“I could pull your Adam’s apple out in less than a second with just two fingers” declared the man sitting next to me on the bus. His hand was clutching the front of my neck. Suddenly, the cat obsessed old ladies didn’t seem like such bad company after all.

The man with his hand around my neck is called Rob. He retired from the army just this week, having served for thirty years, and he was now exhibiting some of the knowledge he’d picked up during that time. I was the lucky recipient of his demonstrations. I had already been jabbed in the ribs, and had my arm twisted, and now he’d moved on to my neck, which he gripped with his hand, and shook slightly to the meter of his words.

I’d only known Rob for fifteen minutes. He’d sat next to me on the bus, and after a minute or so initiated some small talk about the whether.

“Lovely day mate” he said.

“Yes it is” I replied. And from there, the conversation naturally developed; if you can class a man with his hands around your neck announcing that he could tear your Adam’s apple out as a natural development from the weather.

After a couple of seconds, Rob released his grip on my neck, and began to tell me about some other ways he could inflict pain on people.

“Yes, as you were saying fifteen minutes ago when you first spoke to me Rob, it certainly is a lovely day”. I thought I’d try and get us back on to the weather talk, just in case he planned to act out anything else on me.

“I can kill a man in less than a second Dave” he continued, clearly ignoring my attempts to move the conversation back to safer territory.

“Could be as high as 30 degrees out there Rob”.

“it’s all about pressure points Dave. If you know exactly where to press, and I do, you can kill a man, no problem”. “No problem for you perhaps. I’m not sure if the other person would share that view”, I thought. Obviously I didn’t vocalise this to Rob; I wanted to stay alive with my Adam’s apple safely in tact.

Rob, despite the picture I may have painted, was actually a very inspiring person and seemed to be very positive , despite all the terrible things he had witnessed. He said that his favourite part of the army was learning about and experiencing different cultures. He’d learnt a number of languages, and was fluent in Pakistani. He proved this to me by speaking a couple of sentences in Pakistani, and it sounded pretty good, so I believed him.
He told me some very harrowing tales, and demonstrated that even in the most negative and bleakest of situations, positivity and friendship can still exist.

“When you leave the army you have to sign the official secrets act”, Rob informed me. “;There’s so much I can’t say. There’s so much I can’t talk about”. He then took hold of my neck again, and pulled me towards him. “But we’re on the back of a bus with a really loud engine, so I think we’ll be fine”. I’m sure that there isn’t a caveat in the official secrets act that said that he was OK to divulge secret information if he happened to be on the back of a bus that had a really loud engine. Sadly, I didn’t get to hear what he had to say because the bus was nearing my stop.

“Well, in a couple of minutes we’ll be reaching my stop Rob, so maybe another time. It’s been a pleasure though. Oh and thanks for the tips about how to kill people”.

“Oh well if you’re getting off soon then I better quickly tell you this funny story about my cat. I meant to tell you it sooner, but I got distracted chatting about top military secrets and how to kill people”. No, he didn’t say that. What he actually did was grabbed hold of my neck again and pulled me towards him. Thank goodness this wasn’t the mega bus from Newcastle to London, otherwise I might not be here to tell this tale.

“Promise me something Dave” he whispered with great intensity. “Promise me that you’ll never give up. I see the fight in your eyes. You’ve got ambition son. You’ve got a purpose, and you know what it is. You go out there and make it happen. Promise me, you won’t give up. Promise me”. He gave me a little shake. I promised him, and he let go of me. I stood up, and put my bag on my back and turned to shake his hand and bid him goodbye, as if all of this had been perfectly normal.

As I walked off the bus and waited at the stop for my next bus, I mused on what had just happened, what the man had just said. He asked me to promise him that I would never give up. And I was hardly going to refuse; he had his hands around my neck, and he knew killing techniques. He also said that he knew that I had a purpose, and that I knew what it was. Well, he was right. But how could he have known about the Eskimo Kissing song?

Rob’s message came at an opportune moment. When I returned home I checked my emails, hoping for some more nose rubbing videos. But there was nothing. I had been so heartened by the initial response from people, that I just assumed that the weekend would bring me more. Why wouldn’t it? What could possibly be stopping people? Did people prefer to watch the Olympics on TV rather than emailing videos of themselves rubbing noses with people to some deluded fool? Surely not. But it seemed as if that might be the case.

But I would not be despondent. I must heed Rob’s words. I would not give up. I had fight in me, passion, and a purpose. Rob had seen it in my eyes, and he knew what he was talking about. And he had also clearly illustrated he could be a formidable enemy. So I wasn’t going to back down on that promise, just in case.

I received one nose rubbing video this weekend. I have decided that I really need to renew my efforts and strengthen my attempts. I will post on Internet forums, comment on relevant blogs, speak to people on Skype, mention it at gigs, and even try and get the press involved at some point.

