Fancy joining me on a leisurely stroll through rural Sheffield? As long as you don’t mind me blabbering on to you about Angela Eagle and Jeremy Corbyn. On the plus side, there’s lots of lovely nature sounds, and, you’ll be pleased to hear, Mavis Crumble, some bleating sheep.
Download the audio version here
I was at a restaurant last night. One of the things on the menu was, Vegan Chicken Nuggets. This is a pretty confusing name for a meal. Putting the word “vegan” at the start suggests that the food is suitable for vegans.; but then adding the word “chicken” somewhat muddles things. Are these chicken nuggets suitable for vegans? Or are they in fact nuggets made from chickens who were fed on a vegan diet.?
Puzzled vegans reading this menu would no doubt then turn their attention to the description for the dish, hoping to get some clarity as to what the heck it actually is. However, in my opinion, the description does nothing to explain things but rather confuses things even more.
“Vegan Chicken Nuggets: you won’t believe it’s not chicken.”
What does that mean? That’s not saying that it isn’t chicken, is it? It’s just saying that you won’t believe that it’s not chicken. Maybe the reason you won’t believe it’s not chicken is because upon tasting it, it’s patently obvious that it is.
I’m very doubtful that many vegans would choose this meal, given the name and description. Even if it wasn’t chicken, it seems a bit weird, if you’re a vegan, to want to have the experience of eating a dead animal, but not actually eating a dead animal. “You won’t believe it’s not chicken”, is that meant to be a good thing? Surely the idea of eating a dead animal is abhorrent to the vegan? So why would they want to eat a meal that constantly puts them on edge, and makes them constantly question whether they really are eating a vegan substitute that tastes uncannily of chicken, or whether they have actually been given chicken by an unscrupulous restaurant? I imagine it would be pretty difficult to relax and enjoy the meal if all the while you are in constant disbelief about its veganness.
. Maybe just to blur things even further, the restaurant have chosen to form the nuggets into the shape of little chickens. Perhaps the plate has a photo of a battery farm on it, and maybe also has a sensor in it that emits the sound of clucking every time it detects a nugget being taken from the plate, meaning that the vegan diner is constantly recoiling at the thought of what they are eating, causing them to join the chicken in the borking. Maybe this is a meal designed for vegan masochists.
This same restaurant also does Vegan toad in the whole. “Vegan Toad In The Hole: you won’t believe it’s not real toad. That’s because it isn’t; it’s just very substandard pork sausage. You know, I really don’t think we’ve got the hang of this vegan lark. Talking of vegan larks, you should try our vegan game pie.”
I was tempted to order the vegan chicken nuggets in order to see how they were presented and what they were. I’m sure you’ll agree, that the fascinating nature of this topic completely justifies a special Dollop from the restaurant, in order to investigate this dish. Unfortunately I’m busy all tomorrow and then we’re heading to Canada for three weeks, so I’m afraid there’ll be a bit of a wait for the exciting sequel to today’s Dollop. In the meantime you’ll just have to make do with reading about my Canadian exploits, which clearly won’t be quite as exciting but still … I suppose the other option is that I could recruit Steven Mainprize or Michael Wackington (the Dollop’s budding detectives) and they could investigate on my behalf.
As the name of today’s Dollop suggests, I have an update regarding our van break-in, as talked about in Dollop 190. The Young’uns van was broken into, and the burglar chose to ignore the instruments, the Satnav, and the £50 note, and instead took a gamble on the mystery box, which unfortunately for him/her, was full of Young’uns CDs.
I suggested in Dollop 190 that perhaps I could launch another investigative journalism project, after my previous efforts with the mysterious Reel-To-Reel Recording (see Dollop 182) in which I attempt to deduce who the burglar might be and then track them down. I called up Steven Mainprize last week to thank him for all his help playing detective with the reel-to-reel recording, and while he was happy that the project had come to a successful conclusion, he admitted to being a bit sad that we’d solved the mystery so soon, as he was really enjoying the adventure. I’m sure that Mr Mainprize would be only too happy to take on detective duties again, this time utilising his skills to track down the burglar and the stolen box. However, the mystery has kind of already been solved, or at least half solved anyway.
Thank you to Dollop regular (we’re over halfway through this project, and I still haven’t got a collective name for you Dollop listeners/readers) Michael Wackington, who I have appointed head of the David’s Daily Digital Dollop Detective Agency’s Cyber department. He has been checking Ebay, in case the burglar decided to sell all the stolen CDs online.
