Oh Lucky Me.

Tis the season to be jolly -again. yeah, right.

Been out shopping with the great un-washed masses; done the xmas parties; sent cards to people i can't remember and wished people i dont normally speak to , "happy xmas blah, blah. "

Delbut was in a sub-normal, pre-xmas house of blues. But news has reached me that sister Faith has said a prayer for me and apparantly, i will be saved at the gates of St Peter, afterall. SO. This means i can carry on being a naughty boy and doing stuff that would make the Pope's legions of choirboy molesters blush and still be forgiven. Bargain.

I bought sister Faith a "Wicked Wabbit" from the Ann Summers on-line store and sent it under brown paper wrap. I knew the authorities would check it out first so, to get it past the mother superior I cunningly disguised it as a gardening tool for planting carrots. For those of you unfamilier with this particular instrument of joy and pleasure, it has a a "double action" use, and mother superior thought it was a labour-saving device for dibbing two holes at once( How right she was), thus saving time spent on said carrot planting. As nuns are inherently lazy, this was good.

The reason for my upturn in everything joyous at yultide was the advanced notice of what sister Faith bought me for xmas. She smuggled out a picture of her wearing my xmas present cleverly hidden in between the pages of the latest " Pews' News." The bi-monthly news letter from the convent.

Apparantly, the nuns are allowed to go into the local town to offer Charity to the locals. Sister Charity was a bit pissed of at this but had no choice in the matter. Next year, they will be offering Hope. She's none too pleased either. (ok, realised i should have said, nun too pleased, but i think i used that joke 3 months' ago.) I digress. It was while Faith was trying to offer Charity to the locals, that she came across a fab little lingerie outlet.

As I am only too pleased to share my good fortune with my blogging buddies, here is what i have to look forward to when i return to the convent in eaarly January. The earlier the better.

It remains for me to thank you all for sharing in this nonsense and making me smile with your readiness to humour me and wish you all a great holiday, and here's to next year.

Love you all.
xxx

Thank you all

For your kind messages and concern for my son, Lewis.

I'm not one to leave messages on Rach's blog asking for prayers etc. It works for some but i didn't want/feel the need to do that.

I didn't post what happened here either, much for the same reason, but i left a quick message on Bex's blog becuase, as you know, she pesters me a lot; and told two other people -just because we were talking at the time, really. And what do i get? People coming here to offer me support and others emailing me anyway. For that, i am touched and grateful to you all. You are special.

Anywho. Just to sum up: He got stabbed, went to hospital, had an op and signed himself out on Weds. just like me, he is an impatient, patient.

Apart from extra holes punched in his body, which, by the way, he did not want nor ask for, he is well and i think, coming home to the shithole that is Wales from his even shittier place he calls home, Bristol, tomorrow. He has pictures too!

For Sale

One Libertine Jacket. Slightly worn and smells a bit. If this jacket could talk it would have lots of little secrets to give away. Then again, if it could talk, it wouldn't be a jacket really, would it?

Best reason for me giving it to you (and the jacket) wins it for xmas. Please state your case and i will get back to you.

Dearest Delbut

Hi Folks. I have been invited to guest as an agony uncle for a local paper. Their normal one has gone missing, suspected to have run off with the sport's editor.

These readers' questions are honest to God REAL questions found in the Boots Health & Beauty magazine.

Q. I love wearing long hair straight, but the combination of daily straightening and cold weather has really dried it out. What can i do?

Martha

Uncle Delbut replies: Martha, What the fuck are you moaning about, woman? There are people sleeping on the streets, freezing their cocks off and you worry about hair?

You have several choices from what i can see.
1) Cut it all off and buy a wig.
2) Get over it and just wear it under a hat.
3) Wash it and when it's still wet, put some cling-film over it and stick your head in the fridge over night. This way your hair will be rigidly straight for up to 4 hours at a time.
4) Buy a pot of shallack and use it as a shampoo. That way you will be able to colour it and make it stay straight all in one go. This is the best solution as it lasts all winter and will keep your head dry when it rains.

Q. Since starting taking the pill, i suffer from vaginal dryness, which makes sex uncomfortable. What can i do to combat this?

Name and address supplied.

Delbut:
This is very common. It happens when you take the pill, have a bacterial imbalance or an infection such as chlamydia or thrush.

Another reason is it may be due to your fella being a fat, ugly twat who just doesn't do it for you. You need to try the following and let me know the outcome.

Stand upside down in the shower while the old man rubs in a vapour rub. It's no use as a lubricant (or is that lubricunt?) but it stings like shit and will kill any germs. Next, watch a Johnny Depp film and if that doesn't work, maybe one with Pamela Anderson because you may have turned into a dyke and blokes just dont do it for you.

If all else fails, study the photo of me (enclosed) and if you dont get soaking wet then, i suggest moving to a deserted island because you have no hope.

Q. It's our 10-month-old daughter's first christmas. Should i puree her a bit of everything that we will be eating for lunch.

Abigale

Delbut:

For the love of sweet Jesus. (appropriate for the topic, me thinks)IT'S A FUCKING BABY. It doesn't know how to not shit itself yet. It has no concept of who the fuck the baby Jesus is. Even if he does exist, which i doubt. It was a story made up by the major retailers of this world to make idiots like you buy their crap. Just give it what you normally do, you cretin. In fact, people like you shouldn't be allowed to have children.