Anyway, on Friday I mentioned that in Google, my website came third for the search term “Eskimo Kissing Song”. The first two spots are occupied by the Kooks who have a song called Eskimo Kiss. I asked you all on Friday to please Google the term “Eskimo Kissing song” and then click on my website. If enough people did this then perhaps I could get my website at number one and beat the Kooks. Well, today, we appear to have risen to number two. I’m sure by the end of the week we will be number one. So keep Googling.

I’ll be back later this week with another blog. If you haven’t sent me a video of you nose rubbing yet then please do. Email them to david@davideagle.co.uk And let’s beat The Kooks! I’d strongly advise you to get involved. After all, I’ve learnt a thing or two about killing people since we last spoke. So, get involved. You nose it makes sense!

As the title of this blog post suggests, I want to get the Eskimo Kissing song to number one by the end of this weekend. It would obviously be nice if the song itself could attain a number one chart position, but I think realistically we’ll have to wait a few months before that’s going to happen. However, there is another chart topping position that I would like us to focus our immediate attention on.

On Wednesday, I Googled the search term ‘Eskimo Kissing song’. The top results for this search query indicated that the band The Kooks have released a song called ‘Eskimo Kiss’. I was however pleased to note that my blog posts about the song occupied position 15. Not bad, I thought, especially since I’d only blogged about the song a week ago. I was even more pleased the following day to note that I had moved up the results to position 10. I have just checked today, and the Eskimo Kissing Song is now 3rd, with the Kooks still occupying the first two spots. But that is all about to change, because it’s time for all of you to take action.

You can make a difference. All you need to do is go to Google and search for ‘the Eskimo Kissing Song’. Then when you find my blog post in the search results, click on the page. That’s all you have to do. If you like, you can tackle Yahoo, bing and the other search engines, but let’s primarily concentrate our efforts on Google.

I’ll be back on Monday. I hope to have received more nose rubbing videos by then. Email me david@davideagle.co.uk

Download the Eskimo Kissing Song here.

I am please to report that I have already started receiving nose rubbing videos from people. Thank you to everyone who has emailed me so far. I didn’t expect such a positive response in the first 24 hours of making the request.

Since posting my blog yesterday, I have been contacted by someone who has offered to do a dance remix of the Eskimo kissing song. I have since communicated with him and have suggested that he tries and creates a mainstream sounding pop dance track that we could use as the real version of the song. As I said in my first blog post about the song, this current version will probably only serve as the demo song. It was an expedient recording made in under 8 hours. It probably won’t capture the mainstream pop market. The current version sounds quite sixties; we need something modern and poppy so that it will translate to the masses. I was sent some clips of this person’s previous work, and I am confident that he will be able to produce a really good dance track.

Another thing I think we need in order to capture people’s interest is a catchy band name. David Eagle doesn’t sound novelty enough I don’t think. So I’ve decided that the name of the group who sing the Eskimo Kissing Song is called the Kisser Chiefs. It’s OK, I know I’m a genius; you don’t have to worry about letting me know.

I have also bought the domain names eskimokissing.co.uk and thekisserchiefs.co.uk. I think this will come in useful at a later date.

I have also designed a Tee-shirt promoting the Eskimo Kissing song which I intend to frequently wear. I have ordered loads of blank CDs, and I have plans for utilising these to spread the message about the Eskimo Kissing Song. We also need flyers and leaflets.

So that’s a brief progress report. I just wanted you to understand that the momentum is well and truly building, just in case you were doing something stupid like not taking this whole thing seriously. Don’t doubt it people. I’m 100 % serious. So get involved. You nose it makes sense!

Please continue to send me your nose rubbing videos and “nosey nosey” audio recordings. My email address is david@davideagle.co.uk

I’ll be back tomorrow with more. Till then, get rubbing those noses.

Forget rubbing shoulders; it’s all about rubbing noses now. I’m assuming that you all have a nose, though I apologise if you don’t and this whole Eskimo Kissing thing is causing you distress. For those of you who do have these aforementioned facial appendages, I’d like you to utilise them in the creation of the Eskimo Kissing music video, which (as I said in my last blog post) I want to go viral (the video that is; I’m not saying that I’d like your noses to go viral).

My idea for the video is a collage of very short video clips consisting of people rubbing their noses together. I want nose rubbing videos recorded from all sorts of locations: on trains, busses, boats, in forests, in church, factories, shops, restaurants, pubs, up a tree, in the sea, in a tent, on a bloody bouncy castle – wherever, anywhere will do. I want people of all ages. We might even get some animal nose rubbing action sent in. Imagine that. Wherever, whoever and whatever; as long as it’s nose rubbing, I want it.