“No suspicious activity,” he reports. “However, I was amazed at the range of prices that the CDs were on sale for. For instance the Never Forget CD – is on sale from a low of £8.86 to a high of £13.45, a massive range of £4.59. over 50%!! wow. And there was I thinking that ebay would exhibit the characteristics of a free market and prices would coalesce around the most competitive price. If the woman ( or man) who stole your CDs does start off loading them, I expect the price to plummet. I shall track the prices in the next few days and report any unusual trading patterns.”
Thank you Michael, excellent work, and I shall keep you on a retainer in case the daily Dollop Detective Agency needs your services in the future; however, on this occasion, the mystery is solved, or at least half solved. But I’ll come to that soon. I’m building suspense, because that’s the kind of skilled writer that you’re dealing with here. You’re hooked, aren’t you? Unless you read The Young’uns Facebook status, in which case you’ll already know the outcome, and you’ll be wishing I’d therefore move on to writing about something more interesting, like revisiting yesterday’s subject of having sex with my dead mother. “I thought he’d reached his Dolloping zenith with his kettle material, but then he managed to take it to a whole new level of genius with the incest stuff.”
I find it odd that our albums are on sale on Ebay for £13,45, baring in mind that you can buy it from us for £10 and actually give some money to the people who made the album. Who would choose to buy an album for more money and deliberately rip off the artist in the process? Perhaps this Ebay seller is catering for a very special niche market, comprising people who like an artist’s music, but don’t like the artist’s on a personal level and therefore don’t want to support the artist financially, and are happy to pay a premium in order to get their music without giving the people who made the music any money. I can see how this might work for someone who wanted to buy a Gary Glitter album, perhaps really wanting to listen to his music, but not really wanting to give money to a paedophile. But I’m not sure why this would apply to our band. I am tempted to contact the Ebay seller and try and get their logic for selling an album for a higher price than the artist is selling it for.
We got a message on Facebook last night, detailing the whereabouts of our stolen box. The message was from James, at the music shop Elegance Music in Sheffield, who found the box dumped outside his shop. The burglar had seemingly got a little way down the street, opened the box, saw the disappointing contents, and dumped it in the street. I assume it was a coincidence that they left it outside a music shop, unless the burglar happens to be a fan of The Young’uns and upon discovering that he’d broken into our van and stolen our box, felt guilty and decided to try and make amends by leaving the box outside somewhere where a music fan might discover it and get in contact with us.
Unless of course the burglar was James from Elegance Music, who pretended that he’d found the Cds, knowing that it was likely to give him some free positive publicity for his shop, assuming that we would mention it on Facebook. Also we gave him a couple of free CDs and a bottle of wine to say thanks. Maybe he was counting on this too. Come to think of it, the music shop is next-door to Sean’s local garage, which is where he got the van window fixed. Maybe James and the owner of the garage are in on this together. James’s shop would get free publicity, and the garage would get paid for fixing the window. My goodness, I think we might be onto something here. Get me Mr Wackington and Mr Mainprize, there’s detective work to be done!
Maybe James’s initial plan was to also steal the instruments, knowing that he could make even more money from us because we’d need to buy new instruments to replace the stolen ones. Maybe he intended to steal the instruments as well as the CD box, and then get in contact with us to say that he’d found our box; obviously this would ingratiate him to us. We’d then enquire as to whether the instruments had also been dumped outside his shop, but he’d of course answer with a no. We’d obviously need to buy new instruments, and James would kindly offer to supply us with the replacement instruments at a discount price, by way of a commiserative gesture. We would feel so grateful for his help with the CD box and his kindness regarding the discount, that we would naturally buy the new musical instruments from his shop. He’d ask us exactly what instruments had been stolen, and when we told him, he’d say, “well, it just so happens we have those exact same instruments stocked in our shop.” He would then sell our own instruments back to us, and we’d be so grateful for his generosity that we’d give him even more free publicity.
Maybe this was the original plan, but then he got a bit worried and so decided just to steal the CDs and thus bag the free wine, free CDs and free publicity, which, let’s face it, is still a pretty good deal, an a lot less risky for James. My goodness, I think I’ve cracked it. In all likelihood, James is reading this Dollop, presumably because he knows that I’m going to be giving him free publicity. But now he’ll be quaking in his boots, boots which he’s probably stolen from some van somewhere in another of his dastardly criminal escapades. I’m on to you James. I expect Steven Mainprize and Michael Wackington will be paying you a visit before too long in order to do some sniffing around, so be careful what you say James, because we’re on to you!