Q. I'm dreading the forthcoming party season, as i'm going through the menopause -hot flushes etc. And the combination of the two don't really mix.

Trish.

Delbut: What? Why dont they mix? It gives you an excuse to be ratty with everyone - including the hostess by passing bitchy remarks about her shoes not matching her frock - and then saying: "it's not my fault, i'm going through the change." Bollocks! I dont believe it exists. It's just a time when you realise you are no longer attractive and cant pull anymore and you want people to notice you. News check, girl. It cuts no ice with me. If you want to turn into a miserable pain in the arse and just hit on your husband because the host hasn't checked out your tits for the last 10 minutes, you need to be honest about it. And anyway, the reason we dont check your tits out anymore is because we no longer know where they are. It takes 11 minutes to realise they have moved south by about 3 feet.

Go to the parties, let your husband ogle the young chick from next door and buy a vibrator.


Well people, what do you think of my first attempt of agony uncle? I think i'm bloody good. To the point, as it were.

At last. A post that i didn't actually make up and what is full of lies.

Went to London last weekend. To see The Who, again! This post is not about how fucking brilliant they were; or about the twat who saw fit to create havoc in the crowd by picking on anyone smaller than him or had breasts. News for you dickbrain: you are probably the ugliest, stupidest, numb-nuts that came out of Scotland. And there have been a few.

I digress.

The day before the concert, wifey and I booked into a hotel in poshest Hamstead. To cut a long story short, we arranged to have dinner in the hotel. ( they offered £2 off for guests. not that i'm cheap, or anything)

anyway, it advertised that there would be a choice for starters, which included soup. Nope, no soup that i could find. No problem.

This is where it gets better. The hotel was full of Germans and Dutch tourists - I guess they were tourists. Could have been a circus troupe, i suppose? Who cares - so i guess we were lucky to get a table without having to remove towels from the seats. ( if you have ever been on holiday with Germans, you know what i'm on about.)

Some Germans, thinking they would get what looked like the last of the soup, rushed to the buffet table and helped themselves to ladels full of the stuff.

I started to giggle. I KNEW it wasn't soup. How did i know that? Because 2 minutes earlier i had poured the "soup" all over my beef dinner. IT WAS GRAVY, HANS, NOT SOUP YOU WANKER
Went out to the bar and had a fag -that's a ciggarette, not an uphill gardener - and went to take a piss -(Not in the bar, but in the toilet). There i was, holding what i have in my right hand, trying to piss as high as i could. (we do that) The door opens; i hear voices. One male, one female. Foreign. Dutch. In walks the bloke. I turn slightly; he looks at me and heads for the nearest stall to take a crap. Another body is to my left. It comes in, falters for a second when SHE sees me there. I nod; she comes in. OK, thought i, that's cool. She inhabits the crapper next to the one the bloke is in. They talk -in Dutch - through the stall walls. She is giggling; he is having a crap.

PLOP.
HIM: blah, blah, PLOP
HER: blah, blah, hee, hee
HIM: Nrggh. PLOP.
HER: blah, blah.
ME: Cant a man have a piss in peace?
ME: wee, wee, zip, wash hands. Return to bar.

They're on to me.

I'm in trouble. I had hoped that Sister Faith would just let sleeping Delbuts lay. Not to be. Seems that once a nun gets the taste for it, she wants more. Without blowing my own trumpet ( tis impossible; i tried. Unless i take a few vertabrae out i'll never be able to bend over that far) I have ruined sister Faith.

Apparantly, she is now so out of control they have banned all phallic-shaped items from the convent and now wash not with soap, but with their own saliva.

As well as Faith phoning from the dorm public phone and getting a private eye on my case, she has enlisted the help of her most trusted confidante. Very-old-sister Hope . Apparantly Hope was betrothed to a Welsh hill farmer ( i think that should be hyphonated. otherwise he farms hills (why didn't i just change it instead of writing about changing it?)) To cut a long story short, David David (Dai twice. (see much earlier blog)) led her down the garden path to get his hands on her father's prize ram. He left her traumatised - if not a little sexually frustrated. She ran away and signed up to the French Foreign Legion -Jesus department. Not even the hoards of vagabonds, rapists and the like, who join the foreign legion, would make a pass at her so she fled again to the convent, where she has been for the last 60 years. Her dislike of the male specie has given her a cause to hunt me down like a dog.


Armed with a pentium iv processor and a 30-day free trial with Yahoo broadband, she keeps an eye on this place just waiting for me to slip up. She gets closer by the minute. My only hope is that the Yahoo broadband works as badly as my BT one and keeps crashing. Here is a picture of her when she mistakenly typed, Del's butt into Google. The result, apparantly, was a host of arse fettish websites.

You may note tht she only has 4 fingers. Her thumb was blown off during the infamous "night of the exploding vicar's trousers" incident in Dol de Bretagne 1974.

Times are hard.

I was going to blog about me but I got a bit distracted by Bex as she now has broadband again. she keeps pestering me to update this blog. And to think. I missed her dearly when she didn't blog. Anywho, as you may know, she has moved from Staines to "somewhere in the country". Yeah, right. I googled her and came up with her new addy. If you go to her blog you will see that she lives in a shed now. I know times are hard so this is not to ridicule her but to ask you all to chip in for a much needed extension. Due to planning restrictions for development on council-maintained roundabouts, the extension will have to be of a material which fits in with the environment and existing materials. i.e. wood.

