It's In A Box Of "Smellies" - But It Doesn't Smell.

So there goes another Christmas in high definition clarity as opposed to the hazy alcoholic blur of the ones of my youth, but hey, that’s progress!?
I’ve realized though that’s it’s perhaps best to be a little hung over on Christmas morning, if only to engineer a lie in. I was up at 8am all bright eyed and bushy arsed and not really knowing what to do with myself, for one preposterous minute contemplated cleaning the windows but managed to snap myself out of it. I was under strict instructions not to open my presents until girlfriend Nikki had arrived from her folk’s place where she was spending the night, and knowing her sleeping patterns I knew I could quite easily be kicking my heels for hours on end around the front room before making an infuriated phone call on Boxing Day.
She eventually rolled up just before mid day by which time I’d had two breakfasts, done a white wash and listened to a whole programme of Christmas carols as played by the “Brighouse and Rastric brass band” with vocals provided by the “Hudderfield Choral society”. (I later used a joke as told by presenter Christopher Timothy at “Sinatras” in my show, but it didn’t get the laughs as afforded to it by the congregation of St. Peter and Pauls church unfortunately).
Have to say I did pretty well presents wise, two jumpers, three books, a couple of dvd’s, hip flask, some “Mr. Men” socks, a “Next” pack of smellies, a calendar, a hamper, and a hoody top so I can frighten the pensioners at work of an afternoon. Unfortunately I managed to smash a beaker before I had chance to open it, it was a special Leeds United one as well with my name on it and I looked on horrified as it lay in pieces on the ground at my feet, all a bit too symbolic for my liking, mirroring exactly our season up to press. One piece of equipment in the “Next” pack has got me beat mind. It came in a little cardboard box labelled “Muscle Bar”, is the shape of a tablet of soap but is black in colour and odourless. I’m not all together sure what I’m supposed to do with it to be honest, I’ve been holding it up to the light and sniffing at it for days now, I did wash my face with it a couple of times but my sink went a funny colour and I came out looking like Al Jolson,....anybody got any ideas?

Tidings of Comfort And Joy.

Well it’s full steam ahead with the credit crunch then, what with Woolworths going breasts north and MFI folding (see how they like it), it’s all getting a bit down in the mouth back home. The holiday makers over here are suffering too, what with the exchange rate being such that, by the time you’ve changed your money over to Euros, you’ve just got about enough to phone home and ask for some more money to be sent over, - these are trying times.
The other “turns” that I’ve spoken to are getting a bit jumpy and wondering if they’ll manage to feed the cat this Christmas, but I think that it’s a bit early to be reaching for the poisoned mushrooms just yet, must admit though to feeling a bit paranoid meself. Recently after a show in the last remaining venue where I haven’t been laid off, the sound and lighting man who had just returned after a trip back home says. “I thought about you the other day, I bumped into a Big Issue seller in Wakefield”. (!?!?) It turns out that this particular character was Polish and it reminded him of a couple of jokes I use in the act (all in the best possible taste of course, and anyway it isn’t me strictly speaking, it’s Billy Connolly).
I’ve spent most of the last couple of weeks writing a synopsis for my book “Chasing The Cheese – A Year In The Life Of A Benidorm class B Celeb”, but whichever way I write it, it makes me sound like some slightly twisted student out to make a nuisance of himself in his gap year, or some dozy old train spotter who’s finally fallen off the end of the platform, but there you go. I’ve trawled the internet looking for suitable publishers and literary agents who might be interested in my work, and come to the conclusion that, well,…. there aren’t any. Not helped by the fact that 99.87% (I’ve done the research), of them reside in London!! - no reason to stop trying though.
A couple of news stories that appealed this week are of the pilot who flew 80 passengers from Cardiff to Paris and then announced “I’m not qualified to land, - we’ll have to turn back”. It turns out that once they arrived in Paris it was a touch foggy and he hadn’t got the qualifications to land in overcast conditions would you believe. What about taking off in overcast conditions then? Presumably he’s fairly skilled in this procedure if he’s working out of Cardiff in the middle of winter?!
The other one concerns a 22 year old woman who was banned from buying a box of Christmas crackers because staff feared she was too young under the 1875 explosives act.
She had picked out a box of ten crackers at Marks & Spencer in York and was amazed to be asked by check-out staff if she was 16 or over. This is a direct quote from the paper -

Heather said: "The member of staff looked at me for a moment before asking for ID. She refused to believe that I was 22 even though I have nearly finished a degree course.
"As if that wasn't bad enough, she said that she was protecting me by not selling me them. It's as if she was suggesting that if I was left alone with the crackers I couldn't be trusted and might blow myself up."