Obviously I suppose there’s a chance that James is just a nice guy who did genuinely just find the CDs outside his shop, in which case thanks James.
Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here
We are so lucky to be doing something that results in us making friends with people throughout Britain and the world. Obviously, I’m aware that Britain is in the world (we’ve not had a referendum about that yet, although I dread to think of the result if we did; it already feels like we’re living on another planet.)
Folk music has brought us into contact with so many incredible people. I remember one particular time I was struck by the magnificent absurdity of our lives. We were walking through a small town in the Netherlands, which played host to a shanty festival that we had done for the last few years. As we walked through this little Dutch town, we were constantly bumping into people we recognised and who recognised us. People from all over Europe, who were also performing at the festival and who had become friends over the years. We were also frequently stopped by people who were local to the town and wanted to say hello, because they recognised us from previous years. I’ve lived in Hartlepool for the majority of my life, but I can easily walk through the town without meeting someone I know, but here we were in a town in Holland, being constantly approached by people.
Nowadays, folk festivals in Britain are like this too. It’s difficult for us to get anywhere on time at a folk festival, because we are constantly being stopped by people, who are either friends or fans who want to chat or just say hello. We’re late for so many soundchecks because of this. Obviously we can’t really use this as an excuse for our lateness. It’s probably not the wisest thing when you arrive at a soundcheck late, to greet the harassed sound team with the excuse that your lateness is down to being stopped to chat by hoards of fans. It may be true, but the idea of an apology is to show a modicum of humility, and this excuse doesn’t really help in that regard. “Sorry for keeping you waiting, but we’re just so damn popular.” So we normally just awkwardly apologise without giving an excuse. However, if there are any folk festival sound engineers reading this, then honestly, you don’t understand what it’s like. You might feel put out by us turning up late to our soundcheck, but you should try taking a walk in our shoes, and you’d soon find that your walk is periodically halted by people wanting to chat; and then you’d understand.
Most of the contact we have with a lot of these people is just very brief chats, because we are trying to get somewhere, and are already running late. Michael and Sean are able to see someone, know who they are, say hello, have a bit of relevant chat to that specific person or group of people and then move on. But for me, not being able to see, it’s a complete cavalcade of confusion.
What normally happens is that someone will stop us, Sean and Michael will say hello, there’ll be a bit of chat, and then we’ll have moved on, which normally coincides with me having just worked out who the person is. But it’s too late to engage in conversation because we’ve moved onto someone else. And everyone probably just assumes that I’m really rude and uninterested. And so it goes, sometimes for a whole hour – a whole hour of meting people, trying desperately to work out who they are, and then, just as I’ve racked my brains and pieced together the clues revealing who it is, they’ve gone and we’re on to someone else.
In fairness to Sean and Michael, they do try and tell me who people are, but often they don’t know their name, but just know who they are in terms of where we met and how we know them, which is enough to engage in conversation. But Sean and Michael don’t want to reveal to the other person that they don’t know their name, and so they can’t really, in earshot of the person, start saying to me, “it’s the really drunk bloke that we met in Huddersfield in 2014, who told us the anecdote about the goldfish.” Incidentally, there is no really drunk man from Huddersfield who told us an anecdote about a goldfish; I just made that up as an example. I’m not sure why goldfish was the first random thing that popped into my head. Any psychologists reading, feel free to interpret and leave your conclusions in a comment on this blog. But don’t go all Freudian on me, and tell me it means I want to have sex with my mother, because that is completely ridiculous and untrue. My mother is dead. If she were still alive than yes, you might be on to something. Oh, I’m sorry, I was trying to make a serious point about my social awkwardness and hang-ups, and I’ve ended up talking about incest.
The other confusing element is that because we are a band who have performed for years at folk festivals, we are known by a lot of people who we’ve never actually met before. The problem is that sometimes we are walking around the festival, constantly being stopped by friends and acquaintances, and there is a lot of hugging going on. I often don’t know who the person is, but I don’t want people to think I’m being rude and reclusive, and so I have to just join in with all the embracing, even if I’ve no idea who the person is. But because I don’t know who the person is that I’m speaking to, I’m not really sure on the appropriate level of enthusiasm to give them. And it’s not as if I can always take my lead from Sean and Michael, because there are so many people, that I can’t be entirely sure who they’ve just hugged, or who they’ve just shaken the hand of. So often I am prone to getting confused, and assuming that the person who’s just said hello to me is an old friend, when actually we’ve never met before and they are just someone who knows who we are because they watched our gig. So if you’ve ever been to one of our gigs, came up to say hello, and ended up getting a massive enthusiastic hug from me, then you know why?
