Browned Off

Gordon Brown must feel a little bit like the lady in this clip from the film Airplane.

Hair Today, Etc

I've got one of those beards like Radovan Karadzic has got. A special magical beard of invisibility.

I've been wearing it for the last couple of weeks while I've been in hiding and I have to say it's certainly done the trick. I've not been mithered by any of the people I've been hiding from.

For proof they work, see this. You'll have to look very hard, but if you concentrate you can see a mass-murdering war criminal hiding in plain sight ON THE TELLY.

I understand Osama Bin Laden gets his beards of invisibility from the same supplier as me.

Perhaps the Portugeuse police are on to this, but it's all gone terribly wrong. Maybe they've been confused because they've been looking for a bearded toddler. That's probably the most likely explanation.

Sandwich Of Doom

So I go into my favourite sandwich shop, for what I now know is the last time. I walk up to the chiller cabinet and pick up a lovely chicken, bacon and sweetcorn sandwich. Then I walk over to the tills. So far, so good.

Now the shop is quite empty, as it's 11.45 and most people are still at work. There are two women on the tills, with an empty till between them. One (on the right) is a gnarled old crone, the other is young, but a biffer.* Neither of them seem particularly attentive, so I walk to a point roughly equidistant from the pair of them and wait to see who cracks first.

The young biffer's reactions are about a second faster, and she picks up a bag in which she will pack my sandwich. But only a second faster. The old crone picks up her bag, but doesn't see Biffergirl pick up hers.

Obviously to me, Biffergirl has won the Bandage prize, so I walk towards her till. But it's not so obvious to Cronewoman.

CRONEWOMAN:
'Ey, what's wrong with me, lad?

BANDAGE:
Whhubble.

CRONEWOMAN:
Going to 'er? Oh, I see. (BROWNED OFF) Going for the young pretty one? Oh, yeah, age before beauty.

BANDAGE:
(BAFFLED BY CRONEWOMAN'S NON-SEQUITUR) Oh, no, no. (ATTEMPTS LAUGH, WHILE HANDING OVER TENNER) I can't win here, can I?

CRONEWOMAN STARES AT BANDAGE.

BANDAGE IS DISCOMFITED. LOOKS AT BIFFERGIRL, THEN BACK TO CRONEWOMAN.

BANDAGE:
(PROTESTING) I don't fancy her at all.

BIFFERGIRL FLINGS SANDWICH INTO BAG, SLAMS DOWN CHANGE AND STALKS OFF.

I wonder, can any of my readers beat this complete lack of ability to interact with the human race? I imagine Captain Mac could give me a run for my money.

*Not sure if 'biffer' is in common parlance outside Liverpool. Perhaps 'moose'?

Hole In Shoe And Reasoning

I have discovered, thanks to today's frankly inclement weather, that, while there is not really a good time to find out one has a hole in one's shoe, some times are markedly worse than others.

On the subject of shoes and that, I had occasion to visit a shoe shop last week. I saw a box of special socks to be used to protect ladies from other people's verrucas when they are trying on shoes. What an excellent idea, but I wonder if it is slightly let down by the marketing.

I can imagine the scene when the chaps at product development were pitching this to their bosses. And here I am, imagining it ...


BOSSES:
So, chaps in product development, what do you have for us today?


CHAP IN PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT (hereafter known as CPD):
Socks.


BOSSES:
Socks? I think we've done those.

CPD:
Ah, but not these. These are disposable socks.


BOSSES:
Disposable? What, may we ask, is the chuffing point of those? Are we to market these to people with particularly rank feet?


CPD:
No, no, Bosses. These are protection from those with particularly rank feet. To be used in shoe shops.

BOSSES:
Now that is an excellent idea. Well done, Chaps in Product Development. Now, as usual, marketing is the key. You'll have to be careful to distinguish them from ordinary, everyday socks.

CPD:
No problem, Bosses. We've just the name. Something so utterly distinctive that there can be no confusion between the use of these socks and what we will call normal socks.

BOSSES:
Excellent, carry on...


And so was launched ...

