Subscribe to my feed...

Tuesday 21 December 2010

Pick of the Bobs Take Two...

...It's a Wonderful Blog (Part 1) [...originally posted 21/12/2005...]
"...say Ernie - maybe I got a shot of some bad liquor or something....."


Christmas in Rothergavenny Falls: "...say, give me another brace of that mead, willya - and make it snappy!!"

...and yet everything had started so well. Roberta's homecoming was on the front of the newspaper and all of Rothergavenny Falls was itching to welcome back our heroine from the war. Gee, everyone was so proud of Roberta since she saved that entire troop carrier from the kamikaze pilot. Seems those Japs just can't resist a pair of badly shaved legs smeared in brake oil and piston lubricant doing the okey-cokey. Heck, even Old Man Pooter had to admit that just this once the boys from the old Swipe Building and Loan had him knocked into a cocked hat!


Old Man Pooter oversees another strip rummy evening at Martini's place...

Sonia and the kids were all fine - except for little Zu-zu who had somehow picked up a dose of the clap through running around in a skimpy blouse - in this weather! Kids, huh? Yes, it was all going smoothly until scatter-brianed Uncle Brian worked himself up into such a lather taunting Old Man Pooter about Roberta's exploits and her meeting the First Lady and the way the Old Swipe Building and Loan was in such fine fettle that he didn't realise he'd left the interest from the T4 Popworld Presenters Benevolent Fund in Pooter's lap instead of paying it into the high interest bank account. (And we were going to buy an I-pod for the office too...)


"...and while you're down there Violet..."

So, you can probably imagine how I felt when I got back to the Old Swipe Building and Loan to find an empty safe and a bank examiner hovering over my accounts. Then, as if I didn't have enough to worry about, the local lady of leisure, Violet Bick came in to have one of her Blonde Moments. Seems she wants to run off to New York to re-enact a Hubert Selby Jr. short story with a bunch of guys from the neighbourhood, and can I lend her 10 bucks for some knee pads and an industrial strength grit remover? Gee Violet, I tell her, we're all gonna miss you. Strip rummy nights at Martini's will never be the same again. And don't forget, I shout after her as she's just about to hit the street, you still owe me a peek of your garter belt from last Tuesday. Poor Violet - so accomodating. Still, she'll never be short of a cupped hand to collect her cigarette ash with abductor muscles like those...



But anyhow, I try to buy time with the Bank Examiner, persuading him to take a tour of Uncle Brian's collection of spangly tights while I try to track down the missing money from the T4 Popworld Presenters Benevolent Fund. I run back to the house and Sonia and the kids are running riot. Good job I have two other wives to keep an eye on them, I ponder as I replace the knob on the bannister that always comes off in my hand when I (....ahhh, make up your own gags - it's Christmas....) Son's trying to teach young FredandFreds to Say Underpants. Heck, does he have to keep saying it over and over, I yell. Well, he's got to practice says Sonia as poor FredandFreds starts to cry - I've been standing on his finger for the past fifteen minutes, I now realise. I feel such a heel for shouting that I try to make amends. Here, let me help you sons, I say. Look, it's easy:

U-N-D-E-R-P...

But he storms off blubbing to his mother's arms. What kind of a cockamamey house is this anyway? I shout And where's Zu-zu I ask? She's upstairs with a fever. I run upstairs and sit by her bedside.

- How's you fever? I ask her gently
- Not a smitch of temperature, Daddy! She beams back
- And how about the clap?

She falls asleep and I steal a couple of her opium petals from the vase by the side of the bed in the hope that I can mix them up into some super-strength narcotic that might turn this horrible nightmare into merely a bad dream. I storm back down stairs and as I get to the bottom, the phone is ringing. Hello? Yes, this is Bob Swipe. Yeah she's fine but no thanks to you, you stupid dumb ass penis brained lump of a woman. Listen, lady, that's a fine way to look after our children when they're in your care. What is it, huh? Can't you teach them to keep their legs together when they go out in weather like this? Ah, Mister Welch is it? Now what kind of a name is that for a female Geography teacher called Jane. Oh, you will, will you....?

But before Mr. Welch had time to measure me up for an all-over colostemy bag and matching leotard, I was already on my way over - pride swallowed and cap in hand - to see the only man who could get me out of this goddamn pickle I'd gotten myself into......


Old Man Pooter himself!


To be continued..........



Love on y'all,



Bob

Monday 20 December 2010

Robert Swipe: an appreciation...



by Mardin Antlers...

Regular readers will be familiar with my occasional stints deputising on these pages. I'm the go-to-guy around Swipe Towers when his nibs is too emotionally racked out to make it to the typewriter; a kind of bleeperised Boswell, perpetually left to dangle at the other end of the line, primed and loaded and ready to step up in the unlikely event that His Master's Voice croaks out. It was me, you'll recall, who filled his britches when Swipe's old man pegged out. I've stepped up to the plate on several other occasions when the jags got too much or if the guvnor had his head too far down the glue bag to achieve what passes for coherence around here; like the time the Gunners lost it big time in the European Cup or when Kaplinsky hitched it out of BBC Breakfast news.

Oh sure, we go *way* back, old Bob and me. I first became aware of the Swipe presence when we both had a sock each in the rough old bad old end of Queensway. We kept ourselves pretty much to our selves - you did back then in the 70s; you didn't know where people had been back then. Or rather, you had a *pretty* *good* idea where people had been back then - and it didn't wipe off quite as easily in those days, no matter what Elton John might tell you. Besides, I had my career to carve and Bob; well, you know all about Bob by now. It wasn't until a bit later that the suspicious nods and winks across a smoke-filled saloon bar gave way to a mutual liking and respect. Our first real connection came much, much later, in the 80s, around the time of the fatwah, when Bob and I were taking it in turns to hide Salman Rushdie. It was in those charged and feverish days that we first really got to know one another, at the hand over time when whichever of us had been concealing Salman in the specially enlarged, state-sponsored brown mackintosh we used for the purpose back in those early days of exile would carefully slip each arm out whilst the other simultaneously slid theirs in, all the while attempting to keep the large, balding, bearded man in glasses crouched between our legs out of public view; not easy to do in the middle of Notting Hill High Street, I can tell you...

Our friendship became formalised when Bob sang at my second wedding - at least, I *think* he was singing. This was about the time that Bob had sacrificed the patiently cultivated pop following he'd been building up since the late 1960s and was beginning to inhabit a far more provocative and outre space. Increasingly, the traditional certainties of the performer's identity were being dissolved; was that *singing*, or did he just have a poodle up his skirt? Was he even a man? And if he wasn't, how far would he let you go on a first date before you had to get the handcuffs out? Strange times.

But now we're both of an age where, no matter what we do, our work will always be overshadowed by that awesome initial promise we both showed. I believe that's what has sustained Bob and my friendship all these years. We both know how it feels to live in the shadow of our former greatness. And now, as we arrow towards that ever-dimishing singularity; that universe-consuming point, it behoves me to say one final thing; take care dear, gentle brother; take care...

Sunday 19 December 2010

A Christmassy Bob (slight return...)

Owing to the surprising popularity of this year's festive podcast, we seem to have used up all 25GB of our Jellycast allocation - this means, unfortunately, that anyone trying to access the show after the download limit had been reached was unable to. Consequently, as a temporary fix, we've posted the show at an alternative location so that anyone who wanted to listen to the show but couldn't access it, now can.

We've been completely taken aback by the demand for this week's episode - so please accept our sincere apologies if you've been affected by this issue - but hope that anyone who had trouble getting the show downloaded hasn't been too badly inconvenienced. We hope you enjoy the show despite the delays and wish all our listeners a very Merry Christmas and every happiness in the year ahead...

Listen to/download A Christmassy Bob here...




xxx
Bob

Monday 13 December 2010

My Amy's True...



[...somewhere deep in darkest cyberspace, coffee is being drunk...]
"So Bob, who's the most famous person you've ever met then?"

"When you say *met*, would you include singing 'Oliver's Army' in the vague direction of someone in a near-empty cinema?"

"Erm, no - not really..."


"Oh well, that rules Elvis Costello out then. I was once given two pounds by Patti Boulaye whilst busking. I gave it back of course - thinking she could buy me off with the Tory dollar - the very cheek of it. Robert Wyatt's wife, Alfie, she threw some coins into the hat and said 'he liked 'Psycho Killer', but I'm not sure how much. Didn't have the heart to tell her I'd been singing 'Don't worry about the government..."

"Is that it? God almighty, you've led a sheltered life..."

"Nah, nah I was just trying to remember them, is all. There's Rufus, obviously. And Sally Margaret Joy out of Furniture - remember them? "You must be out of your brilliant mind..." Gerald Harper - he used to live in the house opposite hours around the time he was in Hadleigh. Sir Harrison Birtwistle; he taught me how to play the flute. At least I *think* it was a flute; anyway, I had to give it up after it got stuck up a nostril. He was great, old Harry. Completely round the twist, but a lovely lad. That bloke from the Lighning Seeds who wrote 'Three Lions on the Shirt' lives in their old house now. Can't tell you what it's done to the house prices... Steve Coppell once kicked a ball back to me during a charity 5-a-side tournament. I scored twice in a 3-1 group stage match before we were eliminated in the quarters. He declined to take up the option of a trial, unfortunately. I've also shared a car with Rodney Marsh. He had it at weekends and on Wednesdays and I had it the rest of the time. Economical, ethical and quite a bit of a goer when you put your foot down - the car wasn't bad either. I've had my photo taken with Stan Bowles too - he was a bit of a lad. You'd never believe he and Peter were brothers really, would you? How about you Ames?"

"Well, I don't know where to start - I've probably met everyone who is or has been anyone really. But it's not all it's cracked up to be, is it - fame?

Pond's Cold - Cream...



[...somewhere deep in darkest cyberspace, a sneeze is heard...]

"...AAAAAASSHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOO"

"It's those miniscule skirts you will insist upon wearing regardless of the temperature. Did I or did I not warn you the other day to wrap up warm as it was minus four? And did you or did you not completely disregard my advice and proceed to go out in the snow wearing a microskirt and skimpy 5 deniers? Well, I'm waiting?"