I was thinking of at least getting her a bedroom to stick on the side.

anyway, judge for your self. here is Bex's shed from the outside. ( i have airbrushed the roundabout where it's standing to protect her privacy)



KNOCK ON THE DOOR TO ENTER THE SHED

Here is the bedroom extension intended.
SO. If you can spare a few pennies, please send them to me and i will make sure Bex gets somewhere to sleep for the winter.

diolch 'n fawr. (ta muchly)

In The Attic

Ok Peeps. The Queen of all things musical and jolly needs your support. Our task is to get more people over to her web-site to create an even bigger audience for her top music show, In the Attic.

I know a lot of you who come here watch already but if you are a stranger, welcome and click on the title of this post and watch a recording of ITA. Featureing Pete Townshend, simon Townshend, Mikey Cuthbert and assorted special guests.

The show is a mix of new and old music from Rachel (voice of two angels)Fuller, Pete Townshend/The Who and all the other guests mentioned above.

regular fashion tips (ok, that's for the girlies), jokes, anecdotes and darn outrageous goings' on. Competitions, free tickets to shows and views of Rachel's arse are also an attraction.

If you can imaging "The Osbournes" but with actual talent, then this is ITA

SOON TO APPEAR.... Me.

Please, when you go there, register, and leave comments, don't be boring and just say Oh, Hi. Chat her up, it works. come on, she's a woman. Say anything nice and they are like putty.

Here is a picture of Rach chatting me up in the Bedford Arms, Balham. Pete had gone for a slash (wee wee to the americans) Rach appeared from nowhere with her sister Bex. Menage a trois, was mentioned but i had to turn them down.

CLICK ON RACHEL'S BREASTS TO GO ON A JOURNEY!!

I have had to blank Bex' face out as she is rather shy and i dont have her permission to put it up here. (she NEVER blogs these days. She's moved "UP" in the world).

You may note from the picture that it looks like my right hand down by my side. Not so. It's Bex trying to pull me to her in a, "come on big boy" type of gesture. Dream on, Bex.

Here is another bex classic. this time she is at the bar at the Bedford getting her 7th pint of Stella. "Dutch courage", she said. About 3 minutes before she asked me to marry her.

The moral of this post is that you dont get any of this unless you go to http://www.intheattic.tv

For Sale - God of Rock's Piano.

Just Click on the picture to enlarge it and read the blurb.



Ha ha. they didn't believe me. It took about 4 hours to cut a hole in Pete's roof and crane this mother out. sailed it down to my house and now it stands under a plastic sheet in the garden. The cat has scraped the leg a bit but it's in good condition. If the God of Rock doesn't come up with the goods, it may well end up as fire wood for my mother. It's enough to keep her and her saw off it as it is.

Faith

Ladies and Gentlemen. Faith has contacted me. I'm afraid she misses me terribly. It was bound to happen.

Fate has dictated that we can no longer spend a night together, sewing "miracle" badges to our tunics. Just like a boy scout, apprentice vicars get badges for tasks completed. Faith and I would happly sew, badges such as: "turning wine into water";(accomplished by drinking the wine and pissing it out into large vats, "feeding 500 fishes" and "making a virgin pregnant" merit badges to our under-garments. Sadly, the miracle of, "finding a virgin anywhere in the Welsh valleys" was attempted but failed miserably.

Now, just like sister Faith's thighs at bedtime, we are far apart.

Thank you all for your kind comments about my knob and reasons for blindness. Now i am back in wet Wales, the blindness and knob rot seem like a God-given blessing. the birds here are mingers.

verily.

Tonight there's going to be a jailbreak...

Haha, my special flock of bloggers. I have escaped the hell hole. Many thanks to you all for your words of wisdom & encouragment; your food parcels; your sectret notes smuggled in and your magic props left under trees for my speedy escape. Non of them fucking worked, but thanks all the same. try harder next time, ay?

Now i am back in civilian life i have to have plenty of health check-ups to make sure it's only my mind that is diseased.

My first visit was to the optician. My eyesight has gone a bit fuzzy over the last couple of weeks so a full eye test was in order. Now i know i've been away for a while but i don't remember an eye test included checking for blisters on the palm of your hand. Apparantly, tis true that masturbation makes you go blind. By this time next week - the rate i'm going - i will need glasses like Roy Orbison, a white stick, a Labrador and i will have to glue bits of nose snot to my keyboard so i know which key is which. Currently, i'm thinking of going with a: one snot for q, up to 26 pieces of snot for the m key. I think i'll just guess where the numbers are. They are not so important.

Next week it's to the dentist for a cavity filling exercise (ooer) and the extraction of the microfilm pictures i took in the communal shower. Should keep ebay busy for a while.

I really need to go see the doctor, too but am a bit embarrassed (can never spell that word). Perhaps you all can help: Should my knob really be green?

Although the experience was harrowing, i have not lost Faith. Aw, sister Faith, i miss her already.

By The Way

All of you lovely people who were thinking of me while i am here in hell-on-earth i have left comments on your comments in my comments for the post before the one below. Now, you would think, as i have so little time to write, i would have made that sentance shorter. You would, wouldn't you?

