tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81060632678322712892024-02-20T12:04:41.909-08:00i dream of a world without youAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-43436784972129990002010-08-01T11:36:00.000-07:002010-08-01T17:01:04.755-07:00Vincent Crepuscular<a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4098/4850475076_07e52dd369_b.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 413px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 616px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4098/4850475076_07e52dd369_b.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With a voice that could charm the bats from their caves and a torso as chiselled as Martin Kemp's chin, Vincent Crepuscular (1949 -) found fame as a musician, model, and heart throb for the alternative scene over the course of three decades.<br /><br />In the mid 90s Crepuscular's band 'the Crypts' split due to creative differences but were contractually bound to record one final album together ('Last Nail in the Coffin' - 1996). Due to increasingly aggressive feuds Vincent recorded vocals in a seperate session from the band, who later sabotaged the instruments and recording equipment with semi-automatic weapons rendering many of their tracks unuseable. Unbeknownst to the frontman at that time, desperate executives drafted in the band recording a Poundstretcher jingle in the neighbouring sound booth to fill gaps in production. Needless to say, the album bombed and journalist Vaugh Highside famously dubbed the star "Vincent Craptacular" in 'Music Yeah Wow' issue #932.<br /><br />Crepuscular retired from the music industry and took to writing poetry, though controversy over his last publication saw it recalled after PTA members reported he was 'thinly masking vampirism as a metaphor for themes of paedophilia'.eight bithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01660731741996454263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-21824618772161097592010-07-16T17:12:00.000-07:002010-07-16T17:43:21.246-07:00Eliza Trembleshroud<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5PhUAPAB0KhVD1da1l1U0q8IMLWdc-Y3o0KlHeJVE6_pdyq_R_edgFR7KUFP4hOnqM1T3wjyhAgNPsHRBRoJxiijqsotTt8Vc5Y3gL98ykSTy6lJlBHj1Ee3GDyJxkcY5G8RwXgGp4TU/s1600/trembleshroud.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 251px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5PhUAPAB0KhVD1da1l1U0q8IMLWdc-Y3o0KlHeJVE6_pdyq_R_edgFR7KUFP4hOnqM1T3wjyhAgNPsHRBRoJxiijqsotTt8Vc5Y3gL98ykSTy6lJlBHj1Ee3GDyJxkcY5G8RwXgGp4TU/s400/trembleshroud.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494662240519017506" /></a><br />Eliza Trembleshroud's (born Sharon Flepps. 1975) reign of inconvenience began in the summer of 1991 when she landed a Saturday job in John Menzies, Rotherham. All seemed to go smoothly for the first few weeks until Mrs Ida Lenthorpe (now deceased) returned her copy of People's Friend after she discovered that every face in the magazine had been replaced with that of popular goth heart throb, Vincent Crepuscular. On closer examination of the magazine racks it was revealed that Eliza had drawn bats throughout every copy of "Caravanning Today", penned an indecent poem about Vincent Crepuscular on the contents page of "Our Pets" and inserted a "free gift" of a freeze-dried weasel's tear in every copy of "What Radiator". She was last seen working in Greggs in Whitby.Jonathan Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05746751379817180863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-57508389423001244482010-01-24T12:51:00.000-08:002010-01-24T12:51:10.336-08:00Lammity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO97KW3nG5oHdw89_24FJlak1ReSyUFbIUXr3DdXdPRhI7ZnQecjqLd5S21_7gPjFJaZM0cjQjHGs9lTupyq2907cGbNlZOnKPCZPui_HzsYNTqF-dJJMZjdf3_MU4k3SgouJt8nEYCxF0/s1600-h/lammity.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO97KW3nG5oHdw89_24FJlak1ReSyUFbIUXr3DdXdPRhI7ZnQecjqLd5S21_7gPjFJaZM0cjQjHGs9lTupyq2907cGbNlZOnKPCZPui_HzsYNTqF-dJJMZjdf3_MU4k3SgouJt8nEYCxF0/s320/lammity.png" /></a><br />
</div><br />
There was a man named Lammity who spent time in the army, see<br />
his postings to far distant lands played into Lammo's wicked hands.<br />
He spent a little time in Guam and did<br />
The most OUTRAGEOUS harm <br />
to our relations with the French, he hid<br />
Their diplomat's best hat inside the ceremonial shed<br />
And cried out loud "that golden hutch"<br />
(That all are forbidden to touch)<br />
"contains the trilby; velvet, red,<br />
of French Ambassador Jean Noir, abandoned <br />
in the throes of passion (and in the most EGREGIOUS fashion)<br />
as he made love unto his <i>car</i>."<br />
<br />
Lammity caused quite a stir, a small fracas; in French a "guerre"<br />
But ultimately it was found, there was no truth in that rogue's words and <br />
if his lies were for the birds then prison was the only place,<br />
but Lammo ran (as run one might) all fleet of foot, <br />