"Yo dot helpig - cad yo stob havig a go ad be ad pass be sub tissued plead. By dode id streabig ad I'b feeding like shid warbed ub ad I'b really dot id der bood for a legtcher, thag you very buch..."

"Ah, poor Ames! You are bunged up, aren't you! Here, have some Lemsip. I've put a straw in there too. And some ice. Just how you like it."

"Thags."

"Excuse me young lady, but are those my tights you're wearing?"

"I hodesly dode doe Bob, I jud pigged up der firsd pair thad cabe do had. Why, id thad a probleb?"

"It is when you've laddered them darling. They were brand new too. Oh well, I suppose with a few specks of feck blood they'll do for MySpace..."

"I'b do soddy Bob; I probise I'll ged you aduther pair id the Dew Year. You doe wad id's like whed you're feedig a bid udder par ad oud of sords. I bead, loog ad be - I cad hardly keeb by eyed obed..."

"I know petal, I know. Here, you get back into bed and I'll do you some eggs and toast and put some nice soothing music on for you, how would you like that...?"

"Mmm, you're der tobs Bob - thag you doe buch for being do kide ad loogig afder be so well..."

[....sound of Cream's Disraeli Gears blaring out at full volume from the living room...]

"Bob, whad id dat derrible raget? I cad hardly hear byself dink...?"

"I thought you'd like this Ames - it's got Ginger Baker on it..."

"Whode Giger Bager...???"

"He was the drummer. By the way, how do you like your eggs Ames..."

"Udferdilized..."

xxx
Bob

On Golden Pond...


[...somewhere in darkest cyberspace, a contented sigh, followed by a deep inhalation from a freshly lit cigarette...]

"...Mmmm..."

"Did the so-called Doctor know you were a smoker Ames?"

"He probably had an inkling. I mean, there's only so many times you can tell someone you're just popping out for a breath of fresh air in the darkest corners of deep space before you start arousing suspicion. [...pause...] ...Mmm... that was *so* nice...Didn't hurt anywhere near as much as I thought it would."

"You're not seriously trying to tell me that was your first time...??"

"No, I was talking about the calliper, actually."

"But you can still see why I'd want to get it sanded down?"

"Oh sure. I mean, personally I don't mind a bit of thigh grazing. But it's you that's got to wear it all day..."

"And you were OK with all the static?"

"Hmmm - I suppose I'd have to try it with one of us not wearing any tights, just for the comparison. But no, it was mildly hair-raising I suppose - but in a good way."

[Long pause...] "...so, did I...you know...live up to your expectations then?"

"Oh yes - definitely! In fact, it was *exactly* like being savaged by Tony Hancock in drag...in a good way, obviously."

[Even longer pause...] "...and how did I compare to....you know..."

"The Doctor? [pause] ...Look, I think we should just enjoy the moment and not rake over old coals. All I know is that we're here and it's now and I had a really, really lovely time. Honestly. [Whispering] Thank you..."

"So I make you happy then...?"

"Yes Bob. You do. Plus I get to catch up my reading, so yeah...It's good."

"How are you finding the B.S. Johnson?"

"Oh, it's a bit confusing, isn't it? I mean, I keep shuffling the pages and finding I'm re-reading the same section. But no, it's cool..."

"Right young lady; I'm going to get some shut eye. Can you just make sure you've stubbed your cigarette out before you turn the light out. Don't want to burn the attic down, do we?"

"Aye aye Cap'n! Night night Bob."

"Good night Amy. Sweet dreams..."


xxx
Bob

Sunday 12 December 2010

Pondlife...



....The continuing cosmic adventures of Amy Pond...


Amy: Doctor - did you still want to go and see that Gauguin exhibition at the Tate?

The Doctor [distractedly as he's trying to resolder a bit of the Tardis with his sonic screwdriver..]:...of course! Gauguin's one of my favourite Post-Impressionist painters...

Amy: I was never too hot on the Art History. I just kind of like what I like and know when I like it, kind of thing...

The Doctor [...who now has his sonic screwdriver between his teeth as he pulls a spaghetti junction of wires out from beneath the console...]: Mmm-hmm...

Amy: I mean, remind me which ones were the Impressionists again?

The Doctor: ...well, there was Yarwood, Bremner, McGowan, Culshaw - Janet Brown did a pretty good Maggie Thatcher...

Amy: [...]

Thursday 9 December 2010

Alan Bennett fined for speeding...

And it could be argued that Shane Warne has made his first impact on the series. Yesterday Pietersen was given the use of a Lamborghini, the A$475,000 (£296,000) Gallardo LP560-4. As an ambassador for Lamborghini, Warne had generously made the arrangements for Pietersen.

• Interactive guide to all the Ashes venues
• Sign up now for our weekly email The Spin
• How to stay awake during the Tests
• Follow our daily blog throughout the Ashes
• The latest news and comment on our Ashes site
"This is Warnie's patch", said KP discreetly, "and when I'm in town he looks after me. Just the same as Sachin [Tendulkar] does in Mumbai or [Sourav] Ganguly in Kolkota".

Inevitably the car was bright yellow and almost inevitably Pietersen – once he had established how to open the fuel cap – could not resist. He was stopped for speeding in the outskirts of Melbourne for driving at 121kph and fined A$239 (£149) and docked three points.

Yesterday, Pietersen told his thousands of followers on Twitter that he was looking forward to the experience. Before he was stopped, he tweeted enthusiastically: "Great Ocean Road today ..." Once under way, he added: "Stunning beaches on The Great Ocean Rd.. Gorgeous drive."

At last, then, some cheer for the Australians, but we are not in Tiger Moth territory. In 1990 David Gower hired a light aircraft in Queensland and alongside John Morris, "bombed" the ground, where England were playing against the state side. The tour management had a sense of humour failure; a merry jape became a major issue and morale frittered away as a consequence. This time around everyone is just trying not to guffaw too brazenly in Pietersen's presence. No disciplinary action will be taken.

Pietersen is not the first visiting sportsman to face traffic trouble in Melbourne. Earlier this year Lewis Hamilton was stopped by police for anti-social driving and had his car impounded.

...aaaahh!...

You see, there *are* some nice people out there...

Thanks to everyone on the Rufus Sewell message board forum. (I don't have the heart to tell them that Rufe is just an ingeniously life-like glove puppet operated by me on the odd occasion that I want to 'up my profile'... They'll have to find out some day though, I guess...)

;)

xxx
Bob

Wednesday 8 December 2010

Gimme Some Truth...


Two memories centring around John Lennon...

1) It's summer, 1978. A holiday cottage in a tiny Welsh hamlet, smelling of cold stone and the smoke from damp woodblocks - (the cottage that is, we were still only kids so probably smelt of bad breath and marmite. And pooh.) Cas puts the copy of The Beatles Early Years he's just picked up on the journey from Woolies in Carmarthen (?) onto the little box record player - we may even have brought this up with us from London, perhaps? It's a cheapo jobby - £1.99? Not much more than that at any rate. On Contour records, a budget subsidiary of RCA. Cheap and cheerful as it may be, 'Ain't she sweet' starts up and the unmistakable Lennon rasp sings out into the chilly room. It sounds eye-twinklingly good to us, undiscriminating and callow as we are. But then Cas's Dad, Bill, joins us and his eyes are twinkling too. "That's Lennon? - my God, he sounds young...and blardy good." (He was Australian, hence the uplift.) We sit together, six eyes twinkling, until the song ends. Then we go back to being kids, and Bill goes back to being Bill - at least, for a few more months.

2) It's thirty years ago today. I slouch into school where I'm met by another of Bill's sons, Rufus. "Did you hear? John Lennon died...?" (He's not Australian - he's just asking a question that he can't believe he's having to ask, hence the uplift...) I'm going through that hideous teenage phase where the shortest of conversations feels like an entirely unreasonable demand upon my time and resources and I have an unjustifiable and inexplicable hatred of the world. I'm shocked, but I'm not going to let anybody know that."So what?", I sneeringly reply. Later I rationalise this to myself and to others by explaining that I was merely reacting the way that Lennon would have at the same age. Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, by 7pm that evening I'd played through most of the Lennon Beatles songs and what I had of the solo stuff and was as damp eyed as the rest of the nation as the sombre strains of 'In my life' accompanied the closing credits to Not the Nine O'clock News.

I have a far less uncomplicated love for John Lennon than I did when I was a kid. For all its many flaws - 'Drive my Car' is one of Paul's, isn't it? Weybridge is in Surrey, not in Sussex, and the feeling it gives you at times that it should really have beeen called The Lives of Yoko Ono - Albert Goldman's 1988 biography has more than compensated for the tendency that arose in the aftermath of Lennon's assassination to canonise him. The problem with The Lives of John Lennon is not so much the attempt to paint Lennon as a weak, easily manipulated dilletante, prone to violence - especially towards women - who would urge his listeners to 'imagine no possessions' in one breath then sign a cheque for a collection of fur coats before taking his next; all of these are valid criticisms of the man, and there are many, many more with which I would concur. The love may be tempered now by a fuller knowledge of the failings of the loved, but it's no less real.

No, the problem with Goldman's book is the way it deliberately sets out to conflate the faults of Lennon the man with those of the Sixties idealism of which he was and is regarded, rightly or wrongly, as being emblematic. It's a yobbish form of flattery, I suppose, that a former yob like Lennon would probably have appreciated. If you're taking on a gang, always go for the biggest and toughest one and take him out. The others will be so astounded by your nerve that they'll run off. And this appears to have been how things have panned out; by at the very least discrediting (if not actually eliminating) Lennon, neo-Conservatism has put one over on the progressives collectively. There are contemporary echoes here, perhaps, with the recent treatment of Julian Assange who I'm sure would identify with the Lennon whose protracted bid for US citizenship was held up thanks to trifling drug convictions completely dwarfed by the cultural significance of his work.