HELP

Peeps. Help! I'm writing this by candlelight so the verger doesn't cop on to my surruptitious typing. There's not much of the wick left, though. I think the nuns have been using them for something bordering on pornographic. Can someone write them a letter to say my dog's ill or something? i need to get out of here. they are fucking CRAZEEEEEEEEE.

Ok, i know God was good an and all that and his Son -yeah, the one who got birthed by a woman who never had sex -(OK, don't think we swallowed that one (alough, perhaps her husband did. Stupid twat)) was a bit of a wizard in the getting blokes off their arse and walking again department, but Woahhhh. Hold them donkeys going to Bethlehem and back the Oxen back a bit dude. Why is playig strip-poker with the nunnettes a sin? Jeez.

Back to the letter. Please help me. I can leave of my own volition, but not until i've completed the baptism course. Apparently, just holding the babies by the feet and dipping them in is no longer practised. and i failed it the second time by asking the busty lady to take her top off. If i fail the third time, i have to re-sit the whole thing again.

Please write to:

Father A. Part
Head of training and cleansing of the soul
Church of the early dawn
Rue de B'stard
Gran ville
Brittany
Spears
france

p.s.
Just to let you know so it doesn't get chucked straight in the flames of hell.

They know me not as brother Delbut but, Mathew: verses 13-16.

Ok, must go. Communal shower time.

Love

Delbut
xxx

Yeah, I know, i know.

Some of you little darlings have dropped enough hints about me updating this piece of worthless crap i call a blog. And i know, i did say i would do it at the weekend. but...

I am emotionally drained and have writer's block and quite frankly, i'm not sure you truely appreciate what i do for you. I mean, do you know how much effort goes into my creative work? no? i'll tell you. Absolutely fuck all and i'm just a lazy bastard.

If you want a chuckle, go and read Neilbymouth's blog and never come here again.

P.S.

Some of you may have read on Rachel's blog that i have enrolled in Vicar school. It's an intensive 6 week course (1 day a week). I am off to France shortly to live with a bunch of like-minded souls - in brown dresses that chaff your knob - to spend some quality time before we become practicing paedos..i mean Bishops. I will update you on my new vocation as soon as i get clearance from the Pope.

Summer time, and the living is easy.

We have been having a hot and sticky summer here, so far. The type of weather that makes you wish you were beside a pool in Spain or somewhere.

Sadly, i had no swimming pool to hand the other day when feeling frisky and ready to party. The family had gone out somewhere so i decided i would invite all the neighbours in for a BBQ and party. After quickly designing and building a pool in the garden, i lit the BBQ and eagerly awaited the neighbours turning up. Unfortunately, most of them were away at work and only the women were available except for gay bloke who lives in my attic. Oh well, said i, life's a bitch but we must carry on. So, with just half the expected guests here, we tried to enjoy ourselves.

I of course, was the centre of attention and kept the girls entertained with jokes and impressions of famous, 19th c. authors. How how we laughed.





Gay bloke seemed content waiting for me in the pool while the girls assumed the position and limbered up.



















Later, when Gay bloke had returned to my attic to catch some Zzzz and clip his nose hair, i danced around the pool reciting the lyrics of Quadrophenia while the girls chilled around the pool.




After many beers, the girls started getting bitchy and really competitive to get my attention. There is nothing sexy about girls doing tummy-tucks in bikinis so i called a halt to the party, dug up the pool and filled in the hole so the wife wouldm't notice and went down the pub to meet the lads. What a great end to a trial of a day.

I'm back. i've been on tour with The Who

Ok, so not actually WITH them, but i went to several Who gigs over the last couple of weeks and where possible, i have taken some photos. It's been a gruelling schedule of long moterway trips and hotel rooms, oh, and trying to survive encounters with scallys in Liverpool. ( i think i just about managed to get out unscathed from that shithole of a city.)

I found it a bit difficult to keep the likes of Roger Daltrey and Pete townshend from bothering me but i eventually gave in to contant nagging for a photo session with Rog. He's a nice guy but he just will not take no for an answer. So much so, he did actually tell me to go fuck myself when i teased him about forgetting the words to "Who Are You" at Brighton but i forgave him.

Pete was introduced to me at Beaulieu but he didn't ask to have a photo taken; i think Roger had warned him of me. At Liverpool, i had to shield myself from Pete with my bodyguards and when Roger stopped in his car on the way home to offer me a lift, i again had to push some people in front of me and i politely declined -offering them as an excuse. My personal assistant, Elena, had a polite word in his ear and sent him on his way. Ta Elena.

Apart from all that trauma, the Who kicked fucking arse; especially the first night at Liverpool. Casbah Club were supurb, too.

On the downside, Mikey Cuthbert stood me up for a lunch date with a lame excuse.But he is a superstar so i forgive him.

My mates keep Pete at a distance.

Rog waits in the queue to meet me

He gets his wish.

On the right, Elena is telling to stop stalking me as he writes his hotel address down for me.

Some pics from Liverpool 2nd night.

Ok, i'm bored now and i think Rog is knocking on my front door again. Must go and hide.

I have a badge and a lighter. NA NA NA NA NA

Went to see The Who on Wednesday. Fucking brilliant show.

