F**king Hell! C**segnalazioni to me for wanking it. I'll PM me with a subject for next wank. I won't really. It's a joke.
Meanwhilst..
2 - Me
1 - Gappy
Next topic: History
Leg closed: 30.4.24 (Left open longer to attract more entrants. Worked for my mother)
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 - 12 - Gappy, Me
2 - 6 - Tiggy
3 - 4 - Otterfox
4 - 2 - APlate
5 - 1 - Alfred Kipper
ART FOR FART'S SAKE.
PUB.
TOM and DICK.
TOM Y'know, I can never remember any artists.
DICK Cézanne.
TOM Zanne. I can still never remember any artists.
DICK Bosch.
TOM No, it's true.
DICK Michaelangelo.
TOM Michael and who?
DICK Da Vinci.
TOM I hate Dand Brown.
DICK Pissaro.
TOM Back at you.
DICK Dégas.
TOM No, this day's crap.
DICK Dali?
TOM Yes, every day.
DICK Munch?
TOM Thanks, but I'm not hungry.
DICK Monet?
TOM Thanks, but I'm rich enough already.
DICK Manet?
TOM Yes, many pounds, thank you.
DICK Matisse.
TOM Your what?
DICK Rembrandt.
TOM No, I've forgotten.
DICK Dix.
TOM Just the one.
DICK Otto Dix!
TOM No, solo uno.
DICK Titian.
TOM No, a big one.
DICK Pollock.
TOM I've two of those.
TOM A load of Pollock's!
DICK No, that's true too.
TOM Klimt.
DICK I think only women have that.
TOM Watteau?
DICK I said, I think only...
TOM Chagall.
DICK I only shag one at a time.
TOM Rubens.
DICK Roo bends what?
TOM Nicholas Party.
DICK Thank you, but my parties involve underwear.
TOM Picasso.
DICK I pick what I like.
TOM Kahlo.
DICK You'd better lift it up, then.
TOM Oh, f**k this.
DICK Never heard of him.
Something different today. Middle English knowledge not essential 
THE BEST SHORT STORY IN THE WORLD, EVER
I was all snare drum sneeze and deep bass coughing. I was sitting on the High Street in an ill-fitting suit. I had just failed to procure myself a job.
Those three statements are true. It is downhill from here.
If you still cling, as I do, to the old-fashioned personal stereo you will be aware of that sad valley of desperation in which the batteries are too low to play cassettes, but still have a last punch of strength with which to pick up the radio. After a while even national stations prove too much and the machine is left in local broadcast purgatory, an antechamber to the next world.
One swift movement from the trouser pocket to the breast pocket and the familiar airless crackle of local lunchtime radio is present. The lunch in question is a cold supermarket pasty, its one bitten corner a congealed brown eye staring from the benchseat.
"Yes, indeed, that was The Lighthouse Family, and I play that for Pat down in little old Harbledown. Now, at seventeen minutes past the hour it's up to our roving copter and Hannah McDaniels: keeping tabs on the traffic with Barnard's of Bekesbourne, your only choice for used Renaults."
"Thanks , Mark. Well, there's chaos on the A28 this afternoon as cars pour into Canterbury and f-"
Attempting simultaneously to tie my shoelace and wipe a smudge of cold mince gravy from my chin I manage to dislodge the single working earphone. Replacement brings only a flurry of static. The batteries, finally. A blurred voice swims in for a last flourish.
"-n this chilly crisp April day. We can only look forward to the summer season, when the sun is s-"
The stereo is placed into my bag, wrapped in a headphone winding sheet, and the pasty wrapper is lobbed into the bin.
I have heard the following things said before:
The past has come back to haunt me
That's ancient history
I met you in a different life, it's centuries ago.
They are like a mockery of this particular day. I use that adjective quite hesitantly.
The toll and rattle of the approaching deadcart is drifting down the neo-cobbled pedestrianised thoroughfare. I know the stench will force me to throw up my pasty. Christ, must get somewhere fragrant. Boots perfume counter. Obviously I don't want to appear too concerned over a cheap pasty, but it's all the food I have for the foreseeable future. The now familiar "GROATS ONLY" sign is taped to the untouched chip and pin reader.
It seems as if one of the perfume girls has recently had her fortune told.
"It was brilliant, totally brilliant: he read my hand out and sat me down and, like, told me all about - well, he guessed I was unhappy about something and I said, 'Well, yes', and he said that he thought that maybe it was something to do with my family which is just right because - well, I mean Dean's brother is basically my family, right? And he told me my future which was cool, I'm telling you. Then he did me with his crystal."
"Oh, I've never been done by crystal."
"That's it, you see, it's a whole nother aspect of your whole being, right? You know he's the only sage with a scrying pool this side of Bishopsbourne? It was brilliant, he told me my whole future. I'd definitely go again."
"Why, how many futures can you use?"
They turn to me, sneering, "Would you like any scents, Sir?"
