Amazing Journey

Went to the premiere of the Who's Amazing Journey a while back. Enjoyed the film a lot and it was very moving toward the end. Another thing that moved was a card poster advertising the film. It was originally strapped to the fence keeping the riff-raff out, but i liberated it and got uncle Roger to sign it for me. I think you may be able to make it out in the top, left corner. It says: to delbut -Roger Daltrey. He wanted to put kisses on it but i said: No Rog, we are grown men, leave it out. Uncle Pete avoided me by nipping out of a side fire escape. He realy is doing a good job of hiding his love for me.

I did have my eye on a 6 foot-tall, free-standing cardboard advertising thingy but my wife correctly pointed out that a) we'd never get it out of the building unseen and b) just supposing we used the same fire escape as Pete and did get it out with my nuts in tact, we'd struggle to get on the tube train. Good point, i thought.

There were a few other "stars" there but if they are not in the Who, they can fuck off.

Got Bored

I fancied a change. Hence the new layout. The content is still crap though.

A rimblerumblerambling from delbut

First of all, i couldn't think of a title so i put my thought process and writing technique into words a la Pete Townshend's coolwalkingsmoothtalking....blah blah.





Ok. For reasons only a head doctor would undertand, i was surfing Youtube for the lyrics and chords to radioheads, Green plastic trees the other day. What a whacked out fucker that guy is. Positively scary. It is a georgeous song but don't ask me to write an essay on it coz i haven't got a clue what he's on about -or on, for that matter.



After watching the video about a million times, i got bored -and depressed -so surfed a little more and found some ice hockey clips. I use the term, ice hockey very, very loosely. It was like a Saturday night in my local town: bodies everywhere just hammering seven shades of shit out of each other. BTW, are you familier with the term, seven shades of shit? Not that i've dwelled on it a lot but are there seven shades of shit? I dont think so. Perhaps it's the alliteration of it ? Now i have dwelled on it, i think there are probably more like 3 shades. Perhaps the saying should go: 3 colours of crap? I can think of 3 colours of crap: green, like a new-born baby, the proper brown colour (although there could be several hues of Brown, i suppose) and Black. Black normally occurs after a day drinking Stout bitter. That's Guiness, that is. (is that the right spelling?)



Back to the ice hockey. It was good in a, i'm a bloke and i like watching blokes stick it to each other in the name of sportsmanship but don't ask me to join in -i'm scared. kinda way.

I'm a lover, not a fighter so i'll go back to surfing por...Ebay, Ahem.

So, what term do you use to express the outcome of Canadian, Bear shagging,hockey stick-wielding grunts hitting each other over the head?


I was going to put a picture of 3 shades of shit up, but i thought that may be impolite,

Crashing The Attic

So, the secret is out. Rumours of me being in jail and only being allowed to post here once in a while were completely unfounded. ( if not a good stab in the dark. (Which is what goes on in prisons -so i've heard))

My lack of blogging here has been due to work load (real life) and working on a tribute CD (made up life) to Rachel Fuller and her "In The Attic" Webcast Show.

Those of you who come here will already know of it and are keen watchers. There may be someone who visits here and knows nothing about it -but i doubt it because i don't have any friends.

Well, in the show, Rachel covered some songs -just like that -no practice. I thought me and some mates (i know, some friends and I ) could do that as a sort of a tip of the hat; a tug of the forlock kind of tribute by covering some Rach, Mikey Pete & Simon songs and sending them to them. ( For those of you who do not know of which Pete i talk of -just think greatest all-round guitar player ever) It took a little longer than Rachel takes to get them sounding something like a joined-up song, but we did it.

After sending them the finished CD, I expected them to give it a once-over, chuckle between themselves, bin it and move on.

I should have known better. Both Rachel and Pete (yes, that one) have given it a bit more than just a cursory listen. For that i am extremely grateful and touched by such major stars taking the time to comment on it. (especially when i, personally, have ruined some great Pete songs. ( yes, it's him, honest)).