You can send me videos or still photos. Either upload them to somewhere and email me the link, or
send them to me as an attachment via email. My email address is: david@davideagle.co.uk
Or you can comment on this blog post and send me the link that way.

Just a short video of you rubbing your nose with someone or something. That’s all we need. If you do fancy doing something more creative that you think will work then feel free. This is your song just as much as mine. You don’t expect me to take full responsibility for all this nonsense do you?

I would also like any recordings, either audio or video, of you saying, shouting, or whispering, “nosey nosey”. I don’t care how you say it, or how many of you are saying it, I just need clips of people saying “nosey nosey”.

So please, get to work. Send me your nose rubbing videos and photos, and your “nosey nosey” recordings . Upload them somewhere or
email them straight to me.
Let me know that you’ve made a video and where I can find it.

OK team, it’s time for you to get to work. Make a blind man very happy. Get involved. You nose it makes sense!

I’ll be back tomorrow with a progress report.

Mr Blobby, the Crazy Frog, Barbie Girl, the Cheeky Girls, Bob the Builder, ScatMan John, the Fast-food Rockers, and me. What a party that was!

I list these names because they have all been involved in novelty hit songs. I have created (in my not so humble opinion) a novelty hit song, and in the future I hope that this song will earn me as much respect and reverence as is afforded to these other aforementioned esteemed luminaries of the novelty hit song world. Well you’ve got to dream big.

Yesterday I explained (as best as I could) how this song came about. Today I do not intend to write a great deal, because I want you all to listen to my song. I will then give you the weekend to digest what you’ve heard, and then I shall be back early next week to discuss how we progress from here. As I said yesterday, we need a video that will go viral and I want you all involved.

Download the Eskimo Kissing Song here.

Lyrics

Some couples they like to French kiss,
But me and my girl we’d rather give all that a miss,
We’d rather kiss the Eskimo way,
Rubbing our noses is the perfect foreplay.

Because we’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
We’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
You’re my Eskimo girl, I’m your Eskimo guy,
Touch my nose, don’t be shy,
Nosey Nosey!

I’ve been with so many girls who’ve rubbed me up the wrong way,
But the way that you rub me, you know I’m always gonna stay,
We’re gonna demonstrate our love like the Eskimos do,
We’re gonna stick together just like igloo.

Because we’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
We’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
You’re my Eskimo girl, I’m your Eskimo guy,
Touch my nose, don’t be shy,
Nosey Nosey!

Well it’s been such a long time because you’ve had a bad cold,
But now you say it’s cleared up and so are passion takes its hold,
We’re rubbing our noses, girl you know how to please,
The moment is so magical until you start to sneeze.

She said she loved me, and then she sneezed; well that was mucus to my ears.

we’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
We’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
You’re my Eskimo girl, I’m your Eskimo guy,
Touch my nose, don’t be shy,
Nosey Nosey!

I look around me. My palace is festooned with gold discs and trophies. A myriad of photographs adorn the walls. They comprise people of all ages, from all of earth’s countries. And all these people are engaged in the same activity.

There are thousands of celebrity faces: Hollywood stars, pop singers, politicians, sports stars. There are photographs of royalty; our very own queen of Britain even features, obviously not wanting to be exempt from this craze that has pervaded the planet.

I turn around and focus my attention on the large collection of photographs of beautiful women that fill this particular section of the room. They’re all smiling great big smiles. I recognise that smile all-too-well; that’s the smile of a lady who has spent some quality time with David Eagle. How many beautiful women have graced my life over the last year? I lost count after the first month.

As my eyes move around the room, I observe the immense magnitude of what I have created. All these people: politicians, pop stars, footballers, actors, beautiful ladies, children, animals – even the extra-terrestrial life form that we dramatically became acquainted with at the end of 2012 – all looking back at me, wearing wide smiles. And of course, everyone of them is engaged in that same ubiquitous activity: nose rubbing. Because 2013 is the year of the Eskimo kiss. And it’s all thanks to me!

A year ago today was when it all began; July 21st 2012. Who would have thought that this day would have been the catalyst for all the fame, all the awards, all the celebrity parties, all those women? Certainly not I, as I took my seat for what I assumed would be an innocuous and uneventful train journey. But as the train pulled away from Newcastle station and made its course to York, I was starting an altogether different journey, one which would prove to be much more significant and life changing.

There’s a part of this story missing. It will have to stay missing I’m afraid as I have no idea what it is. I am not aware of the event that caused what happened to happen. I assume that there must be some reason why my brain would suddenly become super-active and start rapidly churning out the lyrics to a song about Eskimo kissing. But I cannot imagine what possibly made such a thing occur. I had no plans whatsoever to write a song, and I had not been conscious of thinking about or hearing anything relating to Eskimo kissing, yet here was my brain spontaneously composing a whole song on that very subject.

