12 Crumble Ave.

The Almost Fish

2007-11-16T14:07:00.000Z

The almost fish wasn't quite a fish. Over the years he had long discovered he wasn't quite anything in particular. It was a most frustrating thing to always be almost, never achieving what he set out to, but making a decent effort nonetheless. Some stood by and whispered that the almost fish must be a lie,

'If he is an almost fish, why wasn't he almost born?'

Yet he lives amongst the world... almost. Where his time is spent is a mystery, the life of one who studies the almost fish is often incomplete. His research never complete, the mystery of the almost fish becomes inherant in those in its presence, and yet they are fascinating creatures, almost - in fact - the most fascinating of all creature.

His diet is varied, but never fully satisfying, his social life existent but with a touch of longing. In time the almost fish learns a trick of two, he aims higher than he needs to and finds his goals in life completed. Logic, as it has, is always game for semantics.

In years to come he will be found hanging between lifetimes and despite the sadness in his eyes of the endless wait that he faces, the tales he tells of his adventures are enough to make you feel, if only for a split second, a pang of jealously.

Almost.

The Nightmare of Children

2007-06-08T10:43:00.000+01:00

The dust was not what tore at his fingernails. That was something else entirely, but the dust did swell up in his eyes, coating his lungs as the foul breath swam his vision in the ocean, drowning to consciousness and the murmuring of the distant traffic.

As the buzzing stopped and the stench faded he dared open his eyes, just a fraction, hoping to God he didn’t see his arm, the shock was covering the pain so far but he felt brittle, like snapping was oh so easy to do. Still chocking on the dust of the cellar he squinted into the darkness. Ahead was a clear path to the door, those stairs rising to infinity, his body ached and groaned at the memory. Suddenly a growl and he snapped. The pain cascaded down and the fear overwhelmed his senses. Fighting the darkness he rose again.

This time to face his padded foe with a smirk, not a scream.

________________________________________________

And that little Timmy is why we do not release Lions into suburban neighbourhoods? Ok? You feel you have learnt your lesson today? And tomorrow you’re going to apologise to that poor man’s family? Ok?

Good lad, now of to bed before your mother gets home. Chop chop.

- Mr Winston

Expand your Mind

2007-02-01T11:14:00.000Z

Sometimes it takes a crazy person with 3 cross headed screwdrivers and a lust for blood only quelled by excessive amounts of Sesame Street to make you question your recent life decisions. Namely those that involve posting adverts on dating websites for homicidal children’s TV fanatics with a penchant for DIY.

But I digress.

The reason I found myself with yet more puncture wounds and that dang ABCs song in my head for a full week is that I was trying to expand my mind. Y’know that thing that sits in your head (if you’re lucky) and that, unbeknownst to you, keeps your body ticking, your lungs breathing, eyes blinking and occasionally your feet tapping. Well a few weeks ago I woke up and realised I had that January rot, you know the feeling that unless my mind started being more active, seeing new things, doing new things it would solidify into a permanent state, such that any future attempts to reshape or mould it would simply crack it’s fragile shell causing it to leak, egg-like, through the crevices of my behaviour. Metaphorically, of course, or at least I damn well hope so.

Well I was not going to site for that, cue my attempts at conversation with fellow housemates that extended beyond grunts and the throwing of saucepans, something that I consider a minor success; for example did you know Toby is not a natural blonde? It does have its downsides though as Toledo insisted on showing the entire Pimp my Ride UK series one. Needless to say my eyes will never be the same.

But so far so good I thought, my mind has been expanded, admittedly to areas of hate I usually reserve only for talkshow hosts and reality TV but it was a start. It was thus that I found myself in the lonely hearts section seeking a connection. Now before you worry too much dear reader may I just say that the ad I posted (homicidal, kids TV, DIY) was simply a joke to see if such a person existed. I think the fact that my left arm looks like a piece of Swiss cheese would serve as my answer, and a warning for the future.

But I am not deterred. Next week I have signed up to a self defence class and in my spare time I will be trying to learn how to the play the flute (now you see the need for self-defence classes.) So I urge you too to try something new, give your mind something new to worry about and constantly analyse. As someone once said this life is for living, not painting giant swear worlds on the side of our neighbours’ houses. Well maybe that was only to me but the message is universal, if we stay still even the world moves past us and nobody likes playing catch up.

Now who knows anything about skidoo racing?

The final Chapter.... continued

2006-12-06T10:44:00.000Z

As you may well remember, or not depending on your daily alcohol intake level, a few weeks ago I submitted my (frankly wonderful) book to the publishers, confident it would result in worldwide success; record braking sales and minimal, but effective, use as a doorstop in living rooms throughout the globe.

Well, such things are easy to see through the rose-tinted glasses of happiness and self-confidence and I am sorry to present to you today the letter I received today in reply. But fear not for me dear readers, adversity is the first step to success, world domination and fame, or so I'm told and so for this reason I am proud to bring you this news.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go cry for another 22 hours straight....

