Archive | Other Writing RSS feed for this section

The Life of a Bag For Life

11 Oct

In theory, if the government issued 10 Bags For Life to every household in Britain, there would no longer be a need to produce any more. The Bag for Life could get passed down through generations in each family, like a treasured heirloom, and fines could be imposed for any bags that get lost.  However, it is not that easy, because as everyone knows, a Bag for Life is never valued as it should be. On average, the life span of a Bag for Life is three weeks, with the oldest bag on record living to an extraordinary 4 months. This is a look at the brief life of a bag for life:

Birth – A Bag for Life is born; sprouting from a machine that has no feelings towards the bag, and is not willing to bond with it in the slightest. The bag, manufactured from fabric such as canvas, woven synthetic fibers, or a thick plastic that is more durable than disposable plastic bags, has no parents as such, so born an orphan, it sets out on its life journey. Little does it know it yet, but the Bag for Life will have a very short life span.

School Years – The Bag for Life meets other bags as they are sandwiched into tight boxes. It is here that they get to know one another. The bright slogans and positive messages printed on each bag lull them all into a false sense of security, as they all wonder what is in store for them. ‘Maybe we’ll be famous? Maybe we’ll live in a lovely household?’ they all think. Never has one bag guessed its true purpose in life at this stage; slavery. The bags will shortly be sold to the public and then be forced to carry extremely heavy objects around.

Adolescence – After a week in transit and storage, the Bags for Life are released from their cage and put onto display like some sort of freak show. Hanging from metal poles, they are paraded in front of the public. Plastic bags point and laugh at them; “What the Hell are you supposed to be?”, they sneer, and they have a point. A plastic bag never gets forgotten. It becomes part of its occupant’s family, dwelling in drawers and cupboards, often with numerous plastic bag friends. It has a happy life. Yes, some may be used as a makeshift poop-a-scoop, but they have been bred for this purpose and so are undeterred by this. The bullying toughens up the Bags for Life, and they get a bit of a backbone, standing up for themselves and making an effort to find a home. “USE ME FOREVER!” they shout at shoppers, “I’LL BE YOUR BEST FRIEND”. It is a mistake that every Bag For Life makes. It is during adolescence that some Bags for Life even turn Emo, trying to not blend in with the bag crowd. ‘I’m not another plastic bag’ they tell people, in a desperate attempt to be different.

Graduating –  The Bag for Life is snapped up by a member of the public. It has a new home, and it is time to start work.

Working Years – As soon has a Bag for Life has graduated, its world gets turned upside down. Fooled into thinking that they would be starting a new, happy life, they are forced into work almost instantly. Their new owners burden them with shopping, almost to the point where the Bag for Life gives up on life. It is strained, pushed to its very limits as a bag. Their new owner doesn’t care, all they care about is getting their shopping home. The Bag for Life tenses every muscle in its body; it will die instantly if it doesn’t. Very soon, they arrive at their new home. ‘Maybe this was a test?’ the bag thinks. ‘I’ve got the shopping home, now I’ll be part of this person’s life!’. Once again, the Bags for Life are deluded. They are simple creatures, bless them. No sooner has the shopping been unloaded, they are folded up and pushed into a cupboard.

Retirement – Blinking, and trying to see in the dark cupboard, the Bag for Life comes to terms that his working days are already over. His time is up. Every Bag for Life wonders at this stage, ‘maybe my owners will use me again soon?’. Once again, they are wrong. The Bag for Life is then set upon by up to 50 plastic bags. They jostle for space and inevitably force the Bag for Life to the back of the cupboard. It only gets worse for the Bag for Life;  the plastic bags breed. There are soon more of them, pushing the Bag for Life further and further into the background, further into the darkness, the wilderness of the back of the cupboard. “We’re the main men around here, you ponce”, yell the plastic bags, hiding themselves inside one another to make a large fearless ball of plasticky madness.

