Thursday, 16 August 2018
Paul’s distant cousin Tony, has recently passed on and bequeathed Paul a small legacy. The amount of money involved could pay for a luxury family holiday, ‘In a five star all inclusive hotel’ suggests Gaynor, who’s already skipping through the brochures, OR, the cash could provide Paul with some much needed security in his twilight years. The local vicar’s keen to feel the sun against his bones and giddy at the thought of a holiday romance with a Swedish model whose a nymphomaniac millionaire. ‘Paul, there’s no pockets in a shroud’ the vicar reminds him ‘this could be our last chance to have a right laugh and pick up some rough talent in the bargain’. Eventually Paul agrees and let’s Gaynor make the arrangements for them to go away together. Paul’s sharing a room with the vicar who’s very particular, ‘If I pull, I’ll leave my dog collar on the door handle, so if you see that, give it 30 minutes or so, just in case I’m on the vinegar stokes.’ As Paul suspected, the vicar’s out most of the time trailing after Gaynor and Pixie Lott, trying to pick up ‘the spare’ but seemingly with little success. Paul’s found an older crowd of friendly Europeans, who meet for dinner in the old town, before retiring to the hotel for after dinner cocktails. At breakfast at the end of the first week, Gaynor says, ‘Where’s thingy?’ the vicar shrugs and they both go back to their pints and tabs. Pixie whose phone is constantly glued to her hand, sends Paul a quick message ‘U ok?’ Paul replies with three picture messages: Picture 1 is of Paul’s famous black and white piano tie, hung over a door handle. Gaynor snorts with laughter instantly recognising the ‘do not disturb’ symbol of the shaggers code, ‘dirty get’ she smiles. Picture 2 is of the millionaire apartment block on the edge of town which makes Pixie gasp ‘That’s a swanky address!’ Picture 3 is of Paul and an attractive blonde lady causing the vicar to jump up exclaiming ‘Bastard! he’s only pulled my Swedish nympho millionaire’ hasn’t he??? ‘Is it Agnetha from Abba?’ says Gaynor squinting at Pixie’s phone.
Wednesday, 15 August 2018
Each year, Paul tries to ignore Springtime. He doesn’t enjoy gardening, but when his home resembles a haunted house due to his neglect, he knows it’s time to grasp the thistle and get his overalls on. Today when he finally reaches the shed, through the overgrown grass and abandoned rubbish, he notices its security has been beefed up somewhat and there’s a new shiny padlock on the door, that’s twice the size of the old one and the windows have been blacked out?? ‘Ed Sheeran!!!’ thinks Paul. Ed asked a while ago, if he was ok to store a few items in there. At the time Paul thought he meant band equipment, amplifiers, speakers etc, now his mind is racing about what’s in there, given Ed’s new gangland persona. He knows Ed’s away ‘on business’ so when Gaynor and Pixie Lott finally surface from their pits, Paul enquires whether they have a key for the new lock and do they know what’s in there? Neither have a key or know the contents, though Gaynor says she’ll happily kick the door in, she’s got her new 40 hole DMs and they need christening she explains. The local vicar who’s extremely jealous of Ed and his contacts, jabbers like an excited child, ‘Ring the coppers, call the cops, they’ll sort it out for you and arrest the low life ginger scumbag at the same time.’ Suddenly there’s a quiet ‘ahem’ behind them and there stands Ed, back early from his trip. ‘So...’ he says, ‘low life ginger scumbag..eh?’ staring hard at the vicar. ‘It’s just a term of endearment dear boy’ smiles the vicar, attempting to mask his fear. Ed hands Paul a key for the shed and walks to the back door saying ‘C’mon’. Even Gaynor whose usually horizontal most of the day, unless there’s a fag or a pint involved, is intrigued enough to follow Ed down to the shed. First Ed apologises for changing the lock, but he says the things he wanted to store, are very special to him. ‘See’ the vicar nudges Gaynor quietly, ‘it’s probably that angel dust stuff, like on Kojak.’ The door is opened and inside are dozens of oil paintings, some portraits of Ed, landscapes and still life paintings. ‘They’re really shit’ laughs the vicar, ‘who’s painted these? Your half blind, half daft Auntie Mabel who’s got not hands?’ almost wetting his cassock at his own jokes. ‘They’re mine’ says Ed quietly and goes on to explain how painting is his true passion and he really wanted to be an artist rather than a musician, but things didn’t work out that way. ‘Is this nude, Gaynor?’ asks the vicar holding one of the pictures aloft, ‘hang on, no it’s Pixie’ he laughs. Pixie storms off with Gaynor in tow, muttering ‘Wanker! Said he’d burnt that...’
