(originally posted on myspace here)
The scene of the crime
BLOOD
AND GUTS UPDATE: Well Hywel's go on the laurels was pretty short lived
because Friday night (Banker night) saw ME become the hero when - you
remember! - your boyfriend Belmondo'd
me in the face halfway through a show (Cliveowened me, Danielcraiged
me, Neesoned, Mitchumed, "nutted" - what you will,) then ran off and
abandoned you while the show went on, as it must, with blue roll up its
nose. Good thing there was a doctor in the house, our own esteemed Dr.
David Rosenberg who having been denied entry to South Africa because
there was literally not enough room in his passport for another stamp
(true true!) found himself freed up now to give Hywel the crash-course
on Thursday, and on Friday witness your boyfriend hit and run mid-show leaving behind only you, mumbling and panicked, and of course all his booking details at the box office.
Nice men. Do not hurt them.
Crikey
you were drunk, weren't you, whoever you were, and terribly annoying.
You must have known that. And I guess I sort of know where your boyfriend was
coming from because even I felt a bit bad about singling you out when
you were so clearly barely able to even stand. Then again though, it
could be argued you actually singled yourself out by wibbling on about
carbon in the corner of the auditorium, I don't know... but I mean why
didn't your boyfriend make
any attempt to try and keep you quiet, that's what I don't get, or to
even acknowledge your presence until you wanted to be escorted out of
the show? Why did he try and take it out on that volunteer in the riot
gear? Did your boyfriend not get that it was pretend? Did your boyfriend just have a bad day? Was your boyfriend actually, secretly mad at you? Well this is all academic I guess... Man I just can't believe your boyfriend ran out and left you like that, that's all.
And
poor old Hywel! A second baptism of fire for day two. (Oh yeah, fire.
Did I mention the pyrotechnics? Yeah he's great, Hywel.) And Nigel's had
his appendectomy now I hear. They eschewed keyhole surgery in favour of
the full Jack the Ripper, that's all I know. Dr. David only works on
electro-shock therapy cases these days, says he misses the smell of an
operating theatre, the smell of cauterised meat. And me? Well I almost
look TOO gorgeous but on the down side every face pressed towards mine
on the
tube now makes me just that bit more bristly. Like I said, I don't
know. Things fall apart, mistakes are made, the Machine begins to warp
and split but the run continues, and Friday Night will always be Banker
Night. Applying Goode's Pertinent Binary (see Feb 18) we deal with it...
Honestly though, your boyfriend! It almost makes me wish now that I'd listened to your Dad!
(Thank you videogum.)
The devastating effects of a Belmondoing
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