




Booze, news and views from a drunken opinionated fool who can't spell very well, may well repeat himself, and can't blame it on dislexia
Everything Is A Remix: KILL BILL from robgwilson.com on Vimeo.
Stinson Beach Bubbles (canon 550D) from markdaycomedy on Vimeo.
THE REAL BOB HARRIS: So there we are. Those were of course the Fabulous Bingo Brothers. And make a note that very soon ... we'll be having an entire Whistle Test program without them. ... Well, here's our last studio guest tonight, who needs no introduction from me, so until next week, goodnight. (He grins and looks offscreen. Fade to the studio. Raymond Onassis [Neil Innes] walks on, performing a number Neil is pretty well known for. He wears shades, a mouth harmonica, a light blue jacket, light blue pants, and that red and green cap he wears a lot in these shows.) PROTEST SONG Words and Lyrics by Neil Innes ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NEIL: Uh, this next number is a protest song. (He tunes his guitar for ages.) Uh, I've suffered for my music, and ... now it's your turn. (He plays a terrible harmonica solo, then sings a la Bob Dylan:) All the prophets of doom can always find room In a world full of worry and fear Tip cigarettes and chemistry sets And rudolph the red-nosed reindeer So I'm goin back to my little old shack And drink me a bottle of wine That was mis en bouteille before my birthday And have me a fantastic time Rain on a tin roof sounds like a drum We're marching for freedom today Yeay Turn on your headlights and sound your horn If people get in the way (Another terrible harmonica solo.) Let me turn you on to the chromium swan On the nose of a long limousine Even hired for the day It is something to say But what the hhehhellll does it mean I may be accused of being confused But I'm average weight for my height My philosophy Like color tv Is all there in black and white RAAAAAAINN on a tin roof sounds like a drum We're marching for freedom today Yeay! Turn on your headlights and sound your horn (toot toot) If people get in the way (He plays one last loooong harmonica note, falling out of frame, then comes back into frame and ends it. He gives the beast sign, then bumps into the microphone. He can't see in those shades!) (Back to host Bridget, overwhelmed by flowers, and still smiling.) BRIDGET: Well, that's about the size of it. Rutland Weekend is closing down now, so until next week, goodnight everybody!
We’d been planning this for years and i’m buzzin it’s come off. We’d gotten 2 tickets in the Anfield upper and got the banner made on Friday. As we walked up towards the ground i had the biggest ****in grin on me head knowing we were about to pull it off. My only worry was not getting in with it. I shouldn’t have worried. A few beers on the concourse and we waited for YNWA to start as that was our signal to go. We walked down to the front of the teir and unfurled it. We had to hold it up cos there was nothing to tie it onto and it was up for for roughly 40 seconds before i got launched by the stewards. A bit of spit and that was all. It was a ****in scouse slag that spat at me too i think
Fair play to the Spurs fans who were buzzin and we threw it down into their end. Afterwards we walked round the ground and then had a couple of pints near Goodison with an Everton lad my mate knew and got a call saying their lads were looking for us. Not suprising really is it!
Small, crafty, cowering, timorous little beast,
O, what a panic is in your little breast!
You need not start away so hasty
With argumentative chatter!
I would be loath to run and chase you,
With murdering plough-staff.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
And fellow mortal!
I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal;
What then? Poor little beast, you must live!
An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves
Is a small request;
I will get a blessing with what is left,
And never miss it.
Your small house, too, in ruin!
Its feeble walls the winds are scattering!
And nothing now, to build a new one,
Of coarse grass green!
And bleak December's winds coming,
Both bitter and keen!
You saw the fields laid bare and wasted,
And weary winter coming fast,
And cozy here, beneath the blast,
You thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel plough passed
Out through your cell.
That small bit heap of leaves and stubble,
Has cost you many a weary nibble!
Now you are turned out, for all your trouble,
Without house or holding,
To endure the winter's sleety dribble,
And hoar-frost cold.
But little Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
Still you are blest, compared with me!
The present only touches you:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!
toodle pip