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In which Tony prepares for his trip to Westerchester.

Showing my trademark caution, I checked in on The Admiral and asked him what to pack. He was a regular at the Munich Beer Festival so he suggested a first aid kit. He rummaged in his bathroom cabinet for a bit. Various items crashed into the sink below, one of which he handed to me. It was a long white tube of something called ‘Cryofreeze.’

“Take this,” he said. “It’s relieved a great deal of pain for me in the past. Apply to the affected area and numb’s the word.”

“Numb’s the word?” I said.

“You won’t feel a thing,” he replied. “Cryotherapy is the new aspirin.”

“Do I rub it on my head if I get a headache?”

“Only if you’ve been hit with a frying pan.”

“What if it was a saucepan?” I said. He told me I was being facetious, although I can’t see what politics has to do with it.

I read the back of the tube. It said ‘do not use in combination with a heating pad.’ I asked The Admiral if, had I applied Cryofreeze then added a heating pad, I would start to melt. He said something about me not needing Cryofreeze to numb my head.

Cryotherapy – Numb’s The Word

October 23, 2011

In which Tony prepares for his trip to Westerchester. Showing my trademark caution, I checked in on The Admiral and asked him what to pack. He was a regular at the Munich Beer Festival so he suggested a first aid kit. He rummaged in his bathroom cabinet for a bit. Various items crashed into … Continue reading →

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In which Tony takes heed of a warning from the faculty medic in advance of his trip to Westerchester.

“Your shaving habits," said Dr. Seward, "may be subject to change on the waterways. I recommend you stock up on foam and on no account let your ablutional habits slide. The consequences could be disastrous.”

This wasn’t particularly concerning for me as, despite my little jest about shaving my back, I still had the facial growth of a fourteen-year-old, and not necessarily a male. Whilst this might have bothered me at twenty, at thirty it seemed like incredibly good fortune and now I counted my blessings during each of my thrice-weekly meetings with a razor.

“Do you know your IQ level?”

“It’s pretty high,” I said. “Somewhere in the nineties.”

“During your excursion up the Kenneth & Keith, you may become convinced it is much higher, and you may feel the urge to expound your new-found intellect to anyone who will listen. Asking you to resist such an urge may be futile but I mention it anyway as the waterways and pedantry are easy bedfellows. Do you own your own teeth?”

“I think so,” I said. “ I’d hate to find out these belonged to someone else.”

“Excellent,” he replied. “Look after them. Teeth are apt to soften during the narrowboating process.”

I didn’t really know what he meant by this. I wasn’t likely to misplace them and even if I did I could probably rent another set.

By now, the old thesp seemed ready to pack me on my way. He was satisfied that I had the strong constitution required to amble up the Kenneth & Keith, stopping at every other canal-side pub to eat my own weight in fish pie and swill copious quantities of bizarre cask ale.

The Teeth-Softening Effects Of Narrowboating

October 16, 2011

In which Tony takes heed of a warning from the faculty medic in advance of his trip to Westerchester. “Your shaving habits," said Dr. Seward, "may be subject to change on the waterways. I recommend you stock up on foam and on no account let your ablutional habits slide. The consequences could be disastrous.” … Continue reading →

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In which Tony describes the recording of his radio play 'Borderline Brilliant.'

The Admiral was enthusiastic about committing his mellifluous tones to tape. I assumed it was because it would allow him to devise a method of recording our respective roles from seperate locations, something that was likely to tax his massive cranium for at least several hours. However, he was appalled at the idea of faking our encounters in such a way, suggesting that it would be similar to a retrospective duet with Bing Crosby. I wasn't sure which of us would be Bing in this situation but thought I had better take up golf in case it was me.

Because of this, much of the recording had to take place on the Burnfield Links. This explains the baggy pants I wore throughout the sessions, although I doubt whether they can be heard in the actual recording. So The Admiral was faced with a challenge after all, not virtual recording, but keeping up with a baggy-panted man who has taken up golf in case he has to pretend to be Bing Crosby.