I spent the first half of the train journey typing profusely on my laptop as I try to keep up with my crazed brain’s lyrical deluge. By the time the train had reached Darlington I had a document with pages of lyrics. At this point my brain eventually capitulated its relentless spewing, and I was able to look back over what the heck I’d actually written. I liked it; but I couldn’t possibly use all these words, there was too much.

Half an hour later, the train pulled into York. I closed my laptop, satisfied that I had managed to redact the reams of words down to a three verse song.

As I walked out of the station and down the street, I ran through the song in my head. I knew it off-by-heart; it was as if I’d known it for years. I felt fully alive and energised by this odd event. But what to do about it? Surely I am too busy to spend time recording a silly song about Eskimo kissing. But I couldn’t get the song out of my head, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to ignore its hold over me. This whole experience had been too potent for me to simply ignore and do nothing about.

I arrived at my friend Ben’s house. We were meant to be going out in York for my birthday, but when I arrived at his house and he asked me what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go, I instantly replied, without any deliberation “I want to record my novelty hit song, and I want to go to number one”. And so, instead of celebrating my birthday by going out drinking, we spent the night and early morning recording the song that a few hours ago hadn’t even been conceived. And Ben no doubt mused on why he couldn’t have opted for a normal friend who was happy to just go out on a Saturday night and drink himself almost to oblivion.

So that’s the first part of my plans kind of achieved. The song is recorded. Getting to number one will probably be a little more tricky, and take a little bit longer. I say that I have “kind of” achieved the first part of my plan, because the recording of this song is probably only going to be the demo version, as it was recorded in a bedroom in 8 hours. But it’s a good place to start. If I’m going to get to number one though, we’ll have to make a professionally produced pop recording with an accompanying music video.

On Thursday evening I will upload the song and release another blog post. Then I will await your thoughts. Then we’ll take it from there. I have got ideas for the video and I want you all involved. I shall explain more when you have heard the song.

In the meantime, enjoy your final day of sanity before you are thrown into the brave new world – a world that is united by the Eskimo kiss. Mark my words: in 2013, the Eskimo kissing song will be everywhere. But tomorrow, it will be hear, for the first time. So, until tomorrow friends …

We’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
We’re Eskimo kissing tonight,
You’re my Eskimo girl, I’m your Eskimo guy,
Touch my nose, don’t be shy.

I had barely arrived at the bus stop before an old lady approached me and began to talk to me about her cat. This seems to be what old ladies at bus stops do, or at least the old ladies at bus stops in Billingham anyway. I used to travel this bus route on a daily basis for a year, and rarely would a week go by without an old lady talking to me about her cat.

I’m convinced that some of these old ladies don’t actually ever get on any buses; they just wonder over to their local bus stop of a morning if the weather’s nice, to spend a few hours chatting (generally about their cats). They have seemingly researched all the bus numbers and time tables, but I don’t think they’ve done this for the conventional reason; I think they’ve armed themselves with this knowledge purely as a means of providing them with a suitable conversation opener. All they have to do is wait for a moment of weakness from someone, such as a glance at the time table, a puzzled look, or a person quietly musing about when their next bus is due, and they’ll be straight in there. They’ll give you the information you were looking for, but you’ll get it at a price, that price being a litany of superfluous trivia about an old lady’s cat.

Being blind, I am perfect prey for these old ladies. As soon as I approach the bus stop, they are on to me. They want to help me apparently, but I know their game. “Which bus are you wanting?” they ask, affecting interest. I tell them. “O dear, you’ve just missed one”, they gleefully inform me, “which means you’ve got plenty of time to listen to a couple of anecdotes about our cats”.

“oh, I haven’t seen you at this bus stop for a while” said today’s old lady. I explained to her that I now live close to where I work and so generally I don’t need to make the bus journey any more. “Oh, OK”, she said, and then, without a moment’s pause, began, “Well, you’ll remember my cat bobby of course”. This was not a question; it was a statement. She seemed to have no doubt in her mind that I would remember her cat Bobby, and that I would obviously be looking forward to receiving an update on him. Incidentally, if you should find yourself in a similar situation to the one I’m describing, here is some advice that you would be wise to heed (take note, I am not a novice in this matter): do not ask questions, or offer thoughts; just let the cat-talk wash over you while you think about something more interesting, and believe me, thinking of something more interesting will not be a challenge. The old bus stop cat ladies are not interested in your opinions; they simply see you as a transient passive recipient for their cat anecdotes. If you half listen to what their saying and simply smile, nod or frown depending on the nature of their tale, then you should get away relatively mentally unscathed.

