Exclusive, Exclusive

I was contacted yesterday by Russell A Trunk, the director and editor in chief of www.exclusivemagazine.com regarding an interview with Leighton’s second best bassist. It seems that Mr Trunk required a puff piece loosely outlining the ownership of the early recordings of Johnny and the Martians, which was the original Cheshire / Beggs project.
To date the royalty cupboard remains bare!

Trust me, I'm a electrician!

Today In a converted landfill site I took diplomacy to a whole different level. The landfill site had once been a garage attached to a multiple occupancy house in Fishermead. For anyone who is not familiar with MK’s Fishermead estate it’s a little like Beirut, but with less Hezbollah. So, despite Terry Waite still refusing to go there, I bravely climbed my way through Steptoe & sons W.C. to change the meter whilst being instructed by an ex-employee of just how much better my life would be working for the Ghanaian Electricity Board. Whilst on the face of it my life does need a little tweaking at present, I really wasn’t sure how much I trusted the opinions of an unemployed ‘Stig of the dump’ whose electrical knowledge amounted to pointing to an empty lamp holder and asking “what kind of bulb would be best”?
Anyway I told him of our piss poor wages and virtually no perks, and I gave him my manager’s telephone number just in case he ever got really desperate

1966 Mark 2 Jaguar

Today I have changed my main header photo to one of the finest cars ever made. Not only one of the finest, but MY finest. The unbelievable Mark 2 Jag.
Mine was (yes, unfortunately it had to be sold) a sherwood green 1966, 3.4 litre, straight six beauty, stuffed full of cream leather and walnut dash. Back in the late sixties this was the preferred vehicle of bank robbers and villains because of its amazing grunt and fantastic top speed of 120 mph.
This picture was taken just outside the Woburn estate, just prior to its sale.
What ever possessed me to let it go????

That was the week that was

Sunday (last)
We went to Cafe Ganges, or as I was to find out later in the week Ganges Lounge and ate as much as a loose pair of trousers would allow. I think that they may have changed the name while we were in there in some kind of end of fiscal year tax avoidance scam. It was still a top meal all the same, and as much as anyone’s belly-eye combination could manage.
Monday
Monday’s child was full of wind!
Tuesday
We visited the flying fox where we are well known to the staff as the Scenario People which came about after us using the Fox as base camp for our weekly meetings to discuss the film script ‘Cursed’ and sitcom ‘15 Minutes’ many years previous. I had the rib eye steak with a brandy peppercorn sauce and a tower of precariously balanced Jenga chunky chips and locally caught vegetables. Pete went for the mixed grill of unfathomable animals with a meat side salad, and extra meat, whilst I seem to recall Alan whipping a dead hedgehog out from under his trench coat and asking the waitress ‘what she could do with that’? Anyway it all went swimmingly and a fine time was had by all except Pete who had to pay for it.
Wednesday
It was a long punishing day fitting Electricity, topped off with my turn at the on call. Early evening, I had an emergency call to a part of Northampton whose residents made the three fingered inbred’s in Wrong Turn seem welcoming. The woman who I had to visit clearly wasn’t well, and shut her dog in the front room and then proceeded to shout at it through the closed door. The dog, for its part shouted back. I soon was convinced that they must have a sort of Guide dog type relationship like ‘Hearing dogs for the deaf’ or ‘dogs for the blind’ I think though in this case it was more Annoying dogs for people with tourettes. During a particularly vicious verbal attack on the animal’s dubious parentage I managed to slip out the door and back to my van.
At home later I was preparing to go to bed only to be called again. This time it was to Kettering. So at 11-30pm I was stood chatting with a young couple about the pros and cons of electric key meters, who then invited me in to listen to their gas meter. Despite protesting that I knew nothing of gas appliances they demanded that I passed judgement on the whistling meter of doom. I heard nothing, and stated my case in no uncertain terms, at which point they said “Ah, it must be because you are old”
Thursday
I met the bloke who owns Ganges Lounge and despite not electrocuting either him or his family he never offered any kind of free, discounted or tempting offers to be reclaimed at his restaurant.
Friday
I had a call from one of the other engineers to ask for some assistance in wiring and energising MK’s first three Electric Car pick up points outside Iceland. When I got there it was like a re-enactment of a 1970’s time and motion study with 5 guys stood around a high tech electrical post discussing who could do what and when. The upshot was more electrically minded people were drafted in and finally after about 2 hours two posts glowed like Christmas trees while the third pulled a sicky. As we left more men were called.
Saturday
I made two purpose built (slightly oversized) planter troughs out of wood to transfer our already budding well established Clematis too.
We ate courgette pasta and I got a little drunk
Sunday
Transferred the two clematis from the old broken boxes to the new troughs and then basked in the early afternoon sunshine and glory of another DIY success.