Heyyyyy, It's The Zonf

I'm delighted to see that Henry Winkler, the Fonz from the 1970s sitcom Happy Days, has been talking to children in schools about dyslexia.

That's a winner, I think you'll agree. Catchphrases like "Heyyyy" and "No way, Mr C" are all the rage on the playgrounds and schoolyards. Certainly that was my experience when I was a child.

It would be tremendous if Paul Michael Glaser, or Starsky off Starsky & Hutch, could be persuaded to give a talk on bullying. Perhaps Anna Karen, better known as Olive off On The Buses, could talk to them about teenage pregnancy.

I would shy away from any stranger danger talks by Gary Glitter, though.

I wonder if my many readers could suggest any other eye-catching 1970s celebs/PSHE combinations. By all means use the comment facility below.

Sketch Sketch

When I am not posting here, I am posting in the Critique section of the British Sitcom Forums. They're a bit sweary but mostly decent chaps.

In any case, I was inspired to write this by a sketch written by regular poster dannyjb1. As it's a bit similar, I'll just post it here as a Lovely exclusive treat for my many fans.


1. INT. Police station interview room. MRS POTTER sitting at table, with interviewing officer SGT STONE and police artist HIGGINS.

STONE
Now, can you describe your attacker for our artist? Take your time.

MRS POTTER
Ooh, he was very fierce-looking. He had a scar on his cheek.

HIGGINS (drawing on pad)
Which cheek?

MRS POTTER
His right. Er, spiky hair. It was brown. Er, a glass eye . . .

DISSOLVE TO:

2. INT. Police station interview room. Some time later.

MRS POTTER
... and an earring, shaped like a skull and crossbones.

HIGGINS
... skull and crossbones. Right.

HIGGINS finishes with a flourish. Hands pad to STONE.

STONE
Is this him?

STONE reveals pad to MRS POTTER. It is a very childish scrawl, with comically spiky hair and a fierce expression.

CUT TO:

3. INT. Police station. Identity parade. Camera tracks behind the suspects. STONE and younger OFFICER present with MRS POTTER.

STONE
Now, take your time, Mrs Potter.

MRS POTTER walks past several suspects with thoughtful expression on her face. She steps forward and examines one closely then moves on.

Shot on MRS POTTER's face

MRS POTTER
That's him. That's the man who attacked me.

Camera reveals cardboard cutout of stick man with face identical to HIGGINS' scrawl.

OFFICER
Sarge! He's getting away!

CUT TO:

3. EXT. Outside police station. New cutout of stick man in unconvincing running pose on steps. People walk past normally.

END.


Thank you for your attention.

Before Computers Were Invented

I wonder what it was like before IT. I imagine things were very different. And here I am, imagining it . . .

1. INT. Bare office. Three geeky men. Two of them are dressed as ALIEN MONSTERS. The third, KEN, has a water pistol.

The MONSTERS are walking back and forth across the room saying "Beep, Beep" in a rhythmic way, while KEN shoots at them. Every time he shoots he shouts "Pow!"

CAP: Balham, 1963

FX. A phone rings. Old-fashioned bell.

KEN looks round in surprise. Picks up phone

KEN (to phone)
I.T.

A FOURTH MAN, dressed as a FLYING SAUCER, runs from left to right, shouting "wacka-wacka-wacka", behind the aliens.

KEN (to phone)
On my way.

CUT TO:

2. INT. Office. KEN is sitting at desk in front of typewriter. WOMAN stands behind him, playing with her hair, and being a bit rubbish about technology.

KEN
What's wrong with it?

WOMAN
I don't know. It won't work.

KEN
Yes, but what happened?

WOMAN
I was typing a document, and it just locked up.

KEN
Anything else?

WOMAN
Yes. Every time I hit a key, there's a funny squeaking noise.

KEN tuts. Looks carefully at typewriter. Hits a key.

FX. Squeak!

Then a look of triumph on KEN'S face. He picks up the typewriter and kicks it hard. A small creature flies out of it.

KEN
Should be all right now.

WOMAN
What was wrong with it?

KEN
It was your mouse. I just had to boot it.

END.


I bet it was exactly like that.