A Warning for Angela!

This is a warning for a specific Angela who lives in Durham. Your man has been unfaithful! I heard him on the train yesterday (Sunday 25th September) bragging about his infidelity. The man and his mates got on the train at York at 2:10 and left the train in Durham at 3:00, before heading off to the Bridge pub. I’m not sure about the culprit’s name, but he has some mates called Nicky, Darren and Robert. They’ve all got strong North-eastern accents. They’d been celebrating their mate’s birthday with a weekend away in York. They stayed in a hotel in York; not sure on the name. They went out to a number of clubs in the area, including Flairs and Reflex. So, there are clues for you Angela that might help you identify whether this is your man.

I suppose it rests upon my shoulders – since I am a writer of a blog that gets read by … some people (and one of those could be you Angela) to let you know about this man’s infidelity. I’m sorry if this is painful, but I feel that you deserve the truth.

I had no choice but to listen to the men’s conversation; your man, Angela, was shouting very loudly and was sitting on the seat opposite me. I found him to be a very annoying character, and frankly I can’t see what you find attractive about him Angela. Now and again some spit would fly out of his mouth and land on my face, which I found even more disconcerting than I may do usually because I knew what he’d been doing with that mouth the night before, and the night before that, because he loudly told everyone all about it on the train. I will spare you the graphic details that we weren’t spared on the train Angela, but let’s just say that I may have to check myself into a sexual health clinic, what with all his spitting on me. “I took ‘me plunger and plunged it right up her shitter”, he loudly declared to his mates, and the rest of the train. An interesting start to a sexual fling I thought: for some reason he had come across a complete stranger in a club, who must have – at some point during their initial chat – mentioned that she was having a problem with her toilet. Presumably she had some kind of blockage due to excessive bowel activity. This man was kind enough to spend some of his weekend which he was meant to be spending with his mates – to help unblock her toilet.

It appears – and I’ve had to do a little bit of lateral thinking here because the man wasn’t clear about how things progressed – that the woman was so moved by this man’s altruism towards her (and happy also to have found a man who doesn’t judge and dismiss her simply because she might have more of a propensity to crap than the average human being) that she had sex with him.

But this wasn’t the end of the tale, because it transpired that the next day, he took his plunger again and “plunged it right up her shitter”. So in the space of one day she had managed to block her toilet again. As with yesterday, she rewarded the man’s altruism by having sex with him, and a whole lot more (which I won’t go into here because it was quite graphic and I like to keep this blog clean. Plus he used some very interesting sexual metaphors which you might not be savvy enough to comprehend. I mean, obviously, I am, of course).

What I find odd about this tale is that the man then left her on the Sunday and returned back to Durham to you Angela. I know things are pretty bad for you at the moment, but I can’t help thinking about that poor girl he’s left behind in York. She’s finally – after years of searching – found the man of her dreams: a man who cleans her toilet and doesn’t ask awkward questions and judge her because of her overly-active bowels; a man who accepts her for who she is. She is so consumed with relief and joy that she makes love with this man. The next day he cleans her toilet, and again they make love. She’s probably already starting to think about having children with this man. “After all, why not? he’d be happy to change the nappies and clear up the mess”, she’s thinking; as long as he didn’t expect their kid to remunerate him in the same way as she would, then this would be the perfect arrangement.
But this man, after everything that’s happened, just gets up and leaves her, returns to Durham and to you Angela as if nothing whatsoever had happened. This wasn’t the harmless friendship that it might have been: a chance for him to help a damsel in distress. Sadly, as so very often happens in tales concerning distressed damsels who are rescued by brave and gallant men, she ends up having sex with him.

I’m sorry I had to be the barer of bad news Angela, but I think you disserve the truth. Sometimes this blog is just me rambling about nothing at all, but then other
times it’s about making a difference in the world, and bringing the truth to a poor, betrayed girl in Durham. It’s not easy being a blogger, but I take my responsibility seriously.

I’m off to see if any of the girls in my street need any odd jobs doing.

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The Young’uns Podcast 107 (Better than Fish Fingers?)

The Young’uns and friends gather round a piano to perform some interesting pop songs. We return to Holland to bring you more observations regarding Dutch culture, including the musical tastes of Dutch chavs, the toilet habits of Dutch men and some information about Dutch law. There’s the obligatory report from an Indian restaurant as we sample our most adventurous dish yet. What’s
Martin Carthy’s
favourite TV programme, we have exclusive news about the exciting new addition to
the Imagined Village,
and could folk music be the new cricket? Our featured folk group is
the Tea Cups
(the artists formerly known as the Dirty Tea cups); two songs and an interview with them. There’s also music from
the Spooky Men’s Chorale
and the Young’uns are joined by
Jackie Oates,
Ruth Notman
and Joan Crump for a
Peter Bellamy
shanty.

Click here to download.
Click here to listen>
Click here to download from the archive site (this is a perminent link).