Tuesday, 14 August 2018
It’s one of those rare days when Paul’s feeling a little under the weather. He doesn’t take time off, things just slow down a little, Gaynor has to wait a bit longer for her pop tarts and strawberry flavoured hot chocolate and the local vicar doesn’t get his Racing Post today, it’s sold out by the time Paul reaches the newsagents. When the house goes quieter and they’ve all pushed off to the Dog & Gun, he’ll get out his mum’s medical encyclopaedia and check himself out, just like she did when he was a lad. ‘After all, the doctors far too busy to deal with a malinger like you, Paul Aloysius St John McGladdery!’ he can hear her almost singing as she’d descend the stairs. He sits down and leafs through his music scrapbook of all the shows that he’s played with Gaynor over the years. In some of the pictures he looks so young, clearly Gaynor’s discovered the fountain of youth at some point, she never looks any different, it’s just the fashions that date the pictures. ‘Where’s the time gone?’ he thinks. He struggles with the heavy encyclopaedia and flips through several pages, soon coming to the conclusion ‘It’s bloody chlamydia again!’ He’s really going to have a strong word with Old Mrs Dixon about her relations with Jack the coal man.
Thursday, 2 August 2018
Paul’s noticed the local vicar’s on a massive charm offensive. He’s being ever so polite and helpful, he even made everyone breakfast this morning, sure it was only tea and toast, but it was a nice gesture. It means only one thing to Paul, it’s audit time and he has to make the Parish books balance for the Bishop. Last year, the vicar was a few hundred pounds light, after he blew the Spring Fair raffle receipts on a ‘slippery nipple’ party. Paul managed to sub him then, though this year, he suspects the shortfall maybe considerably more. Within minutes of them working through the accounts together, it’s apparent that he’s squandered all the cash from baptisms, weddings, funerals and every other Church event, even the weekly collection! Paul pushes back his chair to conclude his involvement, ‘There’s thousands missing’ he says staring hopelessly towards the vicar, ‘I don’t know what to suggest.’ ‘Well, Gaynor owes me thousands’ the vicar grabs at straws, ‘maybe it’s time to call that debt in?’ his voice shaking with the realisation of his dilemma. Through the open door of the lounge, they see a female hand briefly rise from the sofa in a two fingered salute. Paul smiles, ‘I don’t think she can help you on this occasion.’ ‘Maybe I can assist?’ the young voice of Ed Sheeran enters the room. ‘I have several associates in the money lending game’ he explains, ‘their interest rates are marginally above those of the high street banks, though the good news is...’ he adds with a smile, ‘subject to a brief medical, they’ll accept your internal organs as collateral.’ ‘Well that’s that sorted’ the vicar laughs in relief, ‘where do I sign Ed?’
Wednesday, 1 August 2018
Gaynor’s found out that Paul and old Mrs Dixon at the fishmongers have been having it off ‘for years’. According to Julia, who has the fruit and veg shop next door, they’ve been at it like knives since 1066! Gaynor had called into Julia’s for the leftover lettuce leaves for her rabbits, when Julia mentioned with a wink, that Paul had paid a visit next door earlier on. Upon seeing Gaynor’s blank expression, Julia blurted out ‘Oh my God! I thought you knew! I thought everyone knew!’ Shit! Just wait until the local vicar hears about Paul’s granny fiddling, the old dog, he’ll never live this down. And respect to Old Mrs Dixon as well! All those times she’d complimented Paul in the fishmongers, whilst making Gaynor and everybody else think, she was extracting the Michael! Clever bitch! Aw, Gaynor doesn’t want to embarrass Paul, BUT she knows he’ll forgive her, eventually. After all this is gold!
Tuesday, 31 July 2018
Gaynor and Paul are driving to Scotland, to perform at one of the charming folk clubs they’ve discovered on their travels over the last thirty years. There are a couple of issues for them with such a long car journey. First, there’s the size of Gaynor’s bladder to consider. It now seems to have the capacity of an average sized walnut. Accordingly, there isn’t a lay-by, petrol station or greasy spoon located anywhere in the northern hemisphere, where Gaynor hasn’t yet marked her territory. Paul often jokes that Gaynor should compile a guide, for the discerning lady who’s ‘caught short’ in a backless ball gown, mid winter, on the road between Scarborough and Oldham. The other issue is Paul’s non - stop wittering. Poor soul clearly has little in the way of company, so when given the opportunity, talks the proverbial glass eye to sleep. Recently, Gaynor’s been subjected to the coming and goings of the Saddleworth/Tameside Bridge League, in such detail, that at times she’s considered opening the passenger door and launching herself onto the carriageway to end it all! Now, as soon as she’s in the car, the radio’s on for Paul to listen to, the passenger seat is reclined to its full extent and she’s away with the fairies, only regaining consciousness for regular toilet breaks and to tell Paul when he’s driving too fast, he’s in the wrong lane or he’s going the wrong way.
