Yours is the Wonky Funtime Helmet. Show shum respekt.

It has been a while, hasn’t it. I have been unwell, which should not have really prevented me from doing a post since the computer is well within stumbling distance of the bed or the sofa, but I just could not be arsed.

The only things I could really think of were my lack of matching socks and clowns with diarrhoea. I have not been specifically spelling out the word diarrhoea in my mind, since I can never spell it, I have simply been thinking of the look on the face of a clown when he realises that the bottom is about to fall out of his world and all the other clowns in the car are not going to like it.

I have not had diarrhoea, thankfully. Instead I have felt like I have been involved in a low intensity yet horrendously protracted mugging and now I ache all over. Bloody ridiculous. Now I am back in the saddle and raring to piss about and do very little.

We have a support gig coming up with the King of Despair on 1st December in the Singleton, if anyone wants to come along. This means that I can get Monica to stop stealing cars and make some music. While I was unwell my confused state meant that I could not work out which room in the house she was in. Thankfully all I had to do was follow the squealing of tyres and the crack of an AK-47 to know that she was living out her gang member aspirations on the virtual streets of San Andreas. Her virtual representation is a 6 foot black man with no neck and a foul mouth. All the conclusions I have drawn from this fact chill me to the marrow.

I have not been particularly motivational I suppose, slouching around in a dressing gown and grumbling about the squeaky birds, who have decided that if I have a raging headache the best thing for them to do is to squeak continuously. I don’t know what they want, other than to see the veins on my forehead pulse with aneurysm nurturing vigour. Little bastards want all the birdseed to themselves. Well, they’ll not be bumping me off so easy.

I had the dubious pleasure of watching the remade Quatermass Experiment the other day. Whilst I concede that doing a large scale live drama in a variety of locations in London is a challenge, it was still rotten tripe. I remember watching some of the originals when they were repeated late at night on BBC 2 and feeling engaged by the Quatermass character because I thought he had a bit of backbone and seemed like a bit of a gent. This guy looked like a hospital drama character actor whose stock in trade was “frazzled neurosurgeon with a marriage on the rocks”. He might be really good in Holby City or whatever it is he does, but the end result of his performance and the rest of them was that I could not care less about the world coming to an end. Would have been a blessing.

All this has been inspirational though. I have decided to combine Monica’s recent computerised exploits with a reworking of a classic Sci-fi story. Its name? Why, it will be Quatermass and the Crips. I’ll get Mel Brooks to direct. Nothing can stop me now!