About Me
A)
It all began when I was visiting Tooting and I was taken in and tied by the leg to a mixing desk and forced to record guitar twiddles and that. The felon who put me through this (a fellow Yard Dog and an extraordinarily fab singer, let us call him 'iamone') then moved to the burbs, but continued regularly to submit me to this odd torment, every time I visited. I would often be left alone in his home all day, while he went to work. By this time, I was secured via a thirty foot chain and manacle to a steel hoop concreted into the kitchen floor. He would leave a list of stuff I could and couldn't do, then go. One Summer, he even left me for fortnight, while he went on his hols........................................................
.................................................... 2)
On one occasion, he went with his charming and blameless wife (who would constantly berate her errant partner for his foul tratment of me, and would make sure I was fed plenty of tea, marmite, curry and sausages - otherwise it was tinned lager, pizza and chocolate) went to a swish party at some swanky venue in London and I was left to work, my manacle was chafing my ankle and I had a headache. I still managed to record some dazzling piano and strings. When they returned, I was a broken man, but he made me hit things until 3AM. Something had to give. I did manage to negotiate some important concessions. I was allowed to wear socks; could remove my manacle in the mornings while I scrubbed my filth in the shower; my loving girlfriend was allowed to visit, offering succour and comfort; and I was, at last, permitted to hear the music.......................................................
................................................... iii)
One night, last Summer, during a weekend visit, I sneaked outside through the patio doors and began to dig up the garden. I found some speakers. I hid them in my Batman sleeping bag and brought them back North. I broke up my funiture, bought some paint and made a magnificent trolley to house the speakers. I added to the hardware and began to twiddle and pluck and strum and tinkle and pour my spite and venom into a collection of electronic gadgetry. One day, iamone turned up in a taxi at my place of work. He took my house keys and left. When I returned home, he thrust an old meat pie into my mouth and superglued my thigh to the Trolley of Power and put me through it all again, but I didn't really mind... except that he spent ages on the phone to Phil Quirk and Steve the Plumber. ... damn him! Damn him! One day there will be no baseball bat and no open window.
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..........................................................E)
... My loving girlfriend ( a very classy Scottish bird) bought me a ukulele as a Christmas present. Marvelous; a new way of imposing noise on unwilling ears ... I was overjoyed, but then, I went back to London. This time, I had to share my accomodation with Smoothie, the dog. It was OK though, I won her trust by sharing my gravy bones with her and by not using the same parts of the garden to make my toilet in the night. I noticed some loose soil inexpertly hidden under a tartan picnic blanket, next to the shed. Smoothie helped me excavate, until the hole became too deep for her little legs to shift the dirt over the side. I went indoors to find a digging implement. I tried the kitchen utensils to little avail and then hit on a brilliant idea ... the flat screen telly ... woohoo! The television made an excellent spade and in no time at all, I had discovered the haul. I hid a drum machine in my Wacky Races pillow cover and made my escape under the cover of Mr One's hangover ... damn him! Damn him! One day there will be no baseball bat and no open window......................................................
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Viii ……… Early Spring – I am seeing my step daughter off at Heathrow Airport. There was sickly, familiar smell of chloroform. ‘Oh no!’ I thought, ‘Not again’. I woke up in departures with I am One’s gurning face leering at me. He thrust my passport into my hand (How did he get hold of it? I had buried it in my friend’s next-door neighbour’s garden). The plane landed in Newark, New Jersey. There, Thirsty Dave was waiting for us with a smile and a ride to upstate New York. We dropped into Beacon City and picked up Tom Bone Jenkins. We spent a week drinking beer, laughing, swapping instruments and teaching the septics how to speak with a genuine English Accent. Tom Bone saying ‘I’m just off to ring me bird and smoke a fag’ has to be heard. After 6 days, just as I was getting used to the scene, we had to leave. We stopped for a coffee and a piss by exit 7 of the NJ turnpike. I am One persuaded Thirsty Dave that I was asleep in the boot (sorry, trunk) of the car and they drove off to the airport. I had to run the gauntlet of thieves, muggers and people who like to spit on other people … it was horrible. Armed with just my wit and my ukulele, with only three dollars and two cigarettes in my pocket, I made it to Newark. Mr One seemed surprised to see me … and a little disappointed. He was looking for an open window and a baseball bat, mmm. Never mind, there was a large man in UK Customs waiting for him with a rubber glove a tube of KY jelly (which I had managed to corrupt with powdered glass – joy!). My classy bird very kindly flew down from Dundee, picked us up at Heathrow and we drove back to I am One’s home, getting there despite his directions. While he filled his wife in on our activities, I crapped into the back of his monitor speakers and stole the shin pads that Dennis Bergkamp signed for him, secreting them in my Woody Woodpecker rucksack – that’ll show him.
America has many good people in it, but none better than the Thirsty family, who fed, watered and accommodated us … and made us feel very welcome. We will be back, but I am One needs to moderate his cruel practices. Bastard bastard bastard.