I'm sure that security are more violent than they used to be. Since Group Four became Green Knight Services they've been really vicious. Those axes are pretty big. I'm just considering this as I nurse my wounds behind the sports centre. It all happened because I was so incensed as being thrown out of Boots (face first into the town ratcatcher, not a personal best in dignified exits) that I completely forgot about those new Milkwhite Steed Only lanes that the council laid down the other week, and had to dive out of the way of some hog or other. Errant: maybe. Considerate: no.
A passing group of damsels found it all very funny, needless to say. Bitches.
But now that we're alone I'll tell you what I think is happening. My theory is that the past had just had so many of its pieces yanked away for this and that reason, that the rest has just ended up coming too. We've borrowed from the past so much that the past has just come all at once. Can't blame it, really. My theory is that the further one gets from the High
Street, the weaker the pull is, so my only option is to walk. There may be a safe haven somewhere.
As I rush down to the southern end of town I hear a commotion behind me. Policemen, bundling after me, pikestaffs raise. Shit.
They've caught me, just outside the Comette showbarn. One is talking into his CB, "The suspected witch was recognised to us as we proceeded westward towards the junction of the High Street and the cursed path to the dragonnys den. We gave pursuit and have subsequently apprehended the suspect. Erm, send out description of his goblin familiar, who is not present: can't have got far...OK, Sarge, over and out".
A TV screen in the shop window shows a man in a finely wrought throne on an ornate dais, below which a woman in a pastel twopiece kneels, with proffered microphone.
As my cuffs are clicked shut a caption appears.
"Arthur: suspects best friend and wife".
'FORWARD TO THE PAST'
TWO MEN IN A METAL STRUCTURE THE SIZE OF A BATHROOM
BUT IT'S NOT A BATHROOM. IT'S A TIME MACHINE
ROBERT: (presses a button on a desk) Well, here we are!
BARRY: Yep, we certainly are, Robert! Where's that, then?
ROBERT: We're in the past, Barry! Our time machine is a success! We've travelled back in time, look! And if my calculations are correct, we're in the year 1945.
BARRY: Wow, that's ages ago!
ROBERT: Not now, it's not. It's now.
BARRY: Um, right. So what are we going to do now, then?
ROBERT: I suggest we look outside and see what's going on.
BARRY: Oh, we could kill Hitler!
ROBERT: Not much point, he'll be dead soon anyway. Besides, we'd have to find his bunker.
BARRY: Honestly, it's golf, golf, golf with you, isn't it...
ROBERT: (sighs) I'm going to open the door. Prepare yourself, Barry, for the world is going to look vastly different...
OPENS THE DOOR. THE WORLD DOESN'T LOOK PARTICULARLY DIFFERENT
THEY WALK OUT INTO THE STREET
BARRY: Is that it, then?
ROBERT: Yes, well, it's not quite as different as I thought it'd be. But you can sort of tell it's the 1940s. Look, there's a bloke over there wearing a hat.
BARRY: Well, obviously that makes this whole thing worthwhile...
ROBERT: Sshh, wait, here's a magazine with an advert on the back.
PICKS UP A MAGAZINE FROM THE GROUND AND POINTS TO AN ADVERTISMENT:
'MARS BAR, price 3d'
THEY BOTH LAUGH
BARRY: F**ken "3d Mars Bars"! What else are they gonna be?! FLAT?!
ROBERT: Well, '3d' is the price. But it's still funny, because we don't say that nowadays.
BARRY: Racist, is it?
ROBERT: No, no. I mean money's different now, isn't it.
BARRY: Hang on, now, or then?
ROBERT: Well, I suppose technically it's now, but then, we... Oh, this is too confusing. Let's get back in the time machine and go back to 2024.
BARRY: You mean forward?
ROBERT: Just get in the thing!
THEY GET BACK IN THE TIME MACHINE
ROBERT PRESSES A FEW BUTTONS, LIGHTS FLICKER, etc.
ROBERT: Well, we've safely returned to the year 2024. We must never dabble in time travel again! We must destroy this infernal machine!
BARRY: Why's that, then?
ROBERT: Because our adventure through time has made me realise that time travel is morally wrong, Barry. It can be used for nefarious purposes. We must destroy this
ungodly machine for the sake of mankind.
BARRY: Yeah, I suppose we don't want anyone else to see an old advert for Mars bars and a bloke with a hat.
Blennermore:
Our next guest is Norman Panpipe and he's here to discuss the future of-
Samuel:
Enough of the words coming out of you. Let me show you how it works...what- who is he again? Just tell me in as little words as possible so that I can say all the stuff.
Blennermore:
(Quietly) in as little words as possible...Panpipe..predicting...future.
Samuel:
A Panpipe!? Look, I'll ace it...(Off mic)Blennermore, where's my footstool?
Blennermore: You told me to throw it out as it didn't agree with your heels sir. Are your knees still at you?