Ten Years!!

It’s my anniversary today; I’ve been here in Benidorm for 10 years! That’s like a whole year, times by ten, hang on I’ll check, it can’t possibly be true can it, I mean 10 years, I should be retired by now. I lived in Blackpool for two and a half years before that and in my own mind I’ve lived in both places for exactly the same amount of time. I don’t even know why I remember it was the 10th of December when I landed here, but I do, I didn’t realize it then but I couldn’t have picked a worse time really, this little chunk between the November fiestas and Christmas is possibly the quietest time of the year. Just to underline this fact, I’ve been laid off from three of my four jobs this week.
But there I was just innocent middle aged bloke looking to break back into show business after taking a decade off due to the fact that I’d have been up on a manslaughter charge if I hadn’t taken time out, such was my relationship with my agents. I had subsequently worked as a postman, and then barman and every other job with “man” in the title until I felt confident enough to return to the fray.
To say I struggled when I first got here is putting it mildly, I didn’t have an act so I was basically unemployable, living in a freezing hostel in the Old Town with a bunch of surreal nutters in a room that your average psychiatric patient would turn his nose up at was a bit of an eye opener. The mattress had a lean of 45 degrees, weighed about 3 ounces and the window was so small I could only look out with one eye at a time. (I’d appreciate it if you’d hum the theme tune from the Hovis advert at this point), I would tip toe down to the beach bare foot at first light for a bracing run before breakfast, flicking loose stones from my heel and averting the stares from local cops as I frolicked on the sand. Oh, the innocence of it all.
My girlfriend, in a strange loop of fete now lives in Blackpool and we communicate on “Skype” whereby you can talk for an unlimited amount of time for free over the internet, you can also see each other. Not sure agree with that bit though, half of the fun of conversing on the phone is that you can pick at your toe nails or have a good scratch at your nether regions whilst discussing the price of washing powder.”How’s your day been?” I politely inquired last night.
“Oh, nothing special really, but I had to buy a pregnancy test from the chemist and then a packet of cigarettes” she mused matter-of-factly. After I’d matter-of-factly fallen out of my chair, I thought for a bit, pulled myself together and croaked, “Er,....what!!!??, ......but.......you don’t even smoke!” (Well, actually no I didn’t say that, I’ve only just thought of it now – but I was shocked).
“It’s for class” was supposed to allay my fears. I must point out at this point that she is taking a degree in acting, and the part she is playing today is that of a chain smoking nymphomaniac apparently. Whatever.

Wake Me Up Next Week.

Well, it’s been a lean few days here in Benidorm, the beginning of December is a notoriously quiet time here, placed as it is between the November fiestas and festive celebrations. There was another fiesta yesterday – “Constitution Day” and today we are celebrating the "Imaculate conception" apparently, - would have loved to have seen the look on Joseph's face when Mary came up with that one. You’ve got to hand it to em over here, by the last calculation there’s only about 3 weeks a year without some day off thrown in, they’ve adopted every fiesta from within a 500 mile radius and Christmas lasts about two months.
“The Cumberland Sports & Social Club” re-opens on 14th December and personally I can’t wait to get stuck into it once more, these afternoons are gradually getting longer, I’ve been trailing round the shops today (the Chinese ones – the Spanish ones are all shut), looking for little round sunglasses, not for me you understand, - for Ozzy Osbourne.
Here’s something that caught my eye in the paper while I was on my way to the “World’s Biggest Liar” competition the other week. The new “Colemanballs” book is out, which, if you didn’t know is the bible for all gaffes of the sporting nature. Here’s one or two from the latest volume.
“Once you’ve thrown the javelin, it’s out of your hands” – Tessa Sanderson
“The great North Run is the longest half marathon in the world” – Talksport Radio
“Calzaghe has managed to keep all his personal problems out of his life” - Duke McKenzie.
“He was running quicker than his legs could go” - Steve McLaren
“We are not as good as we think we are. We need to go out there and prove that” – Steve McLaren.
“Gary Neville was captain, and now Ryan Giggs has taken on the mantelpiece” – Rio Ferdinand.
“He chanced his arm and it came off” – Bryan Moore
“If you want a quiet life, you have to turn a blind ear” – Geoff Boycott
“It would help if the groundsman didn’t scatter his seed around the place a couple of days before the game” – Jonathon Agnew.
“Camebridge have won the boat race! – Oxford have come second”. – Geoff Twentyman (BBC radio Bristol).