__________________________________________

Dear Mr Greenway,

I would say thank you for your submission of your manuscript entitled ‘Bite off a piece of my happiness: There’s enough to go around’ but that would imply that I gained something other than an overwhelming sense of the futility of the world from reading your piece, which I’m sorry to say is simply not true.

While we here at MD Books admire any author willing to test the waters of publication and delve into the competitive and challenging world of writing, I think that it is safe to say that on your case we make an exception. How something as incompetently written, so blatantly derivative and misguided and so completely enamoured with its authors own delusions could make its way as far as the page beggars belief, but the fact that I had to sit through all 386 pages of it out of morbid curiosity and a sense of self-masochism, is the icing on this particularly unhealthy cake.

You call yourself a self-help guru and, arguably, believe in the methods you so regularly regurgitate onto the page, well my advice to you Mr Greenway is to help us all by throwing your limp and useless self from the nearest tall building or cliff and then allow anyone who has had the misfortune of coming into contact with you or your ideas have the pleasure of stamping on your corpse until they feel a sense of justice has been finally restored.

If and when you take this advice please do inform me and I in particular would not want to miss it.

Yours sincerely,

- Margaret Beckett

The month of Sundays

2006-11-15T09:33:00.000Z

When the month of Sundays comes there is little you can do about it. Some try to hide under the stairs and hope it will just go away, like unwanted relatives at Christmas. Others carry on their normal lives, thinking (wrongly) that if you don't believe it is happening, then it isn't. But then there are those, world-worn and weary who know of the Month, and who face it head on, gritting their teeth and preparing for the worst.

For there is no shopping past 5pm in 'the month'. The railways are constantly under maintenance and you can never call out a plumber. The sound of church bells toll incessantly and Points of View endures endless repeats on television, with later episodes featuring commentators on the earlier ones. The world becomes tangle of overlapping ideals and repeating themes until all you can see, hear and think about is Sundays. Millions fail to pay rent, as they cannot work. But as it is Sunday no cheques can be cashed by eager landlords who are left with unbalanced books and ever mounting wads of promises and frustration. The world falls into limbo, suspended between activities, ever-waiting for life to begin again.

And yet there are those times when the birds sing, the sound of traffic vanishes from the landscape and you roll out of bed at 12 to a breezy walk alongside what remains of the countryside, that make you yearn for the month never to end. And just as the calm decends upon your soul and you crack a smile to your neighbours for the first time, it ends and everything you gained is lost to the shuffle of paper and raucous laughter of television audiences.

And so then you wait with one eye on the clock, for that bittersweet time to come once again, and throw this chaotic world out of synch just one more time.

Of dreams and Stonewall Thomas

2006-10-10T21:44:00.000+01:00

When she fell into her dreams, she couldn't believe how vivid it all felt. The colours intoxicated her every molecule, she laughed and her laughter gave way to something beyond joy and human expression.

_______

Stonewall Thomas lived atop of the 93rd St. Building. Standing 60 stories high and with views to make migrating birds jealous. It stood head and shoulders above it's competitors in the neighbourhood. Every time a new officeblock went up, it grew in height and nobody could understand it, lest of all Stonewall himself. Charged with maintaining the building Stonewall was a steadfast fellow. He would spent hours just staring down at the streets below, sometimes through a small telescopic sight laughing madly and demanding duels with the various commuters that would walk down below.

Whenever a new office building would finish construction in the area eclipsing the height of the 93rd building, Stonewall would go to bed, muttering and close to tears, fearing the end of his reign amongst the citys skyline. But each time when he awoke the next morn, from his small room on the top floor, he found bright sunshine cascading against his stubbled chin. Unbelieving he would stagger to the roof to once again find the building standing taller than ever, looking mockingly down on the surrounding metropolis.

Nobody could explain the phonomenon, but none would argue with Stonewall and he would always claim,

'Tis the buildings way and we should not question it'

And he would say no more, and smite those who questioned him further, until the day Bridget arrived. Quiet and unassuming she could silence him with a look, her big brown eyes ever curious and welcoming. Together they existed in silence and unsaid looks. They would stand together at night and look down on creation and all would be at peace.

_______

Stonewall was awoken at night by the charges. The earth cracked and dreams shattered and all around him fell into darkness and dust. Agonized and heartbroken he felt himself falling to earth when he caught a glimpse of Bridget silent and unassuming in the fractured doorway.

'Come with me'

She whispered straight to his heart. With a broken smile he gently shook his head as the room came down around them in noise and fury,

'You know why I can't....'

________

Bridget was never found in the rubble. Her wide eyes had long since passed to different dreams and worlds unlived.

It returns again

2006-10-02T13:18:00.000+01:00

So the annual 12 Crumble Ave holidays are over, and I for one am glad to lock away the pickaxes, bayonettes and egg cups for another year.

This time we came back witha record number of limbs (four more than we left with...) and only spent 35% of our time reclining within police-entrusted property.

Sorry this post is brief but I really feel I should mop up the mess streaming from Mr Winston's case before it gets all over the house, as we learned in Europe, that stuff does not wash off.

Until next time, I hope you are all well

- Toby

P.S If anybody knows where I can store the 3,500 teapots that greeted me at our front door this morning I would be forever grateful.