Samuel: You threw it out? This is 1933 Blennermore, I need a footstool. Alright, you're just going to have to let me rest my feet on your back......
Blennermore:
What sir?
Samuel:
You threw away my footstool, I need a footstool, I need to rest my feet on your back.
Blennermore:
U-usually I can direct the flow of the interview and I find I'm better able to achieve that above the level of the desk.
Samuel.
Don't be making yourself more important Blennermore. I'm by far the main one....Now our next guest on the Night Gordon is a rather bizarre one. Call him unusual, strange, off-centre, a bit of a waste of space but the show must go on. He's here to talk to us about his predictions for the future. It's Norman Panpipe.
Norman: Good night.
Samuel: Oh you've finished up already, fantastic.
Norman: I was merely wishing you a good night...
Samuel: Which means tha-
Norman: By way of a salutation.
Samuel: I thought it was the other one. The goodbye one. (Mutters) So we have to let this farce continue. (Normal voice) Right, so according to you, you, let me see, have ideas about the next great technological advances which you obtained through years of scientific discovery?
Norman: Not exactly. I observe current trends, moods, what's popular with the general public and what they are gravitating towards and then predict what the next advancements will be.
(Samuel laughs heartily.)
Beat.
Samuel: You're serious!? I've never heard such rubbish in all my life! Blennermore, do you have another word for it?
Blennermore: Balderdash.
Samuel: Fantastic! That's great (laughs)
Blennermore: Twaddle.
Samuel: (Laughs)Twaddle. Excellent.
Blennermore: Hot air, gibberish, claptrap, poppycock.
Samuel: Alright, alright, calm down Blennermore. Now, Panman, can you tell us some of your predictions?
Norman: It's Norman.
Samuel: Bad start. You couldn't even predict what I was going to call you and I'm sitting directly across from your face.
Norman: It's not about proximity, it's about outlooks, moods, interests, that sort of thing.
Samuel: And you do that by...
Norman: Studying them.
Samuel: And another way of saying that is...
Norman: Observing them.
Samuel: Yes, and another way?
Norman: Notice.
Samuel: You're very bad at saying the word that I want you to say. Two faults I can see in your...you. You can't predict, and you're no good at knowing what people want you to say.
Norman: I don't follow.
Samuel: Exactly my point. And I don't follow you either and I never would. 'Viewing' is the word you were not predicting I was looking for, 'viewing.'
Norman: With due respect Mr. Gordon we should really talk about my prediction.
Samuel: With no respect off you go.
Norman: I see a time when all people will sit at home watching a box known as a television and it will become the number one source of entertainment.
Samuel: Tele-vision? Watching a tele-vision. Sitting, staring in one direction for hours? Come off it!
Norman: Yes, broadcast from a tv centre somewhere, much like the way radio is broadcast today but visually.
Samuel: You mean like photovision if it existed?
Norman: I'm not sure what you mean by photovision. I see, I see moving images-
Samuel: (mockingly) Oh you see now do you? You see. You couldnt see though when I was inches from you, and you couldn't say the word 'viewing' when it was the one word that I really wanted you to say. Now it's all teleVISION and SEE and, and...other words that mean the same thing that you might have already said or maybe not, hmm?
Norman: I-I'm not sure what the question was?
Samuel: Oh, now you can't see it or vision, vision...
Blennermore: Envision sir?
Samuel: Or envision it, thank you Blennermore, and stop moving, it hurts my heels....I am sorry to subject you to this silly facade folks. Mr. Piedpiper here is nothing more than a fraud and I bid him good night - the goodbye one. There's the door, if you can see it....
Norman: I do beg your pardon! I have never been so insulted in all my life!
Fx. Footsteps and door closing.
Samuel: Beg all you want sport but you're not pulling the wool over my eyes here on the (upbeat) Night Gordon with Samuel Gordon. You can come up now Blennermore.
Blennermore: Just looking at the paper here sir and it says-
Samuel:
Look at me when you're reading the paper
Blennermore.
Blennermore: But sir, I need to read the-
Samuel: And then look at the paper when you're telling me what it says.
Blennermore: It would be far easier if I-
Samuel: I want it the opposite way around. Thank you!
Blennermore: It.ahem.. says that Mr. Panpipes research...has been commended and...utilised by many highly regarded publications, governments and.... and scholars the length and breadth of this country. He is lauded from a height sir. Very well respected.
Samuel: Now I see. Any chance he'd like to come back in?
All different and all good, I like Mike's rapid Les Dawson style one-liners, also really enjoyed gappy's very different, strangely dark almost film-noir prose..
but my vote goes to Otterfox this week.
Another for Otterfox.
A plateful for me.
All very different ideas and I enjoyed them all. Mikes rapid fire sketch was fun, Gappys story was enjoyable too but it's A plate for me this week. This line made me giggle: 'Not now, it's not. It's now.'