I read a recent piece by Richard Williams in which he imagined how Lennon might have been had he been alive today. Sure, he would have been a prodigious tweeter and he wouldn't have had much time for modern pop music. But I think he'd also have been very out of step with the prevailing air of caution in the area of public discourse. Watch those early home movie clips of the Beatles goofing around and Lennon's default position when confronted by a camera is to pull a 'spazz' face. He was deeply irreverent throughout and I've a feeling that this anti-authoritarian streak might have acquired a bizarrely fogeyish quality in the current context where people are more concerned with not offending others than discovering what it is that they actually find offensive themselves. Lennon probably had the best bullshit detector going and added to that he was the sort of person who would not hide behind the excuse of a spoonerism if he wanted to call someone like Jeremy Hunt a cunt - do the math...

The Goldman book attempts to portray Lennon as a conflicted and hypocritical character and it would be possible to recognise the hefty tome as the vital act of iconoclasm its author no doubt believed he'd presented to the world were it not for one thing: Lennon's own music. Whether through possessing tin ears, or being too much of a jazzer - or, more likely, because he was in such a rush falling over himself to find the meanest qualities in Lennon and all he said and did that he didn't really listen to the music that Lennon actually produced to find enough self-excoriation for several biographies. Goldman had no need to rifle through their trash to discover that, for instance, the Dakota Building was not the land of milk and honey for its most famous residents that their PR machine would have had the world believe. Double Fantasy may not be Lennon's best work - to the extent that the most exciting music on it is that produced by his wife - but you only have to listen to songs like 'Losing you' and 'Clean up time' to find that Goldman's muck raking as to their drug habits and marital disharmony is otiose.

Lennon may have learned in later life, as we all do at one time or another, the necessity of appearing to stand shoulder to shoulder with one's loved ones and that in order to do so, one needs occasionally to be less than frank for the sake of diplomacy. But Lennon was uniquely talented in (or afflicted by, perhaps, in the solo years) his inablity to edit the candour of the moment from the work. There's a lot - his attacks in song on McCartney, Allen Klein, 99 per cent of his contribution to Some Time in New York City one would hope - that he probably regretted and which others would have dithered over releasing in the first place and finally pulled back from unleashing at the last moment. Lennon just put it out and worried later. Whatever other qualities you could question it for lacking - wisdom, polish, generosity and, in the case of Some Time in New York City, a strip of gaffer tape over his wife's mouth - Lennon's solo work always tells you where he was at at the time he made it. If only for that, with such honesty and self-exploration in such short supply, we could do with him around today.

...and you can listen to the man himself right here...

xxx
Bob

Tuesday 7 December 2010


14 comments:
Billy said...
Are you channelling Kate Bush, Bob? Regardless, nice stuff.

20 June 2007 14:05
Rhonda said...
great post. great thoughts.
and I like your garden.

20 June 2007 20:23
Istvanski said...
Nice patio.

I really like the cat ornament.

21 June 2007 04:47
rockmother said...
Pensive!

21 June 2007 04:51
dh said...
Quite beautiful Robert. Does the cat ornament come in at night?

21 June 2007 07:23
Robert Swipe said... I've been dubbing Kate for *years* Billster..

How else do you think she gets those high notes??


L.U.V. on ya,

Bob

22 June 2007 08:11
Mollster said...
Was it you who made her eyes go all funny in 'Army Dreamers' then? Click Click

Always keep looking at the Big Sky. It's huge and full of opportunities. Always look up.

27 June 2007 11:38
Mr Pleebus said...
"I’m left looking up at the clouds, honest clouds, not yet dramatically Turnerized by the colluding sunset and pollution into that wonderful wash of yellows and pinks that I remember from childhood… huge floaters, dirty/pristine globs of falling/staying put water vapour, teased by the vagaries of gravity into majestic galleons of scuzz."

Poetry. Mr Bob, you really should write a book.

Love, Mr Pleebus

28 June 2007 11:24
rockmother said...
Oh poo - I dropped by to see if you had come back but you are still whirling in the ethercloud. Love on ya Bobster xx

3 July 2007 19:25
dh said...
Leave him alone rm...he deserves a break.

6 July 2007 07:22
Tim Footman said...
No he doesn't. He needs to come back and save the universe. We're dealing with a reformed Genesis here, and only the Swipe can stop it.

7 July 2007 07:47
Betty said...
What, Genesis have reformed? Is that with Buster on vocals or Peter Gabriel dressed as Little Weed? Either way, it's awful news.

Swipe is staying at a caravan park in Rhyl for the next six months.

8 July 2007 02:56
rockmother said...
I saw Genesis at Live Earth - not good. Phil Collins looked a bit hacked off as some wag hadn't turned his mic on for the first 30 secs of his opening entrance. Whoops.

9 July 2007 14:45
Istvanski said...
And to top it all, he had a *huge* bust up with that rather nice little Swiss bird of his. That's what inspired him to swear on stage.

L.U.V on ya,

Bob.

9 July 2007 16:28

That Was The Week That Was...


Morte archives from a happier time; when men were men and it took 212 female impersonators to change a lightbulb, but only one to change your mind...

comments:
rockmother said... She's got nice writing old Lucers hasn't she?

PS: Lovely to bump into you the other day despite the fact I made myself the most unpopular person in the supermarket by blocking all entrances to tills without pause for breath!

Romotissuerie of Motissueries (because it's that time of year). xx


10 November 2008 00:36
Istvanski said...
Bob! I take it you have purchased tickets for one of Magazine's gigs at The Forum for next February?

http://www.myspace.com/magazineofficial

Word Verif; cyseg

What the fuck is a cyseg?!?


13 November 2008 12:08
rockmother said... Oh I haven't got the sniffles - just piffles - it's jsut that everyone else is sneezing and a-wheezing it seems. Yes - drink over next 2 weeks? Not at The Lion Rouge - it's gawn dahn 'ill - maybe somewhere in Twickers me old chum? xx

Word verif: ingsonsi - Welsh for something like "he's singing you see" (is iiiit?)

13 November 2008 16:11
Istvanski said... That must explain why you were no where to be seen at the recent Barry Gray gig at the RFH.

Word verif: repti
Just the "l" and the "e" missing from that one.


Betty said...
Only two visitors a week, eh? At least you don't get searches that say "I want Noosha Fox vomit" from Ohio (well, maybe you do).

Magazine are touring? That must be difficult, what with the dead guitarist and all.

Word verification - iwantnooshafoxvomit

15 November 2008 13:05
Robert Swipe said...
Ah, the delightful Mrs. Geoff!! L.U.V.ly to hear from you.

We have a running joke in our house about a neighbour of our's called Geoff who has a wife (Mrs. Geoff) who's always laying out cat biscuits for the felines of our street. We're toying with stealing her idea and marketing an assortment of kitty treats along the lines of Mrs. Geoff's Biscuits...you wait until this recession simmers down, you won't be laughing then...

Yes, Magazine sans McGeoch: doesn't add up, does it? Who will be in his stead? Robin Simon? Ben 'Mendy' Mendelson? Adrian Belew? Cat Balou??

Must dash, I have a kitten to order...

xxx
Bob

P.S. just *WHO* is Noosha Fox?

P.P.S. and what's so special about vomit in Ohio??

P.P.P.S. wrod verficatoon: thelghtprsoutofmoi - you couldn't make it up, could you?

16 November 2008 03:50

Post a Comment

That Was The Week That Was...

Our usual weekly round up of what people were saying about the Robert Swipe Show when they could be bothered to read it...

This week: Week beginning March 20th 2007:

12 comments:
Rhonda said...
you're not seriously taking a "break" from the blogosphere?

20 March 2007 06:59
rockmother said...
Bob - please check your mail. Ta.

20 March 2007 08:14
dh said...
Just catching up on all the Comic Relief fall-out and I see Robert has been naughty. No surprise there. Off you go to the headmaster's office swipe.

20 March 2007 09:24
Stray Photon said...
Oh no you don't, Swipe. Get back here immediately. Stop sulking and get back to work.

I liked "Spinterella". And the video is inspired. I was just trying to think of some other words rather than F. Brill!

I know where you live...

20 March 2007 09:50
the whales said...
Keep blogging, Swipe - plenty of readers out here!

20 March 2007 10:52
Doris said...
But...but...I only just got here! Don't flounce off now, just when I was enjoying it.

Oh, and thank you muchly for the very kind endorsement. I promise I am an authentic nobody with low levels of rancidity.

20 March 2007 11:59
rockmother said...
Not at all Bob - both the vid/song Spinsterella was/is great - re: asbo comment - perhaps I should have put in brackets (I am writing this laughing and smiling as I am joking rather than tapping words out tainted with vitriol and hate)? Going away now.

20 March 2007 13:19
Istvanski said...
There's no point in slinking off to your goth birds splattered in feck blood (even though they're a more tempting type of reader to have compared to yer average Croydon inbred blogger like meself), but by you taking a prolonged break from here will only encourage Photon to post more pics of Windass, which *simply* *will* *not* *do*!

It's YOUR blog, you can and should say whatever the fuck you feel like wether you're sober, rat-arsed or of unsound mind in general.

Seven words spring to mind here:
let, grind, bastards, down. the, you, Don't,

Sheesh, I'll probably get hate mail for daring to stick up for ya.

Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

20 March 2007 13:53
Spinsterella said...
>>>she seems to have stopped reading anyway>>>

I've been away on holiday ya moaney auld fucker!

(Off now round the blogosphere to see what you've been up to this time around.)

20 March 2007 15:28
Rhonda said...
You may definitely NOT flounce!
shake it off...
flip 'em off...
come back to us.

20 March 2007 19:55
Tim Footman said...
Hi, Bob,

I think your core argument (raising questions over the validity of the whole Comic Relief project; the whole politics and pecking order of the blogosphere; perfectly fair points, whether or not one agrees with them) got mushed up with the feelings of people who'd put in a lot of effort for all the right reasons (especially Mike Diva) and those who were seeing their product in print maybe for the first time (eg Betty). I think they may have been a bit naive to think there wouldn't be some kind of backlash; to be honest, you may also have been a bit naive to think they wouldn't react so strongly.