Death? – No one quite knows if the Bag for Life dies, or simply disappears forever. This is still being investigated. All we know is that the owner of the Bag for Life will one day remember that they have it in the cupboard. This usually occurs between two and three weeks after the purchase of their bag slave. ‘I need a sturdy bag for this junk’ they think to themselves, ‘and I’m certain I have one in the cupboard’. But when they got to look for the Bag, it is gone. No search will ever result in the Bag for Life being found; it has moved on to somewhere new. Instead, the plastic bags once again get used, often doubling up with their mates. It is a sad end to the life of the Bag for Life. They die alone.

The Illuminati

5 Oct

I have always been fascinated by the Illuminati. Do they exist? What are their aims? Do they possess magical powers that I could perhaps borrow? For centuries, the world has speculated if they do actually exist and I am pleased to confirm that they do. ‘How do you know?’ I hear you ask. Well, I was lucky enough to catch a member of the Illuminati ordering a pizza from a phone box the other day. At the end of the call, he pressed a sequence of numbers, (which I later found out cancelled the payment the other end; in essence – free pizza). The man saw me gawping at him in the phone box, and I cajoled him into revealing all about who he was, and the Illuminati. It took quite a lot of negotiation skills, as well as a Pot Noodle. Yes, I went hungry that lunch time, but the things I found out amazed me.

For those of you unaware of what the Illuminati are, this is a brief extract from Wikipedia:

The Illuminati is a name given to several groups, both real (historical) and fictitious. Historically the name refers to the Bavarian Illuminati, an Enlightenment-era secret society founded on May 1, 1776. Since the publication of Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson‘s postmodern science fiction work The Illuminatus! Trilogy, the name has been used to refer to a purported conspiratorial organisation that masterminds events and controls world affairs through governments and corporations to establish a New World Order.

Basically, the Illuminati are bigger than the A-Team and more powerful than Rupert Murdoch and President Obama put together. They run the world.

Here are some interesting facts about the Illuminati which I found out from the stranger I met:

– The symbol of the Illuminati is the owl. Most Illuminati owned buildings resemble an owl in some way; if you look closely, you’ll see it. All Illuminati members have an owl tattooed to the sole of their right foot, with the words ‘we see everything’ underneath. The owl was chosen as a symbol because like the Illuminati, they are rarely seen, they can see all around them and they hunt down their prey with chilling accuracy. Many of the Illuminati have owls as pets, treating them better than most normal household pets. Indeed some member have let their owls sleep on the end of their bed, and give them roast dinners most days. Once a year, the Illuminati hold an Owl Appreciation Day in the underground bunker of the White House. As well as having a fair amount to drink, they all dress as owls, sing songs about owls and shoot anyone that they catch on their highly sensitive listening devices that seems to be slagging off owls in general. It really is a great day.

– As well as the symbol of the owl, they also have the symbol below. The glowing segment at the top represents the Illuminati; top of the world governing pyramid, there is no one above them. The eye, like the owl, symbolises the fact that that can see everything. The phrase as the top of the badge, is Latin for ‘Anal Trauma’. This is because the Illuminati will inflict anal trauma on anyone who crosses them if the offence is not serious enough for them to kill the offender. This can be done in various ways; infiltrating laxatives into every single thing the person eats, sending a small microscopic flying robot into the person’s anus whilst they sleep so that they can control his or her bowel movements and by using a small gun which fires air pressure powerfully into their bum-holes which causes them to instantly soil themselves. The gun method is extremely popular as air pressure is of course invisible, so it’s hard to trace back, unlike a bullet. The motto at the base of the symbol merely reads ‘Houmous, Owls, Cider’; the three favourite things of the Illuminati.

The Governing Pyramid

– The main leader of the Illuminati is a seventy-five year old American named Bobby Gargoyle. His idol is Cyril Sneer from the Racoons, so much so, that Bobby also has a huge pit filled to the brim with money that he swims around in. Bobby’s father and grandfather were both Illuminati members, but unlike Bobby never actually ran the organisation. Bobby got to the top of the Illuminati hierarchy through sheer hard work and desire, but he is also a very intelligent man with a high IQ. He is trained in seven various armed combats and an expert at Sudoku. Some members say it is down to Bobby that the Illuminati are where they are today and he seen as a God in a lot of their eyes. Bobby has dated a string of the world’s most beautiful women; notably Joan Collins. He once also scored twelve 180s in a row when playing darts. He is an all-round super human being.(I haven’t been told to say this).

