14:47.210-07:00What's with the anger?A question I muse over often:- Was the world always this angry? Maybe I've just calmed down. I certainly used to be a far angrier person than i am today.<br /><br />What's certainly true is that we live in a world with far more access to expression than we once did. Everybody can air their opinion on blogs, forums, comment sections of online newspapers. Maybe we were always like this and now we've been given a voice. Maybe that's healthy. Maybe it's better to know the less than sane views of some, the occasionally refreshing views of others.<br /><br />But, in the main, the impression it leaves is of a cacophony of discord; thousands of voices all shouting at once. It's a wonder how anything gets done at all.<br /><br />I must admit to being hooked on the <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree">The Guardian's comments section</a>. I really wish I wasn't. Far from being the bastion of leftie thought, the comments it attracts are often of the extreme right. It's to be expected really; people want an argument; they want a fight.<br /><br />It seems it's a given to hate something. People variously hate the lower classes, the upper classes, the middle classes, black people, pakistanis, indian people, racists, fascists, anti-fascists, socialists, capitalists, do-gooders, libertarians, anarchists, tories, labour, lib-dems, republicans, democrats, muslims, christians, jews, benefits fraudsters, greedy bankers, and on and on it goes. Everybody hates someone.<br /><br />I don't pretend to know the answers but i'd bet my house that the problem is not <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span> you hate but <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> you hate at all.<br /><br />For starters, hatred of a group of whatever form is flawed from the very beginning. Social groupings of whatever type are rough and generalised. Unless you have personally interviewed every single person on earth it seems a little presumptuous to form an opinion of a particular social group.<br />"Yeah but black people are.." You don't know them all mate. Idi Amin and Martin Luther King were both 'black'. One was a genocidal monster of history, the other was a firm advocate of peace and equality. The only thing they probably have in common is a similar shaped comb.<br />"Yeah but the lower classes are all feral vermin", "Yeah but the upper classes are all chinless wonders". Again, you don't know them all. All you display is ignorance with statements like that.<br />Probably the worst thing about this is that some of the people who come out with all this are erudite, intelligent human beings, capable of very complex justifications for their views.<br /><br />In a sense, sometimes i think what really unites the human race is our capacity for petty hatred. We are all capable of being foolish and reactionary.<br /><br />The famous novelist and social commentator GK Chesterton was once asked to contribute an article to The Daily Telegraph on the topic of 'What is wrong with the World?'. He replied in the form of a letter which read<br /><br />'Dear Sirs<br /><br />I am.<br /><br />Yours faithfully<br />GK Chesterton'<br /><br />I take my hat off to the guy. I take it to mean I am responsible for my actions. That, when all is said and done, telling you what to do is all well and good, but it's how i live my own principles that really matters.<br /><br />Ghandi once said 'be the changes you want to see' which, to me, means that if i want a peaceful world built on a foundation of justice then i need to be peaceful and just.<br /><br />Well, thank you for reading this. I thank you even if you consider it a pile of liberal hogwash, hippy nonsense, pie in the sky, whatever, I thank you.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-8519482484145572442009-07-25T01:11:00.000-07:002009-07-25T01:36:00.431-07:00The Corner - David Simon and Ed BurnsI finally finished The Corner. Much like Simon and Burns' most famous work, The Wire, finishing is a double edged sword. Of course, you want to reach the end, you want to know what happened to the characters but you also want to keep reading.<br /><br />For those that don't know, The Corner is a study of the innercity american drug problem. Simon and Burns initially spent a year following the lives of the addicts, dealers and children of just one drug corner on a West Baltimore street. We follow the highs, lows, scams, arrests, deaths and new lives of the people we meet. <br /><br />This is a triumph of journalism. They take a marginalised and misunderstood society and rehumanise it. Don't misunderstand, they certainly don't seek to excuse the deficiencies of this society. In great journalistic spirit they merely seek to show us what is there, warts and all. It is up to us what we make of that. Of course, when you truly appreciate the humanity of an individual, no matter how flawed, it becomes increasingly difficult to consign that person to the bin marked 'worthless'. This to me is truly great part about this book. Forgive me if you think this hyperbolic but The Corner is an absolute good, it is in itself an act of love, for the society it portrays and for the rest of us out in the world.