Biggest Liar In The World Competition

I’ve just got back from a immensely enjoyable weekend where I spent the first night at the “World’s Biggest Liar” competition, held annually at the “Bridge Inn” pub in the Lake District.
As luck would have it my flight touched down at Manchester ten minutes early which miraculously enabled me to catch the last available train to Ravenglass which, as far as I’m aware is the nearest point of civilization to (a) Holmrook – the location of my B and B, and (b) Santon Bridge itself where the competition will be held.
It’s six o’clock on the dot as I breeze through the door at the “Ratty Arms” pub, which I’m guessing in former times was the waiting room for Ravenglass station as it is actually located on the platform itself. I’m figuring I’m going to time this thing just about right as it says on the ticket in my back pocket that the starting time is 7pm (the ticket also enables me to partake of the “Tattie Supper”, whatever that is, but whatever, I’ll tackle it as I’m ravenous). As there was no sign of a telephone box I ask the young barmaid for a taxi number, and she very kindly offers to phone one for me. After a short conversation on the somewhat less than reliable mobile phone she gladly informs me that there is a taxi available – at about 7:15! – the sole driver allocated to these parts obviously doesn’t like rushing his tea.
I muttered some mild expletive under my breathe and asked if there wasn’t some other firm that might take me now, but she looked annoyed at my annoyance and said that there wasn’t. “Ok, I’ll take it, - thank you” I said, as I stood deflated against the bar counting my change all crestfallen. I sat with a pint of “John Smiths” as I weighed up my options.
The taxi driver showed up at around 7:25pm and I scurried out of that very pleasant hostelry and into the awaiting vehicle. I had him drop me off at the “Lutwidge Arms” pub which was to be my bed for the night. I flew through the door like some wild west villain explaining that “the clock was running” and I didn’t have time for pleasantries as I breathlessly gave my name to the amiable if somewhat startled woman and told her thank you very much as I threw my bag into room 9 and haired back down the stairs and out into the car park.
The lengthy pause that greeted my inquiry as to what my chances were to getting a taxi back again later on left me squirming, before feigning relief with – “Oh it doesn’t matter, if I know which way I’m going I’d rather walk anyway”
As I forced my way into the packed venue, - us club people would call it a “Function Room” I could see that I didn’t have a hope of finding a seat and I was going to struggle to find any sort of standing position come to that. I naturally sort sanctuary at the bar and awkwardly cradled a pint of “Cumberland Ale” as the compere, addressed the massed ranks of local dignitaries, film crew, busy photographers, assorted hacks and increasingly restless audience. I was relieved of my ticket, telling me that all the “Tattie Suppers” were gone and would I like some lamb stew. I politely declined.
Nearly all thirteen entrants were of local origin, I have never been to this part of the country before I am slightly perplexed to hear that the local accent has a sound of watered down “Geordie” about it, now geography isn’t my strong suit exactly but that’s across the other side of the country isn’t it?
First up is a young student type with ginger hair who, although obviously nervous, - and who wouldn’t be with television cameras and flash bulbs rammed under your nose end – made a fairly decent fist of it. Being stuck at the back and with most contestants not laying claim to the greatest of microphone techniques it was difficult to decipher exactly what was said but our student friend opened with “I was born in a wicker basket in 2000” which seemed like a decent start, and he went on to receive a passable ripple of appreciation. Next up was “James Mason – Butler to the rich and famous” who mumbled a bit and I didn’t have the slightest notion what he was going on about. Next up enter stage left Glenn “Cloth Ears” Boyland, who with his curious tale of the downfall of the Roman Empire due to their carnivorous diet – i.e eating people instead of food, would eventually prove good enough to clinch third spot.
Others included a “Brain Surgeon” who told of his club trip to Kabul with companion Norman (A Jack Russell), a pop eyed barmy individual whose occupation was announced as a “Wasp Whisperer” and finished with line, “You know shite? – well I shit pink shite!!” (Well, it got a laugh from me). There was an elderly lady in a blue cardigan who was the spit of “Mrs. Doubtfire”, an ample young lady who used the opportunity as a sort of an open mic spot in a comedy club and finished with – “I’m actually a size zero but I keep it wrapped up in this fat so as not to scratch it”, and some old bloke who went on about trying to capture fog for his uncles fog horn
After the break Andrew Halls and Aisha were very entertaining, he acting as interpreter for his Turkish lady friend (actually from Preston) and through him she told of the underwater tunnel from Constantinople to Coniston in years gone by and explained that they’d arrived by submarine that day, which was now parked round the back and apologised to the owner of the blue “Astra” for any inconvenience. We then sat through some of the most tedious ramblings from contestants with all the panache and delivery of my old History teacher, which had pretty much the same effect on the audience as it had on 2T in 1976.