– Some of the most famous faces in the world have been welcomed into the Illuminati inner sanctum. Past members include JF Kennedy, Elvis Pressley and Michael Jackson and current member include Obama, Marilyn Munroe (yes – she is still alive), Prince Charles, David Jason, Des Lynam, Nelson Mandela, Robson and Jerome, Natasha Kaplinksy and Dog the Bounty Hunter. It was rumoured that Justin Bieber was going to be asked to join to help control the minds of millions of young girls, but it was unanimously decided that he is in fact a massive twat. Instead, they plan on putting a mind control powder into the air vapour trails on aeroplanes, which will float to the ground and control the way people think and act.

– The group believe that they are roughly 75% of the way to achieving New World Order. When they are in full power they believe that freedom of speech will be eradicated and the whole population of the world will have to learn to trade with one another. Money will become obsolete. It’s a scary thought. They hope that people will learn trades or other skills which they can swap with people who grow food or breed livestock. The also hope to abolish France as a country, and sink the Isle of Wight.

– Every Tuesday, the Illuminati erradicate at least 2 members of the public who have spoken badly about them. Every single phone call ever made is tracked, with a highly complex machine being able to detect any calls that mention the word ‘Illuminati’ or ‘New World Order’. As soon as wither of these words are mentioned, alarm bells ring in the Illuminati headquarters, and the call is then saved and relistened to. Anyone making a detrimental comment is traced and terminated, by an Illuminati member dressed as a baboon. This person is known as ‘The Baboon of Justice.

I was not told much more than this, but it was enough. I for one am rather sceptical about if they want to use their power for good, but we’ll soon find out.

#MeAndMcQueen – Part 2

3 Oct

I arrived home from work and there it was; the jiffy bag containg Lightning McQueen. I hoped he’d be alright; it had been a long journey, but thankfully @JCautomatic had taken precautions:

Fragile

McQueen is delicate after his years stranded in Oxfam

“What the fuck is that?”, were my girlfriend’s words as I carefully removed Lightning McQueen from his jiffy bag, closely followed by, “Oh God, no….he’s not going on the fucking window sill”. But he was, and it was there he sat and watched us until I had decided what to do with him. It didn’t take me long. First we went for a cigarette.

McQueen's first fag in years

Then we decided to get drunk.

My namesshh? Itsshh 'McQueen'

The rest of the night was spent snuggling up in front of the TV, we were too hammered to do anything else. I did take him the park the next morning to give him some fresh air and help him overcome his hangover.

Weeeeeee!

He loved the swing the most.

Higher! Higher!

I had a great time and will miss the bearded wonder. Next stop is @_gAiL__

#MeandMcQueen – Part 1

2 Oct

Lightning McQueen: The man, the myth, the legend. A dedicated follower of fashion. An avid beard fan. A smile that could make an angel weep with joy. A Twitter icon.

I could go on, but I know nothing more about him. So how did Lightning McQueen become such an internet phenomenon?

When @cheekyricardo found McQueen in Oxfam, he couldn’t resist splashing out on what is surely a one-off item. McQueen’s days of gazing out of the Oxfam window, willing for someone to come and take him out of his bottom-of-the-shelf hell were now long gone, and a journey of epic proportions was about to begin. McQueen was about to be catapulted from charity shop wilderness into the big time.

Charity Shop Woe

McQueen's smile hides years of rejection

His first visit was to @JCautomatic’s salon. @cheekyricardo had previously sent JC a text message with an attached photo of McQueen in his Oxfam hell. After commenting on how ‘gruesome’ it was, @JCautomatic thought that would be the last he saw of McQueen. But he was wrong.