Anyway, just because i can, i will now brag that i am the owner of not only an ITA badge, but an ITA lighter too. All thanks to Mikey Cuthbert of ITA fame. Cheers Mikey, yopu are a good man.

For those visitors here who haven't got a clue what i'm on about (Andy for one) get over it, i'm not explaining here.

Why the fuck the photo has turned on it's side, i have no idea. Mmm.

.

New Blogger

It seems i have turned someone on to blogging. At my age, it's good to be able to turn someone on but not in this way. These days the only thing i can turn on is a tap. Ah well, i have my memories.

Any way Andy is a fellow Welshman and plays guitar in my band. Actually, i play drums in his.

you will see when you go there that Andy is a 38-year-old bachelor. Work it out for your self!

Andy's bolg is http://andyfromspiny.blogspot.com/

Word of warning Andy: If you steal all my blogging friends i will do a drum roll all over you best guitar bits.

Life sucks

I was going to get back to blogging this weekend, but with my blogging buddy Neil's tragic news, it just doesn't seem right. I will leave it for another time.

Good luck Neil

Further adventures of Spiffey -Lazy bastard cat

It seems my description of Spiffey as a lazy bastard was hasty and completely wrong.

On trips back-and-fro to my shed, i noticed a number of my tools going astray and then returned only to be put back in the wrong place. (i'm not anal about where my tools are stored, but i did notice the difference)

My pile of wood i was saving to whittle into a Rickenbacker guitar (with flight case) had also dwindled to a few off-cuts.

Thinking i was going mad, i left to go to work and on my return what do i find? Spiffey had knocked up a scaled replica of Sing-Sing prison complete with electrified fences.

In cell no 7, there was the biggest fucking rabbit i had ever seen. "The gang" (see earlier post) had kidnapped the thing and were holding it to ransom for various tinned food items.

Little did they know that Tommy the dog was sent in by the police to instigate a break out. The plan was to tunnel under the perimeter fence and drag the rabbit to safety. Trouble is; the dog's sense of direction isn't that good and instead of a tunnel, he dug a trench - thus blowing his cover. If you add the attraction of a full cup of sweetened tea into the bargain, his internal compass went haywire.

Result - Rabbit is still banged up; the cat's demands have extended to include bottles of strawberry milkshake; I had to make another cup of tea and i now have a trench the size of the San Andreas fault line in my back garden.

All in all, a right old to-do.


The Rabbit is staked out to the floor in the searing heat.









Tommy starts to go adrift in his quest
















He gives up and has it away with my tea









I'm left with a, not too pretty garden feature.

Don't you just hate it?

Today was the F.A. Cup final. To my friends acress the pond, this is the equivalent of the Superbowl, Stanley Cup and World series of Baseball -all rolled into one. My team, West Ham, lost to the scallys of Liverpool in a fucking marvellously entertaining game. I should be suicidal now but i'm not. Jus proud of my boys.

Normal stupidness will resume on this blog as soon as i can think of something worthy.

I am currently writing some stand-up routines for my new double act with Neilbymouth. Struggleing a bit to write something that will pass muster with Neil's exacting standards of funnyness. Anyone out there want to earn some money writing jokes?

Rachel Fuller tribute Band

Some of you may know that I play drums in a covers band, Spiny Norman. I am worldly reknown as "The powerhouse and smoke machine impersonator."

This is a cowardly way of saying i've handed in my resignation but...

I am in the process of getting together some "artists" to create a wonderful tribute to rock goddess, Rachel Fuller.

I'm still working on a name, which once seen or heard, will automatically conjure up Rach.Here are some I have already disregarded.

The Fool Hers -too boring.
The Full Whores -too...whatever.

I finally plumped for. The Fuller Shits. I cannot claim intellectual rights to this name as BEX. Yes, that one, gave me the name.

In fact, Bex was "very up" for being a part of the band. Not being a singer, she has been offered a "dancing" part and maker of all things merchandise. She is reading the contract as we speak. Other bloggers. Namely, Koos, Molly, Ben, Ranceman, KidRic,Elena et al will be contacted shortly to audition for stand-ins if anyone drops out. (Usual terms and conditions apply.)

Here is a photo of the original band. L-R. Guitar man, Rach, Drummer, Stu the bassist.














I have undertaken exhaustive auditions to find the right people. Not only sound-alikes, but lookalikies, too.

As drummer I will take the throne to be the beatmeister.

On Bass guitar I have Brian. Brian is a full-time Stan Laurel look-alike. As his photo below shows, he looks exactly like Stan Laurel and quite a bit like Stu, the Bass player.
















On Guitar I have recruited a character from the Hair Bear bunch. Since the program finished in the 70's, he has struggled to find work and is only too willing to join the band. His fingering of chords, due to the fact that he is a heavy carnivorous quadruped, is very unique and needs seeing to believe.












Finally, the main ingredient. Rachel. I personally interviewed, auditioned, interrogated about 12 candidates for this post. I even contacted neilbymouth (legend of stalking) to see if he had any ideas (he did but I will keep them secret here.)

For some reason my attempts at familiarity did not strike a chord with the mainly 20-25 year-old ladies but that's another story.

