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It lives! This is the first post to be written on the Bottle Shop's new computer. It is sleek. It is mean-looking. It cost a bloody bomb. And it has steadfastly refused to let me access the internet for the best part of a month. Oh, I do so love modern technology. The reason why the shop needed a new computer escapes me. Sure, our old machine was big, ugly, noisy and temperamental, but then again so is Marxist Jim and you don't see us trading him in for a newer model with an Intel Pentium 4 processor (da-ding-da-ding). However, Marxist Jim does prefer conducting his business by email, as he hates actually having to talk to people - mainly because the talking usually segues quite quickly into the shouting, then all of a sudden you're looking for a new supplier. That said, he hates email as well (probably because he finds it difficult to type with his big, meaty fingers). In fact, in an ideal world, Marxist Jim wouldn't have to interact with people at all. Unfortunately, the realisation of such a utopia is still a good few years away - hence the new PC. Marxist Jim: It'll speed up our business. Me: (sotto voce, eyeing the empty shop) Because we're currently having to beat people off with a shitty stick. Of course, because nothing ever seems to quite go to plan in Marxist Jim's world, the whizzy new computer turned out to be allergic to broadband. And so it sat in a corner looking sulky, while Marxist Jim was forced to actually speak to people. But it's all fixed now, and everybody is heartily relieved. Not least me, because I was usually the one who had to phone the suppliers back up and assure them that they're not really a bunch of f***ing c***s and can we please increase our order of Dancing Monkey (a straightforward Argentinian cab sauv that seems to go down well around here, presumably because the idiots like the name)? As a result of my enforced exile from the world wide web, I missed the opportunity to tell all you stout yeomen about the Incident of the Burning Guy. And so, to get back into the swing of this whole blogging thing, I shall tell you about it now. Cast your mind back, dear reader, to November 5th. Your faithful narrator - aided by his chums Vinnie, Enzo and Wall-Street Phil, as well as his inamorata, the fragrant Lucy - is putting the finishing touches to an 8 foot high pile of wooden wine crates, cardboard boxes and other detritus. Vinnie: So explain all this Bonfire Night shit to me again. You're celebrating the fact that some guy got burned at the stake? Me: No, no. We're celebrating the fact that he got hung, drawn and quartered. By burning him in effigy. Um. Vinnie: Jeez, you Brits. Wall-Street Phil: That's a point. We don't have a guy. Lucy: Not a problem. Wait here. She disappears upstairs into the flat, while we men stand about drinking beer and regarding our big pile of wood with satisfaction. Shortly, she returns carrying what appears to be a dead body - an approximately human figure made out of stuffed shirt and trousers, with a football for a head. Lucy: Ta-daa! Say hi to Guy. Me: Hang on, are those my clothes? Lucy: I only used some of your old gear. Me: All of my gear is old! And that's my football! Lucy: You never play football. Me: Yes, but I'd like to have the option. My objections ("But they're my clothes!") are swept aside as the rest of the group discuss how to fix the guy to the top of the bonfire. Eventually, Vinnie scrambles to the top of the heap of wood and sets a large fencepost into the centre of the pile. A hammer and a couple of nails are found, and he fixes a plank to the post as a crossbar on which to hang the guy. We pass up the stuffed mannequin and he lashes its arms to the crossbar with blue plastic twine, then slides down off the bonfire. We stand back to observe our handiwork. Wall-Street Phil: It looks like we've tried to crucify a Cabbage Patch doll. It did indeed resemble some terrible pastiche of the scene at Calvary. Enzo: Well, I think we should hurry up and burn the fucker. It's freezing and I've got a date later. So without further ado, we make with the matches and light the bonfire. The fire spreads pretty quickly, as all the wood is very dry and the whole edifice is stuffed with cardboard, and soon the flames are licking upwards towards Guy. We sink more beers and feel very satisfied with ourselves as the blaze lightly roasts our faces. Lucy cracks open the sparklers and we entertain ourselves by writing rude words in the air. It is not until Guy is fully alight that we understand that lashing him to the crossbar with plastic twine was a very serious error. We realise this at the very point when his bonds melt away and he pitches forwards into the flames - leaving behind a large burning cross which is visible to the entire neighbourhood. We all stare in horror. Me: That... wasn't... supposed... to... happen... Vinnie: Do they have the KKK in England? 'Cos it looks like they do now. Me: Oh crap. The next ten minutes are spent wildly lobbing anything that comes to hand at the burning cross in an attempt to knock it over. Eventually, Enzo succeeds with a well-hurled paint can, and the flaming cross topples over into the bonfire. We stand, panting, the ash making us look like we all have particularly bad psoriasis. "That was fun. I wish we had Bonfire Night in Canada." Vinnie rubs his face, making him look like a Victorian chimney-urchin. I snort. "You're welcome to it. Let's go to the pub." "But we can't just leave the bonfire," opines Wall-Street Phil. I pat his shoulder kindly and gaze into the leaping flames with a beatific expression on my face. "Phil, my friend, let me tell you something." "Yes, Late?" His moon face gazing trustingly into mine. "Bollocks," I say, "to the bonfire." And off we went to the pub. Bonfire night always brings out the poet in me. The Bottle Shop recommendation for today: Cline Ancient Vines Carignane 2003 (USA). A big, intensely herby red, ideal for drinking when you've just turned the local waste ground into a scene from "Mississippi Burning". £10.99
London Burning
29.11.05 11:57
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Snag (29.11.05 12:09) Welcome back, Late. As soon as you said crossbar I was worried that might happen. Oh dear... Still, at least you have an excuse to go and get some new threads. |
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(29.11.05 12:12) It would have been fine if we'd have attached Guy with wire. But no, Vinnie decides to use plastic string. A schoolboy error if ever there was one. |
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(29.11.05 12:18) Hilarious. I am glad you are back online. |
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(29.11.05 12:51) The Incredible Captain 20Six believes that pubs should have indoor bonfires, to contemporaneously satisfy the need to drink indoors and burn stuff! |
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(29.11.05 13:25) Thank heavens for arcane British holidays. Welcome back 'bland, you've been missed. |
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(29.11.05 16:06) Welcome back, so eloquently put there. |
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prophet / Website (1.12.05 03:04) wow. WOW. Well, I must admit that it would seem very bad if you did that here in MS, USA, but once they saw you having a couple beers they would have just joined in. Kind of sad to admit that. Glad to see you back in action. |
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Mr Purse (2.12.05 22:58) You know that originally the guy would be stuffed with a dozen or so kittens, so thst you'd hear it screaming as it burned. God bless the seventeenth century. |
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