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.