Anywho. I finally came up with Trevor. Trevor is a 50 -yer-old, care-in-the-community, trans-sexual recluse. I have managed, with much tuition, to educate him in the "sound" of Rachel and he now manages a good middle C. However, we are still having issues with his dress sense. Far from getting his gear from "Le Attique" Trevor is more your Oxfam charity shop type.

Not really an issue when sitting at the piano except for he needs to rethink the sheerness of the stockings as the hairs on his legs poke through and is not good for publicity shots.

Here is Trevor.








I have purchased an old Ambulance from St John's and have had a quote for painting it pink and installing a Hi-FI system and Karaoke machine. Our first gig is penciled in for Richmond old peoples' home in June. From then we intend do a "Your going home in a fucking Ambulance" tour, which will follow Rachel, following The Who. Guests lined up so far...My mum.

People who want to look like me!!

I found this site thanks to Tausha's blog. What fun.

I knew i was famous but i didn't know that so many celebs wanted to look like me.

click on this link to find out who are passing themselves off as a 47 year-old surveyor from Wales.

It starts with the closest lookalikey but you can scroll thrugh several others.

Ok, i'm off for a face lift, smell you later. (I have some exciting news about a Rachel Fuller tribute band on the way. have to get some legal advice first!)

here

Heaven

Just a short one. (two in one day is pushing it a bit)

No word of a lie but there is a nasal spray -PT.141 -which has been developed, which is like Viagra, but for women. Apparantly, it stimulates the women and gets them, UP FOR IT!!!!

I know a bloke who lives down the road and he is a bit of a chemist. (He has his own drug factory) I will now be working very closely with him to turn the afformentioned spray into an aftershave. This is going to be dynamite.

Now go and read the cat one, below.

Lazy Bastard

My cat, Spiffey has become such a lazy pussy, that she expects me to push her around on this thing. The skateboard, usually used as prosthetic for my disability of one leg shorter than the other two, has been snatched off me by her and the rest of the "gang". The "gang" consists of two, like-minded moggies -both of whom are reaching pensionable age - a badger, a chicken and a ferret called Dunbar.

I know for a fact that the only reason that the chicken is in the gang is for foodstuff. They are feeding her up and getting her fit so at a later date they will pounce. Those guys are heartless.

Anyway, once the prey has been identified -usually little cute field mice or a mole or two - Spiffey expects me to push her around the garden chasing after them. It's ok down hill but at my age, the uphill pushing (ooer) is a bit of a struggle.

I have spent time designing an engine to put on the back from Baked Bean tins, a small fan and a vibrator i found in the local park but the cat can't afford the petrol to run it and someone left me a note saying they needed the vibrator back. (It was unsigned but it looks like my mum's writing.)

I am now designing a cradle to put around Tommy-the-dog's neck so he can pull her. It will make a nice change to see the cat's nose in the dog's arse, for a change.

Anyway, have to go because she just walked in and is rubbing against my leg. That's normally a sign she wants feeding. Why my wife just cant ask like a normal person, i don't know.

More photos

Who Convention 2006

Went to the Who convention yesterday. Must say it was a bloody good event. "Conventions" are usually looked upon as a saddo event where people dress up in Star Trek outfits or Dr Who alien costumes. I normally wouldn't be seen dead at such a waste of human effort. Not so the Who convention. OK, there were a few people there who could bore the prick of a well-endowed donkey, but in the main it was a good day out. There were two tribute bands (of whom it could be said that they indeed dress up in Who outfits a la Trekkies -but i will forgive them for that)who (pun intended) did a stirling job in front of a not overly enthusiastic crowd to start. Highlight for me were The Casbah Club. Simon, Mark and Bruce played a stunning set of new and not-so-new Simon Townshend material.

Biggest downer of the day was the price of beer. £3 for a can of Guinness!

Biggest upper of the day was the surprise guest. Roger fucking Daltrey himself.
Even though he has been busy with a week's events at the Albert Hall for the Teenage Cancer Trust and last night was the final night, Roger, the biggest Who fan around, still found time to come in and say hello. He also, after badgering from us, sang two songs with Simon. Off the cuff (and incomplete) they may have been but it shows what a diamond geezer he is. To travelacrosss London at that time of day just to show his appreciation for us just demonstrates what a great guy he is.

Nuff arse licking.

Had to leave before the end because i was effing starving so went and had the spiciest chicken in the world. My arse is now paying the price. (that may be the Guinness, come to think of it.

Evidence of which is below. Not my arse -me drinking Guinness

Funny how you never see....

Judy Finnegan and South Park's Tweek in the same room.

Judy Finnegan is one half of Richard and Judy. This is a daytime, magazine type program on Channel 4 here in the U.K. They are probably the most idiotic, sycophantic, schmoozy, ill-educated, amateurs on T.V.

Constantly bickering with each other, (they are married to each other) Richard seems to spend the days with his bollocks in her handbag; and Judy has her brain in her bra.

Richard is the type of dickhead that, along with Ben Elton, supports the feminists' view of "all men are twats" and that they have had a raw deal. Listen Richard, we get enough gobbiness from the females; they don't need your help. (this is a whole new future blog, me thinks)

Anyway, back to the hapless Judy.

I rest my case.