he could not face incarceration in a gaol; he fled by night. But <br />
bullets cut him down, that fugitive run had to fail, he put a foot wrong thus, you see, (1929-63)John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-39301862060636677042010-01-12T14:39:00.000-08:002010-01-12T15:14:48.799-08:00Tibbton Skivs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPmRdBvSW3p87Nnl3PiIeaJYTgYBads9kbHNKT85C6CKZCtpJY4hKiCqE3JFHcGSJIoko2UG2_Hs7amPPkU9MwJA7wShKid8XCYNapXPxDVg0YBsDyi3cx-yJ_GIBQCYx8t_l3m-3NRXow/s1600-h/TIBBS.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPmRdBvSW3p87Nnl3PiIeaJYTgYBads9kbHNKT85C6CKZCtpJY4hKiCqE3JFHcGSJIoko2UG2_Hs7amPPkU9MwJA7wShKid8XCYNapXPxDVg0YBsDyi3cx-yJ_GIBQCYx8t_l3m-3NRXow/s400/TIBBS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425986830900310882" border="0" /></a><br />Tibbton Skivs, (1983-) is a secretive soul. Much of his past is cloaked in the sludge of time. He can however often been found lurking outside the worlds least popular museums.<br /><br />Several of these sightings have been outside 'The Hall of Oars', where he would interrogate visitors, covering all aspects of their lives. Please be aware, his questions always lead to what extent you will sponsor his lifestyle.<br /><br />Other targeted areas include:<br /><br />The Decorative Plate Foundation<span></span><br />The Royal Hall of Oars,<br />The North Wales Gallery of Scared Cats,<br />The Lost Glove Emporium (only on Tuesdays),<br />Sir Craigson Dirv's Filthy Aquarium,<br /><br />If encountered mention 'apple pudding' and he should leave you be.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-41698302610508052662010-01-12T13:06:00.000-08:002010-01-12T13:10:24.128-08:00Portus Gwent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcPNb1L-kdMFfaAONnLLjaGBoxDbg7nR6MYwGpEZGFEH_G6dnnlzUi3SeHom-vTJ2QZRoNNAyHnSsmsw6YZNrhJeX_Vp_FiFb_dEbvo5jZvX5eu8Qnf0NVszbVqMi9ks9wvFg0CS82D1s/s1600-h/portus.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcPNb1L-kdMFfaAONnLLjaGBoxDbg7nR6MYwGpEZGFEH_G6dnnlzUi3SeHom-vTJ2QZRoNNAyHnSsmsw6YZNrhJeX_Vp_FiFb_dEbvo5jZvX5eu8Qnf0NVszbVqMi9ks9wvFg0CS82D1s/s400/portus.png" /></a><br />
</div>But for his one, heinous crime, Portus Gwent (1940-) might be considered an insignificant footnote to human history. An adequate father to Pam and Jimmy, a casual but occasionally inspired lover to wife Elaine, Gwent was a jobbing builder in the Wootton Bassett area. <br />
<br />
For all his cheerful mediocrity, Portus Gwent ultimately did more damage to polite society than any "reality TV show" or "stand-up comedienne" ever could. As an apprentice in 1957, reaching for a piece of dowelling just beyond his grasp, he exceeded the safe "angle of lean" and exposed the upper cleft of his buttocks to housewife Minnie Tinsley. He had invented the clativecius IV or, as it is sometimes known, "builder's bum" <br />
<br />
From the earliest days of the guilds, the gluteus maximus of a tradesman had been held under wraps by a mixture of fear and good practice. But following Gwent's initial unveiling of this sacred zone, the floodgates opened. By 1964, few maiden aunts were ignorant of the form and pallor of the inter-buttock crevice. Britain had lost its innocence, the Beatles were on the charts, and nothing would ever be the same again.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-15329656820371315172010-01-05T12:17:00.000-08:002010-01-05T12:18:15.008-08:00Iain Webster<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhamSFaUrA-E7lk2yLsSRpiOCKFpIlB3YhJEm-wSsHNL8Q0hRF0lFmSeqos08483CHrK7GqCB0xV9Cqy7oppR0YnkgBObmZCcYqQnD_N-w7pl2ABFu7jkU8HGTwhQMlvFKT4N2R-6a37H/s1600-h/idoawwy4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhamSFaUrA-E7lk2yLsSRpiOCKFpIlB3YhJEm-wSsHNL8Q0hRF0lFmSeqos08483CHrK7GqCB0xV9Cqy7oppR0YnkgBObmZCcYqQnD_N-w7pl2ABFu7jkU8HGTwhQMlvFKT4N2R-6a37H/s640/idoawwy4.png" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Leaving school at 15, Iain Webster (1988-) quickly found employ as a Betterware man, selling mops, buckets, creams and unguents door to door. He beat targets month on month for his first year and was soon promoted to line manager for the Greater Birmingham area. Aged 17, he bought a Mercedes car with cash. At 20 he was living with his catalogue model girlfriend Paula in a city centre flat overlooking Birmingham's Bullring Centre. Then tragedy struck. Webster stacked his Merc into a pack of cub scouts out for bob-a-job week. If his crime had been one of carelessness, that would have been bad enough, but Iain actually flipped the out-of-control vehicle on purpose in order to "take out" a stray cub.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He currently resides at Her Majesty's pleasure.<br />