It was on the links that we met PC Whyte and PC Mackay and I can only repeat my apologies for the damage caused. I'd like to thank them for being so understanding and for taking part in the recording. Thanks also to Chris Hurst, Alan Macdonald and Rory Macdonald for their monumental efforts. The Admiral too extends his thanks. He is recovering after the combined weight of a 16-track recorder and mixing desk caused him to slip a disc at the eighteenth hole. But no harm done, the recording was complete by then.

To hear the final recording, click here for Borderline Brilliant.

A Retrospective Duet With Bing Crosby

September 29, 2011

In which Tony describes the recording of his radio play 'Borderline Brilliant.' The Admiral was enthusiastic about committing his mellifluous tones to tape. I assumed it was because it would allow him to devise a method of recording our respective roles from seperate locations, something that was likely to tax his massive cranium for … Continue reading →

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In which Tony has his head measured by a physician with a passion for the theatre.

Captain Pantling, the advocates' clerk, insisted I undergo a physical examination with the faculty medic prior to journeying into deepest Westerchester.

"It's dangerous territory," he said. "It has been known to corrupt many a fine mind, and even yours could be affected."

The faculty quack was a peculiar old duffer with more than a hint of the Third Reich about him. It wasn’t so much his interrogation technique, which was rather amiable, but the fact that he was wearing an SS uniform.

“Faculty am-dram,” he explained. “I’ve been in regalia for days.”

“Is that Puccini?” I asked.

“Where Eagles Dare. It’s a minor role but I intend to shine in it. You know the theatre?”

“I know of the theatre,” I said.

“It’s obviously gone downhill since the invention of the mobile phone. I imagine Chekhov never foresaw a day when the audience had more lines than the actors. But who am I to stand in the way of progress?”

“It’s quite a costume,” I said. “Those Nazis really knew how to dress.”

“The bad guys always have the best uniforms,” he replied, producing a set of callipers and advancing towards my cranium. “Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead,” I replied.

“So we’re sending you to Westerchester,” he said, measuring my skull’s diameter. “A queer place. Many go, few return. Are you quite sure you’re up to it?”

“What do you mean?” I said. He eyed the soft stubble on my chin.

“I see you have light and somewhat sporadic facial growth. How often do you shave?”

“Face or back?” I said.

The Faculty Medic

September 24, 2011

In which Tony has his head measured by a physician with a passion for the theatre. Captain Pantling, the advocates' clerk, insisted I undergo a physical examination with the faculty medic prior to journeying into deepest Westerchester. "It's dangerous territory," he said. "It has been known to corrupt many a fine mind, and even … Continue reading →

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In which Tony demonstrates the visual power of language.

The Admiral told me when he was younger he and his friends used to write the word 'why' vertically and it would look like a woman in a bikini. You know, like this:

This would be hugely tittilating for a 10-year-old but it turns out he was 25 at the time. I was relieved when Junior took a shine to him and explained (in sign language of course, as Junior is verbally challenged. And when I say sign language, not real sign language which The Admiral wouldn't understand, but a series of whistles and gestures that she produced for his benefit alone) a few things about women.

I too remember being shown this little W-H-Y trick as a pre-teen by an over-excitable friend with a penchant for fire-raising. The conversation went something like this:

"Look at this," he said.

"What?"

"Not what. Why."

"What?"

"Why."

"Why what?"

"Why. A woman in a bikini."

"I give up. Why a woman in a bikini?"

By this time he'd set fire to it and I was left none the wiser. Anyway, it seemed pretty large for a bikini and the effect was totally ruined once you added the question mark.

The Word ‘Why’

September 16, 2011

In which Tony demonstrates the visual power of language. The Admiral told me when he was younger he and his friends used to write the word 'why' vertically and it would look like a woman in a bikini. You know, like this: This would be hugely tittilating for a 10-year-old but it turns out … Continue reading →

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In which Tony continues to be challenged by the coffee shop environment.