M.K.Angel

I believe the other day that an Angel unfortunately may have crashed into our kitchen window whilst visiting the area. I of course never saw the mystical messenger of god’s aeronautical blunder, and am unaware if any damage was sustained or even if any swear words were uttered.
I believe the Angel to be roughly the size of a fully grown pigeon and possibly distracted by the grandiose splendour of my new fence panelling.
God, just for the record I do not wish to take this matter any further and will happily bear the costs of removing the angelic imprint if only you could give the six ball combination for tomorrow night.

Black is the new Black

I’ve been thinking a lot about death recently, well not so much Death but more his tailor. On the face of it, that black hooded cloak thing should go with virtually everything but the Grim Reapers main man only advises to accessorise with a scythe. You see, less is more, but some people just don’t get it. Take the Green Cross Code guy, Dave Prowse’s bit part in Star Wars. Apparently all the chaffing made his voice go funny and after that, children the world over wouldn’t even allow him to push the button on a pelican crossing for them. For me though tonight I am going for the Roy Orbison at a funeral look and damn the consequences.

Tritons new, touchy feely showers

The inevitable is, I suppose ... well inevitable and on Sunday with the house to myself I decided to face my demons and tackle the fitting of the new shower. This of course involves ‘Me and Plumbing’ which in the past has usually either ended in structural tsunami type flood damage or remortgaging due to the costs of calling a lot of chin rubbing, ‘this will be expensive’ type plumbers on a Sunday.
Triton, the god of the sea and water heating devices was clearly smiling up on me though, from his subterranean briny dwellings as I effortlessly installed our new Cara shower without a hitch.
Please note; for anyone attempting this kind of procedure I would strongly advise reading the instructions first. This seems to be the key to ‘this’ success and possibly a footnote to all other failures.

Along with all of its good advice it also had this;-
Caution; It is recommended that persons who may have difficulty understanding or operating the shower controls should not be left unattended while showering. Special consideration should be given to young children and the less able bodied.

So what they are really saying here is that if you are unable to understand the two dial type controls. One having four settings; Cold, Hot, Economy and Off and the other 0 to 10 temperature dial that you will need a ‘specialist qualified shower helper.’

Well I just hope that all the P.C. jobs worthy, health and safety brigade are finally happy with themselves and are prepared to pick up all the NHS costs and emotional trauma after the inevitable raft of Triton shower /sexual interference cases that will spread across the UK for the audience of The Jeremy Kyle show at the hands of ‘qualified shower instructors’
Discuss

Best socks in town

As a seasoned 49 year old of at least a couple of days I am now hideously aware of how items of clothing just get bigger and more beige as you move through the year. I have however decided to fight back in the sock department choosing a range of garish colours that match my eyes. As you will see here in these monkey puke yellow ones which seem appropriate to dazzle and entertain my guests this evening?

Alan ‘sickboy’ Black came round last night full of apologise and gifts. As far as I could see as a non medical, practising Doctor he also seemed virtually normal to the naked eye. He brought me a humorous birthday card, the sort you would buy for a young child with sparkly aliens on (consider amending sentence) To go with the young person’s theme there was also a bottle of 10 year old port which was late bottled (possibly after about ten past eleven, he mused) After about an hour he made the excuse that he needed to lay down some traps and snare a muntjac for his pot and slipped off into the night. At that point I retired to my computer to practice some words, only to be told by Kirsty that we should play some games. I finally got to my bed at about three this morning after losing numerous games of trivial pursuit and Uno and quaffing far too many nuts and beers.
Luckily I am still riding high on this extended birthday celebrations ticket which has excused me from all DIY jobs today and tomorrow (I think)