Rather than lying low, I think everyone ought to shake hands and agree to disagree and no harm done and sticks and stones and all that sort of thing. Like at the end of Bugsy Malone.

And don't flounce. Well, not much.

Love, light and peace,

Tim

21 March 2007 01:31
rockmother said...
Can I throw custard pies at everyone and blow raspberries and then laugh and cry and laugh again and run around hugging everyone? Goodness - we are all just a bunch of troubled diva's really aren't we. I might have to consider therapy.

21 March 2007 05:07

Friday 26 November 2010

Bobcast #6 (remastered)...

Listen to/download Bobcast #6 here...

The first Bobcast to be recorded at Swipe Towers Mk II. And Bob sings for the first time. What more do you want - *blood*?????

(Morton Shadow, Senior Executor of the Robert Swipe Estate and co-founder of the Bob against Herpes Syposium.)


Track listing:


Magic garden - Dusty Springfield

Razzle in my pocket - Ian Dury

Blam blam fever - The Valentines

Philadelphia - Magazine

Lipstick - Buzzcocks

To turn you on - Roxy Music

The one you can't have (is the one that you want the most) - the Honeys

Tiny girls - Iggy Pop

Are you having any fun? - Vivian Stanshall

Out in the Streets - Robert Swipe


Bobcast #6 was originally broadcast on 7th August 2006. Here's Bob's original post:

.....is up now...(if you know what's good for you, don't listen through to the bitter end...)


Bobcasts now available at iTunes!!

click here to hear our regular Bobcasts!!

Subscribe to The Robert Swipe Show




© 2006 Swipe Enterprises

xxx
Bob

Wednesday 24 November 2010

Bobcast #68...(or is it???)...



Listen to/download Bobcast #68 here...



Then tweet your requests for next week's show to @bobswipe (singles only, please - as in 45 rpm, not spinster/batch...)

xxx
Bob

Monday 22 November 2010

Those SwipeCore stats in full...

SwipeCore
(s51swipecore)

-- Site Summary ---
Visits

Total .......................... 301
Average per Day .................. -
Average Visit Length ............. -
This Week ........................ 0

Page Views

Total .......................... 668
Average per Day .................. -
Average per Visit ................ -
This Week ........................ 0

http://www.sitemeter.com/stats.asp?site=s51swipecore


--- Visits this Week ---
Day
Hour 11/15 11/16 11/17 11/18 11/19 11/20 11/21 Total
---- ----- ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ -------
1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
6 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
7 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
8 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
9 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
10 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
11 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
12 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
13 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
14 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
15 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
16 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
17 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
18 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
19 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
20 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
21 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
22 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
23 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
24 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ -------
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0


--- Page Views this Week ---
Day
Hour 11/15 11/16 11/17 11/18 11/19 11/20 11/21 Total
---- ----- ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ -------
1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
6 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
7 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
8 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
9 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
10 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
11 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
12 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
13 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
14 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
15 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
16 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
17 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
18 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
19 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
20 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
21 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
22 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
23 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
24 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ ------ -------
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0


Recession? What recession???

xxx
Bob

Friday 19 November 2010

Bobcast #5 (remastered)...

Listen to/download Bobcast #5 (remastered) here...

Bob appears to have posted Bobcast #5 either just before or just after relocating to the new Swipe Towers in early August 2006. There's no dedicated post on the blog and there seems to have been a most un-Bob-like lull in activity (regular listeners usually can't escape the fact that a new Bobcast has been uploaded...) between the end of July and Bobcast #6, which gets a proper send off into the cold, hard world of cyberspace on 7th August 2006. The tonal quality of the links suggests that it was recorded before rather than after the move, but we can't be completely sure so haven't set a date in stone.

We've tried to tidy the show up as much as possible, but there's little we could do about the distortion of Bob's incredibly lo-fi microphone. The move to the new headquarters seems to have allowed Bob more time to dedicate to the shows which improve noticable in terms of presentation and content from here on, so this is somewhat of a transitional show. Once again, we've been as sparing as we can with the alterations and edits, only changing what we feel Bob would have had he been able to utilise the same studio trickery we're able to now. The show, it goes without saying, has been approved by Bob before we have had the privilege of unleashing it to the hungrily awaiting world...

Morton Shadow, Executive Producer and Director of the Robert Swipe Show Restoration and Remastering Project.


Track list:

Please please me - Link Wray

Boys keep swinging - The Associates

Mama didn't lie - Jan Bradley

Follow the leaders (dub) - Killing Joke

Qu'ran - David Byrne and Brian Eno

Near wild heaven - R.E.M.

Chance Meeting - Roxy Music

I've just been feeling bad - Eddie Floyd

The kids are alright - The Who

(There was no alert posted on Blogger for this podcast, so our best guess is that it was posted on either 31st July, 1st or 2nd of August, or between 4th and 6th August 2006. All switch)

xxx
Bob

Tuesday 16 November 2010

Bobcast #67...




Rejoice, O sleeping nation!

(Nah, not the Royal 'bleeding' Wedding - something to get *really* excited about....

*ANOTHER* *BOBCAST*!!)

Yay!

Download/listen to Bobcast #67 here...



xxx
Bob

Friday 12 November 2010

Bobcast #4 (remastered)

Download/listen to Bobcast #4 (remastered) here...


Long thought lost, we here at Swipe Towers are over the moon to be able to bring you another slice of podcast history with a beautifully restored and remastered presentation of Bob's fourth show, the third in our series of reissues.

Due to problems uploading his casts with his initial hosting service, SwitchPod, Bob reluctantly removed the first eight shows from that platform, believing he had safety copies of the early shows. Whilst there were adequate tapes of the first three, fifth and seventh shows, we could find none for shows four, six or eight. Miraculously, the first 12 shows, including those we had thought long deleted, had somehow been preserved in the podcast directory of Bob's iTunes player. Working with these Apple encoded files, we've been able to substantially improve the quality of the broadcast, boosting the levels of Bob's links and, as with previous shows, just tightening up the edits between the host and the music as Bob would have done himself had he had the technology to do so at the time he made the programmes.

We hope you'll enjoy Bobcast #6 as much as did rediscovering the radio magic contained within all these early shows.

Morton Shadow (Senior Archivist and Chief Executive Producer of the Robert Swipe Show restoration and remastering project).


Track listing:

Saved - Laverne Baker

Manifesto (remake) - Roxy Music

I'm blue (the gong song) - The Ikettes

There's no room to rhumba in a sports car - Vivian Stanshall & Big Boys

Just one look - Doris Troy

Giddy strtospheres - The Long Blondes

Hey little girl - Professor Longhair

I found a love - The Falcons

It's hard to be a saint in the city - David Bowie

(Bob doesn't appear to have written a post to accompany this 'cast, but we believe the audio was put up on 1st August 2006. We're pretty sure it's the last show to have been broadcast before Bob moved house on 3rd August.)

xxx
Bob

Randomly recycled old Bob post re-posted in a desperate attempt to reach 1,000 posts a bit quicker (#137)...


Ferry: ".....where's wor windmills, like?"

Roxy Music frontman Bryan Ferry has attacked what he sees as the “suicidal” inability of world leaders to act on global climate change. The singer, himself the son of a Newcastle miner, was scathing about the lack of action on carbon emissions and the heavy reliance of the world’s major economies on fossil fuels. “Wor Dad were a miner, like pet. Aye, he were a canny sight, mind, ganin’ back from pit wi’ his face cacked in soot, like one ae wor Black ‘n’ White Minstrels, why aye. Daft old beggar’d be that starving when he gan hoom, he’d start eatin’ wor fish ‘n’ wor chips afore he’d had a chance tae tek summa wor cool dust off wor hands. Wud watch as wor pop shovelled down wor scran, and as much blinkin’ soot happen as like supper. It were reet disgustin’, mind. But wuz gan have tae change uz ways noo, man. Wuz gan burn in a funeral pyre of wor own mekin’ if wuz not careful”, snapped the dilettante of 70s pop. “If wuz ganin’ aboot destroyin’ wor planet, it’s a reet canny job wuz makin’ ae it, why aye hinny.”


The Pits: "It's grim up wor toon"

Whilst saddened by the decline during the 1980s of the mining communities in which he grew up, Ferry accepted the need for change but blasted the failure to invest in alternative energy sources. “Where’s wor windmills? Where’s wor sea-powered generators like? Nae cash, izzit pet? Haddaway and shite there’s nae cash. Nae bloody will s’mair like it. Yuz never gan tell uzz wor Geordie Bush canny rustle up a few bob fer wor wee bairns’ futures, like? Fook off!”


Ferry: ".....where's wor will, Geordie?"

Ferry’s outburst comes amidst growing concerns that the ever-increasing accessibility of cheap flights to the masses is having an incalculably detrimental effect on the ozone layer – the planet’s fragile insulation from the harsh elements of outer space and the immense power of the sun’s rays. Ferry was unequivocal about the need for action “It’s alreet ganin’ on wor four or five halidays a year tae wor Amazona, like pet. But summat’s gan hev tae gie. Wor Ryan Air and wor Easy Jet maight gie wuz wor cheap geddaways in wor sun, bet think on wor effects on wor environment, like. It’s bloomin’ madness, mind.” Asked how he himself would be altering his millionaire jet-set lifestyle, the rock legend was adamant, “Me? Ah’ve jest had wor inflatable doll installed in wor dream home and she’s a reet canny lass, mind. And as wor lass is made oot ae manmade plastic, she’ll nae need much heatin’ - even in wor harsh Tyneside winters, like. What else, like? Well, Baby Jane maight well be in Acapulco, reet anuff, but ye’ll niver find wor Bryan Ferry gan flyin’ doon tae Rio these days, man pet!”


Baby Jane: "...in Acapulco"

xxx
Bob

Monday 8 November 2010

Bobcast #66...


An Apple Records special...


Listen to/download Bobcast #66 here...

xxx
Bob

Howardsendaway...