Judging by the vast number of laptops in the shop, there appeared to be many authors present. I wasn’t sure why it was essential for writers to escape the quiet of their home-offices and find inspiration in noisy environments with multitudinous distractions, but what do I know about writing.

From time to time the staff would chase the writers with a broom, but little by little they’d sneak back in, look for a moment as if they were going to buy something, then start tip-tappying on their notebooks. There was virtually no place to sit when I arrived, but after a vigorous sweeping of the authors by an irate employee I found a table and sat down. My legs crashed into something soft below. There was a writer cowering underneath, typing away like fury.

“I’ve told you a thousand times,” said the employee, dragging the writer from below the table and sending him on his way. “You know better than that.” The writer scurried away. “It’s good for them,” the employee said to me afterwards. “Makes them feel tortured. They need that.”

“Tough love,” I agreed. I watched them huddle together outside the shop, bracing themselves against the cold and waiting for their moment to slip back in undetected. I wondered how many of these characters were published authors and how many just liked the lifestyle and the thrill of the chase.

Tough Love

September 9, 2011

In which Tony continues to be challenged by the coffee shop environment. Judging by the vast number of laptops in the shop, there appeared to be many authors present. I wasn’t sure why it was essential for writers to escape the quiet of their home-offices and find inspiration in noisy environments with multitudinous distractions, … Continue reading →

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In which Tony has difficulty ordering a cup of coffee.

LaFlamme asked to meet me in a well-known coffee house uptown, an unusual choice of venue in that it wasn’t dark, dingy or catering to a lowbrow clientele. I would generally steer clear of chain stores like this, not because I'm concerned about creeping globalisation or the imperialism of large international corporations, but because I find their menus intimidating. I usually have no idea what I’m ordering. If the waitress confused my order with another, I’d never know.

“I’d like a Caffe Misto, I think,” I said to the girl at the counter.

“You think?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you sure?”

“No, I’m not,” I replied, “but life is short and I don’t want to waste any more of it reading coffee descriptions from Madison Avenue.”

“Medium or large?” said the girl.

“Medium or large?” I replied. “Whatever happened to small?”

“We don’t do small,” she said.

“Then how do you know what medium is?”

“Because of large.”

“Why don’t you just call it small and large?”

“We don’t do small,” she said. Life may be short but this little episode appeared to be infinite.

“Ok,” I said. “I’ll have the small-est size available. But put it in a big cup.”

“To stay or to go?”

“Should I?” I said.

“Should you what?”

“Stay or should I go?”

“It’s your choice, buddy.” She was probably too young to know the song. I ran through it in my head wondering if the band had come to any conclusion that might give me an idea of how to respond to the question, but nothing rang any bells.

“Better make it to stay,” I said. “I’m not sure what I’d do with a large cup of Caffe Misto in the street.” She seemed non-plussed by my dilemma and went about fulfilling the order. I paid and she returned my change.

“Should I put this change in the tip jar,” I asked, “or should I keep it for myself?”

“It’s always tease, tease, tease,” she said.

Medium Or Large?

August 31, 2011

In which Tony has difficulty ordering a cup of coffee. LaFlamme asked to meet me in a well-known coffee house uptown, an unusual choice of venue in that it wasn’t dark, dingy or catering to a lowbrow clientele. I would generally steer clear of chain stores like this, not because I'm concerned about creeping … Continue reading →

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In which Tony is encouraged by a review of an excerpt from his journal.

Recently I allowed a small section of my journal to escape the confines of its page and be read by arbiters of good taste at an online short story symposium. The resulting assessment was that it was ‘engaging in a somewhat pointless fashion’, a glowing review if ever I’ve heard one. Such a resounding endorsement of my fledgling scribery confirms what I have suspected for some time – that I have the makings of an author of distinction. I intend to stop washing and up my alcohol consumption henceforth.