Can i have the scissors when you're finished? I want to slit my throat

Went to Wotton Bassett, Wiltshire, today. I did my business by 13:30 and, as you do, went to get my hair cut.
I had to wait for 20 minutes and listen to inane gossip between the teenage “stylist” and her equally spotty, track suited, teenage victim:

“He didn’t, did he?”
“He did. And then wiped it on the on table clothe.”
“Never –no way?”
“Way”

Seeking refuge in a glossy gossip magazine –which took precisely 30 seconds cover to cover- my turn arrived.

I sit in the seat in front of a very large, very harsh mirror.

“What do you want?”
I was tempted to ask for a loaf of bread and a pound of grapes, but considered it would go straight over her, bleach-blonde head. I settled for: “Hair cut.”, which went the way I thought the bread and grape comment would.
After several instructions she seemed to get the idea that as long as my hair was shorter on the way out than it was on the way in I would be well happy.

10 minutes’ of deafening silence, except for the click-click of scissors and her sniffing, later ( I decided not to push the idea of talking about: the weather, holidays, work etc.) she snipped her way to a half-decent job.

The obligatory offering-up of the mirror to the back of the head followed and confirmed that, beyond my wishful thinking; my bald patch had not miraculously “healed” itself.

Little did I know that the most humiliating part of the experience was to come, I got up and went to the desk to pay her.

“How much do I owe you?” (And don’t bother adding a tip)
“ Are you retired?”
“WHAT!!!???”
“You get a discount if you are: retired, pregnant or in the armed forces.”

Internally, my voice said: “Which side of your face wants slapping?”
In reality I said: “I’m not retired yet but my SAS death grip will finish you in flash. Do I get a discount for that?”
Guess what? Yup. Went straight over her bleach-blonde, spotty, uneducated neck plug.

Retired?! I know the lord has given me a few wrinkles but they are laughter lines, not an age thing. Honest.

If your name's not on the list, you're not coming in.

Delbut, Chris & Gary. The Red Cross' finest.

As we are so badly paid working for a major, world-wide charity, the Property department's building surveyors have taken to moonlighting as "Event security" in the evenings and weekends to support their poor, poverty stricken families.

We are trained in the following:

Manning the doors. - We don't do front doors, just back doors.

Handing out ticket stubs so you can leave your coat in the lobby. -We don't actually take the coats, just hand out the tickets. The coats will be handled by our specially trained "coat operatives"

Having curly wires stuffed in our ears, giving the impression we are in contact with an anonimous "head of security" (that will be George, who is not in this picture as he had to go somewhere with his wife. The poof)- Actually, we use Ipod earpieces (in Chris's case, the earpiece is his deafaid coz he's old and decrepit.)

Customer care. - We have modified our invoice authorisation stamps and will stamp all your guests on the forehead for ease of recognition. For regular patrons, we can organise an indelible stamp -probably a tattoo.

Standing at the bar looking hard and talking into our sleeve cuff.

Locking up after everyone has gone home.

And, as we are building surveyors, we can leave a list of all the damage caused to your venue following the event. I.e. blocked drains due to fag-butts down the urinals (mostly by me); holes in the wall where we have had to put someone's head through it.

Events covered:

Weddings, Bithday parties (up to the age of 14 or those from 65 onward -nothing in between), Christenings, Pub quizes, B-B-Q's,garden parties, village fetes and our speciality, shop openings.

It's that time again

The Who are on tour. Yippee. Tickets are expensive. Booo.I have to re-mortgage the house and put the kids into service with the local pimp to pay for the fucking things. That's if you can get them in the first place. No sooner have Ticketbastard.co.uk sold out, scalpers on ebay are offering them at extortionate prices. How the promoters allow this is beyond me.

Take a leaf out of Robbie Williams' book and make them available through The Who's site and get people's names typed on the ticket to stop this.

Anyway, as stupid as i am, i will be going to Liverpool and Bristol to see them and now have to earn some money to pay for it.

Disregarding the kids being available ( i think that's illegal) I will now be offering my body for the following.

* Sex -any blind person needing a shag -i'm ready. Or if needed for a S&M club i could bring the drinks around in PVC hot pants.
* Science - any doctor needing a body part for an up-and-coming transplant leave a message but keep in mind the following caveats.

Lungs -slightly tarnished with smoke.
Liver -still slightly tipsy due to Guinness -should dry out within a week.
Bladder- works ok but a bit full as I type this. Wait a minute...Ok, empty now.
Brain - I have one of sorts but I suggest not giving it to another scientist or similar academic.
Heart- Yes I have one but it belongs to someone else. (throws up in nearest bucket at the sentimentality)
Penis - This must go to someone/something really deserving. I.e. elephant, retiring racehorse, porn star etc. It would be a waste on anything else. (if anyone i know reads this they will not recognise the above description)

* Museum - Welsh museum of natural life, if you are interested, i can stand still for long periods and not smile when children poke me. (even without a stick up my arse)


So, you lucky people, give me a shout and grab what you want while it still functions.

Then again, i could always advertise on Ebay.

St Dwynwen

It's valentine's day today. In Wales we also have our own version: St Dwynwen's Day.(26th January) She is the patron Saint of Luurve.

Instead of giving cards,flowers,chocolates,blowjobs etc., to celebrate we have certain courting rituals, which are centuries old.