And now on Radio Four, Part 17 of our adaptation of Warmly Marmsley's 'The Campanile Loan' by Muris i-Dock.

The story so far...


Hichard Burtcuthbertson and his wide wife Rowenta have been celebrating Hichard's victory in the Commode Cup where his craft, The Frying Fish, won best of class in the Catamarran made solely from marzipan and balsa wood (senior) section. Meanwhile, in Calais, his beloved daughter Calliperso has been arrested by the gendarmerie on suspicion of being 'a bit of a goer with an eye on the main chance - which is about the nearest English approximation we can get to what is an otherwise untranslatable French colloquialism that, in the mother tongue sounds uncomfortably close to the sound produced by someone throttling an otter wearing a swimsuit made of bacofoil - and has been incarcerated in a filthy cell. Dressed up as a rubber WREN she has been left with nothing but a well-stocked cocktail cabinet, a selection of top-end cosmetics and a handful of lusty French artisans in the way of home comfort. Back in Blighty, Palter and Wally, the twins, have been discovered in the airing cupboard at Howardsendaway seemingly tied in an elaborate, knot-like embrace from which they're proving devilishly difficult to extricate. Abandoning her 'three strikes and your off to the workhouse policy', Great Aunt Ted Nugent has taken a kindly view of the two incestuous lovers' antics and, instead of the customary pubic whipping over a pot of boiling wax, is planning to have them shipped off to Istanbul where it's not only legal to indulge in such practices, but you also get a subsidy from the rates, apparently.

Now read on...


Driving home from the Commode Cup, the Burtcuthbertson family enjoy singing a wide range of noughtically-themed songs - 'Zilch Went the Strings of My Heart', 'Less Than Zero', 'Nothing Compares 2 U' and so on - ahead of a bountiful lunch over which they joyously recount their memories of Hichard's remarkable victory. Rack Jolfe, the Boatyard manager and occasional spare auto-part reveals that he is due to have lunch with Morrie Leadows, the Yardy Merman's bank manager and the series' obligatory stock caricatured Jewish stereotype, the following day and that he will convince the bank to extend their overdraft and, if Rack's luck is in, Morrie will have completely forgotten all about the £250,000 he's already owed for the outrageous bet Rack placed before the 1922 election on Lloyd George not only polling no votes whatsoever but also having a sex change operation immediately afterwards and changing his name to Muriel Pinge. Over a spenetic, high-carbohydrate luncheon of boiled potatoes and a high crabohydrate puddingb of crabs in water, Bovril broaches the subject of her engagement to exotic cabaret dancer and sould singer Candy Rawford. Rack tells her staright that it will never last and henceforthwith bans the playing of 'A Rainy Night in Christarrantcester' anywhere in the boatyard and claims that if Bovril goes through with the union, one day she will return with her tail between her legs and have to explain the reasons behind her sudden departure and return to the fold, which he reminds her, may at the moment be no more than a half-hearted crease, but what the hell it's home and will one day form the bulk of her inheritance if you don't mind. At the end of their lunch, Hichard intercedes in the proceedings to reveal that he has been made redundant, surprising no one - he was alaways practically a spare part at the aerodrome and couldn't even master twisting the elastic bands used to fire up the propellers. When Rowenta presses him for an explanation, a strange oily substance leaks out.

Over in Calais, Calliperso, using a file smuggled into her cell in the centre of a cake by the ever-wily Soiliver, has finally managed to finish her manicure. Bored, listless and ever-so-slightly tipsy, Calliperso begins to flirt mildly with Hercules, the prison guard. "I could be very accomodating to a man prepared to lend me the key to my cell for a couple of hours or, failing that, pop down to the local key-cutting shop and get me a duplicate made while you wait and, oh, while I think of it, you wouldn't mind getting these pumps resoled whilst your there would you, dwarling?" But Hercules appears impervious to Calliperso's womanly charms and, despite several hours of frenzied love-making and a hastily arranged engagement, the prison officer proves him to be, in all-matters unrealted to sexual perversity at least, almost completely incorruptable.

Next time on Howardsendaway: Will Calliperso and Hercules' engagement last long enough for her to squeeze into her new rubber nurse's uniform? Will the rubber nurse ever find out that her uniform is being used as a lame concluding gag in a 4 million part continuous narrative? Is the Pope really German? Or did he just think it would be a good laugh?



And now on Radio Flour, Part 137 of our adaptation of Weasly Marbles's 'The Cochinneille Loaf' by Brainy Berylbidge.

The story so far:

The plight of Palter and Wally, the incestuously intertwined twins takes a further twist when tom-boyish Palter is discovered to be not a muddy kneed little boy, as Great Aunt Ted Nugent had first feared, but a rather promiscuous and well-developed young lady with expensive tastes in nether-garments and an unnaturally advanced nose for a winning hand at gin rummy. Despite the introduction of a lubricant, they are still touchingly inseparable, although now - it's generally acknowledged even by the most conservative elements of Howardsendaway - as filthy lesbians, not a rather dashingly coupled brother and sister.

Back in Calais, Calliperso has broken off her engagement to Hercules, the charming, non-key-collecting prison guard. Turning her attentions to Hercules' dimwitted assistant prison guard, Grimondi, she is able to lure the innocent, demented young understudy into her cell with promises of unlikely acts of contortion and a jar of brylcreem. With her captor lulled into a sense of security and a pair of falsies, Calliperso is soon free of her bondage - although it takes her a considerably longer time to get out of the prison cell as her escape has coincided with an unlikely 1970's style power cut. She is reduced to scrabbling around in the dark feeling for her fur-trimmed handcuffs to the accompaniment of Neil Sedaka on a transistor radio. Lighting restored, and finally out of the bounds of her gaolers, Calliperso boards the first ship back to Britain, a tramp steamer headed back to Tyneside. Noticably ravaged and with the grime of the cell still visible about her person, Calliperso brushes up her Geordie accent amid the dank rows of slowly baking vagabonds.

Now read on...


Back at the Yardy Merman, newly redundant and visibly trimmer after his workout on a yacht-simulating treadmill, Hichard reveals that the situation had been on the cards for a month, and that he kept it a secret from the family as he believed he could find another position before his final days at Southern Aviation - although he now acknowledges that the dip in salary occasioned by his drop from highly paid aircraft designer to part-time traffic warden might have made it hard for the family to make ends meet. However, this having not eventuated, or happened, even, Hichard must now rely on his redundancy settlement and the paltry amounts he's able to earn selling close ups of his shaven legs to desperate Polish underwear models for whom, in the current economic climate, it is cheaper to manipulate Hichard's photographs in photoshop than it is to purchase a razor.

Rowenta is angry that Hichard did not confide in her earlier, and she storms from the dining room and proceeds to play her trusty old 8-track cartridge of the Bat out of Hell album at full volume for several hours. Hichard, realising he has handled the announcement badly and, notwithstanding their hirsuteness, wishing he'd handled one of the Polish models instead, endeavours to placate her by donning his trusty old Mata Hari costume and doing a loose-limbed version of The Sand Dance in the doorway of her bedroom to the blaring sounds of Meatloaf emanating from the 8-track cartridge machine by his wife's bed. Rowenta angrily confronts him, demanding to know why he didn’t speak to her before announcing it to the family, although admitting that his new see-through veil does look very fetching. She voices her concern that they once shared their worries, although Hichard is quick to point out that this usually led to both of them being twice as worried as they had been when worrying individually in secret and that he had been wondering if, by the same logic, there was more to be said for sharing their finances instead which could lead to a higher interest yield and, who knows, might eveb enable them to afford one of those nice flan cases they've been eyeing up for some time and enable them to carry flans with them wherever they went.

As the pair exchange apologies, they speculate on their uncertain futures. Rowenta is confident that Hichard will find another job easily, although if he *insists* on going back on the game, she would *much* rather he used his own nylons as he has a tendency to stretch hers and she doesn't want to be waddling about the boatyard like Nora Batty, does she? But Hichard angrily reveals that after a month-long search, he has been unable to find a new position and so will continue to crouch down on all fours with a bucket on his head as he finds this perfectly comfortable and, what's more, he may soon be able to apply for a grand on the rates if he can prove that his position is not liable to abuse by asylum seekers or other such undesirables. He reveals he will be unable to find a new aviation role at his time of life, especially now his arthritis is starting to worsen and now prevents him making even the most cursory attempts at the flapping motions so vital in man-powered flying craft in effect clean take offs and landings. Now that his contacts have “melted away” upon hearing the news of his Polish leg-modelling expolits, why, he'd be laughed out of the aerodrome without even a thought given to his gliding prowess. He tells Rowenta that he considered an offer in Pretoria, to become President of the Republic of South Africa, and poses the question of leaving Christarrantcestershire altogether. But Rowenta expresses her desire to remain in the area, not to mention her dislike of the South African accent in general, which she's always found too coarse and guttaral, even on the daintiest of men to enable effective foreplay, to which Hichard counters by revealing he has already turned the offer down on the grounds that his legs will be unlikely to find a suitable tonal match should he ever need to fall back on the day job servicing the the regions undergarment modellers. Rowenta is upset that he had already made up his mind regarding a future decision without consulting her, but reluctantly acquieses because the Antiques Roadshow is just about to start and she has a fiver on the first item being a cakestand that will turn out to be worth at least a hundred pounds.

Will Calliperso be able to keep up her geordie accent until the boat docks on Tyneside? Will she be able to keep her boobs up until elevenses? Will Rowenta's dislike of the South African accent prove an impediment too far in her crusade to become the Chairperson of the Commission for Racial Equality? Will Hichard be able to find a gravy powder match for the Cape Colored thigh tone? Find out next week on Howardsendaway...

Meanwhile, Leo and Lynne try to come to terms with the news of their father’s redundancy. Tom reveals to his children that the family will be forced to trim their sails somewhat in the future (namely Lynne being forced to find gainful employment, the cancellation of their planned summer holiday in France, and Leo cutting back on expenditure ahead of his first-term attendance at Exeter University).