Singing Teapots Unite!

2006-08-29T11:02:00.000+01:00

The teapot sings but once a year and you never can tell when it might be. Many have studied the phonomenon but very few facts are known about this most rare of occurances. All people know is that teapots, when left unattended at least once in every 365 day cycle sing the most beautiful tune. Since this has become public knowledge many have tried to sit with a teapot for an entire year, swapping shifts in order to witness the event, but the teapots are wary and will always sing at the exact moment both people are either asleep or not paying attention.

In fact hearing a teapot sing is so rare that nobody has actually heard or seen it, but as nobody can ever say with absolute certainty they have watched a teapot for a year without any distractions or breaks, it must be a fact that teapots sing as we cannot prove otherwise.

Why they only sing once a year is unknown as well, the timings are seemingly random but maybe, if we lined up all the teapots in the world they would unite together in a continous song that would last all year and soothe our aching souls with it's tender lyricism.

I have begun then the daunting, but vital, task of collecting all the teapots in the world for such an event, I currently have three and am just off to raid my nearest Debenhams store so if you would like to be a part of this social and scientific experiment dear readers do send your teapots and any others that you find to 12 Crumble Avenue and help make teapot singing history!

- Toby

The Agoraphobic Astronaut

2006-08-23T09:17:00.000+01:00

The agoraphobic astronaut wasn’t any fun,
He stayed inside the capsule,
Without a word to anyone,

The agoraphobic astronaut kept looking at the floor,
Diverted his eyes away,
From the view outside the door,

All of space surrounded, in wonder they did stare,
Not the agoraphobic astronaut,
For outside, he could not bare.

He spent his time in space, wishing he was home,
He missed out on the space walk,
Into God’s celestial home.

Those left on Earth were angry, they couldn’t understand
It’s unfair! They would cry
And protests, they were planned.

But in the end he made it, landing back to Earth,
Where everyone ignored him,
With their sounds of endless mirth.

He went back home that night, locked in the house he bought,
That was the last anyone saw,
Of the agoraphobic astronaut.

*This poem is dedicated to Neil Armstrong. He knows why.

The perfect cup of tea

2006-08-14T15:45:00.000+01:00

'That is the worst cup of tea I have ever tasted!'

My boss will yell this daily, often accompanying this sentement by vomiting on the floor or throwing the cup at my face.

I just don't get it.

Day after day I try new ideas, he likes milk but no sugar so I've tried a slither of milk - vomit.
OK then loads of milk - that one gave me a six inch gash on my cheek.

I've tried semi-skimmed milk, full-fat milk, goats milk, baby's milk (don't ask), condensed milk (not a smart choice but I was desperate...)

Nothing works.

It's bad enough being demeaned to the level where you are literally the office tea boy but I am determined not to let this beat me. Apparently he is the reason eight other tea-boys have left in the past year. Four of them never made tea again.

Well not me.

The others in the office love my tea, they smile and offer me sweet sentiments, but none believe I can make one the boss won't hate. I see them glancing at the frosted glass of his office, his ominous shadow reflected strongly as I walk towards, the tea tray shaking in my hands. Their collectively bated breath fills the room with silence, and the inevitable retching or crashing accompanies their exhaling.

It is a demoralising situation folks, but for now I will not quit, I will struggle on until, one day when the vein in my head throbs so hard I burst a blood vessel, I waltz in their with a mug full of acid and throw in in my boss's smug, tea-hating face.

The sirens will inform you when that day comes, for my own sake as well as yours I hope it is not soon.

Crash. Vomit. Stitches.

... another day counts down.

- Toledo

The chicken that was afraid of jelly

2006-08-09T11:19:00.000+01:00

Bill Wilderness was a chicken known for miles around. Brought up on a farm in the countryside he made his escape when he was still young and carved out a niche for himself in the hustle and bustle of the city.

The youngest of twelve chickens on the farm Bill was always curious and unsettled. Whilst the other chickens would be happy to peck at corn or sit inside their cages Bill would always be trying to break out and explore the wider world. He was brave and fearless and stood up to the farmer, something no chicken would ever dare do. The rooster would warn him:

'The ways of the farm are not for a chicken to know Bill. You should keep your beak out of it. You think you have no fear but everyone does, I just want you to be prepared'

But Bill would ignore his advice and once had broken free he even tried to release the other chickens as well, but none would follow for the outside world scared them. So it was with a heavy heart and tear in his eye that Bill left the coup and headed for the city.

Over time Bill built up a living running a grocery store. It started small, selling everyday things, and quickly grew in size and popularity. 'Bill's' became a famous name and soon all the supermarkets around the the town were struggling to keep up with it's success.

But there was always one thing you could never buy in Bill's.

Jelly.

When asked about the product Bill would freeze up, his shoulders rigid and a glazed look in his eyes. If you persisted he would start to flap and peck wildly at the ground.

People soon learned not to question him and even the staff ceased enquiring about the product. Somedays Bill would sit in his office and stare across the road at The Jelly Emporium for hours, unable to move or look away lest the Jelly come for him.