The Flying Fox got cancelled last night due to Hugh Furry Whittingstool. Yes, ever since my ex TBM co-writer Alan Black first set eyes on River Cottage blokes ‘catch n kill’l policy, he has been dabbling in road kill recipes and repeats of The Good Life. Unfortunately it seems that Al’s delicate constitution and possibly a lone argumentative crayfish may have disagreed with him so much as to make him projectile vomit like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly.
Tonight’s expedition to ASK was considerably more successful but also threw up its own set of problems. First one was what actual language was the waitress speaking. She seemed a lovely girl with a winning smile that was perfectly ok to calmly repeat herself many many times to two people with O level English who finally resorted to pointy fingers!
My starter, a mushroom al forno actually boiled in the serving dish which it was served in, and then surprised me as it attached itself to my tongue, however Stephs Brushchetta was immediately accessible. After this, we pushed on to the main course which for me was Pollo Marsala that unfortunately actually read better than it ate, while Steph decided on the’ Chef’s salad’ that ticked all the five a day boxes plus a number of carnivores ‘best in class’ lists
You couldn’t ask for a better Birthday, short of winning the triple lottery rollover, which someone did last week. Bastards!

I am ‘On Tour’ as from tomorrow, hoping to eat my way around Milton Keynes. I have spoken to my Bank Manager and Doctor who have both advised a day of rest, less I explode.
But, to date these are the dates that have been confirmed.
I will be dining in the fine oak beamed splendour of the Fying Fox near Woburn on Wednesday.
Thursday will be at Ask very close to the enormo-dome for some fine pasta and wine.
Friday TBC or a gastro bypass (with possible just desserts)
Saturday will be at our place for a freaky deaky vegetarian grass based meal (This is due to my parents)
Sunday should be a return to Fenny Stratfords finest cut price Indian at Cafe Ganges.
I am hoping to document all of the above before Sunday evening, when the emergency services have been booked.

My mother who is not known to dabble in the dark arts, nor eat cheese late at night phoned over the weekend and started telling me about my nans sisters daughter cousin or someone, who had moved down to Sussex to see out their days and then finally moved into a nursing home . Not knowing this woman that well Mum was surprised when the above information was conveyed via a phone call from the woman’s daughter last September. No further information was known until during a restless night’s sleep last Monday my mum had ‘clear as you like’ premonition that (We will call her Cath) was dead. She mentioned this to my Dad the following morning however the phone call never came. On Thursday however a letter was received saying that ‘Cath’ had died the previous Friday.
If she could nail the time and place details a little better, and only channel people with large assets I would buy her a 0898 number and web address and set up Goldigging relatives. com

Time and Tide waits for No Man, who is an Island!

I have nearly worn out all of my 48th year and number 49 is already crouching ready to pounce on the next available Thursday. So it was with this busying my mind and morning, whilst on my third mug of tea that the ‘What If’ question started to bite. What if I lost some of this middle aged puppy fat, and took to a highly lucrative career in international bra fitting and finally made that big move to L.A. or Corby?
Obviously this kind of dilemma needs a lot thinking about, especially when trying to multi task; thinking AND heating up those really small sausages and baked beans, only to hear a knock at the door which brought me very quickly back to earth. Before I knew it (and with no consideration for my own personal safety) I was unlocking the door and hoping for one of those lovely Sunday morning moments when a passing Jehovah witness had smelt my atheism, and called to cure me.
Alas, clearly the Jehovah’s Witness program hadn’t been extended to the Bletchley area due to cut backs so I opened the door to Leighton’s second best Bassist, Nicola Beggs. Like a wise man visiting the baby Jesus he bore a gift, which to the untrained eye was about the size of a DVD /CD, or very thinly packed sports car. He sheepishly made some profound remarks about ‘time and tide’ and ‘Snowman weights’ or something, and hurriedly flounced off in a flurry of thinly disguised blond highlights and kilts, promising to be in touch the week after next!

Call the authorities, my cats out of control

Can you have a cat sectioned? I don’t mean in a Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall sharp knife way, but taken into care so they are no longer a risk to the general public. She’s never really been right since she was a kitten with her huge disproportional ears sat listening to the world service and strange foreign ‘easy listening’ jazz stations rather than playing with balls of wool or getting her head stuck in brandy glasses. Just recently she has fallen in with the wrong crowd though, and maybe tried some recreational catnip with some of the roughhouse sorts from over the fence. Anyway like any other difficult teenager she is now rebelling against everything by sleeping spread-eagle on the radiators and only today I found her not only under our duvet but under the fitted sheet. Yes that was right 'under the fitted sheet.' Before anyone lectures me on this ‘Yes I know it is an abomination against God and all other things that are right!’ but that is how it is.
Please help!