At The Jolly Sailor, Jack ruminates over his current predicament over a pint, and is joined by site foreman Bill Sayers. They discuss Avril’s bitter temperament of late (Jack believes a man is responsible for her guarded nature), the future prospects of the boatyard and their mutual past together.

With Tom having taken a walk to clear his thoughts, Jan emerges from her isolation and engages in a bitter exchange of words between herself and Lynne, with Leo acting as peacemaker.

On the banks of the River Hamble, Tom encounters Avril, who has also been endeavouring to clear her mind of personal matters. They are reunited after five years, and they discuss her return to Tarrant, the Commodore’s Cup victory and the news of his recent redundancy. At forty-four, Tom has reached a turning point in his life: having devoted so much time to a job in which he was far too comfortable, he now considers working on his own, running his own business. He is adamant he will not re-enter the rat race to be kicked in the teeth again, and his future lies in engaging in work on his own time. When the conversation turns to Avril’s time in London, she becomes evasive and does not want to discuss her recent past. Tom is surprised that he has spent half an hour bearing his soul to a complete stranger.

At the Howards’, Jan apologises for her exchange with her children. Whilst they are all hopeful that Tom will secure a new position, Jan is damned if she will be forced to scrimp and save once again. She speculates on whether or not Ken Masters, a local businessman, can offer her increased hours at Masters Chandlery, and Leo expresses a desire to work rather than go to University himself. She is shocked when he reveals he never wanted to go in the first place.

Later, Jan telephones Ken, whom she interrupts in bed with his girlfriend, Dawn. Breathless and half-naked, he is concerned when she asks to meet him the following morning to discuss “something important”. At the end of their conversation, he expresses his concern that she might hand in her notice, and reveals to Dawn that he would not want to lose her. When Dawn asks what Jan is like, he describes her as an ordinary housewife, and not in her league.

That evening, Jan and Tom discuss the situation as they prepare for bed. Determined to put his redundancy pay-out to good use, Tom is keen to secure a fresh occupation which will put his aeronautical expertise to good use. He expresses to Jan his desire to utilise the money and venture into independent design work, but she voices her concerns over the risks involved. Tom believes that is playing it safe has got him where he is today, perhaps it is time to take a few chances.

Meanwhile, Avril has a disturbed night’s sleep as she recalls her recent past in London.

The following morning, Tom visits the Mermaid Yard, at which the Flying Fish is being hauled into dry-dock for a preliminary assessment prior to repair work being undertaken. Jack assures him that a scratch like the one on Tom’s vessel would not affect the wooden ships that the Yard prides itself on, and the pair discuss the high-quality craftsmanship they predominately deal in.

At Masters Chandlery, Jan arrives for her early-morning meeting with Ken, at which she ventures the possibility of working more hours. Ken is hardly surprised at news of Tom’s redundancy, as he had been made aware of Southern Aviation’s cutbacks, and is more surprised when he learns that Jan was only informed the previous evening. Agreeing to her request, Ken is surprised that she has taken him up on his offer to work longer hours. He reveals he has other plans in mind for her future, which he will discuss with her at a later date.

At the Mermaid Office, Jack and Avril discuss Tom’s paint-job commission on the Flying Fish. When she counsels him to reduce the cost of the commission to something of a gift to Tom, Jack is surprised to learn he has been retrenched from Southern Aviation. He hurries to collect himself ahead of his lunchtime appointment with Laurie Meadows.

At the Howards, Leo and Lynne discuss their futures in light of their father’s redundancy before Tom arrives and invites them out on a picnic. Over lunch at the Yacht Club, Jan complains to Polly regarding Tom’s treatment of herself and the family with regard to keeping his redundancy a secret. She ruminates over the fact that they no longer discuss their problems, and whilst Polly assures her that he has the children’s best interests at heart, she reveals that her husband, Gerald, has hardly noticed that their daughter, Abby, is in Switzerland.

Nearby, Jack and Laurie Meadows enjoy a modest lunch whilst the former highlights the financial viability of the Mermaid Yard. Laurie pressures Jack into revealing the last and most lucrative design commission the Yard has enjoyed, and when he cannot provide examples more recent than two years previously, Laurie insists that unless incoming cashflow improves the loan the Yard has with the bank will be called in. When Jack implies that the German repair contract will bail the Yard out, Laurie highlights the fact that without confirmation in writing, the bank will foreclose the loan. Jack pleads with Laurie to lend a helping hand in his hour of need, but he is found wanting.

Jan reveals to Polly that Tom is tossing around the ludicrous idea of “going it alone”, and Polly assures her that they will need to find him a nice, safe job.

On the banks of the River Hamble, Tom and Lynne enjoy a quiet lunch-time picnic. She is concerned when Tom voices the option that they may have to sell the Flying Fish if their finances become depleted.

At the Mermaid Yard, Bill catches sight of Jack solemnly returning from his meeting with Laurie Meadows. When he approaches him for news of the meeting, Jack reluctantly reveals the bank intends to foreclose on the loan in the immediate future. He later reveals to Avril that they will be issuing an official letter later that day, and that the firm may not even be able to meet the wage bill over the coming months. They speculate over the future of the Yard, and Jack is at a loss to provide a solution. He lets slip that he even married to secure the Yard, and whilst he believes his daughter was previously unaware of this fact, Avril confirms that she was told that when she was at school. When Bill reveals that the repair work on the Flying Fish is complete, Jack suddenly has the spark of an idea. He tells Avril that Tom Howard might be the solution to their problems, and he hastily telephones the man in question and invites him for a drink at the pub.

Over a game of Scrabble, Tom and Lynne discuss Leo’s meeting at the job centre in pursuit of paid employment. Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of a delivery driver, who presents Leo with a bouquet of flowers addressed to Jan – from Ken Masters.

Tom clashes with Jan over her desire to work longer hours at Masters Chandlery, and even more so when she expresses the fact that Ken has offered to establish some contacts for him in pursuit of a new position. Their tense exchange of words is interrupted by a telephone call from Polly, who reveals that Gerald has learned of a design position at the Civil Airforce Authority which would be ideal for Tom. When Jan broaches the subject with Tom, he insists that the position is entirely unsuitable, as it would involve increased commuting time and, despite the healthy salary, he is not going to endure another position he hates just to bolster her social status. Tom concludes that “I intend to spend the rest of my working life doing something I want to do”.

At the Mermaid Yard, Avril confronts Jack as to his intentions to soak up Tom’s redundancy money to temporarily bail out the company. She insists on having no part in his plans, as she could not forgive herself if the Yard finishes up bankrupt and Tom is destitute.

At The Jolly Sailor, Jack presents Tom with a proposal: inject his redundancy money into the Mermaid Yard, and come on board as a partner in what he has described as a thriving enterprise which could only benefit from his design acumen. The manner in which Jack frames the proposal is such that Tom may find the offer too difficult to resist: “Here, you could be master of your own little kingdom”.

Howardsendaway...





...and now on Radio 4, part 5 of our adaptation of Weary Measley's 'The Calomine Lawnmower', by Spuriel Marx...

The story so far...

In the south coast locality of Christarrantcester, the Commode Cup has attracted the attention not only of the assembled sailing enthusiasts but the popular press as well - oh, and the Daily Mail were there too. Amidst fierce competition, aviation designer Hichard Burtcuthbertson sails on board the vessel he designed and built solely from marzipan and balsa wood, the Frying Fish, accompanied by his son, Soiliver. As they frantically make adjustments to the rigging and sails, the vessel streaks into the lead - a risky approach given that it's absolutely freezing out. A luxury cruiser follows their every move: on board are Hichard's wife, Rowenta, and her closest companion, Surly Porquhart, both of whom are enjoying champagne washed down with a jar of pickled eggs as they support the Fish crew in their bid to secure victory and with it promotion to the Blue Square Balsa Wood and Marzipan Conference League.

Meanwhile, back at local boat-building concern the Mardy Yermaid, proprietor Rack Jolfe is engaged in conversation with his daughter, Bovril, over the prospects of Hichard’s bid to win the Commode Cup. "How many times? You'll *never* win the Commode Cup in a vessel built entirely of marxipan - nevermind marzipan - and balsa wood. I've tried telling him, but he just sticks his fingers in his ears and goes 'ting-a-ling-a-loo' - the great big gay back passage of a failed aviation engineer turned soggy boat designer", wailed Rack as Bovril completed a particularly tricky word puzzle by artfully sprinling shake 'n' vac over a tea strainer.

Back at the race, having narrowly avoided a collision with their closest rivals, the Dalmation Pygmy (sponsored by Bradford & Bingley) crew, the Frying Fish is somehow the first boat made entirely from marxipan and balsa wood to cross the line (having sustained some minor damage below the water line involving a very delicate re-icing operation whilst still ploughing on at 17 knots per week.) A rousing celebration gets underway on board both vessels, and continues at The Soily Jailor public house. Whilst the Burtcuthbertsons enjoy a proud victory, those in attendance quietly speculate on Hichard’s future, as word is spreading that Scrotal Aviation (the company for which he had devoted twenty-two years of his life and poured a significant portion of his marmalade quilting empire into in order to keep the business afloat, not to mention the remainder of the retired-wind tunnel and sock repairer's Christmas pudding fund) is radically downsizing its Plyhamptonmouth-on-Sea operations and relocating to Aberystwith.

Over at the Yardy Merman, Rack discusses the desperate financial woes facing the business with Bovril. After three months in Christarrantcester, she has assessed the worst of the damage affecting the Yard - no customers, no pending orders, no materials, no staff - and despite Jack’s assurances that a forthcoming German Haddock-dredging coracle repair contract will extricate them from their plight, Avril remains optimistic about the yard's future. When Rack suggests they discuss the situation over a drink, she despairs with her father, claiming that it always his solution to problems and it did nothing to prevent the Suez Crisis in '56, why should it work now, God damn your eyes???!!