</div>John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-34282167384209293542009-12-28T13:01:00.000-08:002009-12-28T14:09:17.965-08:00Denny Tempest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/SzkdgKPmZFI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Qsjq-B2vnQk/s1600-h/dennytempest.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/SzkdgKPmZFI/AAAAAAAAAEs/Qsjq-B2vnQk/s400/dennytempest.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420396064859907154" /></a><br /><div><br /></div>Denny Tempest (1974 - Present) worked for a time at the Lord Darlingville Museum of Arctic Curiosities in Taunton, UK. His role was primarily as till clerk in the gift shop, selling 'Icy Explorer' lollies and penguin pencil sharpeners to groups of recently educated school children. <div><br /></div><div>The museum's archives also housed the Fabrizio Endemic collection, the accumulated notes, equipment and letters of the famous explorer himself. Fascinated by the man, Denny Tempest would dress up in Endemic's old exploration gear and stride purposefully about the museum after closing, proclaiming himself to be 'Lord of the Arctic'. Endemic's goose-down tunic was unfortunately covered in the spores of the rare Arctic disease; Lumptatoes. Tempest unwittingly unleashed a plague upon the European population after a French school exchange group visited the museum. He still works at the Museum of Arctic Curiosities, but no longer has contact with the public.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Dan Berryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13139671999118617420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-40290221427767898662009-12-07T12:36:00.000-08:002009-12-07T13:15:41.299-08:00T. Presper Mauchly<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0ZqQq_mVGlqnu3X_274lVcQ-Qa5ApsrgqV-MgA1Pf3hqVStPZxFyBQU7UXlckmlHI271RJ1nMoZ3zTPGSA3fp2NDlvMPN29vrL8Ootqg8EYRma6y20Nc3AgSJpw6fslqSn_IjqEGADU3/s1600-h/Mauchly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 387px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0ZqQq_mVGlqnu3X_274lVcQ-Qa5ApsrgqV-MgA1Pf3hqVStPZxFyBQU7UXlckmlHI271RJ1nMoZ3zTPGSA3fp2NDlvMPN29vrL8Ootqg8EYRma6y20Nc3AgSJpw6fslqSn_IjqEGADU3/s400/Mauchly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412605797125246050" border="0" /></a><br />T. Presper Mauchly (1943-1989) achieved notoriety for creating and producing the quiz show 'GET IT RIGHT' where members of the public were threatened with physical pain if they answered questions incorrectly.<br /><br />During the shows three year run Mauchly would often provoke the contestants, by claiming that he knew the answers. He would repeat these claims over and over again, many of the contestants would choose physical pain over his unrelenting psychological barrage.<br /><br />When interviewed about 'GET IT RIGHT' Mauchly would reply with only two words 'brown trapples'. Historian Dr Teddy Hamper believed this may have been a reference to Moses, whose catchphraise 'grey trapples' won the hearts of the Egyptians way back in 1638.<br /><br />In November 1989 Mauchly paddled his dory boat into the pacific ocean, in a letter discovered three months later he claimed to be "searching for a dream".<br /><br />Local mythology supposes that Mauchly was soon eaten by the giant octopus, Graham JohnsonAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-20415946021134616412009-12-04T12:31:00.000-08:002009-12-04T12:45:57.960-08:00Googie Müller<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7MlaJiS3TNlCfUV8PcPdDIunuY-R6n45WD2IbNadZ5cJD0P-85NqpQ20G1ow1-N4xpf6LzSwLEApAlDJzwHDnCNeLbr4JB6KP3bqbFT5BWEafuSWirxMnDPDEiiKz4Q50JwTN5t7pHle/s1600-h/mulller.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7MlaJiS3TNlCfUV8PcPdDIunuY-R6n45WD2IbNadZ5cJD0P-85NqpQ20G1ow1-N4xpf6LzSwLEApAlDJzwHDnCNeLbr4JB6KP3bqbFT5BWEafuSWirxMnDPDEiiKz4Q50JwTN5t7pHle/s400/mulller.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411484692287736818" /></a><br />Googie Müller (real name Lesley Müller) was a leading light in the "Polyester Folk" movement of the mid-1970s. His lunchtime TV show ("Play Today the Googie Way" - Tyne Tees Television 1974-76) was watched by audiences of up to 134 people on a daily basis. His love of man-made fabrics was ultimately his downfall when during a frenetic strumming section in "Froggie Went A-Courtin'" his signature polyester knitwear combusted. Within one verse he'd managed to destroy his rollneck sweater, beard, two thirds of the set and the rest of his career.Jonathan Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05746751379817180863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-38335338380044105302009-11-23T13:03:00.000-08:002009-11-23T13:24:20.093-08:00King Jenks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/Swr9WOl9oCI/AAAAAAAAAEk/_pcoTJZFkx4/s1600/king+jenks.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/Swr9WOl9oCI/AAAAAAAAAEk/_pcoTJZFkx4/s400/king+jenks.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407412860927975458" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/Swr4qXiR9BI/AAAAAAAAAEc/4rnbyql0brg/s1600/king+jenks.