To avoid this common embarrassment, the three of us have tried out a solution whereby if we know the person really well and it’s appropriate to go in for the hug then they will greet the person with a “hi,” but if it’s someone we don’t know so well or at all, and thus the appropriate response would be a hand shake, then they say “hello.” The trouble is that they often forget, and so there are still many times when I’ve heard one of them say “hi” to the person, causing me to enthusiastically pounce upon them and effusively embrace them.
Often another thing that can happen is that I’ll notice Michael and Sean hugging someone, and then I’ll see that person approach me, I’ll give them a massive hug and start chatting to them, only to realise that my lack of vision has meant I’ve got the wrong person, and have ended up hugging someone completely different who we’ve never met before and has no idea who I am. This would be fine if it was someone I might want to be intimately involved with, but sod’s law always seems to prevail in these instances, and I always end up pouncing on eighty-year-old men, and I’m not interested in eighty-year-old men; seventy-year-old men on the other hand … now you’re talking – although I’m not sure who’s talking, if I know you, and whether you’re expecting a hand shake or a hug. What the hell, I’m going in for the hug. Open up your loving arms, watch out, here I come!
Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here
A few nights ago, The Young’uns van was broken into. They had smashed one of the windows. It seems as if the only thing that has been taken is one box, which is full of Young’uns CDs. This seems like a very strange thing to take. The burglar broke into the van and was presented with two guitars worth over £1000, an accordion, worth over £2000, and a piano worth over £1000. In the glove compartment was a satnav and £50. yet none of that was taken. This burglar presumably saw all that, yet, for some inexplicable reason, decided to take a gamble on the mystery box. I mean, I assume it was a mystery box. I’m assuming that they didn’t open it, see all the Young’uns CDs, and think, “my god, I’ve struck the jackpot. There must be at least fifty CDs! Oh my goodness, it just gets better and better, they’re all
Young’uns CDS. This is incredible. Let’s have a look. Oh yes, fantastic, there’s Another Man’s Ground, Never Forget, and even when Our Grandfather’s Said No. Incredible, that’s all three albums, in one box. I can hardly believe my luck. Well I best dash. I don’t want to risk getting caught and losing this amazing bounty.”
I’m assuming that the burglar saw the box, realised that it was portable and inconspicuous enough to run with, and decided to take a gamble on the fact that it might contain money or something of value. Just imagine his disappointment when he opened it, his hands trembling at the prospect of what wealth might be revealed, only to see fifty CDs from some band he’s never heard of before. I wonder if he gives any of them a listen, out of curiosity. With a bit of luck, he might give our albums a play, really love the music, feel guilty for breaking into our van and stealing our CDs, and make amends by buying loads of tickets to our gigs for him and his friends, thus recouping our financial loss.
Maybe this should be my next Dollop-based detective project, after my investigative work with the old reel-to-reel tape recording (see Dollop 182). I imagine that tracking down the burglar will be a bit more of a challenge, but perhaps there are some clues left inside the van. I’ll have a scout round, and see if there’s anything to go on. I’ll also keep checking Ebay to see whether someone has put a load of our albums on sale for a knock-off price. Presumably if this does happen, then we’ll have our man. I say man, I apologise for being so unfeminist and assuming that the burgular is a man. I am ashamed of my sexist attitude, and I hope I haven’t offended anyone with my sexist assumptions. Just to clarify, women can be dense, thieving scum too, however, I appreciate that there is still a long way to go for female burglars to be properly recognised and accepted in the same way that men are. I’m also aware of the difficulties that women burglars have in order to progress up the career ladder. I encourage all aspiring female burglars to ignore the societal stigmas, and give that career ladder a bloody good climb, perhaps stopping periodically in order to access an open upstairs window. I encourage all aspiring female burglars to ignore the glass ceiling, smash right through it, thus giving you access to whatever might be of value in the loft.
So, what a week it’s been dollopwise: a fictional mugger, and a real-life burglar. What next?
Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here
After my encounter with the “homeless” man in Huddersfield, which I told you about in Dollop 181, I was approached by another homeless person in Sheffield, later that same day. I heard him asking people for money before he came to me, and no one seemed to be responding positively. Unlike the man in Huddersfield, this man’s story remained constant, and didn’t change with every new person he met. I was proud of my home town of Sheffield, for sporting a better class of beggar than those of Huddersfield. If I gave the Huddersfield man some money, and he couldn’t even stick to a plausible story about why he wanted the money, then surely I would have to give something to this seemingly more genuine man. So I also gave him a pound. He thanked me and went on his way.