Next week on Howardsendaway: Will Calliperso break free from quarantine in Calais to make it over in time to be maid of honour at Soiliver's Bar Mitzvah? Will Palter and Wally recover from their vaguely incestuous fumble in the airiing cupboard. Why *is* Old Mr. Glucose-Blanket getting a nasty rash about the lower leg?

xxx
Bob

Saturday 6 November 2010

Bobcast #3 (remastered)...

Download or listen to Bobcast #3 (remastered) here...

Originally broadcast on 29th July 2006, Bobcast #3 is from the off a markedly more confident affair than either of its predecessors. In restoring this episode, we tried several options to eliminate the slight distortion on Bob's links before deciding that the crackle was preferable to the use of compression and other filters which tended to reduce the presence and immediacy of your host. Otherwise, we hope you'll agree that, despite the odd technical flaw, in terms of content and attitude, this show stands up pretty well in comparison with Bob's current ultra high-tech output.

Morton Shadow, Senior Archivist and Executive Producer of the Robert Swipe Show remastering project.



Tracklisting:


Pyjamarama - Roxy Music

Tighten up - Archie Bell and the Drells

Clean-up Woman - Betty Wright

Free will and testament - Robert Wyatt

Sh-Boom - The Chords

Mine exclusively - Big star

Shopping for clothes - The Coasters

I'm in love - Wilson Pickett

Surf's up - Brian Wilson

Bob's original post for this episode (the links probably won't work...):

Bobcast 3 is available to download now (it's free Richard, btw) via iTunes or Switchpod. Just follow the links below or click update in iTunes if you've subscribed already...

Artists featured this week include The Roxy, Archie Bell & the Drells, Wilson Pickett and many, many more....(plus lots of Bob's incomprehensible wittering, of course...)

Right, I'm out of here to listen to it again....


Bobcasts now available at iTunes!!

click here to hear our regular Bobcasts!!

Subscribe to The Robert Swipe Show




© 2006 Swipe Enterprises

Friday 5 November 2010

For Rubi (aged not-quite 2)...

We could count the days we spent with you
And mourn how briefly you were here.
But that would miss the point of your short stay.

Better to remember how each day
Was filled with love and how you drew
From us all that is good we have to give.

You trod gently on this earth - did no harm.
Only your plight - not you - has saddened us.
If counting days, of course we wanted more for you.
But if we're totting up: in terms of love and kindness,
Compassion, peace - you lived a life as full as anyone.

xxx
Bob

Wednesday 3 November 2010

Bobcast #65...


Jerry Lee: All killer, no filler - just like Bobcast #65 (not!)...


That Bob retirement exclusive in full...

Download or listen to Bobcast #65...


xxx
Bob

Tuesday 2 November 2010

Post #955...

Dear reader. Dear gentle reader - and, for once, I'm being factual and precise here in using the singular, can even give that reader a name, so fabulously have I pursued my quest to alienate you all - read on, dear reader just a little further. We're almost there, have almost reached the end, Dave - you don't mind if I call you Dave, do you? Dear Sancho Panza to my Don Quixote, Dave. Dave and Bob may not have quite the same ring, but there you go. What does? It's the credit crunch, perhaps? Nothing holds its value anymore, does it? Everything gets squeezed, squashed, shrunk - 'downsized'. Whatever it is that's happening, it's not sparing the language. It's some kind of word crunch that's pinching bloggers into tweeters, perhaps. Like the economy, we just can't stretch to it anymore can we? The longer piece. It's just too costly, too dear. We run a deficit of words; so pare it down, bring on the cuts, the slash and burn. We haven't got enough to spare or spend, it seems - have we? The time, that is. Reserves of that are running low, just like everything else. This is a little bit embarrassing actually, but...um...we're a little bit short at the moment, actually; of time and patience, of effort and thought. Look, I'll keep this brief; can you come back next week?

And so - and here's an irony of the language - as the economy has shrunk, economy of words has duly become the dominant style. The tweet, for instance - can you get more economical than that? Not outside the haiku. You could be forgiven the thought that the blog has had its say already; too vast and epic in scope, those paragraphs just seem to go on and on and on, don't they? There's just too much of them, too much...character. Or too many characters. And so we flee from the forest of words. If you don't believe me, just roll your gaze up and down the blog list a little further down at the side of this page. So many of the old stalwarts have fled their homes it seems - reading up from the bottom, back up through the mists of time and the rolling tumbleweeds; Istvanski (last post four months ago), Billy (last post four months ago) Ro-mo (last post one month ago) Dick Headley (last post five weeks ago), Betty (last post 3 week's ago), Photon (last post 2 weeks ago)... Perhaps it's just a go-slow, a work-to-rule. Or maybe they're just battoning down the hatches, riding out the storm; laying low until the good times return. Perhaps. But many of them, I'm sure, like so many around the globe, are ekeing out their words. Parsimonious of parse and tweet; their blogs now just too unwieldy, too sprawling. Couldn't afford the upkeep any longer. Too high maintenance, they've abandoned their old country seats, downsized, moved out to the margins to see the hard times out. Hoarding their words like misers in those smart little one ups-two downs, the little bijous that are springing up all over the shop; low maintenance, cheap and cheerful, no hassle. Small perhaps, but with plenty of character - well, 140 of them, to be exact.

But Dave - (you are still there Dave, I trust...*you* haven't deserted me too, have you?) - there's still a little way for us to go too. This is not another 'retirement' - not just yet, anyway. No, just a pause for thought; a reminder. Another downpayment on the old pile. But maybe a countdown, of sorts...


xxx
Bob

Tess or Claudia...?

It's time for this week's round of Tess or Claudia. Just leave a comment stating which of the Stictly Come Dancing presenters you prefer. Let's play 'Tess or Claudia'...

Coalition plans to phase out prisons, claims Kara Tointon...

As ministers today revealed plans to extend the electoral franchise to include those serving prison sentences, the government has been rocked by allegations that it plans ultimately to do away with the penal system altogether. In an astonishing outburst, prison reform campaigner and Strictly Come Dancing contestant Kara Tointon


Tointon: scantily clad for satirical purposes...

accused the government of planning to close down all of the country's jails by 2016 in a drastic attempt to save money.

"What we're hearing is the insidious drip-drip-drip of policy announcement and supposedly independent evidence put out into the public domain in order to create a climate in which this outrageous step might somehow seem to be a rational and sensible one. Yesterday we had the frankly bewildering news that heroin is better for you than the odd can or two of Colt 45, paving the way for drug decriminalisation in the near future. Today they're giving criminals the vote. What next? Legislation that makes it perfectly OK to thieve and rob, to murder and abuse???" If I'd wanted a bunch of hoody-loving, namby-pamby do-gooders to be running the country, I'd have voted Liberal Democrat....erm..."

A clearly wrong-footed David Cameron responded angrily to the claims. " Look, I think it's entirely reasonable that these indecent, non-working, law disregarding people be allowed to exercise their democratic rights at the ballot box. After all, by the time we're through wreaking havoc on the social fabric of the nation, we'll need every vote we can get, I can tell you! I realise that for a small minority, living on the ill-gotten gains of their criminal activities is a lifestyle choice - but I'll come to reform of the House of Lords later if you'll bear with me - but at least these crooks are not scrounging on the dole and claiming housing benefit - mainly because we've seen to it that they can't. They have to wait for 2 months after coming out of chokey before they can claim any state benefits at all, and given that we only give them £42 pounds when they finish their stir, it's probably no surprise that half of them end up back in the clink, really. Besides, what's the big deal about the odd bit of harmless skullduggery and bending the rules a bit? It hasn't stopped Andy Coulson rising to the top of government, has it? I want to be quite clear about this: blim-blam-blooooblooob-glitch-hammock-zaba-daba-deeeee-boon-boon-boon..."

The prison farrago comes on top of fresh evidence that the country's economy is indeed heading for a double dip recession. Statistics revealed today by Felicity Kendall suggest that by 2016 the jobless totals in the private sector alone could have risen by 1.6 million.


Kendall: scantily satirical for cladding purposes...

"Add these to the nearly 1/2 a million public sector losses already announced and things are starting to look a bit grim," said Kendall in between executing a perlious series of leg splits whilst sliding in between the legs of her dance partner, Vincent. " At this rate, they may as well close all the prisons down. No one will have anything worth stealing anyway..."


xxx
Bob

Monday 1 November 2010

Howardsendaway...

...and now on Radio 4, part 5 of our adaptation of Weary Measley's 'The Calomine Lawnmower', by Spuriel Marx...

The story so far...

In the south coast locality of Christarrantcester, the Commode Cup has attracted the attention not only of the assembled sailing enthusiasts but the popular press as well - oh, and the Daily Mail were there too. Amidst fierce competition, aviation designer Hichard Burtcuthbertson sails on board the vessel he designed and built solely from marzipan and balsa wood, the Frying Fish, accompanied by his son, Soiliver. As they frantically make adjustments to the rigging and sails, the vessel streaks into the lead - a risky approach given that it's absolutely freezing out. A luxury cruiser follows their every move: on board are Hichard's wife, Rowenta, and her closest companion, Surly Porquhart, both of whom are enjoying champagne washed down with a jar of pickled eggs as they support the Fish crew in their bid to secure victory and with it promotion to the Blue Square Balsa Wood and Marzipan Conference League.

Meanwhile, back at local boat-building concern the Mardy Yermaid, proprietor Rack Jolfe is engaged in conversation with his daughter, Bovril, over the prospects of Hichard’s bid to win the Commodore’s Cup. "How many times? You'll *never* win the Commode Cup in a vessel built entirely of marxipan and balsa wood. I've tried telling him, but he just sticks his fingers in his ears and goes 'ting-a-ling-a-loo' - the great big gay back passage of a failed aviation engineer turned soggy boat deisgner", wailed Rack as Bovril completed a particularly tricky word puzzle by artfully sprinling shake 'n' vac over a tea strainer.