To JC’s suprise (and secret delight), @cheekyricardo left McQueen within a Sainsbury’s plastic carrier bag, in the salon after having his hair cut by JC.

McQueen - The legend

The pose of a confident man

@JCautomatic hatched a plan; he would let McQueen enjoy his new found freedom by allowing him to see the world. McQueen would be sent to and from various people on Twitter so he could see new sights, meet new people, and enjoy his final years. That is how I came into possession of Lighting McQueen. After a lonely, dark night, concealed in a jiffy bag which JC had carefully slipped him in, he arrived at my house, 286 miles away. Sadly, I was already at work, but a message from my girlfriend was enough for me to look forward to getting home even more than I already was.

Straight to the point

In part 2, you can see what McQueen and I get up to in our time together.

Classic Game Shows

27 Sep

They don’t make game shows like they used to. The fun factor seems to have been replaced by greed, with huge prizes now on offer in programmes such as Red or Black and Deal or no Deal; without the contestants actually having to have any common sense whatsoever. Here, I take a look back at some of my favourite game shows that I can remember:

 

Eggs and Bacon – Hosted by Richard Bacon and CJ from Eggheads; Eggs and Bacon was a homo-erotic quiz show based on knowledge of cottaging, docking, buggery and denim shorts. Three contestants would compete over five rounds, amassing points depending on how quickly they could answer the questions. At the end of each round, there would be a bonus round, hilariously renamed the ‘Bonar Round’, in which the contestants could try and double their points tally. The Bonar Round was different in that it was down to a physical challenge and contestants were put though tasks such as ‘How many condoms can you slide onto a cucumber?’, ‘Guess the todger by touch’ and ‘The Jack-off Jive’. The contestant with the most points at the end of the show would have the chance to win a holiday in the final round, ‘The Big One’. There were only ever 3 winners.

Eggs and Bacon ran for 2 series from 2010 to 2011, with the BBC refusing to commission any further shows due to the obscene number of complaints sent in to Points Of View. Most of them centred around the incessant flirting between Bacon and CJ, with many viewers calling it ‘uncalled for’ but the questions and physical tasks didn’t escape criticism either. With its lurid pink set and constant innuendo, many saw the 8pm prime time slot as a mistake by the BBC, and as such, was the kiss of death for the show.

The Crystal Catch Maze – When funding was cut for the producers of two of the most popular shows in existence, The Crystal Maze and Catchphrase, they decided to take drastic action. Rather than lose one and keep the other, they decided to merge the shows into one. The result saw the creation of The Crystal Catch Maze. Five contestants, working as a team, would be sent to various zones, where they would have to guess catchphrases acted out in 2D on a projector screen whilst being put off by various swinging objects and obstacles. In some cases, they were made to smoke crystal meth before a round to make it even more difficult. If the selected team member guessed the catchphrase correctly in the allotted time, host Roy Walker (who agreed to wax his head and learn the harmonica for the role), would shout ‘You’re Right!’ and they would win a crystal. The more crystals the team won, the longer time they would have in the final round.

In this final round, the team were put into a huge crystal (later found to be heated well over health and safety regulations) in which silver and gold tickets would flutter around, propelled by a huge fan installed inside it (which also blew hot air). The aim was to collect 100 gold tickets, with any silver ones collected deducting a point from the tally amassed. It was made even more difficult as two crew members would dress up in Mr. Chips costumes and hit the contestants with rubber mallets. The Crystal Catch Maze ran from 2002 to 2005, always attracting a large audience, and so it was a surprise to many when the show was dropped. In fact, it wasn’t until this year that The Crystal Maze was rumoured to be making a comeback, with this plan for the new format leaked on the internet:

Leaked on the Internet, much to the embarassment of channel 4 producers.