A minute later, I was approached by another man, who told me he was homeless and asked me if I could spare any change. What was going on? Is there a homeless network where fellow homeless people tip others off about good prospective givers. I didn’t even hear this one ask anyone else before me. It was as if he’d just gone straight to me, as if he knew who I was. Perhaps the man at Huddersfield had alerted the homeless community of Sheffield.
“Hello Sheffield, this is John from Huddersfield. I’ve got a tip off for you. There’s a blind man with blonde hair and blue eyes heading in your direction. He’s just got on the train. He should be at the train station in just over an hour. Oh, and a word to the wise: make sure you get your story straight. I nearly botched it. It seems as if his going rate is a pound, although you might get more if you get your story straight first.”
This man also got a pound. What the hell, I thought, I’m a folk singer for goodness sake, I can obviously afford it. He thanked me and we went our separate ways.
A couple of minutes later, I got lost while trying to find the bus stop, and I was stopped by a man who asked me if I needed some help. I told him where I was trying to get to and he offered to walk me there. As we walked we got chatting. I asked him what he was up to today, and he told me that he wasn’t really doing much, as he was currently living on the streets. Damn, I’d fallen into his trap. He’d obviously been tipped off by Huddersfield and possibly also his other homeless friends in Sheffield, and had deliberately offered to help me, knowing that I would surely have to give him money, perhaps counting on the fact that I’d give him even more than a pound if he did something for me in return. Each homeless person I was meeting today was getting progressively more adept. I reached into my bag and pulled out a pound, which I gave to him. He thanked me, and then informed me that he was lost and he wasn’t sure on the way from here. He then walked off, leaving me more lost than I was before he’d come along.
I stood there for a few seconds, trying to decide how I felt about what had just happened. I felt a mix of emotions. I felt sympathy for the man, assuming that he really was homeless. I also felt a bit angry though that he had taken advantage of my situation, seemingly just to guilt trip me into giving him money, which, when given, he buggered off to leave me to fend for myself. My annoyance began to build, usurping my feelings of sympathy and goodwill. I considered the first homeless man, who didn’t seem to really be homeless, with his changing reasons for needing money. My frustration caused me to start doubting the authenticity of the first Sheffield homeless man, and I began to feel even more irked. After all, in a sea of people refusing to give any of these people money, I had now given money to four homeless people, the first of which had lied to me and then not thanked me, and the last of which had led me down some alley somewhere, making me completely lost.
“Are you lost mate? Where are you trying to get to mate?” A man approached me. I told him where I was trying to head, the man took my arm and we began to walk. I thanked him for his help, and then, for want of anything else to say, and thinking that it might do me some good to get what had just happened off my chest, I said, “you’re not homeless are you?” It was a sort of jocular conversation opener. Basically, he would say no, I’d have piqued his curiosity about why I was asking, and it would mean that I could vent my spleen about what had just happened. Except my plan backfired.
“Yes, I am mate. I am.”
Bloody hell, this was getting ridiculous. What was I going to do? I’d asked as a kind of joke in order to facilitate a conversation topic, but now I’d inadvertently put my foot in it. I’d have to give him some money, surely? I began to reach into my bag, but then I stopped. What if this man was part of the homeless network, and had received all the tip-offs from the previous three homeless men, including the last one about the pretending-to-help-the-blind-man-find-the-bus-stop scam? I can’t keep falling for this. If I gave him money, then he would probably just toddle off, tip off another “homeless” man and then it would happen all over again. When would it end? My hand remained poised at my bag while I deliberated on my course of action. I decided that I wouldn’t give him money until he got me to the bus stop, and then, if he got me there, I’d give him some money before getting on the bus and leaving this madness behind. Otherwise, I might never get home, and would end up broke after spending days being approached by homeless men offering assistance, only to disappear as soon as I gave them money. Ironically, all of this would result in me having no money myself, and therefore having to live on the streets and relying on the money making tactics that I’d picked up from all the homeless men I’d met over the last few days, except I’d be at a distinct disadvantage, as not being able to see, I’d be a bit useless helping blind people find their way to bus stops.
I shuddered at the thought of what would surely happen if I didn’t take control. I’d wait until we got to the bus stop before I gave him any money. Yes, the decision had been made. Except, I realised that as soon as he’d said that he was homeless, I immediately halted my walk, put my hand in my bag, and we were both now standing there, while I had my hand in my bag, clearly deliberating about whether to give him money or not. It would be too awkward to pull my hand out of my bag and not give him anything now. Damn. I pulled out a pound and gave it to him. But the man refused it.