The women must (in order to demonstrate their feelings for us men):

Ride a donkey naked accross the village green -backwards- while singing, "Does my Ass look big in this?" (popular Welsh folk song c.1205 (that's a date, not the time))

Once the Donkey has tired, the lady has to milk it and offer the proceeds to her lover's nephew's uncle. If he chooses not to slurp from the bucket of love, then her advance can not...advance any further without the intervention of the courts.

If he does partake in the creamy libation then she can then dance the dance of the merry virgin, the steps of which are closely watched. This is because if the lady isn't a virgin then it will be possible to tell so from the movement in her hips. One wrong move and it's all over.

The men, on the other hand, have to demonstrate his intentions by putting Daffodils in every orifice, wrapping himself in the leaf of the leak and tying it with baling twine. He is then delivered by horse and trap to the rear entrance of her mother's house and once unwrapped, dangling his knob out while jumping on one leg.

I don't know the outcome if this doesn't work as there are no recorded failiures! Come on, how could you girlies refuse that?

Anyway, here is a picture of St Dwynwen. Obviously, she is still able to dance the dance of the virgin; who'd give that one?

Tagged

Molly, love her sweet heart, "tagged" me the other day. This means that you have to list 5 interesting "facts" about yourself. I know it's not law but i thought i'd join in anyway.

1) Up until the age of 16, i had an imaginary dog called Fido. Fido came with me everywhere -including school. Fido tended to get me in trouble but i managed to fool some of the more... stupid teachers into believing that Fido was real. I would bark, open the door, and let Fido out of the classroom at regular intervals. Some of the teachers would open the door to see where the dog had gone. D'oh.
When i was about 7, we were on our way on holiday when i made my Dad stop, open the door of the car, and let Fido in because i had forgotton him.

2) I had the chance of a promising career as a professional football player. Playing in the local league, i was "spotted" by a scout from Cardiff City and asked for trials. Long story short, i didn't go because i was on holiday. Reality is, i had found cigarettes, drink, and shagging. I was also hanicapped with a burst eardrum from a smack around the head from my Maths teacher "Killer" Curtis. No doubt i was being cheeky but i have always blamed it on Fido. That fucking dog.

3)I once kissed a bloke -tongues and everything. In my defence, i did know the bloke and we are still good friends. Some of you more broadminded people out there will say, that's cool, being gay is ok. If only it was like that. The reason we did it was we tried to get two girls to kiss and they said, only if you do first. Being rather perverted and pissed, we agreed. Needless to say, they didn't keep their side of the bargain.

4)When on a drinking binge in Swansea one night. Our minibus had left without me and my mate. (the one mentioned above) While we were working out how to get home (some 20 miles away) i was caught short in the toilet department. Not a wee wee but a dump. (english vernacular for shit). Anyway, no public toilets available but plenty of boats in the harbour. I climbed aboard and did the business over the side. In the meantime my mate had gone walkabout, found a wallet with £30 in it.

So two apologies. If you returned to your boat one morning only to find your flag was used as toilet paper; or if you lost a wallet and £30 -sorry.

5) It's my birthday today and i'm 47. I hate having birthdays apart from the pressies and getting spoilt.My brain feels 27, but my body feels 57. I have one shaved leg, a bald patch (not a big one though)dodgy knees, i smoke too much and don't drink enough. I have good friends, a great family and life at the moment is good.

Sorry for the boring facts but i did warn people that i'm not that interesting.

Wales in the Thames?? eh,eh.

You may have heard about Wales in the Thames.

The canny Welsh people managed to pass this off as a stray Whale in the Thames. Tom Jones, sometime crooner and sometime Welsh activist, dressed up in a rubber suit in order to get the press hoodwinked into thinking that a large mammal had found its way up the river.

While he was doing this, Shirley Bassey managed to beach her self alongside the embankment in readiness to invade the English capital. The Paddington area of London has long been a stronghold of the displaced Taffy. MI6 have been monitoring the movements of the Paddington dwellers, which made it hard for them to spread the word outside this district. The M4 –Wales’ own foreign security force – hatched the plan to invade from without, rather than within, with great success. Not since we beat the English football team 4-1 in 1980 has the word Wales been on everyone’s lips so often.

So what of the future?

Now Shirley has infiltrated large parts of Twickenham and Richmond, and Tom has been released from the custody of London Zoo aquarium, the further invasion will start in earnest in February. Disguised as the Welsh rugby squad, a crack team of Welsh fusiliers will storm Twickenham stadium - backed up by foraging agents wearing daffodils and large leeks pretending to be rugby supporters on a piss-up – and kidnap Ken Livingstone, Mayor of London.

The demands?

• More Caerphilly cheese on the shelves of Fortnum & Mason


• A stop on us having to pay a toll on the Severn crossing to get back in to Wales


• Laws passed to make it illegal for English men to say: “There’s lovely” –when stereotyping the Welsh accent –and sounding like a Pakistani in doing so.


• They must find room for the city of Newport somewhere east of London so it’s further away from us here in Wales –we don’t want them anymore.


• £120 in unmarked fivers.

I will be back

i haven't posted here for a while. things have been so hectic. A bit of family trauma and a Panto to rehearse for.

I am sorting out the sound system and taking the role of Long John Silver. I first thought that i was asked to play the part of Long John for Freudian reasons but...alas no.

I will be back to regular blogging very shortly.