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><p>King Jenks (1983 - present) was shift supervisor at 'Cloud City', a Star Wars themed milkshake bar in Llandudno in the long hot summer of 2004. Cloud City in that period endured a particularly vindictive rivalry with the local 'Corn-Cob Cantina', a well-known corn-based fast food joint popular at the time. During breaks, King Jenks (real name unknown) had taken to relieving himself against the stacked sacks of pre-roasted corn cobs that were stored in the rear yard of the Cantina before they were re-heated and served. Jenks, something of a swaggering braggart, was indiscreet with the story of his repeated angry fouling and was sacked by Cloud City. His angry howls can on dark nights be heard travelling from atop the Great Orm, where he now works in the gift shop. He is in danger of losing that job as well, most likely due to the incessant howling.</p></div>Dan Berryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13139671999118617420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-85828074180188391282009-11-05T12:42:00.000-08:002009-11-05T12:46:19.623-08:00Gary Flinch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9GUssG0kNT62q2wH3U0r2d9XD2WHGS1dLF9TX3PJOnIruI8LZoMqWvouvpcEH3nFs8ifLMH826k2AqeHGJ0cPeSeWUrbk7HnDYlO78pBbgqsxAhRiczr3Z8Mh5Hkj3ch7r31BrNz-q8L/s1600-h/garyflinch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9GUssG0kNT62q2wH3U0r2d9XD2WHGS1dLF9TX3PJOnIruI8LZoMqWvouvpcEH3nFs8ifLMH826k2AqeHGJ0cPeSeWUrbk7HnDYlO78pBbgqsxAhRiczr3Z8Mh5Hkj3ch7r31BrNz-q8L/s400/garyflinch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400723362627166434" /></a><br />Gary Sebastopol Flinch was born twice, due to an administrational error, in Cleveleys in 1959. He first rose to prominence in the summer of '79 as a finalist in the short lived TV talent show "Show Us Exactly Why You Think You're Better Than Everyone Else" with his cat hypnosis act. Flinchmania grabbed the nation briefly between June and early August 1979 but came to an abrupt end when Flinch made some extremely disparaging remarks about TV host Choochie Playton's appearance on her live chat show "It's Choochie! Talk Me!".<br /><br />Flinch went into hiding for 12 years only to reappear at the back end of the Baggy scene when he guested onstage with the New Fast Automatic Daffodils at the Cleveley's Mad For It Weekender. During their penultimate number (Missing Parts of Famous People) Flinch attempted to hypnotise 14 cats simultaneously. It was obvious to everyone in attendance that the old "Flinch magic" had definitely gone for good.Jonathan Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05746751379817180863noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-61480928272647079192009-10-25T03:26:00.000-07:002009-10-25T04:12:28.070-07:00Ginchy Robinson Jnr<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6oUZNIpibP0GTXZkyoTbemmDKbdxyJS37QcODCrPqAgY4WHKdPgOsLOuFWHMGQf1qiOBbo-SSoTn2-ZJIpiG6TEHhazO-HVaKdK-PzugGFCT37hiDWNKVtzB23QRvy6p6YN1MT7uB7GN/s1600-h/GinchyRobinsonJnr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6oUZNIpibP0GTXZkyoTbemmDKbdxyJS37QcODCrPqAgY4WHKdPgOsLOuFWHMGQf1qiOBbo-SSoTn2-ZJIpiG6TEHhazO-HVaKdK-PzugGFCT37hiDWNKVtzB23QRvy6p6YN1MT7uB7GN/s400/GinchyRobinsonJnr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396483577378776482" border="0" /></a>Ginchy Robinson Jnr (1958-1989?) was the son of Ginchy (a priest) and Barbara (a she-priest).<br /><br />He made his great wealth when, at the age of 13, he produced the parlour game 'extreme snap'. It was an an instant hit and rocketed Ginchy Jnr to the hight of the parlour games circuit<br /><br />Other games he created include:<br /><br />Pony-poly,<br />Thuddley Tinks,<br />Cat Attack,<br />Forward-Backward,<br />Defend the Snakes,<br />Don't Use Your Shoes!<br />Pony-poly: An Australian Board Game,<br />Forward-Backward:3015<br /><br />It has been noted that his attitude towards other game inventors was 'moderately obtuse'. There are also many claims of Puzzle-snatching, however there is a complete lack of evidence to any of the allegations.<br /><br />In 1989 he disappeared, leaving only his Reigate Mansion which contained 3,054 dead shrews. It is feared that upon his return he will produce a game that utilises in, some part, dead animals.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-11013704868159151282009-10-15T05:26:00.001-07:002009-10-15T05:39:44.283-07:00Hartley Frink<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hsOykR5TApsvEXCzR5tdt3DSWZtgE1lLTZAnHHEXkbWW7nKn2GPQzkwjpoZLsCQPF3SsJN_o01UKqm_pCvYzm4NZHh012vBxBprUcTtRvlkPcolbEYsSbW-9P3E4eFU3ISpfX_MCSiLL/s1600-h/hartley-frink.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 397px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hsOykR5TApsvEXCzR5tdt3DSWZtgE1lLTZAnHHEXkbWW7nKn2GPQzkwjpoZLsCQPF3SsJN_o01UKqm_pCvYzm4NZHh012vBxBprUcTtRvlkPcolbEYsSbW-9P3E4eFU3ISpfX_MCSiLL/s400/hartley-frink.