“No no, it’s fine mate, you’ve already given me a quid mate. I saw you ten minutes ago.”
It was the first man who asked me for money at the train station. I apologised for not realising it was him. He said that he thought it was a bit weird when I said, “you’re not homeless are you?” He’d assumed that I had decided for some reason to challenge him about his homelessness, when in fact I’d had no idea it was the same person. I felt as if I really needed to explain why I’d asked him whether he was homeless, and so I told him about the man who’d offered to help me get to the bus stop, but then, as soon as I gave him money, toddled off. We then had a bit of a laugh about our misunderstanding, he took hold of my arm again, and we began to walk.
But then a man jogged up to us. “Sorry mate, that took longer than I thought, but I’ve got directions from someone and I know where to go now.”
It was the man from earlier. It turned out he hadn’t just buggered off, but he’d gone to ask someone for directions. Suddenly everything felt good again, and I began to feel a restored sense of faith in humanity.
I introduced the two men to each other and the three of us walked together to the bus stop, chatting. The two men seemed to be getting on really well, and as they chatted away to each other, I began to daydream about them becoming best of friends, and perhaps they would help each other to get off the streets, maybe moving into a flat together. Maybe they would be each other’s best men, and godfathers to their respective children …
I realised just how all over the place my emotions were today. One minute I was really angry at the homeless people I’d met, thinking that they’d been duplicitous, and now I was getting all excited about the prospect of a fairytale scenario involving these two homeless men in which they both live happily ever after. I was so overcome with emotion tht I gave the pair a twenty pound note. They accepted it, then shouted “so long sucker,” and walked away laughing, leaving me even more lost than before. No, don’t worry, that last bit didn’t happen. They got me to the bus stop, and I got the bus home, feeling as if I’d learnt a valuable life lesson. I hope that you have also learnt a thing or two in this blog, even if that thing you’ve learnt is simply never to read another very lengthy badly written blog post by David Eagle ever again.
Download the audio version here
I got an email today from the PR and marketing person at Towersey Festival, which we are playing on Monday 29th August. The email explained that she is putting together a festival programme and thought that it would be fun to include some “quirky bits from the performers.” Well, I thought that this was rather forward and a bit much. I don’t know how the other performers feel about this, but I’m not going to have my “quirky bits” included in their programme, not unless they paid me good money, and not unless I could vet the photo before it went in. But when I emailed them back, they explained that by “quirky bits,” they were simply meaning something along the lines of a joke, a funny story, a favourite recipe or a poem. To be honest, I was a tad disappointed; I mean, I could have done with the money.
Now, the problem is, as you’ll know if you’re a regular Dollop reader, I’m not really what you’d describe as a particularly “quirky” person; I’m normally pretty straight-laced. But, I’ve had a little think, and I’ve come up with something.
So, here’s a joke, revolving around a conversation between two fonts, as in computer fonts, rather than church fonts. Sorry if you saw the word ‘fonts,’ and then got all excited at the prospect of a joke about holy water and baptism, only to have your hopes dashed when you realised it’s going to be a joke about computer fonts – “oh no, not another bloody joke about computer fonts; I’ll have probably already heard it.” Well, you won’t have heard this one, because I made it all up by myself, so continue reading.
Now, before we get this joke under way, in order to help you read this joke properly, I will put certain words in block capitals. This is an indication for you to emphasise those words, perhaps pausing a little before delivering it. This will help the joke flow better and have more coherence. I’m sure you’ll agree that the best jokes are the ones where the reader is given a set of instructions beforehand about how to best enjoy the joke. I think Christmas crackers would be much improved if they gave instructions to the joke’s deliverer about how to best deliver the joke.
OK, so now here’s the joke. This is a conversation between two fonts.
“Excuse me Arial, er, if I may be so BOLD? I’m a bit nervous about this, er … hang on … let me calm down, I need to CENTRE myself. OK … so, Arial. I find you very ATTRACTIVE. Would you like to go on a date with me? Maybe have a night at the Space Bar?”
“Oh, er, well, I’m sorry. I mean, I think you’re a great CHARACTER …”
“No, it’s OK, you don’t have to JUSTIFY yourself Arial.”
“no, but really, I think you’re a great CHARACTER, it’s just, you’re not really my TYPE.”
“Fair enough, but I had to ASCII.”