Back at the race, having narrowly avoided a collision with their closest rivals, the Dalmation Pygmy crew, the Frying Fish is somehow the first boat made entirely from marxipan and balsa wood to cross the line (having sustained some minor damage below the water line involving a very delicate re-icing operation whilst still ploughing on at 17 knots.) A rousing celebration gets underway on board both vessels, and continues at The Soily Jailor public house. Whilst the Burtcuthbertsons enjoy a proud victory, those in attendance quietly speculate on Hichard’s future, as word is spreading that Scrotal Aviation (the company for which he had devoted twenty-two years of his life and poured a significant portion of his marmalade quilting empire into in order to keep the business afloat) is radically downsizing its Plyhampton-on-Sea operations and relocating to Aberystwith.

Over at the Yardy Merman, Rack discusses the desperate financial woes facing the business with Bovril. After three months in Christarrantcester, she has assessed the worst of the damage affecting the Yard - no customers, no pending orders, no materials, no staff - and despite Jack’s assurances that a forthcoming German Haddock-dredging coracle repair contract will extricate them from their plight, Avril remains optimistic about the yard's future. When Rack suggests they discuss the situation over a drink, she despairs with her father, claiming that it always his solution to problems and it did nothing to prevent the Suex Crisis in '56, why should it work now, God damn your eyes???!!

Next week on Howardsendway: Will Calliperso break free from quarantine in Calais to make it over in time to be maid of honour at Soiliver's Bar Mitzvah? Will Palter and Wally recover from their vaguely incestuous fumble in the airiing cupboard. Why *is* Old Mr. Glucose-Blanket getting a nasty rash about the lower leg?


Driving home, the family enjoy singing a wide range of nautically-themed songs ahead of a bountiful lunch over which they joyously recount their memories of the victory. Jack reveals that he is due to have lunch with Laurie Meadows, the Mermaid Yard’s bank manager, the following day, and that he will convince the bank to extend their overdraft. He also discusses Avril’s return to Tarrant, and claims that one day she will have to explain the reasons behind her sudden departure from London and return to the fold. At the end of their lunch, Tom intercedes in the proceedings to reveal that he has been made redundant, surprising his children and shocking Jan even more so. When she presses him for an explanation, he reveals that the situation had been on the cards for a month, and that he kept it a secret from the family as he believed he could find another position before his final days at Southern Aviation. However, this having not eventuated, he must now rely on his redundancy settlement. Jan is angry that Tom did not confide in her earlier, and she storms from the dining room. Tom, realising he has handled the announcement badly, he endeavours to placate her. Jan angrily confronts him, demanding to know why he didn’t speak to her before announcing it to the family. She voices her concern that they once shared their worries, and as the pair exchange apologies, they speculate on their uncertain future. Jan is confident that Tom will find another job easily, but he angrily reveals that after a month-long search, he has been unable to find a new position. He reveals he will be unable to find a new aviation role at his time of life, and that his contacts have “melted away” upon hearing the news. He tells Jan that he considered an offer in Pretoria, and poses the question of leaving Tarrant; Jan expresses her desire to remain in the area, to which Tom counters by revealing he turned the offer down. Jan is upset that he had already made up his mind regarding a future decision without consulting her.

Meanwhile, Leo and Lynne try to come to terms with the news of their father’s redundancy. Tom reveals to his children that the family will be forced to trim their sails somewhat in the future (namely Lynne being forced to find gainful employment, the cancellation of their planned summer holiday in France, and Leo cutting back on expenditure ahead of his first-term attendance at Exeter University).

At The Jolly Sailor, Jack ruminates over his current predicament over a pint, and is joined by site foreman Bill Sayers. They discuss Avril’s bitter temperament of late (Jack believes a man is responsible for her guarded nature), the future prospects of the boatyard and their mutual past together.

With Tom having taken a walk to clear his thoughts, Jan emerges from her isolation and engages in a bitter exchange of words between herself and Lynne, with Leo acting as peacemaker.

On the banks of the River Hamble, Tom encounters Avril, who has also been endeavouring to clear her mind of personal matters. They are reunited after five years, and they discuss her return to Tarrant, the Commodore’s Cup victory and the news of his recent redundancy. At forty-four, Tom has reached a turning point in his life: having devoted so much time to a job in which he was far too comfortable, he now considers working on his own, running his own business. He is adamant he will not re-enter the rat race to be kicked in the teeth again, and his future lies in engaging in work on his own time. When the conversation turns to Avril’s time in London, she becomes evasive and does not want to discuss her recent past. Tom is surprised that he has spent half an hour bearing his soul to a complete stranger.

At the Howards’, Jan apologises for her exchange with her children. Whilst they are all hopeful that Tom will secure a new position, Jan is damned if she will be forced to scrimp and save once again. She speculates on whether or not Ken Masters, a local businessman, can offer her increased hours at Masters Chandlery, and Leo expresses a desire to work rather than go to University himself. She is shocked when he reveals he never wanted to go in the first place.

Later, Jan telephones Ken, whom she interrupts in bed with his girlfriend, Dawn. Breathless and half-naked, he is concerned when she asks to meet him the following morning to discuss “something important”. At the end of their conversation, he expresses his concern that she might hand in her notice, and reveals to Dawn that he would not want to lose her. When Dawn asks what Jan is like, he describes her as an ordinary housewife, and not in her league.

That evening, Jan and Tom discuss the situation as they prepare for bed. Determined to put his redundancy pay-out to good use, Tom is keen to secure a fresh occupation which will put his aeronautical expertise to good use. He expresses to Jan his desire to utilise the money and venture into independent design work, but she voices her concerns over the risks involved. Tom believes that is playing it safe has got him where he is today, perhaps it is time to take a few chances.

Meanwhile, Avril has a disturbed night’s sleep as she recalls her recent past in London.

The following morning, Tom visits the Mermaid Yard, at which the Flying Fish is being hauled into dry-dock for a preliminary assessment prior to repair work being undertaken. Jack assures him that a scratch like the one on Tom’s vessel would not affect the wooden ships that the Yard prides itself on, and the pair discuss the high-quality craftsmanship they predominately deal in.

At Masters Chandlery, Jan arrives for her early-morning meeting with Ken, at which she ventures the possibility of working more hours. Ken is hardly surprised at news of Tom’s redundancy, as he had been made aware of Southern Aviation’s cutbacks, and is more surprised when he learns that Jan was only informed the previous evening. Agreeing to her request, Ken is surprised that she has taken him up on his offer to work longer hours. He reveals he has other plans in mind for her future, which he will discuss with her at a later date.

At the Mermaid Office, Jack and Avril discuss Tom’s paint-job commission on the Flying Fish. When she counsels him to reduce the cost of the commission to something of a gift to Tom, Jack is surprised to learn he has been retrenched from Southern Aviation. He hurries to collect himself ahead of his lunchtime appointment with Laurie Meadows.

At the Howards, Leo and Lynne discuss their futures in light of their father’s redundancy before Tom arrives and invites them out on a picnic. Over lunch at the Yacht Club, Jan complains to Polly regarding Tom’s treatment of herself and the family with regard to keeping his redundancy a secret. She ruminates over the fact that they no longer discuss their problems, and whilst Polly assures her that he has the children’s best interests at heart, she reveals that her husband, Gerald, has hardly noticed that their daughter, Abby, is in Switzerland.

Nearby, Jack and Laurie Meadows enjoy a modest lunch whilst the former highlights the financial viability of the Mermaid Yard. Laurie pressures Jack into revealing the last and most lucrative design commission the Yard has enjoyed, and when he cannot provide examples more recent than two years previously, Laurie insists that unless incoming cashflow improves the loan the Yard has with the bank will be called in. When Jack implies that the German repair contract will bail the Yard out, Laurie highlights the fact that without confirmation in writing, the bank will foreclose the loan. Jack pleads with Laurie to lend a helping hand in his hour of need, but he is found wanting.

Jan reveals to Polly that Tom is tossing around the ludicrous idea of “going it alone”, and Polly assures her that they will need to find him a nice, safe job.

On the banks of the River Hamble, Tom and Lynne enjoy a quiet lunch-time picnic. She is concerned when Tom voices the option that they may have to sell the Flying Fish if their finances become depleted.

At the Mermaid Yard, Bill catches sight of Jack solemnly returning from his meeting with Laurie Meadows. When he approaches him for news of the meeting, Jack reluctantly reveals the bank intends to foreclose on the loan in the immediate future. He later reveals to Avril that they will be issuing an official letter later that day, and that the firm may not even be able to meet the wage bill over the coming months. They speculate over the future of the Yard, and Jack is at a loss to provide a solution. He lets slip that he even married to secure the Yard, and whilst he believes his daughter was previously unaware of this fact, Avril confirms that she was told that when she was at school. When Bill reveals that the repair work on the Flying Fish is complete, Jack suddenly has the spark of an idea. He tells Avril that Tom Howard might be the solution to their problems, and he hastily telephones the man in question and invites him for a drink at the pub.

Over a game of Scrabble, Tom and Lynne discuss Leo’s meeting at the job centre in pursuit of paid employment. Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of a delivery driver, who presents Leo with a bouquet of flowers addressed to Jan – from Ken Masters.

Tom clashes with Jan over her desire to work longer hours at Masters Chandlery, and even more so when she expresses the fact that Ken has offered to establish some contacts for him in pursuit of a new position. Their tense exchange of words is interrupted by a telephone call from Polly, who reveals that Gerald has learned of a design position at the Civil Airforce Authority which would be ideal for Tom. When Jan broaches the subject with Tom, he insists that the position is entirely unsuitable, as it would involve increased commuting time and, despite the healthy salary, he is not going to endure another position he hates just to bolster her social status. Tom concludes that “I intend to spend the rest of my working life doing something I want to do”.

At the Mermaid Yard, Avril confronts Jack as to his intentions to soak up Tom’s redundancy money to temporarily bail out the company. She insists on having no part in his plans, as she could not forgive herself if the Yard finishes up bankrupt and Tom is destitute.

At The Jolly Sailor, Jack presents Tom with a proposal: inject his redundancy money into the Mermaid Yard, and come on board as a partner in what he has described as a thriving enterprise which could only benefit from his design acumen. The manner in which Jack frames the proposal is such that Tom may find the offer too difficult to resist: “Here, you could be master of your own little kingdom”.