(image by @QuantumPirate – follow him on Twitter)

That’s Not Yoghurt! – Contestants on That’s Not Yoghurt! were either brave or stupid. Six contestants would start the show, and once blindfolded, would have to guess if the item that they were tasting was yoghurt or something else. Host Floella Benjamin revelled in her new TV role, revealing a mean streak that she was not able to show on Playdays (apart from the time she gave one toddler a backhand for being lippy). That’s Not Yoghurt! was not as easy as it sounds, with most of the show’s budget spent on creating new and unusual flavours of yoghurt in an attempt to trick contestants, who would shout “THAT’S NOT YOGHURT!” when in fact it was. In particular, the cheddar cheese, the bacon and the semen ‘n’ garlic flavoured yoghurts fooled many contestants. Memorable items fed to contestants in the hope of them thinking that it was in fact yoghurt were lard, chlorine, mouthwash, various out of date soups and in one case, petrol.

At the end of a round, the contestant who had either called the foodstuff correctly or incorrectly as yoghurt the most times would have to drop out, until there was one remaining. The final round was called ‘Now That’s What I Call Yoghurt’. In this, the last remaining contestant would be dunked into a bath of yoghurt, and they had to eat it all within a 6 minute period. Only one person ever achieved this, and they won a life supply of yoghurt. During its later years, the final round was spruced up a bit in a bid to keep it modern. One stand out series included an addition of a ‘Fruit Corner Final’ in which a bidet was placed next to the bath, filled with fruit. The finalist had to scoop this fruit out of the bidet and into the bath, before jumping in and consuming it all. That’s Not Yoghurt aired from 1991 – 1997 but has recently made a comeback in Japan.

Cat, Mouse, Dog, Chicken – Take the mental tests from the Krypton Factor and make them twice as hard, and then take the physical challenge from the same show and sprinkle it with the toughness of the Total Wipeout course, and you are just some of the way towards visioning the fantastic game show that was Cat, Mouse, Dog, Chicken.  The show itself was a complex production, with a colossal 100 contestants competing over 64 rounds on every show, and it was for this reason that it had to be shown over the course of three evenings every week. The show spanned an impressive 15 years, from the first ever screening in 1970, to the last show in October 1985. Les Dawson watched over proceedings, often barking out questions through a loudspeaker to the contestants, who would be gunged for every question that they got wrong.

The ‘buzz’ round was always comical, with all 64 contestants attempting to buzz in first to answer questions and would often lead to Dawson shouting his now famous catchphrase, “One at a time, my little chickens”. Due to the sheer mental and physical strength required to win the show, the prize for winning was often substantial, ranging from speedboats and scooters to top of the range ovens and camping gear. No one actually knew why it was called Cat, Mouse, Dog, Chicken and it remains a closely guarded secret. There have been no plans to bring this show back as a full series, although there have been a few Celebrity Christmas Specials.

The Barking Spider – Hosted by a different member of the public every week, The Barking Spider was a light-hearted game show which did take a lot of inspiration from the Generation Game. Two families would compete over six rounds, aiming to score as many points as possible, with the victorious family winning a holiday of their dreams to anywhere in the north of England. Different rounds included painting, clay modelling, yodelling, go-kart racing as well as good old fashioned question answering.

What made this show stand out was the banter between the two competing families each week, with the selected host often having to step in when things got a bit heated. Sometimes, audience members would also have to step in the help diffuse the situation, and admittedly is was this excitement that helped The Barking Spider hit peak viewing figures of 7.5 million in 1995 when it was on every Saturday evening.

The main event that everyone watching looked forward to was the final round where the family with the most points would face The Barking Spider; a huge robotic spider that would spin round quickly. 8 huge legs aimed to knock the family members off bar stools on which they had to balance, and then jump as the legs approached; and if at least one family member was still on their bar stool after 90 seconds, they would win the prize. There were often serious injuries during this final round; 12 broken arms in total, 4 ruptured spleens and sadly, in 1998, a decapitation.

