napoleon's death mask

My best mate's parents were from St Helena, the place that Napoleon was exiled to (after he had already escaped from Elba), and the place where he died.
Until just recently, l was unaware that a death mask was made of him, but here it is.
I don't know about anybody else, but he looks like nothing l imagined him to be like, although you do get a real sense of how he must have appeared at the time.
Bringing history to life - the gory way!

toodle pip

5 guys meeting up over 30 years for a photograph

This is the kind of thing l can appreciate.  Five guys have been meeting up at Copco Lake, California, and re-enacting the same photograph of themselves every 5 years over the last 30 years.  A splendid idea, and the dedication to such a task leaves me suitably impressed.
From here.

toodle pip

old facebook photographs

 Looking young and cool with my old leather jacket (I rode a motorbike at the time)

A Rolling Stones banner l stole from the Newcastle gig and later sold at Sotheby's for about £400.  I had to borrow a knife from a Hells Angel, climb up the scaffolding and cut it down, roll it up, make sure l gave the knife back, then nonchalantly stroll out with it under my arm.  Luckily l also had some sticky access passes, so l could have been mistaken for a roadie.  This is outside Stocky's house in Colburn.

 On top of the garage in the house l shared with some other lads, drinking home made booze.  With me are Bainsey (Jim Pierce) and Lammy (Paul Lambert).  Also on display is the Colburn Popular Front flag, which went with us to festivals.  

The skinny me, probably posing during The James Herriot half marathon as it was around Catterick and Richmond, and went past Colburn near the end.  On a good day, l could run 10 miles in about 55 minutes, and a half marathon in about one hour 15 minutes.  Now it would be one day 15 minutes.

While l was at work on Saturday, a colleague told me that she had seen old photographs of me on some Facebook pages (I won't say the names).  While checking out one of the sites this evening, these ones were amongst the beauties that popped up.  Although probably hundreds of photographs were taken of me about this time ( l'm not exaggerating), l have only got about three of them, so this was a pleasant surprise and a bit of a shock (although it was also only a matter of time before they started appearing).  I can't believe how skinny l was when l was doing a lot of running (half marathons), and the FPO is now cursing she didn't meet me earlier, as she just got the sad, fat, old and bitter version of the above.  If (or when) l eventually go insane and turn into a serial killer, certain people will make a fortune selling photographs of me. Stocky alone will be able to retire with the amount he has.  I bet he is just biding his time, waiting for me to crack and start my rampage.

toodle pip

anti wanking device

I might buy a certain fellow one of these for his birthday at the end of the month.  It's an anti wanking (onanism) device and is from about 1880 and was used in Catholic France.  This one was for sale on eBay in 2008.  I'll also have to disconnect his computer and hide his paddles, but it will be worth it just to see the look on his face.

toodle pip

going on the the jetty of death in liverpool with keith richards

When l was but a young whipper snapper, l used to put together comics and magazines. This resulted in me following bands around, either selling stuff, or taping / bootlegging them.
At the time, l didn't have a driving licence, so l had to get people to drive me around and give me a hand, and in about 1991, that lucky individual was called Martin Evans.
Now l have known Martin for a few years, and after he moved down south, we sporadically kept in touch, and when he eventually got married a couple of years ago, l went to his wedding in Cambridge, so we are still on friendly terms.
I have had some fine times with that young man, and we share a similar sense of humour, but there are two incidents l have had with him that stand out (no, not the acid at Glastonbury).
Why these two specific incidents you may well ask?
Because on both occasions, he could have died when l was being my usual, idiot 'rock and roll' self.
We crashed in a car l was driving (illegally) while arguing about who we would be in The Rolling Stones (as you do). After me saying he would be Bill Wyman (taking the piss), l turned to him and declared "I am Keith Richards", only to look up and then crash into a roundabout at full speed, writing off the car and leaving it steaming in the middle of the roundabout (OK, l know it's not big or clever, so don't bother bugging me about it). We both managed to get out and we laugh about it now, especially as neither of us were injured and no charges were made (and the car sure looked good in the middle of it the next day).
On the other occasion, we had been in Liverpool selling magazines and getting drunk, when l suggested going down to the river, which meant walking on an old jetty which was falling apart. That jetty may well have been the one above, but as it was the middle of the night, and we were very (very) drunk, l can't really be certain. One thing that is definite though, is that when we approached the end of the jetty, it gave way underneath Martin and he fell through the hole. Luckily for him, his elbows came out and prevented him going straight down into the dark and murky waters of the Mersey, from which there is no way he would have been able to escape. We managed to get him back onto the jetty (admittedly a little shaken and sobered up), and we then walked back to where we were staying (with him leaving a trail of poo behind him).
Happy days indeed, but for some reason the wild nights out with him seemed to come to an abrupt end.
I reckon he is scared of incident no 3, whatever that might entail.
As for me - indestructible.

toodle pip