I had the pleasure of working with( oh, hark at me and my showbiz talk) some really talented, NICE, amatuer musos -over t'internet- which made it a blast and worthwhile even if it had been binned.

For reasons that lawyers will probably be only too happy to point out to me while standing in the dock awaiting sentence for breach of copyright etc, I am not at liberty to share the product with you just yet -if at all. I don't want to piss anyone off. Especially that guitar bloke i mentioned -he's quite handy with a Stratocaster-shaped piece of wood. Rachel may put it up somewhere -we'll see. but for now, i have to remain true to my word that i wouldn't.

You can, however, take a look at the cover. Then i will be able to hear you say: "What a fucking egotistical knob". Guess what? I know.

I will be around for a while then i'm off to sample the whole of Quadrophenia and rearrange it and call it my own. It's a winner.

Me on a good day

Play your cards right and you could wake up to this every morning.

nuff said.

Update 29/07/07

Gee, thanks for all your concern here peeps. this is what you get when you heroically defend a maiden when she is in trouble. Or playing that most stupid of all games -cricket, which is the real cause of my shiner.
I was thinking of making up a story of large-breasted women loosening over-filled FF cups while bending over me in an erotic manner but...who would believe that.

Yet another Tag

This Tag was over at Bex's. i was bored, ok?


My roommate and I once: Never roomed with anyone except when on tour with a bunch of footballers. We did once –in a hotel in Manchester - move a large wardrobe in the corridor to cover the doorway to the room next to ours. When getting back from a night on the beer, our next door neighbours couldn’t find the room. We giggled for a while then moved the wardrobe to our doorway, took the back panel off and got about 12 of us into the room. We waited for an opportune time i.e. a bunch of japanese tourists to turn up and then we all existed the cupboard to the open-mouthed stupification of said Japanese.

Never in my life have I: Jumped off a very tall building without a bungee rope and survived

High school was : The bestest laugh I’ve had. 5 years of mirth and merriment with very little to show for it in terms of grades.

When I'm nervous : I smoke too much, get bad wind and if it’s sexual nervousness, get my excuses in first.
My hair : Used to be Brown. Is now Brown and Grey and not all still present.

When I was 5 : I was nearly 6. oh, and I broke my elbow when I fell out of a cherry tree. My dog ran home to tell my mum. Seriously.

When I turn my head left : I get a funny clicking noise. Old football injury.

I should be : built in the trouser department like John Holmes be as rich as an Arab Sheikh.

By this time next year : I will be older, have a dick like Katey Holmes and have enough money to buy a milk shake.

My favorite aunt is : The richest one without children
I
have a hard time understanding : Most foreign languages, women and the instructions that came with the xbox 360

You know I like you if : I sleep with you

My ideal breakfast is : Prefferably in the morning when I get up and will consist of a large cup of tea, a fag and then some food –maybe.

If you visit my home town : You will probably get mugged by a Polish waiter and decide that this place is a shithole and like me, will move about 3 miles up the road to a nice little village.

If you spend the night at my house : You will be expected to flash a bit of flesh by “mistake” when you walk through my living room on the way back from your bath/shower.

My favorite blonde is : Not from a bottle and actually realises that there is someone else in the world apart from her/him

My favorite brunette is : One that realises that being bottle blonde is not good, big or clever and will not get you noticed more.

The animal I would like to see flying besides birds : Is this a trick question? Do you mean beside as in: not including, or besides as in, next to? I think seeing a bird and a cat flying next to each other would be quite a laugh.

I shouldn't have been : Spanked when I was a kid for nicking my sister’s money to buy fags.

Last night I: had band rehearsals and came home all sweaty. Nice. And slept .

A better name for me would be : Clive

I've been told I look like I – clint Eastwood, Paul Newman, robert redford –you know, all the plain-looking guys.

If I could have any car, it would be : A new concept car that ran on verbal bullshit and turned invisable when I went over 70 miles an hour and which had a button that when pressed, would create my own virtual motorway so I wouldn’t have to sit in traffic jams.