(ASCII – to be pronounced “asky – is a type of computer code which is essentially the building blocks of font creation and character encoding. Ideally, I wouldn’t have had to explain that, as it kind of tempers the immediacy of your reaction, and somewhat dilutes the hilarity of the joke. Ideally you’d have done your research beforehand. Maybe I should have given you some pre-joke reading material, so that you could swat up before reading and then get the most from this joke. Oh well, never mind. I mean, there’s been plenty of hilarity so far anyway, hasn’t there? OK, let’s get back to this joke.)
“I hoped that you might be my Ms WRITE.”
(I suppose you could argue that I didn’t really need to change the word ‘right’ to ‘WRITE,’ as it would have worked with the word ‘right’ as in right aligned, but I think ‘write’ helps your brain to come to the punchline quicker with the word ‘write’ as opposed to ‘right’. As you can tell, a lot of thought has gone into this. Hilarious jokes like this take time and effort to master. This took me at least twenty minutes.)
“What? You’re Ms WRITE? Me?! Really?! well I don’t want to be rude, but I find that idea rather COMIC.” (as in Comic Sans.)
“Oh Arial! I’d do anything for you. I’d even take a BULLET for you, Arial! Life without you would be Helvetica.”
(ideally, you would have left a pause between “hel,” and “vetica.” Bare that in mind if you ever retell this joke to someone, which I’m sure you will, because it’s obviously amazingly funny, and you’re friends will clearly be impressed at your joke telling skills. Anyway, we digress. Back to the joke.)
“Oh Arial, life without you would be HEL … VETICA!”
(You see, it works much better with the pause, doesn’t it?)
)Please Arial, don’t leave me Hei and dry.”
(Hei is an East Asian Gothic typeface.)
“For goodness sake, look, I’m not interested! Full stop! How many TIMES?” (As in New Roman.)
So there you go, I hope that you enjoyed that joke. Obviously the main thing to bare in mind is, if you deliver the joke to friends, make sure you get the emphasis, the pauses and, the pace and meter right. Remember, the secret of comedy is timing. If your friends don’t laugh, then it’s not the fault of the joke, but you’re fault for not understanding how to tell the joke properly. In fact, maybe it’s best if you leave it to a professional. You can always book me for your party, although, be warned that I don’t just do jokes about computer fonts, so if you were hoping for a solid ninety minutes of font jokes then I’m not your man; I could only do about half an hour of font jokes.
So that’s what I’ve emailed her for the programme. I’m a bit worried that it’s not quite quirky enough for her, but I did my best. I also sent her a photo of my genitals and an invoice, just in case she changes her mind
Come with me on a walk through rural Sheffield, where I come facetoface with a punning mugger.
Download the audio version here
There might have been some of you worried that, given my failure to upload Dollop 184 until 11am the following day, I might abandon this challenge. However, I am not going to do a David Cameron, Boris Johnson, Nigel Farage, 80 % of labour MPs, Chris Evans and the food store Netto. Unlike they, I will not be quitting/resigning/leaving, so fear not.
OK, I’ll be honest, I was thinking about leaving the country, in order to focus my efforts on the Belgium comedy market, after I observed how much they loved my kettle material, but then I realised that with all this turmoil and upheaval going on, I have a duty to continue staying in Britain and Dolloping, lest this country be thrown into complete disarray and chaos. So I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you; I am abandoning fame and fortune in Belgium in order to help Britain from sinking any further into the mire.
As well as my kettle material, the Belgian audience also responded well to my EU jokes, including my declaration that we weren’t accepting song requests, because we don’t have to take orders from Belgium any more. I suppose there was a chance that the audience might have taken it the wrong way, and we could have been booed and hissed off the stage, thus putting an end to our Belgium prospects, although, in fairness I’m sure I could have easily won them back with my kettle stuff; how could they stay mad at me once I’d wowed them with my kettles in the airport routine?
I think the next time we go to a country that speaks a different language, I will incorporate the idea of translating a funny story/anecdote into their native language and attempting to deliver it on stage. There is a chance that the comedy might transcend the poor Google translation and my terrible pronunciation, but even if it doesn’t, I think people will find the failed attempt pretty funny, so either way it should go down well. If you have a favourite Dollop that you think I should try, then feel free to let me know. I know naturally your first choice would be one of my kettle blogs, but I’m saving those for my worldwide kettle-based standup tour.