I hope you are not going to be disappointed by my exclusion of the old lady’s cat update. I was not really listening. It had something to do with a trip to the vets, but I’m assuming by the lady’s tone that the cat survived this experience, which is a pitty because this means she’ll have future cat anecdotes to impart. If you are interested to hear the story though, then I’m sure you’ll be enlightened if you hang around the bus stop opposite Asda in Billingham. Just go up to the old ladies congregating around the bus stop and ask if any of them are the owner of Bobby the cat. You’re bound to find her. Perhaps if Dave Gorman still reads this blog (because he definitely used to) then he may take it as a challenge to find this lady. Going around the country to track down characters that he reads about in blogs is the kind of thing he would probably do. I would advise him to put this particular episode somewhere in the middle of his book; it’s hardly the big opener or grand finale.

During the woman’s lengthy disquisition on her cat, my bus pulled up.

“Well, it was good seeing you again, and thanks for telling me about Bobby. Give him my best”, I said as I moved towards the bus. “Oh yes, I’ll tell him you were asking after him” replied the old lady, without a trace of humour in her voice.
“I’m glad to see you’re still doing well” she said as I reached the front of the bus queue, “we were wondering what had happened to you”. “Well don’t worry, I’m fine, as you can see I’m not dead”, I heartily responded as I stepped on to the bus. And fell face first on to the ground. I had my accordion with me, as well as my laptop and other stuff for work, and I had forgotten how much weight I was carrying. In my haste to get away from the old cat lady, I made a clumsy step on to the bus. As I stepped up my bags slipped. I tried to straighten my bags and somehow got my cane caught in between my legs. The cane tripped me up and the combine weight of my bags sent me down.

I tried to rise as gracefully as possible, then turned to face where I had just come from and shouted, “Don’t tell Bobby about this. I wouldn’t want to become a figure of fun amongst the cat community”. I thought a bit of humour might alleviate people’s concerns, but all it seemed to do was cause confusion and further concern among the passengers, especially the passengers behind me who had just heard me shout something about cats in their faces. The woman had probably already gone, running home to tell Bobby the good news that I was still alive. The passengers probably assumed that I had knocked my head during the fall, and that I’d started spouting nonsense about cats in my semi-concussed state.

As I settled in to my seat, I began to chuckle to myself. This probably helped confirm people’s suspicions about my sanity. The reason for my chuckling however was due to me imagining the irony of the situation, had my fall been fatal and resulted in my death. It would have been a pretty ironic way to die. I had just pronounced with a grin on my face to the old cat lady, “as you can see I’m not dead”. I then promptly fell face first on to the ground. Had this fall resulted in the end of my life, these haunting words would have been my last.

“Can you tell us what happened just before he fell please madam?” the policeman would enquire of the old cat lady, who would have been sighted as a key witness.

“He said … he said … as you can see I’m not dead. Then he fell on the ground, dead”.

“Haha .. ahem. Well, thank you Madam. We will be in touch if we require your further assistance in this matter. Thank you, you’re free to leave”.

“Thank you inspector. But before I leave, you’ll want to be hearing about Bobby of course. Well he’s been to the vet, just for a checkup you understand, and …”.

Obviously I didn’t die, as you’ve presumably realised, given that I’m writing this blog. So I suppose the incident was a bit of a none-story really. If I had died then this blog post would have been much more exciting, because there would have actually been something of note to have told you. But I wouldn’t have been able to have written the blog had I actually died, so I’m in a no-win situation with this post. Still, this blog entry could have been a lot worse; at least you didn’t have to read all about Bobby the cat and his trip to the vet.

The 109th Young’uns Podcast is available to download.

This week: We play a track from the Young’uns new album ‘When our Grandfathers Said No’, which is released in September on Navigator Records. We also give an insight into the recording of the album. Our special guest is Rebekah Findlay; two songs from her new album and a chat on the phone. We commemorate the Jubilee celebrations in our own unique style. We tell about how our folk music nearly killed a couple of children. Sean Cooney teaches us some primary school songs. It’s the first instalment in a new drama series exclusive to the Young’uns Podcast: we present the story of Iggy-Jiggy-Barbar the dancing sheep. And a Young’uns Podcast wouldn’t be a Young’uns Podcast without a few puns thrown in for good measure; this week it’s salad and pig puns – now we’ve got your attention.

Download the podcast here.

Subscribe to the Young’uns Podcast for free

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“Hey, I’ve just met you and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe”, declared Carly Rae Jepsen, just before I hastily retuned the radio. What exactly is so crazy? If I’ve understood her correctly: she’s just met a man who she finds attractive; on the basis of this she gives him her phone number and suggests that he calls her. This kind of thing happens to people all the time; even to people like me sometimes. I don’t see why she believes what she is doing is so radical.