Bring it on, you northern tossers.

Ok, quick potted history of this year's football.

West Ham United - my fav team - were doing really badly. They were on the point of finishing in the bottom 3 and therefore, getting relegated to the division below. But, they won a bunch of games at the end and managed to saty up. With me? good. BUT. They signed a couple of players from Argentina and it turns out they did it illegally. So they get fined £5m. A lot of people thought this was too lenient and called for them to be deducted points. Anyway, one of the teams who finished below them -and got relegated to the division below -are challenging the matter in court, in a hope that West Ham will get relegated instead. Still with me? It matters, because there is about £50m involved in television rights.

Right, that's not the point of my post.

The point is: this other team -Sheffield United - have a famous celeb supporter, who is going to go to the politicians and complain to them! Sean Bean -famous for...erm...hang on...oh, yeah, being a baddy in a James Bond film.

God, he looks gay.

Firstly, i'm surprised such a backward team has a famous supporter, secondly, i'm surprised he admits it. Thirdly, i'm dissapointed he is going to the politicians.

So to raise the stakes, as it were. We'll see your Sean Bean, and raise you a Ray Winston (Who connection, anyone?) , A Danny Dyer, A David Essex and to top it all, Frodo fucking Baggins. (Elijah Wood made a film called Green Street, which was about an American getting caught up with West Ham's hooligan supporters. )

I intend to invite Mr Bean (heehee) to a fist fight with Ray Winston (still not got the Who connection???) Winner's team stays up. BRING IT ON.

If by some stretch of the imagination Sean Bean beats Ray Winston ( i know, it's just me being stupid) then Frodo will kick him in the nuts.

Oh Dear

Oh dear, this is what happens when a certain lady buys a new car and drives it without Male assistance. Will she ever learn?

There is no truth in the rumour that she went to the pub and left the handbrake off. No, it was a handbag crisis while trying to park, type of accident. Sheesh.

30 women, two bars of soap and not a camera in sight

It's very easy for a bloke to sound patronising about women playing a "mans" game. but i watched a bunch of them playing football in the women's FA cup final yesterday. 'Twas on T.V. And it was fab. Same game but without the cynicism. What did dissapoint though, was the fact that you had all this totty in shorts and sport's bras and no-one thought of getting a camera in the changing rooms and showers. Dur. BBC- sort it out for next year.

Ok, i'm off the Hertfordshire to pick up a new car.

See you guys later.

Apologies

Not just for not blogging lately. The usual excuse: too much work, blah, blah.

No, i want to apologise to the world. You may or may not know or care, but there have been "celebratations" to mark 200 years since slavery was abolished. Apparantly, there are a number of people out there on planet stupid who think that i owe them an apology for people i never met enslaving people they never met. Granted, slavery in all its forms is a terrible thing, but i have never enslaved anyone (unless you count that woman i have handcuffed in my cupboard). Am i responsible/ culpable for men in stupid clothes who rode the high seas?

Maybe better to concentrate on the slavery that still exists today, thinly disguised as giving poor people the chance to live. I talk of workers paid $10 a day to build luxurious apartments in Saudi Arabia for mega-rich Sheikhs to sell on to their mega-rich celebrity friends; eastern European girls being shipped to Britain to work in the sex trade.

But, as dear old Delbut has a concience, i have been busy arranging a "let's get around the table and be nice to each other" conference. Theme of the meeting was: "Let's all touch hands and say sorry".

I hand wrote invitations and sent them out to people i thought need to apologise for everything. "Where should i start?" i said. "Stop talking to yourself and get on with it", i replied.

Eventually, i had a list and invited people to a secret place in...well, i can't say, it's secret.

The event turned out to be a bit of a potted history of the world, with participants from around the globe. In order, everyone got up and said their bit.

A nice bloke from Milan started. He apologised for the Roman invasion of Britain. It was agreed that the benefits of what they brought us far outweighed the bad bits and we thanked him for being able to crap in a proper toilet, rather than a hole in the field.