Things I Found In My Attic Part 2

22 Sep

Part 1 – https://kylejwilkins.wordpress.com/2011/09/21/things-i-found-in-my-attic-today/

I continued to look through the large wooden chest that I discovered in my attic yesterday, and once again I came across some fascinating items:

Leonard Corby’s Pumice Stone – Leonard is an old school friend who would impress us during lunch breaks by performing self-fellatio, which was remarkable to witness. He also had rather bad eczema, in particular around his ring-piece, which he took a great deal of delight in showing us. It was down to one of his friends to help him remove the dry skin that accumulated on his buttocks as Leonard would say it was out of his reach. We made a rule where the last one out into the playground at lunch would have to be the one to rub the pumice on Leonard. One Thursday, I was last out; Peter Barnwinkle had tied my shoelaces together without me realising, and it hampered me when trying to get to the playground. As usual, Leonard was behind the bike sheds waiting for us all to arrive, his cock already out. He handed me the pumice stone, sat down, and took his helmet between his lips. It turned out to be a fateful day. Leonard choked on his cock and we all thought he was taking the piss so neglected to help him. We scarpered when Mr. Davis saw the commotion and came running over. I still had the cold pumice in my hand and I kept it as something to remember Leonard by. He was quite a guy.

 

A Trumpano – This is a very small musical instrument I got given as a gift from the Dhag-hi-hi-hi Tribe on a visit to Gambia. It’s a cross between a trumpet and piano; impossible to play because every time you blow into it, the keys fly off. It is however, the only one of its kind, so I am in no rush to get rid of it. There is a very small message carved into its base saying, ‘Kwadayo Gladdio Beardiet Linzuano’, which translated means ‘Bearded Gladiator Blow My Lizard’. I’m not sure of the relevance of that.

 

A Receipt – I have the first receipt ever issued. It was produced by a London company called Broomsticks, who used to manufacture and sell various witch paraphernalia during the medieval times. Up until the idea of a receipt, an agreement, usually verbal, was kept between the customer and the shop selling an item; meaning an item could be returned and refunded if it did not meet customer’s expectations. Broomsticks found that some of their customers, buying items ranging from hats, cauldrons and broom accessories to black cats, stick-on warts and cans of canned cackled laughter, were returning them after using them for about a year, just to get a new product. They decided to issue some sort of paperwork whereby they could trace the date the item was sold and to whom it was sold. This later became known as a receipt. I have the first one issued, for a bag of mixed snail guts and frogs legs, and sold to a Miss P. Groaner. I’d rather not go into how I came to have this item.

 

A Rhino’s Heart – Picked up by my auntie who used to work in the rhino enclosure at London Zoo; the rhino’s heart means a lot to me because it was given to me as a present on the day I left my virginity. I must stress, I did not lose my virginity to my auntie and it was merely a coincidence that she gave it to me on the same day. An elderly male rhino had passed away, and due to funding cutbacks, the zoo was unable to get the body collected and disposed off, and the ground was far too hard to dig a grave big enough (this occurred during the hosepipe ban of ’86). There was only one other option; cut the rhino up into smaller chunks, and leave in public bins around London. My auntie was part of a 5-strong team that carried out the task. She kept the heart as she thought it was the right thing to do. I get funny feelings, and sometimes erections, looking at the heart, when I think back to what I was getting up to  at the same time that my auntie was slicing and dicing the rhino.

Jimmy Nail’s Cowboy hat – I saw Jimmy Nail on a night out in Newcastle a few years back. He was rather drunk and pushing a girl about, calling her a ‘frigid twat’ and telling her to ‘suck his marvellous penis’. I was quite taken aback by this so went over to see if the girl was ok. As she sobbed, Jimmy asked me what the fuck I thought I was doing. “I have no time for bullies like you”, I replied, and this seemed to tip him over the edge. He went or me, almost spilling my drink, so I thumped him hard in the face. As he dropped to the floor, I put the boot in. Jimmy was shouting all sorts of obscenities at me, so I got him in a half-Nelson and gave him a noogie until he surrendered. After some time, he relaxed so I loosened my grip. The northern bastard tricked me though, and as soon as I had I let him go, he was starting again, spitting at me whilst waving his flaccid cock in the now hysterical girl’s direction.