Thinking that I might be doing miss Jepsen (I assume she’s a “miss” if she’s giving her phone number out to men) a disservice by dismissing her song based purely on a chorus, I went on the Internet and listened to the whole thing. Perhaps this wasn’t simply another one of those trite girl-meets-boy songs. A girl giving her phone number to a boy could hardly be described as “crazy”. But Carly had quite clearly stated that “this is crazy”, and so perhaps I should give her the benefit of the doubt and listen to her tale.

Maybe the man she’d just met was the groom at a wedding, and she had been the photographer taking the wedding photos. After she’d spent half an hour photographing the happy couple, she then realised how attractive the man was. Rather than simply ignoring her desire, like surely most people would do in such a situation, she decided instead to proposition him by delivering those now famous lines. “Hey I’ve just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe”. Well she’s right; that is crazy.

If this was the actual story, and the man decided to call and something happened between them, then I think that it’s more than a little insensitive of Carly to then go crowing about what has happened in a song. Hasn’t she done enough damage? I think it’s also a bit insensitive of the public to support, even reward, Carly’s actions by buying the single, causing it to go to number one.

But as expected, this wasn’t the scenario that Carly was singing about; she was merely, as I assumed, telling us that she’d met a man who’d she’d given her phone number to and then suggested that he called her – crazy!

While we’re on the subject of crap song lyrics: the other pop song that riles me is ‘Hot and Cold’ by Katy Perry.

The first line of the song says, “you change your mind like a girl changes clothes”, presumably intimating that this particular person changes quite a bit. You with me? Good. As the song progresses, the listener is left in no doubt that this is precisely what Katy is insinuating. The whole sentiment of the song is that this guy is always changing: “you’re hot then your cold, your yes then you’re no, you’re in then you’re out, you’re up then you’re down”. The choruses and verses both reiterate this one fact throughout the song. “We used to be Just like twins, so in sync, The same energy, Now’s a dead battery, Used to laugh about nothing, Now you’re plain boring …”. OK, so she’s ramming the point home that this person is always changing. You still with me? Excellent. OK then. So imagine my surprise when in the final verse, after everything she’s just sang, Katy then declares: “I should know that you’re not going to change”.

What!? What are you going on about Katy? You’ve just spent the last 3 minutes bemoaning that the person in the song is always changing. You can’t then, by way of a conclusion, summarise the situation by saying, “I should know that you’re not going to change”.
No, that is completely in direct opposition to everything that you’ve just said. But then, even more absurdly, she attempts to back up this contradictory conclusion by saying: “coz you’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no, you’re in then your out, you’re up then you’re down” etc. So she’s contradicted herself twice. How can she be so thick? And anyway, the demo version of the song was much better than the released recording; it had a flailing Russell Brand recorder solo.

For a moment, I began to doubt the credibility of Katy Perry as a sincere and authentic artist. I was beginning to think that she might be just in it for the money and the fame rather than trying to express anything poetic or profound. But then she released firework with that ore-inspiring, apposite line, “do you ever feel like a plastic bag?” and immediately my heart screamed: “yes, Katy, yes, I do! All the time. Finally, someone who understands exactly how I feel. Oh Katy, you have connected with me on a level that no one else has done before”. And so all was forgiven.

There is further evidence of Katy’s tendency to contradict herself. In ‘I kissed a girl’ she sings the line, “it felt so wrong, it felt so right”. So maybe Katy is just generally a very confused woman.

Now, some advice: if you’re a pop singer struggling for something interesting to sing about, then you can always borrow some ideas from this blog. I think my last blog post about my printer at work would make for an excellent 3 and a half minute pop song, especially if we can get some Russell Brand recorder playing on it.

In other news: the 109th Young’uns podcast is just around the corner. BUT please don’t strain your neck in an attempt to see it; you’ll only do yourself an injury. We should be exhibiting some tracks from the Young’uns’ new album, which has just been mastered and is now in duplication. Perhaps when it’s released, Katy Perry or Carly Rae Jepsen will write a blog about it, picking holes in all the lyrics. There are no songs about my printer at work on it unfortunately, but it’s worth you buying it anyway. You’ll have to wait and see whether or not Russell Brand makes an appearance with his recorder. Oh, what the hell, the news will be out there sooner or later anyway: there’s a version of his Andrew Sachs song on it, with Russell doing his lead part and the Young’uns doing a specially arranged version of Jonathan Ross’s backing vocals. No recorder though; we couldn’t afford it.

I woke up in the morning with a spring in my step. At least, I’m assuming that the spring in my step was there when I first woke up; I obviously didn’t discover it until I was out of bed and engaged in the act of stepping. To be honest, the precise moment that the spring in my step was first present isn’t really the salient point here; all you really need to know is that, at the moment when it mattered, i.e. when I was stepping, the spring was definitely there.
But why was it there? Don’t look so worried, I’m not expecting you to have an answer; it is a rhetorical question. It is just another one of my many ingenious dramatic devices that I employ from time-toTime in order to create a certain amount of tension. But is it really necessary at this particularly early stage in the story to build tension? Come on, answer me! I said, is it really necessary? What’s wrong with you? Can’t you tell the difference between a rhetorical question and a genuine one? No, obviously not, shut up, that was a rhetorical question you fool, I don’t need you to answer! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. Join me in the next paragraph where I promise to be the perfect gentleman.