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392802287649636098" /></a><br /><br />Wine, women and song have been the downfall of many men but Hartley Frink (1910-1979) proved particularly susceptible to all three. Elected to parliament upon his return from World War 2, the former officer cut a blistering swathe through Westminster. Fierce in his opposition to Clement Atlee's government, on several occasions the Tory MP was moved to sit upon the modest Labour leader while consuming food from his trademark hamper. Frink almost derailed the foundation of the National Health Service in this manner, but, mindful of the important vote, Atlee greased himself before leaving home on the morning in question.<br /><br />Through successive administrations, Frink proved a thorn in the side for colleague and political foe alike. For much of the sixties he insisted in bringing a working mangle to Prime Minister's Questions, for reasons that were never made clear. In the seventies he became increasingly truculent and took to lolling in the corridors of the Houses of Parliament playing wth the tin toy cars of his youth.<br /><br />Hartley Frink gave up his seat on the eve of the 1979 general election. He drowned in a boggy marsh on election night. Rumours that Ted Heath had been seen in the area clutching a policeman's truncheon proved unfounded. An open verdict was recorded by the coroner.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-8239582238411557272009-10-03T07:37:00.000-07:002009-10-03T07:49:09.075-07:00Cassidy Bristol<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6g9bVWoICGGj8gEulufbqIIzv-Y3PWr0z60Rae08C0ORzYmJALtyz850_JgCCihnKnOHZlbcHFpewmbLHh7jUhrPiAXKIEm5fZ_oNW3Di3j2Ls7AhDFow-4CcRpfG17bkNIa3H9JO3dQ/s1600-h/Cassidy-Bristol.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6g9bVWoICGGj8gEulufbqIIzv-Y3PWr0z60Rae08C0ORzYmJALtyz850_JgCCihnKnOHZlbcHFpewmbLHh7jUhrPiAXKIEm5fZ_oNW3Di3j2Ls7AhDFow-4CcRpfG17bkNIa3H9JO3dQ/s400/Cassidy-Bristol.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388383184136568482" /></a><br /><br />"Those Battlin' Brazelton Boys" was the smash hit of NBC's fall 1982 line-up and Cassidy Bristol (1960-), playing Ailyn-Ann-Ann-Anne Brazelton was the breakout star in the cast. Her dewy-eyed charm and downhome style saw her poster adorning the walls of thousands of teenaged boys' bedrooms - and their fathers' dens too! <br /><br />But while Ms Bristol's on-screen persona couldn't have been sweeter, her off-screen life was tumultuous. Plucked from obscurity, she soon developed a "diva" reputation, demanding ever-larger trailers and increasingly luxurious meals. Isolated from the rest of the cast, by the end of the first season she was living in a gigantic mobile stalag that dwarfed the soundstage on which Brazelton Boys was recorded. Inside, fawned over by a coterie of toadies and handmaidens, she dined on fried quail and barbecued dragonfly.<br /><br />During preparations for season 2, the decision was taken that Ailyn-Ann-Ann-Anne would no longer feature in the cast. She was replaced by a robot dog named "Snuffy-91", who would eventually spin off into his own series ("LA Law").<br /><br />Her reputation ruined, Cassidy Bristol struggled to find work in television and took up a position as a court stenographer in upstate New York. She is married with 12 children.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-66605756553594474702009-09-17T12:42:00.001-07:002009-09-17T12:52:24.805-07:00Gossamer Tom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26tNj5b1r-BbAy5wjaY9nFzU7Bsg3Tu90i3dL9jKm6mh7B-FeV8lWCzZ_Iyi6ChGKmslYldwI_CUOtFLowSrEGdjsVz544XKUuYJaG7TdD0gQfB4b0D54YiGyBhkfFr_edxqULCpTdd9R/s1600-h/gossamer-tom.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26tNj5b1r-BbAy5wjaY9nFzU7Bsg3Tu90i3dL9jKm6mh7B-FeV8lWCzZ_Iyi6ChGKmslYldwI_CUOtFLowSrEGdjsVz544XKUuYJaG7TdD0gQfB4b0D54YiGyBhkfFr_edxqULCpTdd9R/s400/gossamer-tom.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382524254579124850" /></a><br /><br />In the field of the fried breakfast, "Gossamer" Tom Dexter (1930-1991) was a legend. Obsessed with eggs and in love with the possibilities of bacon, he fed generations of Sheffield locals. His distinctive circular van was a mainstay outside Sheffield Wednesday's ground on matchdays, with many fans clutching a "Gossamer Barm" on the football special home.<br /><br />Sadly Dexter, like so many other independent traders, was a victim of globalisation. In 1990, McDonalds introduced the "Egg McMuffin Sandwich" to their South Yorkshire franchises. Within six months "Gossamer" Tom Dexter was found dead of acute self-inflicted sulphur poisoning. His suicide note consisted of one word: "<span style="font-style:italic;">why?</span>"<br /><br />Dexter's passing coincided with the sudden end of a brutal string of unsolved murders in the Nether Edge area of the city.