I gave him a swift boot in the balls, and Nail collapsed again like a sack of shit, but kept kicking out at me. “I’ll take those”, I hissed, removing his footwear.

“Not my crocodile shoes, please man!”, he begged.

I took pity, and took his cowboy hat instead, tossing the shoes back in his general direction. I keep the hat as a reminder not to be horrible to women.

Things I Found In My Attic Today

21 Sep

I’ve just been cleaning out my attic and to my delight I found an old trunk which I had forgotten about for some time.It contains many of my most treasured possessions. Amongst them;

A Stuffed Camel – This was given to me by my Grandfather before he passed away. It was one of his most treasured possessions and the story that goes with how it came into his hands really is quite remarkable; he stole it off of Adolf Hitler’s bed. During the second World War, he was part of a little known squadron that happened to infiltrate one of Hitler’s many hideouts. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to capture the evil tyrant as he was out at the time. Instead he, and the other soldiers with him, feasted on food that they found in Hitler’s cupboards until they were fit to burst. My Grandfather told of the juiciness of Hitler’s grapes and would always add “Not his haemorrhoids you cheeky buggers!” when we stifled our laughter at this part of his story. He would also go into great detail about the ornate decor in the hideout that they had infiltrated, in particular, the naked woman on all of the ceilings that had been hand painted in fascinating detail. My Grandfather would say, “You could make out every pubic hair. That’s how impressive the paintings were. Of course, back then, all the ladies had hairy vaginas”.

It was in Hitler’s bedroom that the stuffed camel was stolen. My Grandfather spotted it sat on one of Hitler’s pillows and couldn’t resist the urge to take it. In its place, he squatted and defecated onto the pillow, then stuck a cigarette in the fresh stool, along with two Smarties for eyes. Giggling, a few of the soldiers then put Hitler’s pants over their trousers and pretended that they were army superheroes, running all over the house and throwing fruit at each other. My Grandfather placed the camel in his backpack and it was there it stayed until his return to English shores. He kept the capture of the camel a secret from his superiors, and it was only once the war was over that he showed the rest of the family just what he had found in Germany. We named the camel, unoriginally, ‘Adolf Humpler’.

 

A Signed Copy of the Bible – I’m not sure how genuine this is, but I refuse to throw it away despite the fact I’m an atheist. It’s quite tatty, and it is now stored inside a smaller wooden box to prevent any further damage to it, and I have been advised by my mother to wear gloves when handling it, (not that I ever read it). On the inside front cover of the copy I own are the words ‘All the best, Jesus Christ’ with a little smiley face which has a beard. I have no reasons to doubt that this could be a fake. It might be worth something in a few years time, so I am trying to take good care of it.

 

Lucky Packet of Chewing Gum – This means a lot to me because it was given to me by my Dad, even though it has bought him so much luck over the years. He came up to me one day with it, pressed it into my hand and told me to keep it. “I’m getting old, son”, he said, “You have this now”. The chewing gum is an unopened packet of Wrigelys Extra; spearmint flavour. My Dad first discovered it was lucky when he was rubbing it in his trouser pocket during the 1966 World Cup Final. He claims it is because of this rubbing action, it was responsible for England winning the World Cup, as well as his substantial win on the Pools, the fact he met my Mum and numerous other fortunate events. Each time something good happened to him, the chewing gum was in his pocket. I took the lucky qualities of the chewing gum with a pinch of salt; I was just grateful to be given something that meant so much to my Dad. However, after he gave it to me, it bought me one stroke of tremendous luck.

I was in town a few years ago with friends, and a mugger came up and tried to steal my wallet. A tussle ensued, but he managed to prise it from my hands. As he attempted to run off, I went for him, and he pulled a gun and took a shot at me. The chewing gum was in the top pocket of my denim jacket I was wearing. Usually, I wouldn’t take the chewing gum out with me, but for some reason I’d decided to take it with me on this particular day. I was so fortunate that day; the bullet missed me and hit one of the friends I was with instead.