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The Child who said Please

A child of about 9 has just got on the bus and asked for “half to the town”.There was a short pause where nothing happened, then the child added, “please”. Perhaps the child thought that the driver was refusing to act on his request until he added the “please”. This is what his parents might do, and he assumed therefore that the rest of society works in the same way. I thought I’d tell you about that little incident because it made me smile, just a little bit after a stressful day, and I thought it was a nice, cute thing to write about at the start of the blog. Also, I thought it might come as a bit of light relief after the posts about having sex with multiple bus drivers and swearing Satnavs. I know it was a very small observation and not particularly funny, and don’t worry, I’m not planning on basing the entire blog on this one tiny incident. Although, maybe I will, just for the challenge. Instead of writing about what I plannedto write about, I could spend this entire blog analysing and theorising about the child who said “please”, just to see how long I could go on about it for. I might even construct a whole routine about it and wheel it out at every gig the Young’uns do. The other two will grimace every time I start the story, knowing only too well (from months of painful experience) how it fails to illicit any kind of positive audience reaction. But that won’t stop me! O no! I’m not going for the populist vote; this is art! I’ve had an idea. I know where the child is sitting on the bus. I could follow him off the bus and observe his life and blog about it. This simple little observation could just be the start of an epic tale. This will require some dedication on my part, but I recon it might be worth it – for the story. I’m meant to be getting off a few stops before the town, but I could stay on the bus till we got to the town and follow the boy off. At least then I could find out if he says “thank you” or not. Perhaps the driver will refuse to open the doors until he does. Alas, I’m not prepared for this exercise: my batteries are running low on my netbook and I’m quite hungry after a day’s work. If only I was more prepared; but I had no idea that an opportunity as alluring as this would present itself. There I was, sitting on the bus, readying myself to write a blog post about something that – in comparison to this would have seemed mind-numbingly tedious – when this child came on the bus and said … well you know the rest. Sadly, I feel as if this task is going to be too much with the limited resources I have. My stop is approaching; well, the bus is approaching my stop to be accurate. I’m afraid I’ll have to let this opportunity pass me by. I’ve let you down, I’m sorry.I was wrong about this scenario not taking up an entire blog post, because it has. A very fat man has just sat next to me on the bus. He is squishing me into the window and I cannot move enough to write properly. So I shall leave this blog post here. Perhaps I’ll write my next blog post all about the fat man that is sitting next to me on the bus. I’m sure I can ring that out for a few hundred words at least. Stay tuned. Please. Thank you.P.S. The 107th Young’uns podcast will be upon you by the end of the week. Relax your shoulders and bend your knees.

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On a Route to Nowhere

I was in a taxi the other day. The taxi driver was obsessed with his Satnav. You might think (if you remember
my blog post on the subject of my Satnav)
that me and this driver would have consequently formed a special bond, talking non-stop about distance, altitude and other Satnav related trivia. This was not the case. The taxi driver wasn’t particularly enthused by the fact that his Satnav could give him instructions about how to get from a to b; to him, this was merely an ancillary point. The man was more interested in the array of additional voices he had bought for his device.

He was very excited about the fact that he’d
fribbled away his weekend downloading novelty and celebrity voices for his Satnav. He treated me to a litany of these voices on our journey:
John Cleese,
arnold schwarzenegger,
Bart Simpson,
Steven Hawking
(which is a bit of a rip off really, considering Steven Hawking’s voice is a synthesiser. Surely that should lower the cost somewhat). The driver’s particular favourite was
Ozzy Osbourne.
The taxi driver was keen to show me how Ozzy berated him if he took a wrong turning. He demonstrated this by turning left when Ozzy instructed him to turn right.
“You fucking cunt!” Ozzy screamed. A bit harsh I thought, but the taxi driver seemed delighted. He laughed most heartily, causing the car to swerve. What a way to die: crashing into a wall at high impact with Ozzy Ozborn screaming “you fucking cunt!” as we drew our final breath. The taxi driver would no doubt have died a happy man, but this wouldn’t have been my ideal choice of death. No naked beautiful women, palm trees, or harp music; just a fat taxi driver and a foul-mouthed Satnav.

He proceeded to go through more voices and demonstrated the various rebukes whenever he (deliberately) made a wrong turning. This was significantly increasing our journey time. The taxi driver didn’t ask me whether I wanted this long demonstration, nor did he enquire as to whether I actually needed to be at my destination for a specific time and whether his wrong turnings would make me late.

Eventually the Satnav voices demo came to an end and we reached our destination for the second time; the first time courtesy of Ozzy Osbourne and the second with John Cleese. As John Cleese’s over-the-top announcement sounded, the driver came to a halt, laughing merrily. “Well, it’s been fun” he said. “That’ll be £8 then”. Hang on! £8? It’s normally £6,50. Surely he’s not charging me for the extra time and milage his unrequested Satnav demonstration had taken. He’s essentially charging me for something I didn’t ask for. Not only that, but he’s charging me extra for making me late. I should have argued, but I’m too much of a coward, so I begrudgingly handed over the money.

I’m writing this blog post while in the car with
the Young’uns.
Mike’s Satnav’s voice is
Billy Connoly.
It’s been Billy Connoly for the last two years. His jokes have not updated; he’s been doing the same routine all that time. “turn around when possible. It is advisable to turn your whole car around; do not just turn yourself around inside your car.” I dread to think how many road accidents have been caused by drivers helplessly careering into walls due to uncontrollable laughter caused by Billy Connoly’s Satnav based quips.

Currently, Billy is telling us – for the 8th time – that we have reached our destination. “Remember that none of this would have been possible without me; you would have been hopelessly lost”. The irony is that we are hopelessly lost. Mike has asked Billy to take him to the fuel station. Billy has taken us to a random bush in a remote part of town. Unless, Billy knows of a certain type of bush with special properties that can fuel a car, Billy has completely miscalculated the whereabouts of the fuel station, and Billy should really stop being so smug about his navigational abilities and concentrate more on correctly guiding us to a fuel station rather than wasting our time with cheep, outdated wisecracks. Mike is currently shouting obscenities at Billy, saying similar things to what you might expect Ozzy Osbourne to say. Billy is responding by repeating the same joke for the third time which is doing nothing to temper Mike’s exasperation.

O dear! I better go and be a mediator between Billy Connoly and Michael Hughes before this gets out-of-hand.

The 107th Young’uns Podcast is coming soon.

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