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-77841167985720583822009-09-15T15:09:00.000-07:002009-09-16T08:54:46.846-07:00Monty Sterling<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32LttF7orst4oRByMCKusl5PE8w0dLSKOioM_f9tb4n_iqPb7KzmrhzRxnk5bUP-8uNYNCuhz13NYS_BJ-Fu5sFVKGeeJgd905MuEuXydehrcCDvu0r18AcELu-wdYK_fyNl0I-L3hLfW/s1600-h/montyMagnus.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32LttF7orst4oRByMCKusl5PE8w0dLSKOioM_f9tb4n_iqPb7KzmrhzRxnk5bUP-8uNYNCuhz13NYS_BJ-Fu5sFVKGeeJgd905MuEuXydehrcCDvu0r18AcELu-wdYK_fyNl0I-L3hLfW/s400/montyMagnus.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381819828078663202" border="0" /></a>Monty Sterling (1923 - 198?) was a card hustler and fancy man. Raised in the sleepy town of Great <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Marton</span> Sterling dreamed of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bigtime</span> and so on his 16<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span> birthday he moved to Blackpool.<br /><br />In 1955 he made a now infamous high stakes bet with the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Reverend</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Craide</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Vonder</span> that he would 'never lose a card game' . For 20 years he kept true to his word.<br /><br />On the 16th of October 1975, however everything changed. A young upstart named Ginchy Robinson Jnr challenged Sterling to a game of his own creation, 'Extereme snap'. The rules of the game are now lost to history, the only records kept show that it lasted for 3 days and that both players lost.<br /><br />On the 19th of October 1975, true to his word, Monty Sterling handed back the small taxidermied squirrel to the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Reverend</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Craide</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Vonder</span>sAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-40823460915844400702009-09-14T02:04:00.001-07:002009-09-14T02:22:02.649-07:00Bobby Natural<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNFe_1vGYvM8f1JN74hYkzqTvsmpKA1dNIGJAoGA9oWZ4CB9yKvtpAvSyUBbWWiQmSvwvKrygJ4g4MVnFDCmlMG7PDDsdBfP0D1W66qisPopSOjwkvBQkhHgpraone3rl6jtI1piGXONt/s1600-h/bobby-natural.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 371px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfNFe_1vGYvM8f1JN74hYkzqTvsmpKA1dNIGJAoGA9oWZ4CB9yKvtpAvSyUBbWWiQmSvwvKrygJ4g4MVnFDCmlMG7PDDsdBfP0D1W66qisPopSOjwkvBQkhHgpraone3rl6jtI1piGXONt/s400/bobby-natural.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381246525545629506" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"Christ alive!"</span><br /><br />Those were the words with which Bobby Natural (1946-) opened each episode of the inaugural 1960 series of "Songs Of Praise". The teen preacher, born in Bristol, UK but educated in the Baptist southern US states, brought a new form of worship to British TV, one that had pious bobbysoxers hysterical with more than just the love of Jesus!<br /><br />Natural, frequently accompanied by his puppet "Mefty", was a familiar face in living rooms nationwide. Were it not for a backlash by the Women's Institute (who termed SoP "overheated Christian nonsense") and the mischievous theft of Mefty by a young Michael Aspel, the Church of England might have fared better in the liberated late sixties. As it was, Bobby Natural faded into obscurity. <br /><br />A resurgence in his fortunes in recent years (thanks to a BBC4 special) has seen him back on TV as the face of the Lavender Marketing Board.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-92188659480542416102009-09-06T06:40:00.000-07:002009-09-06T06:51:55.611-07:00Reggie Bricksmith<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/SqO7_gah_JI/AAAAAAAAAEU/rT2DmDu4KCc/s1600-h/Reggie+Bricksmith2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/SqO7_gah_JI/AAAAAAAAAEU/rT2DmDu4KCc/s400/Reggie+Bricksmith2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378349079717870738" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Reggie Bricksmith (1934 - 2004) was (as his name might suggest) a purveyor of fine bricks to Her Majesty the Queen of England. Despite his elevated social status and wealth that resulted from his royal commissions, Reggie grew tired of the constant tea parties, curtseying and giggling into a hankie that a position in the royal court demands. In an effort to distance himself from the palace, he clapped the head of one of the Queen's Corgi's between two of his daintiest bricks that he had hidden in his handbag. The enraged creature then bit his leg. Reggie then kicked the dog at a Beefeater. Needless to say, the situation escalated rapidly and resulted in Reggie's demise.</div>Dan Berryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13139671999118617420noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-73275289250103224142009-08-20T15:03:00.001-07:002009-08-20T15:20:29.528-07:00Ferrit Ferris<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil33kJwPXvxrO7qvqsESH3_QCb88fBnlNvBvf2Qh9pjpLe03vnL5_ofKojGp7NAaBWRxR3rmObrhFo6cTBC3XFzIb-VLhJv7GQqDrbF6ivEhesk0tDfhDpymOlVk4kwsW6cHVxwoYqBJLW/s1600-h/monsiermann.