Joyfully though, the reigning world champ “Johnny Liar” a 70 year old local farmer, treated us to a scintillating performance, regaling us with a fantastical tale of his day out in Whitehaven, travelling up there along the sea bed on the back of his trusty horse Daisy and completing the return journey cadging a lift on the fin of a giant skate.
Nice one Johnny and long may you rein.

Time For A Wash!

November 11th 2008.
I woke up yesterday morning to that wonderful gurgling and whooshing sound that all Spanish residents adore – the sound of the water coming back on! It had been off since yesterday morning, I’d had the Dutch woman from next door round telling me that she’d been on the phone to the porter who had used the phrase – “Well, nobody else has complained” to fob her off insisting it was all in her imagination. I couldn’t have complained if I’d wanted to, when I moved in a couple of months back nobody gave me his number, so I had got in touch with the agent who mentioned that not only was it Sunday but it was the “Fiestas” so it could be a problem getting anybody roused before Thursday to sort the problem. So it was a huge relief then when it came back on today, which means I can afford those little luxuries like taking a shower and flushing the toilet. As anybody living over here will tell you this is not what you would call uncommon, and all you can do is hope that when the power cuts hit town you’re not in the lift. – The last time it happened to me, someone phoned the fire brigade but forgot to mention that in fact the building wasn’t a towering inferno and a dozen firefighters rushed the building with oxygen masks and pick axes, and all sirens blazing. It worked though, they had me out in a flash, - if I’d have phoned the “emergency” number I would have been there still no doubt.

Here’s a story from today’s papers that caught my attention -

Great Barrier Reef in garden shed
A man has created his own Great Barrier Reef in his garden shed.
Clayton Smith from Bromley has grown corals for ten years and nurtures more than 120 species in 5ft by 2ft tanks at the bottom of his garden.
He told The Sun: "Coral is an incredible 'pet'. Some people like soft corals, which are wavy, and others the big and fleshy large polyp stone corals.
"However, first-time farmers really like the ones which glow in the dark - they've got the 'wow' factor."

Watch Yer Back - The Fiestas Are Coming!

Well, the November Fiestas are upon us once more, and once again we'll witness the culture split. The Spanish will dress in their sublime lacy period costumes, observe the parades and fireworks and visit the funfair in the old town, with small children gambling playfully at their feet. - Then there's the middle aged British gangs who'll converge on their favourite bar (Vincents, Wooky Hollow, Yorkshire Pride and Shamrock being the favourites), have a high volume chat with the folks they met last year and get wrecked whilst dressed up as Fred Flintstone. - Not that there's owt wrong with that mind! - that's OUR culture that's all. There not much good if you're a "Turn" though, and I've been laid off from "Sinatras" while the heat dies down.
Trawling through the papers today, it's a case of Prince Philip eat your heart out, after hearing of this classic from all round entertainer, Italian Supremo Silvio Berlusconi. Whilst in a press conference with the Russian President he came up with this corker. - "I will try to help relations between Russia and the U.S, where a new generation has come to power, and I see no problems to establish new relations with Obama who is handsome, young and suntanned"

www.concertchairmanbenidorm.blogspot.com
Oh for f......