I showed the piece to The Admiral. He said I was ‘damned with faint praise,’ and I agreed that they must have really liked it. The Admiral also harbours a desire to be an author and has often said he wishes to write a ‘classic of 20^th Century literature’. Despite my misgivings about the timing of such an effort, he remains undeterred and continues to pound at his keyboard regularly, if only in frustration.

Once he showed me an example of his writing. It appeared to be in javascript. I didn’t wish to be discouraging because there are many classics of 20^th Century literature written in code. Ulysses for example, a doorstopper of some girth, requires an even bigger tome on hand for deciphering purposes. However, if it was The Admiral’s intention to compose something equally obscure, Ms-Dos might have been more appropriate, given the period.

Anyway I believe there’s only room for one great author in our circle and I should think this testament to my long-dormant genius puts me some way ahead of the fold. Soon I’ll be joining the author of the Maltese Falcon - Dan Brown I think it was - in the pantheon of literary greats, drunk, refusing to wash and asking the others what pantheon means.

Engaging In A Somewhat Pointless Fashion

August 24, 2011

In which Tony is encouraged by a review of an excerpt from his journal. Recently I allowed a small section of my journal to escape the confines of its page and be read by arbiters of good taste at an online short story symposium. The resulting assessment was that it was ‘engaging in a … Continue reading →

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In which Tony breaks the news of his impending journey to LaFlamme.

I called LaFlamme and told her I was being sent on a narrowboat expedition.

“Like a canoe?” she said.

“Bigger than a canoe,” I replied.

“Like a liner?”

“Well, no, smaller than a liner. You don’t see too many of those on the canal.”

“Like a yacht?” I could hear her having difficulties visualising such a fantastical vessel so I explained as best as I could that a narrowboat was a kind of houseboat favoured by Cary Grant types who have the ennui with modern life.

“When do we leave?” she said.

Bigger Than A Canoe

August 14, 2011

In which Tony breaks the news of his impending journey to LaFlamme. I called LaFlamme and told her I was being sent on a narrowboat expedition. “Like a canoe?” she said. “Bigger than a canoe,” I replied. “Like a liner?” “Well, no, smaller than a liner. You don’t see too many of those on … Continue reading →

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In which Tony's alleged cure for the common hangover continues to intrigue bon viveur and inebriate Suave Gav.

“I think you would agree," said Suave Gav, "that passion must be the key ingredient in the creation of a quality Bavarian liqueur.” Having tasted Blutwurz, I thought a ship-load of alcohol was the key ingredient but I'd already upset this fruitcake so I wasn’t about to contradict him. “However,” he continued, “I confess my associates and I also tend to imbibe with a passion. And as the after effects are known to grow steadily worse with age, it’s fair to say we have more than a passing interest in a positive solution to the problem.”

I fell silent and Suave Gav most wisely decided to spell this little verbal enigma out. “If you were not simply pulling my leg with your mention of gastronomic wizardry resulting in a cure for over-indulgence,” he said, “I should very much like to compare notes.”

“I see,” I said. “Well, The Admiral’s your man.”

“Admiral, you say? Sea-faring sort?”

“Not really. He just grew sideburns once.”

“We all make mistakes,” he replied. “Can I suggest a kitchen confab with this chap? Purely in the interests of science, of course. Ingredients discussed, recipes exchanged, vol-au-vents optional?”

“Well, as long as we’re expanding the boundaries of scientific knowledge,” I said, “I don’t see why not.” He was delusional, but at least for a change he wasn’t a design client.

The Passion Of Suave Gav

August 7, 2011

In which Tony's alleged cure for the common hangover continues to intrigue bon viveur and inebriate Suave Gav. “I think you would agree," said Suave Gav, "that passion must be the key ingredient in the creation of a quality Bavarian liqueur.” Having tasted Blutwurz, I thought a ship-load of alcohol was the key ingredient … Continue reading →

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