In his later years Bill was cared for in a special home where his refusal to eat the food was misinterpreted as a hunger strike. Soon the glazed eyes would return and as Bill sat in his leather chair, his stomach aching and his claws dug into the seat, the words of the rooster would float by his mind and he would curse the day he left the safety of the farm.

The final chapter

2006-08-04T14:09:00.000+01:00

It is quiet at 12 Crumbe Ave. today. Maybe too quiet, but it gives me the opportunity dear readers to offer you some more wonderful advice on living a happy and fulfilled life.

Obviously living a perfectly happy life it not as easy as it sounds. You can't just walk up to someone and yell at them to 'STOP BEING SO MISERABLE AND BE HAPPY' as often they will hit you with their handbag and spray you with mace.

However there are principles than can help you live a more happy existance. Principles such as avoiding unhappiness (I'd say thats top of the list generally), seeking things that make you happy, not doing things that make you unhappy (again obvious but vital), and lastly buying my book.

Hang on did he just...... yes I did dear reader. You see I could write pages and pages on this blog about how to be happy, but why bother when I've already written all those pages for my book! Surely a few of your heard earned pounds is a fair price for a lifetime of guaranteed bliss? (not a guarantee)

You see today I sent my book off to the publishers. There was much rejoicing and generally merriment amongst the 2 of us at my party. Hopefully soon I will hear back with a positive response and a huge wad of cash (because thats the other thing that you need for a truly happy life.)

So until then I bid you good day and be sure to keep an eye out at your local book emporium for the name Toby Greenway, you know you will!

- Toby

Mary-Sue

2006-08-01T09:35:00.000+01:00

When I was young Mary-Sue used to call for me every wednesday. She would knock on the door and wait for me, well she did at first but, in time, she learned that my father would tend to shoot anyone that disturbed his alcohol induced sleep and so she would, instead, throw small stones at my window and call to me softly.

Together we would play in the fields and on the roads. She would run and her golden locks would dance in the sunshine. Her radiance haunted my dreams and her smile would brighten my day.

'Lets run away'

She would cry as she weaved across the country lane.

'Where would we go?'

I would always reply, a smile on my face.

'The south pole!'

Was always her answer,

'we can swim to the south pole and live with the penguins'

No matter how many times I explained to her the flawed logic of her plan, it was always the same, and in time her beauty and attention won me over and I too began to long for the company of penguins and the freedom they would offer us.

One day as we lay under the apple tree Mary Sue reached for my hand. As she took it in hers I trembled. A warmth spread around my body and I knew then I would go anywhere with her.

***

Pneumonia can set in after just 10 minutes in icy water and I know that it wasn't a warm day when she left. At the last minute I had lost my nerve. I was too afraid and never made it to the beach. Instead I stood at the top of the cliff and looked for her, a small shape, lost in the vastness of the ocean, intended for Antartica.

Now when I think of Mary-Sue I imagine her with the penguins, laughing and playing. I see her curled inside an igloo, her dreams come true and a smile on her lips, waiting for me to join her.

- Mr Winston

My silver heartless enemy

2006-07-21T11:59:00.000+01:00

The tap hates me and I can't for the life of me think why. Every time I enter I can feel it's presence, I approach the sink with trepedation:

"Hello there tap." I offer, edging nearer.

"Toledo."

Somehow it's response a question and a statement. Its mood is unfathomable.

"Now I don't want any trouble today, ok?" I state reasonably reaching slowly for the sink.

"But you do want something from me"

"You're a tap, it's your purpose to supply water. I would simply like a chance to oblige you of this service.."

There is a silence, maybe this time will be alright?

"So my purpose is to supply you with water when you want it?"

I remain silent, unsure of how to answer.

"I've seen you" It continues, a menace in its voice that's new,

"The times you haven't washed. The times you ignored me. Or the times you left me on. Sometimes I think you like me, you lean in as if to kiss and drink from me, but then you turn on me..."

It does this every time. Damn tap.

"Look I just use you for water, I don't know where this is coming from"

I wish I had known that this was the wrong thing to say. There was a pause then, in a different, lighter tone it spoke again:

"It's OK Toledo, just use me this time and we'll start again. I'm sorry."

Weary but convinced I lean in and turn the top of the tap slowly. There is a soft moan and for a split second I think that it's all going to be ok, but then before I know it I'm drenched in water again.

Damn tap.

- Toledo

The manly tears of the soul

2006-07-18T16:06:00.000+01:00

Poetry expresses the soul, and having soul is something that makes you happy, and also I'm told a good singer. So in liu of my boring weekend where I successfully blinked over 2000 times I have decided to post a poem I wrote last year that expresses my deepest heartfelt things, you know that stuff that makes you all thoughtful and reflective and makes you look awesome, especially if when you read it a tear trickles down your face and you look out of a window as if you didn't notice and it drops on the carpet

(Note: this only makes you look sexy and mysterious when in the company of girls and does not apply to an evening watching Die Hard with the guys from work. Maybe now you see why all I could do this weekend was blink.)