I made the journey to work, past the infamous Pelican crossing – yes, the very same. It now has a commemorative plaque on it incidentally, that is inscribed with: “as made famous by David Eagle”, and then the URL of the blog post in gold lettering, https://www.davideagle.co.uk/from-chickens-to-pelicans.OK, I’m exaggerating, as you may have suspected. It wasn’t the full Url; it didn’t have the “HTTP://www.” prefix. Well you can’t expect the council to fritter away money willy-nilly, especially in this current climate.

I entered my office. The spring was still very much apparent in my step by the way, just in case you were wondering. I would have told you if it had gone. What kind of a writer do you take me for? That was a rhetorical question.

My spring-loaded step transported me to my computer. I switched it on. Opened the document. Entered the print menu. Selected my printer from the list of networked printers. Hit the print button. Sat back in my chair, and waited. And then, that message appeared on the screen. That same-old message making that all-too-familiar proclamation: “sorry, the device cannot be reached”. The device cannot be reached? But you are less than a metre away from the “device”, you stupid computer! You are practically touching each other. In fact I am pretty sure I can sense the sexual tension in the room between the two of you, you are that close.

But what had gone wrong? I thought today was meant to be a new beginning? Yesterday, for the first time, having worked in this place for a year and a half, the printer had finally worked. After 1 and a half years of this same message telling me that my “device can not be reached”, it had finally capitulated and had started working. When I first started working here I was a much less cynical and more optimistic person. I suggested to the IT people that the problem might easily be fixed if we connected the printer to the computer via a cable; but my suggestion was immediately dismissed. The response from IT was that this would only add “unnecessary complications”. In fact, it seemed to appear that any intervention at all from the IT department would have added “unnecessary complications”, since the IT department’s solution had been to simply ignore the problem and do absolutely nothing. But then yesterday, completely unexpectedly, an IT man had ventured into my office.

“ah, hello, I think you must be lost” I gently told the man. I made sure to adopt a calm and collected approach with him, after all it must have been terrifying for him to have found himself outside the confines of the IT department. Goodness knows how he had got here. In all the time I’d been working here I’d hardly ever seen anyone from the IT department. But when on the rare occasion that they did respond to a call, they had always come in pairs. In all my time in this job, I had never seen a lone IT man. But now here he was, standing in my office, this living, breathing paradox, this lone IT man. This needed to be handled with tact, I thought. Perhaps he had set off with his companion, but somehow they had got separated, and now he’s come wondering aimlessly into my office. I could mention my printer problem to him, but this was hardly the time or the place. It must be distressing enough for him – bracing this unfamiliar territory alone, unable to reach his IT friend – without adding further trauma by suggesting that he tries to fix an IT problem. Hmm, perhaps they should have connected themselves together with a cable.

The man’s response to my gentle greeting took me by surprise. He did not seem dazed, confused or afraid. He informed me, in a very jolly tone, that he was here to fix my printer. Well, now it was me who was feeling dazed and confused. I asked him to repeat what he’d just said, which he duly did, and yes, I had heard him correctly, he had said that he had come to fix my printer. I stood there shocked. And then I flung myself at him and embraced him, which was a bad move because I got tangled up in a cable. What was he doing with a cable? Maybe he was connected to his friend after all. I extracated myself and apologised, explaining to him that his statement had come as a bit of a shock to me. He chuckled and made his way to my computer. Hang on a minute. He chuckled? An IT man with a sense of humour?! In all my time working here I had never seen anything quite like it. He then did something that completely knocked me for six. He reached behind the computer, and connected a cable. My goodness, so that’s what the cable was for. He then moved over to the printer and connected the other end of the cable to the back of the printer. He then went into the print menu, selected the printer and hit the print button. And the printer burst into life. It started to print!

“”There you go” he declared cheerfully, “just needed a cable connecting. This particular printer isn’t really compatible with the network, you see”. I stared at him in amazement, not only because he had just fixed my printer by attaching a cable (which I had posited as a solution to the problem over a year ago), but also because he had actually spoken to me in clear English, rather than just muttering incomprehensibly and then slumping out of the room.

“What a brilliant end to the working day” I thought. “This would be a new beginning!” But as we’ve already established, it wasn’t. Because here I was, the very next day after this miraculous event had occured, and the printer was not working. But the IT man had fixed it. He had connected it with a cable.