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil33kJwPXvxrO7qvqsESH3_QCb88fBnlNvBvf2Qh9pjpLe03vnL5_ofKojGp7NAaBWRxR3rmObrhFo6cTBC3XFzIb-VLhJv7GQqDrbF6ivEhesk0tDfhDpymOlVk4kwsW6cHVxwoYqBJLW/s400/monsiermann.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372170185971104818" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;">Ferrit Ferris (1920-1969) was a gentleman of leisure. He was raised in Bristol but left to become a public speaker in London, one of the biggest capital cities in England.<br /><br />His fame soon increased after impressing the aristocracy with a dance he named 'the manifestation'</span>. <span style="font-family:arial;">Recent studies of 'the manifestation' have described it as violently obscene.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In </span><span style="font-family:arial;">1967 h</span><span style="font-family:arial;">e was named 'man of the year' for s<span style="font-family:arial;">trangling Craig Staindre (the worlds worst human)</span> He claimed the murder was for 'fantastic and personal reasons'</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In 1969 he died via battles.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-20154344039029980972009-08-11T08:07:00.000-07:002009-08-11T08:12:05.916-07:00Ken Winston b.1949<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-gcG7a_rvMkZH5V6Qfl57ftZ6qY3JtM7lCckglBGC8XLXuqXXwuX8BkSI5W-Ni-lTsE9h5BTW1J_qFx5aGCBtYFe_L4N6kbXG9A9RFrjXRoFD7rTZQx8VJWEI8kwkZNKP6ECjjRqekX_/s1600-h/KenWinston.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-gcG7a_rvMkZH5V6Qfl57ftZ6qY3JtM7lCckglBGC8XLXuqXXwuX8BkSI5W-Ni-lTsE9h5BTW1J_qFx5aGCBtYFe_L4N6kbXG9A9RFrjXRoFD7rTZQx8VJWEI8kwkZNKP6ECjjRqekX_/s400/KenWinston.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368723308178072962" border="0" /></a>Ken Winston has already been through the boxes at the comic fair, and has just left with his hoard.Jim Medwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02356399471133752156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-34113270768734028362009-07-18T03:46:00.000-07:002009-07-18T03:58:52.900-07:00Paolo Vespucci<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjzcGFLAYtS8bFyJ0nEs8oZ24jKVvDAPUG4R6vERggw9DDWR2qBfZJuPdJeharb_CoURkgIG6CL_rbdYnZMzyFqI5_OtfAN083Guhmc_vFSWjGZUP-4bjUcoLEvG6iSI4HV6m7h819F5r/s1600-h/dream-of-3.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 343px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjzcGFLAYtS8bFyJ0nEs8oZ24jKVvDAPUG4R6vERggw9DDWR2qBfZJuPdJeharb_CoURkgIG6CL_rbdYnZMzyFqI5_OtfAN083Guhmc_vFSWjGZUP-4bjUcoLEvG6iSI4HV6m7h819F5r/s400/dream-of-3.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359751397828880594" /></a><br /><br />Paolo Vespucci (1931-2001) was born in Verona, Italy, between the wars. As Europe burned around him, he singlemindedly pursued his dream of becoming a royal hairdresser. After the fall of Mussolini, he moved to Hackney and opened a humble salon, "Paul's", offering quality cuts to housewives and spinsters alike.<br /><br />Following a chance encounter with Lord Scotland at a Croydon bookmakers, Vespucci became Princess Margaret's hairdresser in 1961 and cut her hair for all her public appearances. His garlanded career ended tragically when he slipped on some mousse and fell on his scissors. He was 70 years old.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-81713171394856481082009-07-12T04:44:00.000-07:002009-07-12T04:59:39.618-07:00Lord Gillingham-Spencer-Farmington-Wordbee<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/SlnNWKVHeSI/AAAAAAAAAEM/1ittKcFIUgQ/s1600-h/Lord+Gillingham-Spencer-Farmington-Wordbee.jpeg"><img style="text-align: center;float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 400px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ji65cG8zZ5U/SlnNWKVHeSI/AAAAAAAAAEM/1ittKcFIUgQ/s400/Lord+Gillingham-Spencer-Farmington-Wordbee.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357539012347656482" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Honourable Lord Gillingham-Spencer-Farmington-Wordbee (1867 - 1955) was a member of the House of Lords who dabbled with polygamy and eugenics. In 1902, he documented his attempts to cross a servant with a human, an experiment he conducted with the assistance of his three wives, Faraday Spencer, Ruth Farmington and Wordbee 2.0, a spelling robot.</div>Dan Berryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13139671999118617420noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-69605586659194872202009-07-10T14:09:00.000-07:002009-07-10T14:52:24.307-07:00Percy Percy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKpQ0UJh7lassDOSTWlmEiXxvOFQz8gKJujrZe97wO-D3gWhg6a2kn3Ah0pU088uB3wSBLosLTTYiId-ESWBmQ33CuvYjF9P3aMPofZPOyFObxzgDZSAHZQhTVlCQoJhOXxavs0GGPRw9/s1600-h/Percy-Percy.