_________________________________________________

My crippled stomach has flipped for you by Toby Greenway (07/10/05)

Flat and undisturbed you sit and deny me.
My urges leap and pull and I fight them with sorrow from inside,
but your sizzle and spark are united in flame and you ignite,
overhead errupts and drowns me,

I see the lightness leave your eyes and my tears mingle with the downpour,
It ends as it began and as I scrape you from the pan,
I cannot look or bare the thought,
Of another wasted omlette.

- Toby

The melting of honey-hearts

2006-07-14T08:14:00.000+01:00

She sat across from me, her deep aubern locks framing her face like a glorious portrait. Her eyes lit up as she spoke, words of such beauty they entered my heart like honey on warm toast and it melted away inside of me.

The sunlight dappled across her features and I sat transfixed, speechless at her wonder. Calmly she took my hand and pressed it against her. She was warm and soft, like porridge fresh from the pan, and as she gazed into my eyes I turned away in shame and regret. Who was I to face such an angel? who was I to sit here with her face to face? I shook my head,

I was nobody.

When I wept it was unclear if it was from heartbreak or the mace, but one things for sure; she has a grip like a vice and she held on until the police arrived despite my writhing and screaming.

Now, as I sit here alone, I can't help but wonder now how things between Carly and me could have been different...

If only I had said the right things,

If I had limited myself to just 25 phone calls a day,

If I hadn't bought her two kilogram bags of flour as a present,

If I had decided to wear clothes that day....

- Toledo

The shattering of dreams and skulls

2006-07-07T09:37:00.000+01:00

Have you ever been in that situation where you're tired and lonely having sat around all day doing nothing, having spent the last year being unemployed, finding your life to be worthless and irredeemable? Have you ever just found yourself sat there wondering where it all went wrong, repeatedly smashing a hammer into the skull of an already dead baby elephant?

It's not a nice experience my friends and it's one I shall try my hardest to avoid in the future.

_______________________________________________________

You see we all have dreams and ambitions and ever since losing my job and 'the incident' that led to such an occurance I've spent a long time reliving my childhood dreams. Friends told me to make the most of my freedom and to pursue my ambitions. Well you can blame them for the formentioned elephant carniage.

Holding a zoo hostage should be one of the most enjoyable things a person can do. Imagine all the possibilities; you can play with the animals, swim with the fishes and finally put an end to all those 'who would win in a fight' scenarios involviong meerkats and hippos or sharks and lions (admittedly I didn't think that last one through enough).

Well in reality it didn't quite live up to the image of my childhood fantasy. For a start the zoo was so full of people! I tried to warn them that the zoo was being held hostage by myself and that they should probably leave, but few listened and even fewer did anything except hit me. Things only got worse when I headed for the central offices and requested, politely, that the staff all leave as I was taking the zoo hostage. Now I don't know whether I am simply naive or misinformed but I had no idea they were allowed to carry guns, admittedly stun guns, but still those babies can hurt. It was during my escape that I fell into the elephant enclosure via a tool shed and well, I can barely bring myself to repeat again the misfortunes of that afternoon, but suffice to say that the words 'lifetime ban' have once again been placed against my name and, for once, I believe they are entirely justified.

So go chase your dreams if you want dear readers, but don't blame me if you find yourself once again in intensive care having ended up on the wrong end of a stamping from two very angry elephant parents.

- Mr Winston

Inspirational Tales

2006-07-03T13:57:00.000+01:00

One of the key ingredients to personal happiness comes from the admiration of others, and the ambition this spawns in ourselves to improve. Like when I saw Mr Winston eat an entire loaf of bread during the Eastenders omnibus and I repeated the feat later the same evening. Of course they were showing the Evil Dead that night on BBC 2 and, strangely, I swear when we were cleaning up the mess we found five end pieces.

Anyway my point is that by reading about heroic acts, and how famous people we pretend to have heard of have overcome problems such as alcohol, divorce and murder it makes us smile knowingly and feel empowered to change our lives. As a self-help guru I feel it is my duty this very day to give you such a tale that will shake you to your core, stir up tears in your rarely-used and dusty tear ducts and just darn pack your heart so full of resolve that it will beat in your chest like a jackhammer. The story comes from my own soon-to-be released autobiography ‘Roll in my happiness and smell of it all day’ which is due for publication at the end of the year.

If this doesn’t make you happy and proud to continue living your life to the full every moment you draw breath then I really don’t know what will. Maybe you could try reading it again…?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Beast and Me

Its raspy breath could be heard from across the street. The jostling of passers by disguised it but I felt it in my very bones. Its eyes were on me, its spine tense and rigid. I walked normally, casually even, given the task at hand. My palms started to sweat but I kept my focus and clenched my fists harder.

Suddenly I saw it. From across the road its gleaming markings stood out a mile. I froze and took in the situation. People continued to cross in front of me, passing by unaware of the danger. Inside I wanted to scream and warn them, but I knew they would never escape in time. Composing myself I continued walking, but then changed direction stealthily. I kept my eyes focused ahead and prayed inside that it had not seen my ploy, a quick glance back relieved my worry. It was still frozen there, eyes forward, alert.