Lars, from somewhere cold apologised for the raping and pillaging of North Yorkshire and trying to halt the tide. We agreed that the raping and pillaging was naughty but the attemt to stem the tide was valid, as now, parts of the north-east coast have eroded and fallen into the sea. It was agreed that they should have tried harder.

Next was a rather smelly bloke from Normandy. He said sorry for invading southern Britain while old Harlod was busy shooing awayLars's folks from Hull. Apology accepted.

On behalf of the Welsh folk, i apologised to the English people of Shropshire and Herefordshire for our - although cunningly well thought out - invasions across the border. Oh, and for giving the world Shirley Bassey.
The English then apologised for: Invading Scotland, Wales, India... list too long but practically everywhere.
Collectively, the English and by default, the Welsh/Scots for the potato famine in Ireland. The Irish then spoke of their sorrow for sending so many people to America and all but killing off the Indians on their travels west.
Which brings me to Brian. I invited Brian from Plymouth. ( for you Americans. That's where you were born) He said sorry for sailing to America and giving the flu to a bunch of Indians. But did like to point out that if it wasn't for them, Thanksgiving day would not have been invented. No excuse, we all said. Repent. He cried a bit but did as he was told.
Then came Troy. he's from California. He wanted to express his grief for the San Andreas fault. We said it's not his fault. He said it was - he missed the irony in our joke (God, even the French bloke got it) - we took pity and he sat down.

I thought about all the other wrong-doings in the world and just gave up. Too much to apologise for. We all agreed to leave the pub and go away and think about our actions in the future. But not before we ate a hearty dinner of beef (sorry cows), served by under-paid wenches (sorry women) with loads of wine (sorry itinerant grape pickers)


To all my readers. Sorry for making you read this.

Whatever.

Ok, so i visit Bex's blog and seems i have two challenges.

1) Must do the tag she tagged me with

2) Must start a tag.

Like Bex, i'm not a lover of these pain in the arse, stupid tags but as she is a Fuller, and prone to sticking pins in things, i thought it easier to join in than have a spell put on me or something. (not that she ie a witch or anything, but... ah, good, someone took the shovel off me.)

And doing this stops me having to carry on with my life story. So.

The current tag was: Find a book -I didn't think Janet&John or Spot the dog would suffice. Largly due to the fact that they are only 10 pages long. Name the book and Author. Ok.

Turn to page 123 (now you see why the two i mentioned wwere not useable)

go to the 5th Sentence and copy the next 3 sentences.

What the fuck? Pointless but here goes.

Please take note: I am in my office. I work here. I do not read anything other than workstuff and the internet here. (ok, i lied but Largeones doesn't go to 123 pages either and is mostly pictures)

Book: Building and land management law for students, 3rd Edition by Anne Galbraith & Michael Stockdale.

page 123: 5th Sentence and beyond: One of the major difficulties when dealing with breach of contract is trying to establish exactly which breaches have the effect of discharging. Where such a major breach can be indentified, the injured party may nonetheless want to go ahead with the contract, and simply ignore the breach, or more likely, seek compensation for it. All breaches of contract, however large or small, give the injured party the right to sue for damages.

Well, that begs the question. (this is me now, not the book talking) can i have the right to sue? And will Sue be willing for me to claim her under my rights as the injured party? Which bits of me are injured, i hear you say! Well, the hearing isn't too good, my knees click, i have a broken neck and i have an itch only i can reach without breaking some sex-crime law.

I will be composing my own tag shortly so look out Bex, my sweetness, it will not be one for the faint hearted.

In the meantime. Here is an old picture of me (c.1992) in a band, in a pub in Worcester. AS i remember -a fucking good gig and a good night followed.

Delbut. (Who he?)

Again i am being an intellectual pariah and pinched ideas off Pete Townshend.

He will be posting some of his keenly awaited autobiography here (although he could change his mind again and not bother.) And needless to say, I've pinched his idea.