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKpQ0UJh7lassDOSTWlmEiXxvOFQz8gKJujrZe97wO-D3gWhg6a2kn3Ah0pU088uB3wSBLosLTTYiId-ESWBmQ33CuvYjF9P3aMPofZPOyFObxzgDZSAHZQhTVlCQoJhOXxavs0GGPRw9/s400/Percy-Percy.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356942138742323682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Percy Percy (1906 - 1947) was a small time debt collector from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Las</span> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Vegas, USA. He made his name by opening a series of Vinegar Boutiques, these <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">establishment</span> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">would offer holiday makers and travelling </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" style="font-family:arial;">businessmen</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> alike a "vinegar experience they would never forget". </span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:arial;">This statement was later found to be true, every single patron of the Vinegar Boutique was forced to wash and drink the substance until Percy himself was fully satisfied. </span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:arial;">Upon the patrons eventual escape he would throw bottles of vinegar at them, yelling 'Why not try some more!"<br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11208530241621165869noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-62844306108395895942009-07-10T02:21:00.000-07:002009-07-10T02:34:55.117-07:00Raoul Estevez<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yFX-6AQcsK2EDaKhw3uNZ-fJqXTqnS0DmWIEltRC8J1KIqwRQaUuvwNRrw2YiUOx46L_CwZkIt5aLwZNaIVuPXcXh7lKPUGgsc8PfBJD7T8lWKXWtowszAWiL0LWJIT7BxYnJTLJV3oO/s1600-h/Raoul+Estevez.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 392px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yFX-6AQcsK2EDaKhw3uNZ-fJqXTqnS0DmWIEltRC8J1KIqwRQaUuvwNRrw2YiUOx46L_CwZkIt5aLwZNaIVuPXcXh7lKPUGgsc8PfBJD7T8lWKXWtowszAWiL0LWJIT7BxYnJTLJV3oO/s400/Raoul+Estevez.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356759524229267730" border="0" /></a> As a young man, Estevez (1717 - 1758) would rise before dawn to replace his neighbour's hens eggs with those of turtles. Casual cruelties (urinating upstream on washday) slowly evolved into more organised rituals (collecting his own weekly urine and that of his dog Caspar).<br />Eventually cast out from the village, Estevez spent his final years urinating further upstream.Jim Medwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02356399471133752156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8106063267832271289.post-25121105607482934912009-07-07T13:28:00.001-07:002009-07-07T13:46:42.289-07:00Balthazar West<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8g9Sa3cEuSb3G7MMSnzoQihyphenhyphenTxXdTyNhf81EG8z-beyVHOTq4GKZ19SEcXXy39-ZFK0nEiTtDxPJNv1-Sdole88OZ2ZgifE_szcAXsx_cUc9PLmLNP74rUNLH8ZX9mAWtghsXNYp4dp4/s1600-h/balthazar.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 377px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL8g9Sa3cEuSb3G7MMSnzoQihyphenhyphenTxXdTyNhf81EG8z-beyVHOTq4GKZ19SEcXXy39-ZFK0nEiTtDxPJNv1-Sdole88OZ2ZgifE_szcAXsx_cUc9PLmLNP74rUNLH8ZX9mAWtghsXNYp4dp4/s400/balthazar.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355818023984827890" /></a><br /><br />The 1987 series of 'New Faces' was notorious for several reasons, but perhaps the best remembered is the appearance of Balthazar West (1949-1993). West was raised in the Lake District by strict Methodists, harbouring a lifelong desire to take to the stage. Following the death of his elderly mother in 1986, he successfully auditioned for the popular talent show. What followed made the front pages of the following day's newspapers, and saw questions asked in parliament in an era where matters of entertainment were still thought below the attention of the House.<br /><br />Having secured his slot with a milquetoast puppet act, on the live broadcast West took to the stage without his puppets and invited members of the audience to "hurt me badly", claiming that he could "take the pain". To the horror of judges Barry Took, Marti Caine and Tony Hatch, the stoic West was set about with handbags, fists, feet and stage furniture, all the while refusing to fall to the ground. The ten-minute onslaught was ended by the entertainer Roger de Courcey, who entered showbusiness folklore by begging on-air for "a little human decency".<br /><br />Fired by the public interest, Balthazar West subsequently took his pain-based act on a nationwide tour, but ultimately failed to break into the mainstream. He spent his last years in poverty, and finally died of his many wounds following a particularly brutal engagement in Richmond-upon-Thames.John Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14630706251547357904noreply@blogger.com4