I was now behind it and, as there was a lull in the commuters that surrounded us, I leapt onto it. Struggling against my weight it slipped and started to fall, I knew how dangerous this could be and steadied its weight against mine, pinning it against the metal railing where it was fixed. Making sure it was at arms length I proceeded to wildly seek the chain that was looped around its neck. I grabbed it, fighting with all my might against its metallic jaws. Quickly I entered the code then yanked apart the chain.

It was free.

Finally calmed from the confines of its captivity the beast stood there, proud and alone. Its look seemed to offer understanding and thanks. Its body relaxed and I knew it was tamed. My clothes were torn, my hair wild and I was bleeding from several body wounds, but I had emerged victorious. Those who were walking past had stopped by now and were staring at the strange site of it and myself; I paid the crowd no attention, this was my battle and I did not want their thanks or their attention.

Turning back I calmly and heroically mounted the now tame beast, my hands grasping the handlebars, my feel slipping neatly into the peddles, and as they began to turn rhythmically I rode away into the sunset and away from that accursed high street forever.

- Toby

The mystery of the bedsheets

2006-06-28T10:20:00.000+01:00

The only thing worse than waking up in a pool of blood is not waking up in a pool of blood after falling asleep in a bed full of the stuff.

Where did it go? Has somebody mysteriously cleaned it up? Or did I do it without knowing, in which case where are my sheets?

I hate mysteries so am likely to be in a foul mood today unless someone can help me get to the bottom of this. Normally, of course, I would call the police, but lately they seem to be more concerned with 'locating the body' and 'informing the relatives' than sorting out my bedsheet problems which I find very rude indeed.

- Mr Winston

The 8 Coolest things I did this week

2006-06-23T14:43:00.000+01:00

1 – I finally managed to play the entire McFly album whilst circled the neighbourhood in my sporty Renault Clio with the windows down. In total I went around the block 21 times sustaining only critical injuries. My previous best attempt was last Thursday when I got up to track nine before somebody threw a live Kestrel in through the back window and it managed to claw at my face so much that I crashed into Mrs Vickerson’s swimming pool where the bird, sadly, drowned.

2 – I learned the Monday edition of Westwood’s Radio One show off by heart.

3 – I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes by myself down by one of the local underpasses just to prove that I don’t only do it when other people are around. I was sick for three days and can’t feel my tongue but it was worth it.

4 – I successfully made the lovely and beautiful Carly cry by insulting her family and throwing tin cans at her dogs. A few more weeks of this and she’s guaranteed to know how much I adore her.

5 – I watched every single world cup game this week, even those that were on at the same time then recited Alan Hansen’s opinions about England’s defending weaknesses to the kids that hang out down the ally in town. At first I though they were accepting me, but then I realised I was shaking hands with a knife.

6 – I used up my entire month’s worth of text messages in one day of conversation with Shenka that ended in an argument about which Big Brother housemate we would rather sleep with. He said Aisleen but unfortunately the only name I could remember from the show was Pete, he hasn’t spoken to me since.

7 – I slept a total of 85 hours this week, which is more hours than I was awake.

8 – I went playing down the park and successfully made it across the monkey bars and the rope bridge without falling, at the fifth attempt. Things went downhill after that though as I managed to get my arm jammed in the merry-go-round for over three hours before a kindly gentleman released me, called an ambulance, and stole my wallet.

My cool thing to do next week is find the kid that fastened my sleeve to the middle bar of the roundabout and blow spitballs at him until he either cries or gets his older brother to punch me in the face.

- Toledo

Uncle Pete

2006-06-21T14:53:00.000+01:00

At first I found that Uncle Pete only spoke to me at times of the day that, on a digital clock, added up to prime numbers. Now I don’t know why that was, and anyone who has had a conversation with Pete knows that you would never dare ask for fear of losing an important (sometimes vital) body part.

At first it would just be whispers, he would come to me and ask how my day was, remind me that the gas bill needed paying, ask me how many times I’ve felt like killing the remaining shards of my immediate family this hour; but after a while things took a turn for the worse. Now I’m not sure if this was before or after the robbery, but I remember being hauled up in that dank room with those bottles of whisky for two weeks straight, and he appeared to me on every single day. Sometimes we would share a drink, squinting up at the shafts of light that would sometimes creep in through the cracks in the floorboards, at others he would sit quietly in the corner and tell me stories of such pain and anguish that it near on broke my heart and we would weep together until the tears stopped and sleep took us.

Uncle Pete would never let me speak of him though. When the police shouted through the hatch Pete held the bottle to my throat and nodded solemnly as I replied that it was just me; it was at those times that I became afraid. When I finally decided to leave peacefully Pete was the one who rigged the light switch and emptied the barrels.

For the next three weeks we wouldn’t speak. The screams haunted me in my dreams and when I would wake Pete would be sitting there, silent but watchful. I became afraid to go to bed, I tried to escape but he lured me back with his whispers of the ‘good times’. He knew my secrets and I couldn’t escape his presence. Eventually I submitted to his will, and at that point he vanished.

I have not seen Uncle Pete since that day, but the scars from his frequent bottle attacks and severe liver damage from that fortnight in the cellar are daily reminders of his existence. If he should ever appear to you dear reader then my thoughts and prayers are with you and those closest to you.