Prospective names for the tour: David Eagle’s Cometea Road Show, or Fancy A Brew-haha? I suppose these titles, as hilarious as they may be, are unlikely to translate into other languages; having said that, the word Brouhaha is a French one, so people in other countries might get the pun. I suppose I could always explain the joke in brackets, calling the show something like: “Fancy A Brew-haha, as in a play on the word brouhaha, which is a funny name for this show because “fancy a brew?” is something that people say when they’re asking someone if they want a cup of tea, and this show is all about kettles, hence the first element of the pun, but then also there’s the ‘haha’ bit, which is because this is a comedy show and ‘haha’ is the sound people make when they laugh, hence the second element of the pun, so that’s actually quite clever and funny isn’t it?”
I accept that this is quite a long title, and I probably won’t get all that printed on the souvenir mugs that I’ll be selling after the show, as it would cost me a fortune, but we could stick that on the poster, just to make sure people definitely get the joke. I know that some of you might be thinking that if I have to explain the joke in that much detail then it might dilute the impact of the joke quite a bit. Normally I’d agree with you on that front, but in this case, I think the joke is strong enough to still be hilarious in spite of that lengthy and detailed explanation of what the joke actually means.
OK, well I was intending to tell you some stories about our trip to Belgium, but then I got sidelined about kettles again, which let’s face it, is the main reason you read these things, so you’re not complaining. Tomorrow I’ll get around to telling you more about Belgium, and I still have to tell you my other homeless people story that I meant to tell you last week. With all this quality material in the offing, there’s no way I’ll be quitting. I am like Jeremy Corbyn: you can all dessert me, but I’ll still be here. Granted, Jeremy Corbyn is leading one of the country’s major political parties, campaigning for a fairer more equal Britain, whereas I am just blabbering on about my kettle to a few people online, but does that make my role any less credible or less important? Exactly. So fear not, I am not quitting.
Belgium beer is strong. So strong in fact that it managed to thwart this daily blogging challenge. I’ve managed to publish a blog everyday for the last 183 days, but yesterday’s Dollop wasn’t published until 11am today. I only had the equivalent of two or three pints – the Belgium beer is served in small glasses – but its alcoholic content is so high that it’s similar to having about ten pints.
When I returned home last night, my plan was to quickly edit and upload the Dollop, however, the Belgium beer put pains to that idea. Within five minutes of turning on my laptop, I was a sleep. When I woke up, I still had my headphones on, and the laptop was perched on top of my stomach. At first when I woke up, I didn’t realise I’d actually been asleep. I immediately just continued editing. But then, within a minute, I was back asleep again. A few hours later I half woke up, and began to edit in my semi-sleep state. But then, after a couple of minutes my laptop turned itself off.
The battery had ran out, and I didn’t have a European plug adapter with me. At this point I knew that it was going to be late morning by the time I got the Dollop uploaded, as I was certain that the others wouldn’t wake up until late, and I would have to wait until they woke in order to borrow a European plug adapter. Ironically, even though I could no longer edit, I lay awake for the next six hours, unable to get to sleep. Eventually, the others woke up and I got a plug adapter, but they had slept in, meaning that we only had half an hour before we had to leave. I therefore didn’t have time to do much in the way of editing or to listen to the recording before I uploaded it. I would just have to hope that I’d done a reasonable amount of editing in my catatonic state. I finally managed to listen to the Dollop back a few minutes ago, and it seems as if, unsurprisingly, my addled state didn’t lend itself well to audio editing. So apologies to those of you who listened to yesterday’s Dollop; it was much longer than I intended it to be. When I return home tonight, I shall edit it properly, without the influence of Belgium beer.
I think though, what clearly came across in yesterday’s Dollop, in spite of the dodgy drunken editing,
is that the hilarity of my kettle-based observational comedy is still retained, even when poorly translated with Google from English to Dutch and then very badly read out by someone who doesn’t speak the language. That is how brilliant my kettle-based observational comedy skills are. Once I’ve edited the Dollop properly, I intend to send the recording to some international comedy agents, as I think they’ll be chomping at the bit to book me a worldwide tour, doing a ninety minutes standup show exclusively about kettles. I think you’ll all agree that the subject of kettles has been the standout highlight of these Dollops.
Even though yesterday’s Dollop wasn’t posted until today, the challenge is still in tact in so much as I’ve still written or recorded a new blog post everyday for the last 184 days, so don’t worry, yesterday’s blip will not result in me abandoning this project. Plenty more kettle-based observations still to come this year I’m sure. Tomorrow, I will tell you about my Belgium exploits this weekend. Obviously it won’t be quite as exciting or as hilarious as my kettle material, but I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.