If you want to get ahead, get a cat basket

Despite having electrics in my blood I feel this week that I may need a rewire. I’m knackered, and it’s difficult to really know why, oh.... Other than the cat’s slow POW tactics of ensuring I don’t ever get a full night’s sleep.... and regularly working in Buckinghamshire, Northants, Oxfordshire and Bedfordshire nearly every day, and possibly due to the fact that every weekend I have the prospects of the ever increasing DIY list that now includes (new in at number one) replacing the shower.
Still, having found this exclusive picture of Caroline Quentin in a cat basket head piece I feel a little better about my lot.

Cafe Ganges, Fenny Stratford

Wednesdays and Sundays are the days when Cafe Ganges joins in the ‘Big Society.’ They embrace the Coalitions community ideals by feeding the waifs and strays of Milton Keynes for just £9.95. For this, (on a Wednesday) you get a starter, main, side and rice, and on the Sabbath, it’s the full Monty, eat as much as you can, waist stretcher. Having unfortunately missed this year’s annual credit card massacre on February 14th we decided to once again pay Ganges a call for a mid week, under a tenner blow out. With the place about half full we still had good service and a fair choice. I thought that my Rogan Josh was a bit mild and lacked any real kick but the chicken was really good and there was plenty of it. In fact you cannot really fault any part of the evening because even with a couple of beers and a good look at the pickle tray and popadom combo, we only ended up paying just over £30 quid.

National Pie Week

Its national pie week and I have already wasted a day.
Although I have to say that the Pie World could be better organised. One place on the internet says it started on the 1st of March and others say the 7th and even one stated that it went through until April the something. (I think those guys were possibly hardliners and extremists, and I don’t really think I want to get involved with them) My favourite is Shepherd’s pie which is funny really because I have never cornered, cajoled or groomed sheep much, and I can’t recall much of the countryside code other than close all gates and don’t covet your neighbours ox.
Anyway, I am inclined to believe that it IS this week and will be filling my boots as from tomorrow.

If I had been Natasha Kaplinsky agent I really wouldnt have got her involved in this one. I mean it's not even grammatically correct.

Bush (to rear) with Comedy Dance Star

"It's the Grease show toons that did it"

Imagine my delight to find the artist formally known as Chris Hamill wearing a syrup and dancing with Chesney Hawkes, Toyah and Clare Grogan on prime time telly last night. The last time our paths crossed was in the summer of 2010 in a rehearsal studio on the Liscombe Park estate just outside Leighton Buzzard. I had been ask to attend by Leighton’s second best bassist who currently is touring with Kimberley Wildebeest to cast my eye and ear over the last Goo Goo rehearsals before they went to some unpronounceable eastern bloc country who still like big hair. On that occasion without Clare, Chesney and Mss Wilcox his moves weren’t anything to write home about which I clearly stated in a letter to my mother at the time, however last night He and those other 80’s gyrating crooners was good enough to beat a fat bloke in a leotard and that in anyone’s book is quality!

Principals are a fine thing NOT to have when there's money to be made

I believe that we are now in the depths of a new world order, balancing the perverse Ying and Yang of despot power across our increasingly small planet. Whilst megalomaniac dictators falter or fall in Bahrain, Saudi, Yemen, Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, we in the U.K are about to prepare to embrace and finally give up the last shreds of any real independence in our media, to enable Mr Murdoch to take control of everything.
Whilst many will claim that they are not influenced by what they watch, listen or read, history proves that, just which party the bulk of the media gets behind tends to win. With the possible exception of the last election when the Murdoch media who backed Cameron fell short, but then reluctantly took a shine to the Lib Dems, Nick ‘We are different’ Clegg as an afterthought.
So it is of no surprise that this week it has been sanctioned by the coalition that Rupert can extend his media portfolio to influence even more of us with subliminal messaging of his chosen politics of the day, bearing in mind that it is with purely HIS backing that they were put there in the first place!
I find it difficult to understand why so many didn’t see this coming with his various free pimping of ‘services’ that ultimately will cost loads.
Here ends the lesson for today. (for now)

A couple of posts

It is a fence that any member of the coalition should be happy to sit on. Unfortunately no members of the government were available for comment or prepared to balance precariously on my new feather edged, overlapped wooden wonder.
This project had become a labour of love over the last few weeks taking way more time and money than I really have, which may have been the reason why I unfortunately managed to fence myself in to our neighbours garden after a frenzy of nailing featherboards on their side in an effort to get finished. A quickly formed exit strategy saw me attempting to gate crash their gate only to be caught red handed by Barry and having to fess up to interfering with his trellis and then a asking for a series of other fences to be taken into consideration.
Anyway as you will see it is a thing of beauty.