- Mr Winston

No looking back

2006-06-19T11:12:00.000+01:00

Ask any of the so-called lifestyle gurus that hang about posh restaurants and quaint coffee houses run by cheery white haired ladies who frequently provide them with biscuits ‘on the house’, and they will tell you that having a girlfriend (or boyfriend) is one of the greatest ways of increasing your happiness. Why else, they argue, would thousands of people go out night after night looking for someone? Why else, they purr softly over their mocha latte espresso coffee drink, would millions of people get married and have families, if such things did not bring happiness? Then said Guru’s would sit back in their comfy arm chairs and fold their arms in the universally recognised symbol of smug satisfaction, safe in the knowledge that they are right,

They are, of course, completely wrong.

Having a partner does not, by itself, make us happy. I mean think about it, if I am unhappy and I start going out with somebody then surely all that will happen is that I will end up dragging her down into my own despair before finally crushing what little spirit of hope and opportunity she had left inside her fragile body, before casting her aside and thus providing the world with one more unhappy person.

Times that by tens of thousands and you see the problem this county is facing. Until we are happy with ourselves, and by that I mean perfectly, unattainably happy we should never be allowed to get together with someone, and even then we should get together with someone just as happy as ourselves to avoid slippage.

Of course the problem I face is that whilst I have achieved complete happiness myself, I am fairly certain no woman has so far equalled my accomplishment. Such a fact has led me to wallow in singleness for 27 years now, a fact that has a high chance of ruining my supposedly perfectly happy existence. No matter how many happy attractive young women ask me out I am doomed to turn them down one by one, until a perfectly happy one comes along. You may wonder how I will know such an individual should she appear, to that I would simply laugh and point out that it is in asking such a question that it becomes clear how far behind you really are, but in a nice sympathetic way.

-

I could see that my answer was not quite what the young woman who started talking to me in the dry cleaners was looking for when she asked if I was seeing somebody. In fact it probably didn’t help that I finished the above speech by standing atop of the tumble dryers, removing my shirt and shouting the words as loudly as I could.

I chased her for near on ten minutes before the bus hit me. I suppose I should be grateful that she didn’t look back and see me lying on the road, my legs bent at unnatural angles, but then again at times of such great loneliness sometimes all even the happiest of people need is a quick look back from a beautiful woman that isn’t filled with disgust or hate.

- Toby

Conversations

2006-06-15T11:33:00.000+01:00

Toby: ‘What the hell’s going on?’

Mr. W: What?

Toledo: Yeah quiet bro, you’re interrupting the world cup, the coolest cup in the world!’

Mr. W: ‘Go away, I’m angry… and also drinking gin…’

Toby: ‘You two have been posting on my site!’

Mr. W: ‘What? That’s not your site, it’s named after our house, it 's for all of us to abuse...’

Toby: ‘I did that just cause I felt bad paying for it out of the house kitty’

Toledo: ‘What? I thought those sites were free?’

Toby: ‘Yeah right, us lifestyle guru's know that nothing in this life is free….. so uh who’s winning the football?’

Mr. W: ‘He doesn’t care’

Toledo: ‘Sure I do, I may not know the names but I’m a huge fan’

Mr. W: ‘OK then, who are you supporting?’

Toledo: ‘You know, the underdogs. I’m supporting that small county that only has one player, dressed in black. He’s been chasing the ball all game but just can’t seem to get it, poor guy’

Toby: ‘Look just stop posting on my blog OK, I need it to spread the word about my book, and you guys are ruining that…’

Mr. W: ‘What book? You mean those three scraps of scribbled paper open your desk? Anyway I’m unemployed, what else do you expect me to do expect pour my bitter soul out onto the internet?’

Toby: ‘How about you get a job?’

Mr. W: ‘You cheeky little (CENSORED) If I wasn’t so drunk I’d… I’d…. ah screw it….’

There is a bang, a shattering of glass and a loud thump. After a few seconds of silence we hear snoring in the background.

Toby: ‘Well that’s fantastic, I’m not moving him into bed tonight, it’s your turn’

Toledo: ‘Hey, no way man it’s thurs…. damn it’

Tape ends.

Hooking up with girls at clubs and bars

2006-06-14T13:26:00.000+01:00

One of the easiest things to do if you are cool is to go to a bar or a club and hook up with a beautiful girl. Girls’ like to hook up with cool guys; in fact I’d wager that it’s practically impossible not to do this, if you happen to be a cool guy such as myself. But you see, this is why I truly am the coolest guy there is. Toledo does not have to hook up with beautiful women to prove this well known fact, in fact Toledo deliberately doesn't do such things so as to show up other so-called 'cool' guys for the phoney’s that they are.

You see night after night Toledo has been going to bars and clubs and not hooking up with women, which as I said is very hard to do. Toledo practically has to remove the women from him once he is inside, but I simply say “I’m sorry ladies, I know I am very cool and alluring and that you cannot help but throw yourselves at me, but you see I am so cool that I cannot hook up with you, much as I would like to. This is the curse of being so supremely cool.” After this I will go sit in the corner of the bar and sip away at my pint staring longingly across the room. Such a display only gathers me more female attention as women love nothing more than a noble broody man who denies himself pleasure for the greater good.