Monday, 30 July 2018
It’s late, Paul’s putting the cat out. Around the kitchen table there’s an interesting game of truth or dare going on, between the quartet of the local vicar, Ed Sheeran, Gaynor and Pixie Lott. Most of the obvious ‘truths’ of a naughty, sexual and private nature have already been called, though just before Paul retires to bed, he’s confronted by a Pixie ‘dare’, when she leads him to the sitting room, confesses her undying love for him, her desire to marry immediately and to bear him four strong sons. Paul lets her down easy, stressing he’s very flattered, but he’s not the marrying kind and amid the stifled laughter, goes to bed. As the evening progresses, Ed is the first to fold, when he refuses Gaynor’s dare of stealing Jaffa Cakes from the 24 hour garage. Pixie’s next, when she refuses the vicar’s dare of calling the fire brigade and offering to strip for the poor lonely boys on the night shift. Gaynor and the local vicar as the last ones standing, toss a coin to call the next truth or dare. Thirty minutes later, the local vicar’s stood in his dog collar and underpants in the local police station. He claims he’s been abducted by aliens having rubbed a mixture of eggs and cuppa soup all over himself, to simulate ‘alien gunk.’ Once the desk sergeant, who’s used to this sort of high jink, has taken a statement and warned him to ‘be careful out there’ he’s greeted by rapturous applause outside by the gang. ‘Right Missy!’ snares the vicar at Gaynor, wiping alien gunk off his face, ‘your turn....’ his smile suddenly turning very wicked.
Thursday, 26 July 2018
It’s Friday, over a breakfast of Sugar Puffs and Kestrel Super Strength lager, Gaynor recalls the previous night’s dream. ‘It was Ancient Rome’ she pauses to pull on her Park Drive, ‘Isn’t that the Italian restaurant in the high street?’ interrupts the local vicar, winking at Ed Sheeran. Gaynor smiles at the vicar’s comment before continuing, ‘I was Caesar..’ she says with an air of grandeur. Paul who’s washing up, rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, most of Gaynor’s dreams involve a position of power and her ultimate abuse of such power. ‘I was at the Colosseum’ she resumes ‘and I ordered the Christians to fight with the lions.’ ‘Oh here we go’ declares the vicar smiling, ‘I wondered how long it would be before I featured in her dreams again. Usually it’s other type of dream I’m in, ain’t it?’ He nudges Gaynor, whilst Pixie Lott puts her fingers down her throat, to emphasise just how creepy that statement was. ‘So did I kill all the lions and seduce Caesar?’ the vicar leers at Gaynor. ‘No’ replies Gaynor cooly, ‘a lion bit your chopper off, so I gave you a job as head eunuch’. ‘So the same sex life, I’ve got now’ laments the vicar.
Wednesday, 25 July 2018
There’s a buzz of excitement around the house today, Gaynor’s received confirmation that her first book is going to be published! The book ‘All men are my slaves’ is basically a collection of Gaynor’s drunken rants and diatribes, collected by Paul over many months and then edited from thousands of pages of expletive ridden threats and libellous slurs, to 234 pages of self help advice for the modern woman with a lust for life. Gaynor had no idea the book existed, until Paul presented his first draft for her to approve. After her initial shock that he’d been paying such avid attention (whilst looking half asleep) she’d was mildly flattered that her ideas once scrubbed up and presented in a coherent fashion, would warrant the attention of a publisher. Pixie Lott has agreed to give the book a celebrity endorsement and to accompany Gaynor to all television and radio interviews, given her history of drunken violence in studio green rooms.
Tuesday, 24 July 2018
Gaynor’s watching the rain, gallons of it, a non stop torrent, it’s like end of the world rain she thinks. Earlier, she watched Paul struggle to bring in the washing she’d left on the line yesterday. She’s never seen the lard arse move so fast, it was like watching the quickened pace of a silent film. With that in mind, she’d hummed a honky tonk medley suitable for the scene of a pissed wet, fat one armed loser, struggling with a washing line of woman’s underwear in a hurricane. Funnier still, old Mrs Dixon was soaked by a runaway bus on her way to the market. She’d stepped out of the shelter, not realising the approaching bus was the Express and whoosh, was drenched from head to toe by a tsunami of Manchester’s finest dirty rainwater. To add insult to injury, she then clocked Gaynor and the local vicar in fits of laughter, watching her from the bay window. Mrs Dixon, usually a respectable woman, widowed on several occasions, lost it momentarily and raised the two fingered salute in reply.