<br /><br />What I believe The Corner seeks to, and succeeds in, communicating is that 'They' are not the problem. 'They' (the people trapped in this underclass) are us. They are a part of our society, a society that will remain broken until we accept that we are all in this together. So, 'we' are the problem. <br /><br />There is much musing in the book about what the solution is to 'the war on drugs'. Frankly, this book is part of the solution. We are all part of the solution. If this book helps one soul to see the light, that soul will touch others and those, others. It's hokey but it's also true. <br /><br />Of course, the other function of this book is to give us all hope. That there are journalists out there that aren't just interested in Jordan's tits and a byline. That people exist out there that believe in community and that still have faith in humanity. <br /><br />If you've not read it, I would highly recommend it.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-571493961747129912009-07-06T11:53:00.000-07:002009-07-09T13:51:03.931-07:00Sketch idea and other stuffSo, I've been mulling over a sketch i want to put together taking the mickey out of Inspector Morse (yes, finger on the pulse, current, cutting edge..)<br /><br />Quite simply it involves a caricature of Lewis reviewing the case for Morse.<br /><br />ie, Wai eye man, divvent ya knar Morse man, spuggy man (etc) Lady St John-Barrington-Smythe had motive because she wanted the old man's money but her alibi is watertight. Lord Fontelroy-Shalalabingbong was jealous of the old man's success with women but we know he was on other side of Oxford carrying on the Professor (etc)<br /><br />At which point Morse declares the famous words..."My God Lewis, I've been so stupid!"<br /><br />We cut to the famous red antique jaguar gunning down the narrow streets of Oxford. It squeals to a halt. We then cut to a shot of the backseat. On it is a very bewildered, roughed up, black man. (ie they're fitting him up). The sketch ends as we hear morse ask Lewis to pull over so he can buy a bag of oranges, or a bar of soap and a pair of socks, or a pair of pliers and a disposable lighter.<br /><br />Obviously funnier in my head. But what do you know.<br /><br />From there i was thinking about another John Thaw production which was the adaptation of Michelle Magorian's book, Goodnight Mister Tom. I always get mixed up when saying that title and call it 'Goodbye Uncle Tom' which led me to think of another sketch, a wartime evacuee is taken in by an apologetic subservient black guy in a quaint 1930's gloucestershire village. Not funny when i think about it but seemed nicely absurd at the time. Anyway, this led me to research Uncle Tom's Cabin a little. I've never read it but obviously I know its place in the lead up to the American Civil war and abolition of slavery. I found it interesting and a little sad that the book led to the expression 'Uncle Tom' to describe a black person who kowtows to white people too much. The truth is that stereotype came about more from dramatic interpretations of the book. In the book itself Tom comes across as to me as an extremely strong and principled character, but someone with a great faith in God; someone who forgives his tormentors. As said, I need to read the book and decide for myself but that's my impression.<br /><br />Dunno, out.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-21817859048591253022009-07-05T13:29:00.000-07:002011-11-14T15:28:04.084-08:00CEG 1995We arrived at the rock,<br />
A sandstone lip overlooking the town.<br />
Passing round the dying first smoke<br />
We tethered the dog and sat us down.<br />
Torchbulb eyes awe embraced,<br />
<a href="http://www.go4awalk.com/walkphotographs/barryknox6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.go4awalk.com/walkphotographs/barryknox6.jpg" width="320" /></a>The pious view was all our own<br />
<br />
Roaches burned out fingers.<br />
Summer's day died and dark<br />
Closed in on my friend<br />
With keystroke in soft sandstone,<br />
He rinted his name to forever,<br />
Etching out his mark.<br />
<br />
Three times the leaves have fell since that day,<br />
Twice since CEG himself.<br />
Those words printed for his future<br />
Already invisible.<br />
I searched and searched in funeral grey.<br />
Ended sat alone on stone and stoned alone.<br />
<br />