The only downside to my supreme coolness is that after months and months of not hooking up with women in bars and clubs people have started to doubt that Toledo can do such a thing. To those who say that I usually just laugh, or, depending on how much lonely beer I have had, smash the nearest bottle and lunge for their throat screaming with rage.

- Toledo

Sleep Murder

2006-06-13T10:22:00.000+01:00

EDIT: I knew it!!

________________________________________________

Is sleep murder possible? This topic ironically has kept me awake these past few nights, and sleepless nights are not good for an already cranky and angry man such as myself. Sometimes I’m so full of rage that all I can do as I lie their waiting for the sweet release of sleep is to imagine killing various celebrities and former co-workers with large heavy and quite often blunt objects. It’s really quite worrying, I mean the thoughts themselves are relieving, I often find myself grinning as I start laying into another Big Brother contestant, but what if it was possible to hate so much that you could commit sleep murder?

By this of course I mean the murder of somebody in your sleep. Seeing as people have been known to drive a car, cook a meal or watch TV in their sleep, I’m willing to bet that it’s just my luck that the answer is yes.

Now technically if such an event did happen, I couldn’t be held responsible for my dreamt actions could I? How would I prove that I was asleep at the time of the murder? Now since being unemployed I have watched many, many episodes of CSI (the original and New York not that awful Miami one that makes me want to randomly hammer the buttons on the remote to get as far away from it’s smug pale imitation glow as possible) and I’m fairly certain there are no scientific tests for such an occurrence, which would mean I would have very little defence if such a case went to trial.

My only answer so far has been to strap myself into bed and make sure all the knives in the house are securely locked away, I may be bitter twisted and wish Paul O’Grady dead on a daily basis, but truth be told I’d hate for it to really happen one night when I was asleep….

No, if I was going to do it I’d want to be wide awake.

- Mr Winston

The great yoghurt scam of 2006

2006-06-12T13:12:00.000+01:00

Supermarkets can often hold the keys to moments of happiness, something not many people realise. In fact too often they become synonymous with boring after-work tedium and Jamie Oliver adverts. As a self confessed Lifestyle Guru I have taken it upon myself to help you, the general public in your daily pursuit of happiness, by alerting you to the subtle attacks placed upon your happiness by society every single day.

Many things within a supermarket can bring happiness, such as a variety of colourful fruits, freshly baked bread, the latest series of the O.C on DVD or even a special offer that saves you money.

But what if this was a scam?

Whilst perusing the shelves of my local supermarket just yesterday I came across a great bargain, 3 yoghurts for £1.20. My face lit up – this had caused me happiness. As a guru of such a subject I recognised this sign and made a mental note of the time.

However, being the expert that I am I inspected the deal closely, and found to my horror that the yoghurt were only 38p each. Which, thanks to my quick maths skills (and the calculator function of my new mobile phone), I discovered worked out as 6p cheaper than the supposed deal. Furious I went to find the manager.

Now you may wonder why such a small matter should concern me, or ever you, but dear readers this is why I am such a specialist. As I mention in my soon-to-be bestselling book ‘How to stuff your happiness starved face with joy cakes’, whilst other ‘lifestyle gurus’ focus on the larger complex web of life and the pursuit of inner peace, I know that it is really these little incidents that make the difference. How can we be happy whilst corporations constantly trick and deceive us? Nobody likes feeling like a fool and that’s why I am writing this, to spread awareness, and therefore happiness, to the world. Contrary to popular belief ignorance is not bliss, it is the cold unfurnished basement that sits below the luxury apartment of knowledge.

So after speaking to the manager I was told that there were no plans to change the offer and that I was so smart I should just buy 3 yoghurts individually. I laughed in his face of course and informed him that his deceit will not bring him happiness in this life or the next.

Sometimes, in order to prove a point one must go to extreme lengths, I normally do not condone vandalism, but when the public’s happiness is at stake it is something I can live with. After I had picked myself up from the parking lot where the security guards had unceremoniously dumped me I came up with my plan. Initially I was to write a message in the car park using a tin of the supermarkets own brand raspberry jam, but there was not enough in the jar for the phrase ‘don’t buy the yoghurts, the deal is a happiness stealer’ and after my first two words were promptly parked over by a very inconsiderate Ford Mondeo I reconsidered.

Grabbing a trolley I proceeded to smash apart the kids postman pat van that sits outside the entrance to the shop. Repeatedly ramming it I soon left it and the trolley on the floor, a tangled mesh of twisted metal and flashing lights. I stood back proud that I had made my stand, and that, although nor directly relating to the yoghurts, maybe my message would get through to people.

Unfortunately it was only at this point that I noticed the child who had been inside the small red van at the time of my attack lying amongst the rubble, his body contorted unnaturally. As I look back now I think it was probably both the ambulances and the rather heavy handed arrest of myself by the police that will remain in people’s minds of that day, and not the message of happiness I had intended to spread.

- Toby