The first part of his book will be 1945 -1969, which is an odd way to express, quarter to eight to nearly 10 past eight but that's how a genius's mind works, i guess.

So, what did i do between those times. Well, due to there being fucking rubbish on the t.v., i run a bath at 17:45 and was sitting in it by 17:55. Then, i lay back and shut my eyes, which took me to 18:06 because then, my daughter knocked on the door and said: " Dad, how long will you be?" For the love of sweet Jesus can a man have NO time to himself? So. At 18:08 i grabbed the soap. Two minutes later, i reached for the loofah and...

What i did between 18:08 and 18:27 with the loofah, a sachet of shampoo and rubber glove will the topic of chapter two.

What fucking snow?? A Rant.

For all my non-British friends, we had snow last week. When i say snow it was about enough to sprinkle on a hand full of Bex's hand-made cards. She does make some great stuff by the way. If you haven't seen them check it out.

Anyway, back to the snow. Granted, we had about 4 inches in my part of the world and the kids went off with their trays to toboggan down hills rather than going to school. Me? Dull fucker Delbut was about 300 miles away in north Wales and missed it. I drove back the next day and it had all gone. Twat it, said I.
Anywho, it started again on Friday and the school sent the kids home again. By the time they got home it had melted and Delbut missed out on skiing again. Fuck it, said I.

Apart from me not getting to act like a kid, i had to suffer the BBC going on as if aliens had landed. Have they not seen snow before? Do we need updates every half-an-hour to show that the snow had gone from being 2 inches deep to 2.1 inches deep?

Listen BBC: tell me when someone has been brutally murdered; tell me when some poor soul has suffered due to there being no beds in our hospitals; yes, tell me if my taxes are going up again, but please give me the benefit of the doubt over my intelligence that i can work out for myself how deep my snow is and see that it will be gone by tea time.


Rule of thumb of you, BBC.

Unless the snow is at least a foot deep, it needs to be filed under: not worth mentioning, and stick it in the "not to be mentioned ever again" drawer - together with these topics: The Beckhams, anything to do with Rugby, Celeb's shinanigans, Royalty and Rolling Stones' tours.

If it is a foot or more deep, then just report the facts. We don't need you to hire a helicopter to fly over fields to show us pictures of snow. We can see it.

I'm Dying

Well that's a little extreme but you know what i mean.

As a bloke you understand that when we get a cold it actually is not a cold but the flu. Generally known as Manflu, it is much worse than the strain the ladies get -generally known as the sniffles. I know you ladies get a bit exasperated by it all but believe me, it is worse than what you get. Scientifically proved, Manflu is much worse due to the fact that our flu attacks the muscles as well as the sinus. AS you ladies don't have so many muscles, the cold you get only attacks the fatty tissue of the body, and you have much more fat than us.

Anyway, i haven't just got Manflu but i have got Birdflu as well. Even worse than just plain old Manflu, Birdflu has the added complication of actually killing people. All because people in Norfolk sleep with their animals. Yes! In the biblical meaning of the sense. Dirty fuckers.

Now, i haven't slept with a turkey or a woman from Suffolk (much the same thing, really) so i reckon i caught the Birdflu from a Robin in my back garden. He turns up every day to eat my nuts. (No not gonads -proper peanutty type nuts) with a piece of straw in his mouth and a funny accented twirp. Putting 2&2 together, i reckon he's from Suffolk.

If this is correct, i reckon i've just invented a new strain of flu. ManBirdflu. Why? Because, not only having the symptoms on Manflu, i have taken to pecking off the tops of milk bottles and posing for Christmas card photographs. Truely a sign?

Before i die, i'm going to try flying south for the winter. If you see me, wish me a happy birthday; i'm 48 to day.

It's amazing what you find in magazines you read sitting on the toilet.