[Old poem originally written in 1997. RIP Colin]Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0Wellington Rd, Bridgnorth, Shropshire WV15 5, UK52.54462541375284 -2.405319213867187552.534968413752843 -2.4250602138671873 52.554282413752837 -2.3855782138671877tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-87564606631715208972009-07-05T08:05:00.000-07:002009-07-05T08:43:11.545-07:00Childhood memoriesGonna try and scribble this down for a laugh merely because i was talking to someone the other day and it triggered a memory of adolescence and that the idea has been bopping around the old noggin ever since.<br /><br />If you're under 18 maybe you should stop reading now, although having said that, maybe you need to know this more than anyone.<br /><br />You're 13-14 and you're getting onto the bus home from school after another hard day. The bus is quite full and the only seat available is a double edged sword. Oh my, it's the seat over the wheel. On the one hand this is a good thing, the extra vibration provides a cheap thrill and you start to review the day; how Mrs C was wearing quite a low cut top and she's not bad for an older bird; how pretty Lucy was looking in double english. Let's not beat about the bush here ("no, let's" it says), you've got a stonker on the bus home and frankly it's helping to pass the time pleasantly except here comes that other edge to the double edged sword; you've got to get off the bus in two minutes. <br /><br />So, ok, think fast. Think about Grandma naked, eugh. But nothing's happening. Count backwards, that won't work. School dinners, dead pets, nothing is working. You're gonna have to stand up on a crowded bus in a second and you've got a trouser tent going on. So, ok the last roll of the dice is just to go for it and hope that the situation filters down to the little fella, that he decides to chill his boots, at least until you're off the bus and in your own home. You risk it. <br /><br />Dunno about you, but i grew up on a fast moving road. This means that the bus is going about sixty mph which in turn means that the driver needs plenty of warning before your stop. In a modern version of the Cry Wolf story, the bus drivers know not to trust the ding ding of the bell at this time of day. Too many times have cheeky school pupils thought it funny to get the driver to stop by playing with the bell. No, if you want off you've got to ding the bell and move to get off. You've got to make sure the driver sees you in his mirror. This off course means you've got to be on your feet on a bus going 60 miles per hour, which can be difficult. Add in that you've got a heavy bag of books over your shoulder. Add also that you've got one hand in your pocket, trying to give off the impression of sauntering but really to push out the fabric of your trousers so the bulge is less noticeable. <br /><br />Here you come to two more possibilities. The first is that you're the only person getting off the bus. This can be good as it means you can get right to front and make a quick getaway. It's also bad because when you get to the front, with a full bus behind you, some 40-50 people are staring in your direction. Be careful how you stand, profile is your enemy here. Try to stand with your back to everyone, with your hand in one pocket, holding on with the other for deal life.<br />The other possibility is that you aren't the only person getting off, in fact there is a queue. Again this can be good; there is safety in numbers. It can also be bad. You're standing halfway up the aisle, holding onto one of those flimsy handles, hand in pocket, heavy bag swaying you about. To your left is an old lady, her head just about cock height (this is a technical term). To your right is a half man, half beast, skinheaded, tattoed, armour plated killing machine. Do you stand square onto them, facing forwards down the aisle? If either looks sideways they are going to see trouser tent. Do you stand facing old lady? I'll save you the choice, you don't stand facing the nutcase guy. You probably opt for old lady, ok you'll probably go to hell but still, it's the safer option. But beware. As you may know, when buses brake and change gear there's a jolt. There is a very real danger that this sweet, old, blue rinsed lady is going to get hit across the face by your erection. This is not good. That means time to go, even if it is one handrail further down the aisle, just go and don't look back.<br /><br />So, whatever, you make it out at the bus stop and off you go on your way. <br /><br />I'm off outside to give my car a hug and thank god i'm no longer a teenager.Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4556235711136293117.post-29577478420958218262009-07-05T08:00:00.000-07:002009-07-05T08:04:25.281-07:00Be PrettyBe pretty,<br />Be good to the cat when i die.<br />You may not know that i used to lie<br />In that place in the sun he loved so much,<br />When the house was silent and free of mockery.<br />I used to lie there and plot and scheme our lives together<br />Until one of us should fall.<br />It must be me or reading this will mean nothing.<br />It must be me but know that<br />When you lie in that place in the sun,<br />I will be the sun's fingers soothing you<br />With our lost love.<br /><br />[Old poem I wrote years ago and just remembered, thought i'd write it down]Laylohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03552593515487033725noreply@blogger.com0