And then it came to me: perhaps he had done the job surreptitiously. Perhaps he is a rebel IT man. After all, he was working alone. Perhaps he is an IT insurgent, on a mission to do good in the world, to go against the grain and … fix IT problems. I should have known that these orders couldn’t have possibly come from official channels. He was jolly, he was working alone, he fixed my IT problem in a matter of seconds without any fuss and without the usual literny of nonsensical excuses – the deluge of IT jargon. He had spoken in plain English. He had used a simple logical solution. He had used a cable. He had a sense of humour! Of course he was a rebel.

O no, he had probably been found out. He was probably being reprogrammed at this very moment, screaming in torment as management signed him up for yet another pointless NVQ with endless amounts of theory work; that would keep him away from interfering with any real IT problems for a good while. Yes, the IT department had obviously found him out, and then under the cover of darkness had come into my office, wrenched out the offending cable and burned it.

I checked the back of the computer. There was no cable. I checked the back of the printer, just in case it had somehow merely become disconnected. But the cable was gone.

But how did they find him out? I thought back. Had I said anything about it to anyone? Yes, unfortunately I very much had. I had spent the remaining half an hour of the working day celebrating this extraordinary event by printing out letters to all of my colleagues, apologising for the times that I had hijacked their printers and thanking them for their patients and understanding over the last year and a half. I then shared with them my excellent news that an IT man – of all people – had come into my office and fixed my printer. Therefore, I would no longer be annoying them on a daily basis; well, at least, I wouldn’t be annoying them about printing, I could now focus my efforts on devising more creative and entertaining ways of annoying them. I printed all these letters out and then hand delivered them to all of my colleagues.

So basically I had told everyone. Someone must have been a whistle-blower, and reported what had happened to IT. I should have known, there was bound to be someone who sympathised with the enemy. And now that poor IT man had been found out. And it was all my fault.

I picked up the phone and dialled a colleague. I was sure that this particular person would not have been the whistleblower; I was positive that I was safe confiding in him. I explained that my printer was once again none-functional. He seemed nonplused. “But it’s never worked” he replied. How could he have forgotten? “It was fixed yesterday, remember?” But he didn’t remember. “We chatted about it at length. I was over-the-moon. I gave you a hand delivered letter that I printed on my printer, telling you all about it”. “I didn’t receive a hand delivered letter, I certainly didn’t have a conversation anywhere near as dull as that, and anyway, yesterday was Sunday”.

Yesterday was Sunday? Of course it was. But I don’t work Sundays, and I was off the previous week, and it certainly hadn’t been more than a week ago when it had happened. It was yesterday. I was sure of it. That’s the reason why I had woken up with a spring in my step, because it was my first day at work with a functioning printer. This meant that I would no longer have to annoy my colleagues. I might finally be liked. I might even be popular. I had sown the seeds of peace the day before with my personally printed, hand delivered letters. Today was going to be the new beginning.

I cast my mind back to last night. Now I came to think about it, I wasn’t particularly enthused about anything before I went to bed. It was when I woke up that I felt the excitement and had that spring in my step. O no, it must have been a dream. My colleague laughed at me. I hung up.

I must have dreamt the whole thing. Of course it wasn’t real. It was too unbelievable to be real: the jolly IT man who actually fixed computer problems, who spoke in plain English, had a sense of humour. Of course it wasn’t real. Of course it was a dream! It was obvious.
But then the worst part about the whole thing hit me. What kind of man in his twenties has a long and detailed dream about his printer at work? But not only that. What kind of man in his twenties has a long and detailed dream about his printer at work and then wakes up that morning feeling elated because his printer is fixed, and then runs to work in excitement, impatient to print out some documents? Certainly not the kind of man that I wanted to associate myself with. Has my life really become this dull? Evidently yes.
I decided that this incident would serve as a wake up call. I thought I was a man of excitement, adventure and ambition. But my dream and then my real-life response to it had shown me what kind of person I had become. What ever happened to all that ambition? All those ideas? What happened to those dreams? I was going to bring the adult chicken comedy movement into the 21st century for goodness sake. I used to think big. Well from now on things would be different! I would heed this wake up call. It would be a catalyst for change. From now on I would live a more exciting and adventurous life. I would once again be that man of ambition and energy that I used to be. I would recapture my youthfulness. It hadn’t disappeared entirely, it was just lying dormant, in need of being reawakened.
Well, from this moment onwards, things, would, be, different!

But first I had to get these documents printed. I walked down the corridor and asked one of my colleagues whether he would mind me using his printer for a bit. OK, well maybe I’d have to wait until the end of the working day before I could start thinking about reawakening my youthfulness. But I bloody well would do it. Just as soon as the working day was over. And I’d had tea. And done the ironing. And finished my tax return. And … O fuck!