AS the title suggests, i found this little gem of an interview with Pete Townshend ( Neil's real father and spiritual guru)

The interview was in a little-known, local paper who's usual articles are about who has been in court and what the new "out-of-town shopping centre" will mean to YOU, the shopper and YOU, the poor old town butcher who will have to shut. (like i care)


Anyway, they sent their TOP reporter, Dai Ibolical to Richmond, London to interview Mr Townshend during the mid-tour break.


D I. It's been well documented that this is your first album for twenty-four years. Why so long in coming?

P.T. I've been decorating the house. Simple as that, really. I'm a bit of a perfectionist so it's taken that long to get it done; it's a big house. I find that, very much like mixing an album, you have to blend and re-do things to get it just right. I don't know if your readers will know much about the mechanics of drying paint, but if you do it all at the same time it's not a problem; In a house the size of mine that would be impossible and, over a period of weeks/months, it drys at a different rate and the colours are all wrong.

D I. Okay... Thanks for that.

The mini-opera was based on your much-read novella, The Boy Who Heard Music, (TBWHM) which, in turn, was a continuation of your much-talked about, Lifehouse project.
Did the "audience" for TBWHM, the bloggers, help to direct the plot, or was it already finished before it was published?

P T. No, they didn't help. In fact, they just talked crap for the most of it. I mean, i love them dearly. No, love is too strong a word. I respected...I read the comments but to be honest, i would have been better off getting them in to help with the decorating. Only then could i have put the album out sooner. That and having a drummer.

D I. How has Roger taken to the new stuff?

P T. Stuff? Stuff? Stuff is what...stuff is made of. This album goes beyond STUFF!

But to answer your question. He likes some of it. But like when the idea of "Lifehouse" was first delivered to the band he said: " Pete, what the fuck are you on about?" "Just write something i can sing about. Like shagging or sumfink." " I can't do songs about kids finding a bit of A4."
My reaction to that was to say: "NO Rog. fuck you. I'll sing it all myself." So i played and sang it to my partner, Rachel and she said: " Mmmm. I think you should get Rog to sing it after all."
So i told him i had changed a lot and now it was about a bunch of Mods who shag like fuck on a weekend to Margate. All i did was change the running order and he fell for it. Well, he is working class. A good wallpaper hanger, though. I'll give him that.

D I. Is it true that you want to animate the story and that you have plans to tour with cartoon characters?

P T. We are working on a script for an animated story, yes. Not sure about the tour though. I have very clear ideas on how it will run and i want Cartman, Stan and Kyle to play the main characters but they are busy filming and the distance between us - not the age difference or artistic distance, come to that - but the geographical distance. Southpark is like...in America. Not on the north bank of the Thames. Obviously, Kenny will be superfluous to the story so he will be killed of at the beginning in some tragic boating accident.

D I. So what next? Is there another album after the tour?

P T. I have about 300 songs that i wrote during the Christmas break in the tour. All of them are...i don't want to sound too big headed but...fucking brilliant. It's a follow-on of the mini-opera and tells the tale of what happens behind the mirror door. But don't tell Roger that. He thinks it's about Mods going to Southend-on-Sea for an easter punch-up with Rolling Stones fans.

Which reminds me, i have to get Doris Day murdered to make the lyrics work.

We will probably start recording in January next year. The tour finishes in the summer but i have a few thing to do before we record the songs. I have a raised flower bed i want to build in the garden and i need to re-wire the garage electrics. I'm thinking of turning it in to a village post office.

D I. At this point, long term girlfriend, Rachel Fuller came in with a cup of tea and to let Pete know that one of the dogs had chewed some wallpaper off the lounge wall.

P T. I'm sorry, i have to go. Do you know? That wallpaper cost me £7.50 a fucking roll! Had it from B&Q on, "10% 0ff Thurday." I may have to postpone the second leg of the tour to get it sorted. That'll piss Roger off. Fuck 'im. I'll tell him i've written another Tommy and he'll be placated.

Dear Readers. This is a work of fiction. Pete didn't say any of this. I lied. AGAIN! But i'm sure he does shop for wall paper in B&Qs.