 

A Wooden Replica Elephant’s Penis – On my gap year I decided to do a bit of travelling. I ended up, by mistake, in Kenya, having hid inside my own suitcase for a laugh as I wanted to give the baggage handlers a bit of a fright. This backfired somewhat when the movement from me inside the case caused the baggage label to fall off, along with that of a case that was resting alongside the one I was in. The labels were replaced, incorrectly, by the handlers and I ended up in Kenya instead of Prague. I decided to make the most of the mishap and stayed with locals for a few days, playing Frisbee, teaching them English swear words, shooting animals and eating all sorts of exotic meats such as tiger and zebra. They adored me out there, and when it was time for me to leave, they presented me with a huge wooden penis. They explained that the elephant was seen as some sort of God in their country, and that I had reminded them of a God. The penis was carved as a gesture of goodwill, and is supposed to ward off evil spirits.

 

Charlie Chaplin’s Kidney Stone – Stolen from Chaplin’s toilet by my wacky uncle, the kidney stone has the aroma of fame and the texture of success. My uncle was a stagehand back in Chaplin’s heyday. One evening before a live performance, my uncle heard Chaplin in the toilet, shouting loudly and making a great deal of fuss, which was unheard of. He hid and waited for Chaplin to go on stage. Once he had, my uncle rushed to the loo and it was here that he was greeted with one solitary kidney stone that hadn’t been flushed away. He delved into to water to retrieve it (later claiming to have caught syphilis from the toilet seat) and he gave the stone to me on my 18th birthday.

 

Samantha Littleslot’s Goggles – Samantha was a girl with breasts like udders that I used to date in secondary school. One night, we sneaked into the local swimming baths, where she proceeded to give me the most satisfying blow job of my life to date. I had warned her before we started dating that it had been a long time since I had been intimate with a lady, and as such, she took precautions by wearing her swimming goggles whilst my todger was in her mouth. As I ejaculated (I saw stars I may add), my semen gushed forth and Samantha was unable to contain it in her mouth. Her head moved away from my penis, and I covered her face in teenage gooey mess. Fortunately, her goggles saved her eyes from my stinging jism. She gently removed them from her face and left them on the changing room floor. I pocketed them in secret before we left, as a memento of the occasion. They were cleaned as soon as I got them home.

 

A Pickled Finger – When holidaying in the Maldives, I spotted a glass bottle floating in the sea towards the shore. I ran over to it, intrigued, and was surprised to find a severed finger inside, preserved in vinegar. Attached to the neck of the bottle was a message, stitched into parchment. It read ‘To whoever finds my middle finger: Up Yours’. I have done a little research into the owner of the finger but have had no real success in finding out who it belongs to. My local Pirate Museum valued the finger at around £5000 a couple of years back,  so it was a good find.

 

Coleen Nolan’s Tambourine – It’s a little known fact that Coleen Nolan is a tambourine enthusiast. In fact, she used to busk in my local area with a tambourine before she hit the big time with her sisters. It was my young child’s inquisitive nature that blagged me her tambourine when she came back to her old stomping ground for a rare tambourine medley last year. My daughter asked to have a go, and loved bashing Coleen’s tambourine with great vigour, so much so that she didn’t want to give it back. Coleen was good about it though, and agreed to swap in for two Cheese-strings, a Curly-Wurly and an orgasm.  It was all I had on me at the time to offer her in return. I of course obliged, and left her exhausted with a smile on her face, and her tambourine in my hand.

 

A Match Ticket – Not just any match ticket, this is a ticket to the first ever Swan Twatting Championships that was open to the public. In 1974, the Swan Twatting governing body allowed non-ST’s (Swan Twatters) to attend the championships. My father, a big fan, managed to win a ticket to the event. He was disappointed as he had missed out when the tickets had gone on general sale, but to his enormous surprise, he won a golden ticket in a breakfast cereal that was sponsoring the event. More surprising to me, is that he didn’t have his lucky chewing gum at the time.

 

There are still plenty more things to look through, I’ve been pouring over so many objects and remembering so many great stories. I’ll note down the others soon.

%d bloggers like this: