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Author Archives: Mark

Factotum

27 Friday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 28 Comments

Tags

Factotum, Matt Dillon

Factotum.jpg

 

 

Factotum

By Sandshoe.

I read a lot of short stories from all over in an intense episode of study of the form and… adored … a hard back series of volumes, ‘the best of the year’ American short stories. Aside I enjoyed others. I discovered a voice in them that communicated to me a depth of humour and drama, but an urban rhythm and culture I somehow knew. Who knows how. Stories told to me as a child in the 50s of the American ‘occupation’ of northern Australia during the final days of WWII, American movies, popular culture, a professor at University, American friends.

I’ve only just this evening watched the movie ‘Factotum’ based on the novel written by Charles Bukowski.Factotum 2005 poster.png

I was spell bound. I enjoyed the production design and as for the lead role played by Matt Dillon it is a voice captured. As if I was reading him off the page.  Its the personification of an American 20th century writer living on the skids of his dream, its rhythm hypnotic. I get the story. He skid rows from one place of urban employment to the next in shitty job after shitty job, chain smoking but it’s about so much more. About humanity, love, sex, hate, the movie filled me with hope for my own humanity, that it continues to prosper and my personal success day to day, week to week in the smallest and more significant ways, writing ‘stuff’ as I do from time to time, growing a garden, seeking a living by it if only by provision of a meal and a communal lifestyle attracting like-minded people, having worked enough shitty jobs, lived enough shit experience.

Whatever. Its inspiring to watch an actor (Dillon) transform a story of happenstance and a role into a work of creative genius. See the best.

It really got me out of a tinge of the doldrums caused by having picked up a glossy brand spanking new its skin paperback collection of an Australian sports commentator’s yarns off a neighbour’s kitchen table only a few days ago … such purest chance I saw it … and read a snippet why he had doubts, but included in his

Humans are redicilious

Humans are rediculous

volume the Frog Joke he described as “a radio joke”.  The bit that first threw me was his native honesty he did not say he wrote it.  I recognised in the same moment implication left so wide open that he did, any undiscerning reader may think he said he did.

I know he did not write it given I wrote it and aside I have radio experience

including as a copy writer, to demonstrate ‘an ear worm’, as a simple exercise in a period when it was in fact a job of mine among many I took on to write and teach, facilitate a group of fledgling writers.

Our sportscaster in his introduction of it makes a comment that I’ve made independently, many times, that he could never understand its success.

How might he imagine I feel, how unimaginable the incredibly and entirely ridiculous Frog Joke was told mostly unchanged the world over and at one time in so many different forms, by children and adults alike, play acted, brilliantly adapted, used and sold over and over in one anthology after the next and the next.

I was working in one shitty job or another, gripping from toehold to toehold onto the surface of the earth, oblivious to it. There was even a brilliant animation

Dang!

Dang! Another shit job

decrying how silly it was. I felt it as a great pity the video was withdrawn from circulation no questions asked and its creators it seemed ran away for perhaps fear of a reprisal when I contacted them.

The twist towards the end of ‘Factotum’ is his mail is intercepted, an acceptance of a short story letter opened and read, set aside. We don’t have it confirmed by the movie, but it seemed likely a long time might elapse before he would stumble on realising he made it as the writer nobody believed he was or could be.

Revealing that doesn’t spoil the movie and the declarative speech that is the punchline. Better see it if you haven’t.

Best is I was across it, moved, inspired by ‘Factotum’. I understand his chaotic life.

A chaotic life

A chaotic life

 

Episode 84.999 Recurring – Foodge feels the Heat

25 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

Fern, Foodge, granny, humour, Sister Yvonne

Foodge limbers up...

Foodge limbers up…

Story by Big M.

 

It was mid-morning and Foodge was already overheated and confused. He had lost the deposit on his legal ‘Chambers’, and had to pay Fern severance pay plus annual leave. This, and a hefty bar tab, left him skint. His finances were in a mess, but, he was intending to avail himself of a universal panacea. “Mr Merv, couldn’t bother you for some succour in my time of need?”

“Succulents, yes ideal for these long hot summers.” Merv slid a canoe across the bar, and then deftly poured one for himself. “Bloody hot summers, Mr Foodge!”

“Where does it all come from?” Foodge wiped away a foam moustache with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Kegs, mainly, although we stock bottles.” Merv nodded towards the glass fronted

Merv in the middle

Merv in the middle

refrigerator, with its flickering, yellow fluorescent tubes.

“No, the heat!” Foodge was already regretting, not wearing his new white Bermuda shorts. “It’s insufferable.” As he waved his Fedora in front of his face.

“That’s because it’s fuckin’ ‘ot outside, Mr Foodge”. Merv nodded sagely as he poured another couple of Best.

“Isn’t there some sort of cooling mechanism?” Foodge could feel the ale finding its way to his liver.

“Well, there is the aircon.” Merv gave the glass door of the fridge a wipe with a

Unkle Pervy

Unkle Pervy

dirty rag, squinting at the brown bottles inside. “Fiji Gold, sounds like a cracker!” Merv had a habit of buying ‘South Seas’ brands. “I could turn the aircon on if you like?”

“Anything!”

Merv flicked the switch marked ‘Honeywell’. There was a rumble from the rear wall of the pub. Then a bang. Something seemed to be whirring away behind the bar. Puffs of dust fluttered down from the discoloured plastic vents that dotted the ceiling. Then…nothing. Merv gave the thermostat a whack. Another bang from the back of the pub, then…cool, clean air. “That OK son?”

“Ah, now I can think!” Foodge motioned towards his empty glass. “Whatever happened to those nice, young nurses?”

“All on overtime, they’ll be ‘ere soon.” Merv flicked some dust from his pink singlet.

“Some of them are quite attractive.” It was Foodge’s turn to knowingly tap the side of his nose.

“Yep, and the others are blokes!” Merv roared with laughter. “The others are blokes!”

“Who are blokes?” Asked Yvonne. “While you’re thinking I’ll have three reds, three

Yvonne

Yvonne

pints of pale ale, all with ouzo chasers.”

“Male nurses. They’re all blokes.” Sniggered Merv.

“Mr Merv, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you take drugs?” Yvonne reached over for a tray.

“Well, I’m on a hefty dose of paracetamol for me knees.” Merv was considering the drinks being on the house, after all, the tequila was from Fiji. “Why do you ask?”

Yvonne gathered the glasses together on the tray. “You have the demeanour of someone who’s touched in the head.” As she hurried off towards the Ladies Lounge.

“Thanks for the compliment, Sister Yvonne!” Merv knew she wasn’t a Sister in the biblical, or even, nunnery sense, but called them all ‘sister’ to razz them up.

Granny

Granny

There was a screech from the back of the pub. “ Merv, Merv, MERV, did you turn that fucking aircon on?” Granny appeared at the foot of the Obama Memorial Staircase. “You know we can’t afford to run aircon!”

“I popped it on for Foodge, ‘e was a bit ‘ot!” Merv was trembling, as he hadn’t seen Granny this angry since she found the brown mullet in the spa.

“Foodge, Foodge, is he alright?” Granny crossed the distance from the foot of the staircase to Foodge’s side like a wraith. “My Darling, are you feeling the heat?” She walked our poor, dear boy to an aging, cracked Chesterfield, of indeterminate shade. “Merv, more fluids!!”

“’e’s ‘ad three pints of Best!” Merv protested, as he poured another.

“He doesn’t need Best, or Bitter, he needs a proper Strong Ale, Granny’s Special

Fuck nose

Fuck nose

Ale!”

Merv set the pint aside for ‘Ron’, then accessed the secret tap behind the bar, pouring a litre of Granny’s Spesh, carrying it to the sweaty couple with shaking hands.

“Just sip it, my love, it’s the Elixir of Life!”

Foodge sipped from a huge glass he’d never seen before, and instantly felt better, in fact, he wasn’t that bad to start with, given that the aircon had cooled him down pretty quickly. He looked up at the concerned faces of post night shift nurses. “No mouth to mouth needed here, girls!”

“If there’s any mouth to mouth needed, it’ll be me givin’ it!” As Granny clamped her lips around Foodge’s. “Merv, give me a hand to get him into the lift.”

“We have a lift?” Merv was anything but observant.

A gentleman

A gentleman

“Yes, he’s coming up to my room for some special therapy!” Granny winked.

Neither were seen for the rest of the day.

Those long, hot summer days.

I fink I just went to the toilet...

I fink I just went to the toilet…

Merv losses his Voice

22 Sunday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Foodge, Gordon O'Donnell (GOD), Merv, Nurse Barbara

ra

Foodge at Law School

Foodge at Law School

Merv Losses His Voice.

Story by Mark.

Ackually, there is an air of calm in the Pigs Arms tonight, no pleece raids, well not for and hour or so. Everything is peaceful and quiet.

Foodge had the girls bailed up in the corner discussing a point of law. The girls however were more interested in the racing guide. Till Nurse Barbara asked “How’s ya

Nurse Barb

Nurse Barbara

barista business going?” which started Foodge on another tirade about the price of coffee till Merv emerged.

“ “ said Merv. Well at least his jaw and lips moved but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry old boy but you’ll have to speak up, it was the war you know” and given the closest Foodge got to war was driving past the army base one day, just BS.

“ “ says Merv. Again nothing.

[ “ “

Hi Merv Hung here. You don’t say anything in this episode.

Merv was about to say then thinks, what the eff are you up to Hung?

Hung

Hung

The patrons can write the answers, I’ll rewrite the story with what works then re-publish the story thinks Hung

Merv: You are weird Hung?

Hung: Yes I know]

The boys are out the back, sipping a few specials.

“No fecking cricket. What’s the world coming to?” says Gib.

“Gordon says there’s a One Day Final on the planet Axiom but due to time differences the game takes 10 Earth days” informs Angler.

“If Gordon says it then it must be true.” recites Gib from his magical tablet as if by special farcical powers.

“…………….. “ says Merv again.

“Nah, if Gordon says then it must be true” states Hung.

“If Gordon says it then it must be true” chant the crew.

Pass the Soma or Somac, not sure.

“………………. “ cries Merv.

Don't worry about climate change. Worry about what life you are leaving for this guy.

Don’t worry about climate change. Worry about what life you are leaving for this guy.

Girls Night Out

05 Thursday Jan 2017

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 28 Comments

Tags

Hon Shades, Merv, Nurse Barbara, Sister Yvonne

Bilbo's little brothers

Bilbo’s little brothers

 

 

The Girls Night Out.

Story by Mark.

The Pigs Arms has an air of excitement. One that more than matches Foodge’s stale cigars of course but one of excitement. So apparently, according to Glenda,cropped-cooktown-hotel-9.jpg the Arms will hold a all male dance routine, if you know what I mean. To be held in the Ladies Lounge for lady’s only, no less, hmm, the plot thickens like a choux with too much heat.

The girls wanna girls night out and of course Merv just couldn’t refuse, could you Merv?

So Nurse Barbara gets on the phone to an appropriate service organisation, i.e. male strippers.

“Hello, wheeze like to book your show” leads Barb, rather sensibly for this sort of

Nurse Barbara

Nurse Barbara

show. Well, I guess we do need sensible folk around from time to time just for a reality check. Anyhoo…

“This is Bilbo Buff speaking from the Amazingly Amazing Buff Brothers.” says the phone. Isn’t it good when the phone speaks for you. You just say, phone answer thyself and speak on my behalf, nicely of course, anyhoo, I digress.

“Bilbo?” remarks Barb. Hmm, I wonder where the author of this article got that name from.

“Yes” says the phone “along with my brothers Basil and Barry Buff , we are the…”

“Yes I get that bit” Barb says not wanting to be drawn into the hype. “How much?”

“Well lets start with…”

***

Merv rings the bell as he has done and as he always will. That means an announcement is coming, you know those special ones. “Hear ye hear ye, on February 31st and all male dance group will be performing in the Ladies Lounge, $50 Inner Cyberian dollars gets you everything

Ring now for tickets

Ring now for tickets

for the night. Any profits raised will go to charity namely the Keep Merv out of Poverty Fund.”

Hon and Sister Yvonne start selling the tickets and are quickly sold out. Helvi and Tutu all paid up so it will be a big night.

Yvonne says “Hey Hon, great eh, a bit of tight arse around, bewdy, and I mean as nice as the boys are, isn’t it good for an adrenaline rush?”

“Ackshally, hmm, let me think this through, ackshally, spunky young men taking all their clothes off so I get get an adrenaline rush, ackshally hmm, sounds sort of ackshally gawdy, you know, okay then, sounds fun, count me in.” replies Hon in true Arms tradition.

***

So the night arrives and the Buff Brothers front up to the Arms and into the front bar. “Can I speak to Merv please, tell him it’s Bilbo” he tells Granny.

Granny being a bit deaf calls “Merv, Dildo is here to see you” well, she might not be that deaf.

bumman“Granny, it’s Bilbo, you know like in that book about sumfink” replies Merv always the entrepreneur and man manager. He looks to Bilbo. And there are three of them, identical twins plus another one, spooky.

“These are my brothers Basil and Barry and yes we are identical”

“Yes, we’re identical” the brothers say.

Merv is brain mumbling having never set eyes on anyone like this before. “Um, er, yeah, um yeah, um, for sure, through there” he points.

***

The boys are hold up in the Sports Bars with their shotguns and talking cricket.

“Didn’t even look like he hit that” says Gib.

“Inside edge” says Angler.

“LB” says Hung. HUNG! How did you sneak in there?

Ennui and so it goes…

Throughout the night one of the boys would gently open the door to the Ladies Lounge to see how the night was progressing. Here are some of the highlights,

woah oh oh

yee ha ha

Ride em Cowboy

Hmm, yummy

Wot, that big

Oh my Gordon

She is well, Hung

I guess you can see where this is going. Enjoy.

*Authors Note: The author wishes to mention that no cat was harmed in the making of this episode…unfortunately.

Basil and Barry share a drink after the gig

Basil and Barry share a drink after the gig

 

Merv Quits

31 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, The Public Bar

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Gordon O’Donnell, Merv

Merv takes a breather...

Merv takes a breather

 

 

Merv Quits

Story by Mark

There was a buzz of excitement at the Arms tonight as apparently Merv is set to make a special announcement. So special that no one is to know, not even Glenda, hmm, now that’s special.

“Gather round you lot. I just want to let you know that I’m quitting!” roars Merv.

“Shit, who’s going to pull our beers!” exclaims Gib W “Why don’t you get Hedgie now he is out of Silver Water?”

“No but…” cries Merv.

“I know lets have a game of cricket to decide if Hedgie gets the job or someone else” pipes in Angler getting the nod of agreement from those assembled. When

Angler on holidays on the moon...

Angler on holidays as usual

you hear crickets in the Front Bar at the Pigs Arms, well lets just say you may have some work ahead of you.

The girls are acting disinterested in this earth shattering announcement and go back to the racing guide.

“Anyone got fags” asks Hon Shades. “That horse in the fifth, Run No More, sounds like the winner to me. Can I borrow your lighter Merv?”

“No, you lot, I’m quitting smoking”

“Sorry but that’s ennui Merv, anyway can I have your left over smokes, there’s a pet” states Nurse Barbara .

The girls...

The girls

Sister Yvonne winks to the crew and with that indelible smile says “Yeah wheeze thought that you might get some nice boys in here with tight pecs, know wot I mean”.

The walls start quivering, I mean rippling like corrugated iron sort of does when hit by a tornado, well sort of, just adds to the drama. So what the hell is happening.

Out of nowhere came a bright white orb in the centre of the room and of course it’s Gordon. If I was there I would be pooping the longjohns, let me tell ya.

“Gordon, you scared the you know what out of me” says Merv.

“Sorry. Took the old spaceship for a weekend run and ended up in the future. Brought this nice gizmo from McBunnings-Mart, good for party tricks. It’s a SOFTON”

The crew erupt. “A soft on, to many Trotters Gordy” says Gib.

“Now” replies Gordon “SOFTON* stands for, wait for it, it’s pretty exciting, Suborbital Optic Fibre Transfer-o-gram Over Network, classic hey. So now whenever

Gordon and his gizmo...

Gordon and his gizmo…

I travel in space I take my SOFTON. It’s quite comforting to know that on any occasion I can always call on my SOFTON.”

Gordon grins away at his new toy while the crew join in a round of laughter.

“Anyway I’m in space somewhere till I heard Merv is quitting” continues Gordon.

“I’m quitting smoking as it’s bad for my health. Think of the money I’ll save. Hey hang on a minute, Hung, do you know that you’ve never paid me?” Somewhere in Merv’s head a synapse has been electronically processed and the penny drops. Ting.

“Sorry Merv, lets talk about that later. The good folk want to know what happens in the end, for sure, 100%, hmm, hmm.” Hung says from the commentary box.

Merv feels confused. Everyone seems to think he was quitting as barman at the Arms. He started thinking, dangerous I know, I have always been here at the Arms

Unique Pigs Arms charm

Unique Pigs Arms charm

and I always will be, Exactly! interrupts Gordon in Merv’s thoughts.

“So yes my son. That is real. No shit.” Spooky music plays in the background and the crew become hushed. “Smoking? Merv? Really? Give it up and God bless.” Merv looks up and sees Gordon playing with his SOFTON as he disappears from the room. Please anyone watching at home, try not to image that scene.

Gee you know. Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction

*Had to get an acronym in there as it’s been awhile.

Merv at the end of the day

Merv at the end of the day

Episode 84 Sandy Goes All Out for Mary

29 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Foodge, Ginger Pumpkins, Merv, Sandy O'Way

I think the Bish has a message...

I think the Bish has a message…

 

 

Episode 84 Sandy Goes All Out for Mary

By ‘Shoe

“Spitting chips,” the Bish said. The door of the manse was flung wide open in a classic Big Bish grand entrance.

All Sandy could do to earn his keep in the instant was pray the Bish stand back away from a clutter of plaster of paris statuettes on the hallway table, freshly painted in especially the sparkly gold and pink of the official Pigs Arms you-all-barrack-for-uniform, each a quick throw, quick turnover statuette ready to refill the cabinet in the Sports Bar. Any left over could go into the glass display case at the the clan tartans Emporium, Gawdy Geordie, the Pigs Arms Group invested in as a back up in case the pub didn’t pay.

Scotland! Home of the Brave!

Traditional Scot celebration...

Traditional Scot celebration…

With the Bish coming in, light had poured through the open manse door in what seemed a blinding explosion of it.

Gordon aka Gordy, near, sang in Sandy’s ear, “She’ll be apples. How y’goin’.”. Sandy noticed always as if it was the first time every time the same depth of fine voice as Charlton Heston’s when Sandy saw Charlton in the matinee of his flick all those years ago and was inspired. Except Gordy’s accent was as Aussie as an, well, Aussie. The Irish came out in him when he was drunk and there was a telephone directory in him if not a book, for sure.

“Come through, Bish.” Sandy beckoned his boss. He extended an arm and a hand

Sandy is upset, well sort of...

Sandy is upset, well sort of…

forward to take the Bish’s wide brimmed hat, the other to wrest statuettes off his boss needs be. The Bish was known to be light fingered if he thought something belonged to Gordon and thus by definition to the Bish.

“You’re the best, Bish. Let’s slip through the back door and go to the pub.You won’t need the hat. No sun today. I’ll put these statuettes of Nurse Barbara back with the other Pigs Arms merchandise.”

Sandy did not want the Bish to see Mary Xmas and her partner, Ginger Pumpkins,

A facsimile of Ginger Pumkins

A facsimile of Ginger Pumpkins

were sprawled asleep in the living room in not much. He hurried the Bish down the corridor and across the back laneway to the pub carpark. The Bish seemed keen, a little bleary maybe. Gordon needed no invitation to tag along. The three of them arrived in the Sports Bar worse only for wear from the rain, shadowed by an accompanying trinity of Hells Angles in tow.

“Three’s our lucky number,” slurred the Bish who truth to tell started work early in the morning by hosting a Boxing Day Sales mass for the terribly poor. It is not hard to rope a homeless crowd into a cathedral with the incentive of a Maker’s Delight Breakfast with old doughnuts and stale

Yum, breakfast...

Yum, breakfast…

white bread after the mass served with a choice of orange or green cordial, weak tea, weak instant coffee or watery Milo, and then everybody got handed an envelope with a hundred dollars in it to spend at the sales. “Score,” the congregation mouthed each to their neighbor.

The Bish would not be drawn at the bar. He was allowed to fall asleep special concession and snore with his head on the bar and as if he didn’t often when he was in town. Sandy as Father O’Way readers will appreciate had time to go back to the manse and get Mary and Ginger up and dressed out of the St Generic Brand props box in some table cloths and singlets marked St Michael Quality Promise.

“Mary Xmas,” murmured Sandy in Mary’s ear. Gordon’s in Sandy’s ear all the way egging him on to an expanded consciousness. Sandy was pursuing a simple goal,

Gordon interviewing space recruits

Gordon interviewing space recruits

keen to return to the bar before the Bish woke himself up with a snore or Manne called on Merv to help him throw the Bish out of the bar.

Sergeant Legless (pronounced to rhyme with Steggles, please) was on sole charge duty at the station with a bicycle for transport so, that known, unlikely to come for the Bish no word of a lie and no disrespect intended but some of you could lose some avwadupwa.

“Mary Xmas,” Sandy repeated, “Mary Xmas,” when he thought Mary did not hear him and was sleep walking to where he led Mary and Ginger. Father Sandy was returning the two women to their lodgings at the Pigs Arms and gracious with it.

“Where are you?” he huffed and puffed and asked as he bundled the two of them up the stairs after a fashion.

“The Wedding Suite,” yawned Mary. “Thanks, Sandy, for letting me crash with Ginger at the manse, all the cheap wine we drank. We would never have made it

Mary's brother Nigel...

Mary’s brother Nigel…

back to the pub. I won some more scratchie money too, but I gave it to the Bish to give to the poor. I heard him knocking on the door last night and got up and let him in. He brought round three bottles of altar wine. More cheap wine like vinegar. We drank the lot between the three of us and finished with a cheap night cap of granny’s brew over at the pub. We came back here with the Bish and a cellar door bottle of a vintage drop of the first brew Granny put down.”

Sandy had to wait for Mary to find the key to the Suite. Where she did find it he didn’t know. He levered and pushed Mary and Ginger through the door of their accommodation and said his goodbyes.

“Seasons Greetings,” Sandy called after them in a tone of great tenderness, “Mary Xmas.”

Mary having a quite moment and yes I know.

Mary having a quite moment and yes I know.

Bumper Christmas Edition 2016 – Sandy for Parley Mint.

23 Friday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

Father O'Way, Foodge, granny, humour, Merv

Church of St Generic Brand

Church of St Generic Brand

 

Story by Mark.

 

Father O’Way was looking rather pens…, um, nerv…, anyway he was looking rather sumfink. He had just got off the phone with Bishop Bishop.

“Sandy, it’s the Bish. I want you to run for parley mint. The Church of St. Generic Brand needs gubbermint representation” barks the Bish.

“But Bish, eyes hate running, makes me all hot and sweaty” replies Sandy.

“No not that sort of running you ninny. You get people to vote for you and then

The Bish in disguise...

The Bish in disguise…

when you are elected to parley mint you vote for all sorts of stupid things that don’t make sense and hurt innocent people.”

“But Bish, can’t I just go back to sleep and forget about it?”

“No. So get to man. Everything depends on you. May the farce be with you.”

 

*****

Sandy wanders into the front bar of the Pigs Arms, sad and forlorn that his simple life is about to become more complex.

“Wanna pint Father?” asks Merv. “What’s up with you. I just read the paragraph above and it says that you are sad and forlorn.”

“Where’s Granny?”

“She’s in Orkland with the twins. Are you okay?”

Sandy strums a tune...

Sandy strums a tune…

“Well the Bish wants me to run for parley mint. Me, I just want a simple life none of this gubbermint rubbish.”

“Foodge, you’re starting to express yourself more now you’ve been at school for a while.”

“WTF are you doing Merv?” cries Sandy.

“Sorry mate just making a comment in Episode 80 of the Foodge series and speaking of Foodge why don’t you ask him, he’s a sage for sure”

Sandy wanders around the bar and spots Foodge in deep discussion with Emmjay and O’Hoo.

“So Granny’s getting back Christmas Eve?” states Foodge.

“Foodge!!, what…” demands Sandy.

“Sorry mate just making a comment in Episode 81 of the Foodge series, now what’s up Father?”

“The Bish wants me to run for parley mint and I have no idea as to what to do.”

“Well Sandy, neither do they.”

*****

Oh FFS, this is just stupid Sandy thinks to himself. What is this life really all about, oh, I feel a poem coming on.

“Nah, nah, no Sandy, no poems, ick, anyway this is Christmas, says so in the heading. It’s a time for merriment and um, er, um, sumfink.” says Hung from the commentary box.

I dunno thinks Sandy, life is so imaginative inside Inner Cyberia, well sort of…

Merry seasons greetings to you all from Bishop Bishop and Father O’Way from the Church of St Generic Brand to all the patrons at The Pigs Arms both past and present.

Hmm, Mary Christmas.

Hmm, Mary Christmas.

Bumper Christmas Edition 2016 – Episode 81 Merv and Foodge get morose.

22 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

Foodge, humour, Merv

Merv and Foodge stare each other down

Merv and Foodge stare each other down

Story by Big M.

Merv and Foodge sat opposite each other in their respective places at the Gentleman’s Bar. There was a pint each of Trotters IPA in front of them. Merv was dressed in the usual gold boxing shorts and pink Pigs’ Arms singlet, reeking of body odour, Brut 33 and sweat. His Number two buzz cut created the effect of him being an escaped mental patient, or a thug. Foodge was trying to be upbeat in his short sleeved bone coloured safari suit, sans under shirt, with two top buttons undone to allow some grey chest hairs to salaciously peek out from behind the fabric. He looked a treat with long white bowling socks and sandals. The new barber had managed to recreate a Murray Whelan effect, with his hair swept straight back. His sartorial effort was wasted, as they were both heavy with melancholy.

Foodge had generated one court case from the ‘law at the Pigs’ thingamy. Manne had been charged with indecent exposure for taking a Jimmy Riddle behind the Council Chambers. Foodge had argued that he was caught short for a snake’s hiss. The fact that Manne was pissing into the door handle of the Mayer’s car was simply a confounding factor. In the end, Judge FitzSimmons, who wasn’t averse to taking a short cut between hotels, dismissed the case, no cost. He would have defended Manne for gratis, anyway!

Granny’s disappearance to Orkland played heavily on their minds. Who could have

Oh Granny...

Oh Granny…

known that Granny had a daughter in Kiwiland? What’s more, the daughter was the CEO of a thriving funeral directors. She was once rated as the finest post mortem make up artist in NZ. So, how come none of us knew?

Manne had found the whole thing fascinating, wanting to escort Granny and the kids. He probably shouldn’t have announced that he’d pay anything to pork one of them big, fat Nue Zilland girls. Granny wasn’t paying for no tour of Orkland brothels!

“Merv.” Foodge ventured. “All this stuff about you ‘n’ Granny…is it true?”

“What stuff?” Merv had two fresh canoes ready.

“Well, you ‘n’ Granny having a sexual relationship.”

Merv laughed so loud that a stream of ale flew across the bar. “Me ‘n’ Granny! O’Hoo’s brother made all of that up for his creative writin’ course. Even got it published on line. Some WordPress thing, you know, Facebook for old farts!!!”

Foodge visibly relaxed and he managed a little smile. “So there’s hope for us?”

Foodge in a previous life...

Foodge in a previous life…

“Hope? Fuckin’ hope? Of course there’s hope. Granny fuckin’ loves you. And I can see why, who wouldn’t love a snappy dresser like you?” Merv pushed a scotch glass across the bar. “Here’s to Granny!” Our intrepid lads drank the foul, bitter liquid, and then slammed the glasses down onto the bar.

“Thanks Mr Merv. Who are those folk with the big table in the lounge?”

“They are the nursin’ girls.” Merv pitched another nip across the bar. “Yvonne, Nurse Barbara, Hon Shades, H, Gregor, Big M and Mark.” They’ve just finished night shift, so dropped in for wedges, bum nuts and a few sherbets.” Manne suddenly appeared at Merv’s elbow with a basket of clean glasses, expertly sliding them into the refrigerated glass cabinet. Manne was still out of sorts, having missed out on some overseas action. “No wonder Neville Cole sent you back!” Merv shook his head.

“Ah, Merv, I think you will find that three of those are drinking in the Ladies Lounge

Big M comes home from work...

Big M comes home from work…

under false pretences.” Foodge pushed his empty canoe across the bar, hopeful for a frothy refill.

“Christ, Foodge, don’t be so fuckin’ suburban!” Merv swayed a little as he poured fresh canoes with rum chasers.

Foodge had no idea what suburban meant, except most folk in Australia live in suburbs. “So Granny’s getting back Christmas Eve?”

“Yes, mate, and I might need you to pick ‘em up. I’ve got a surprise for the twins!” Merv wasn’t keen to share the details with Foodge, as he was essentially unreliable with surprises, or anything, for that matter.

Just then, one of the nursing group approached the bar. “Gidday Mr Merv, could I please get three pints of Granny IPA, and four glasses of Shiraz, we don’t like to overdo it at breakfast!”

“Mr Merv tells me that you are all nurses.” Foodge ventured.

“Well, the ladies are all still nursing, Greg has retrained as a theologian, having recently written an exegesis of the bible Mark is currently working for Gordon O’Donnell, and I’m actually a midwife.” Big M stated as he transferred the drinks to a tray. “Any more wedges, Mr Merv? I’ve been up to my armpits in amniotic fluid all night!”

Foodge went visibly pale, then shuddered.

Happy Saturnalia to all of the Piglets!

The names Gordon, Gordon O'Donnell...

The names Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell…

Bumper Christmas Edition 2016 – Episode 80 Foodge has an Episode.

21 Wednesday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Sandshoe

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Foodge, Merv

81c703eaeb7ba269cd093b689a29b672

Acknowledgement to Sweeney Todd …and the bloke ABOUT WHOSE dogs he said Barnaby ordered him to eat them

Foodge Has An Episode.

By Sandshoe

“What’d you reckon, Unc, other day?”

Foodge was wet through. His shirt was soaked .The old tweed sports jacket could shrink two sizes it looked like if he took it off.

“You got wet like this hiding behind Donald who’s laburnum? I hope you know those things’ll kill y’. A lawn sprinkler?”

If Foodge said something was true it was true. He was like that. Merv wasn’t honestly calling into question it was a lawn sprinkler. He had to ask. Duty and habit. Foodge never said whose anything anyway.

“Didn’t say.” Foodge stood up. He extended one leg and shook it, then the other. “Can’t.”

He likely was serving documents. Foodge kept the Zephyr going picking up the odd extra job here, there. He thought he was going to make a lot of money going into law. Hahahahahaha. If he was of a criminal mind he would be up to his ears in it. Every opportunity to turn to crime passed Foodge by, crime as common as a before dinner aperitif, an after dinner mint, a tiny Turkish coffee in a tiny demitasse, o so tiny and so ordinary common. That’s not very common but Foodge thought it was. No matter. Foodge did not see crime as a means of paying the electricity bill if he had to pay it.

Foodge came back at the end of any working day be that day or night with a trophy bag of achievement doing good.

He never thought I’m going to get into that line of work when he was offered a good line in anything. Not even associating as he did a lot with the Hell’s Angles in the carpark did he get interested. Buy this. Buy that. Well, once he bought an illustrated comic. That’s another story.

Don’t get me wrong about not getting crime. He was smart. Emmjay said it was just Foodge was good. Good Foodge, he sometimes said, no reason, aloud.

Merv slid along the bench seat a way away when Foodge sat down again.

The two of them were enjoying the sidewalk views of a person passing sometimes and waiting (waiting) to climb the stairs upstairs to the new men’s barber, yeah business was good in the real estate rental sideline going on, gone into competition with Glenda’s doing hair work and decorated fingernails too but bloke’s only. Subtle as a sublet space. See what Gordon did there when he invented language and if you don’t know how influential Gordon is you need to catch up. Click on this link here. https://pigsarms.com.au/tag/gordon-odonnell/

220px-laburnum_anagyroides2“The old barber died of laburnum y’ know that, Foodge, eh.”

Foodge was contemplating a squashed lolly wrapper that was in his hand.

“Merv, this lolly wrapper has something written on it. In Chinese characters. No, not there, there.” Foodge tapped the end of a fingernail on a corner of the wrapper as he handed it to Merv to read it.

“I don’t know a Chinese character from the next bloke and it’s inappropriate. We live so close you might as well say we’re all Chinamen it’s not funny,” Merv said meekly.

“Nurse Barbara, Hons Shades, Yvonne, H, none of them have ever been Chinamen. That’s ok. I met a Chinaman here come straight from China, well, there I met him,” Foodge raised a hand and extended a finger to point over the bricks of the pavement at the door into the front bar across from where they were, legs stretched out in front of them, on the bench seat. Sun was streaming and its heat from behind a cloud that sailed away from it, scudding. “I can read Chinese as well as Spanish and Herman, now.”

“You’re gonna dry out now the sun’s out. What does it say.”

Should put a link in to explain a bit about Glenda’s Pig’s Legs Beauty and Waxing Salon.

https://pigsarms.com.au/tag/beauty-salon/

Should get on with the story.

“Don’t know, truth. It’s a bit small to read. Something about capitalism making a lot of pollution in our country and our air is like shit. Have to get a magnifier out of a 24070290-crackerChristmas bonbon so I can read it. It’s a message someone’s smuggled out on a Jolly Lolly lolly wrapper’s wrapper. See there are two. Nice plain one inside worth keeping in case we need a piece of nice paper that size to wrap something in.”

“Foodge, you’re starting to express yourself more now you’ve been at school for a while.”

“University, Merv. It’s university, Merv. Merv, you’ve always been good to me, but you’ve been more distant since…”. Foodge’s voice sounded thick with emotion. “Granny.”

“Don’t talk about Granny, Foodge. We can do without her brewing here, too thank Christ. She got a placeat the Shakespeare.”

“UNCLE MERV! What have y’ DONE.” Foodge was suddenly quite loud a bit. Foodge usually spoke in a hushed whisper. Accustomed all the time from when he came to first stay and being quiet going out early to work and not forgetting when Emmjay hired him to paint the upstairs bedrooms, but the guests were sleeping in them at the time. He learned then to sing under his voice even.

“I don’t care.” Merv stretched his legs out even further, a stretch of contentment, “New woman. I think. Sunny days.”

“New Zealand. Granny’s taken the twins, too? Is that where they are? Auckland? NEW ZEALAND?”

“Over the ditch.”

“Merv, bring ‘em back.” Foodge was mock sobbing and Merv jumped onto his feet off the bench seat they were sitting on and hurried off and came back with a Milo for him in a jiffy.

“Yoohoo,” they heard as Merv sat down when he handed Foodge the Milo. Foodge looked happy.

The new barber was standing there on the pavement in front of them with tufts of what appeared to be hair sticking out from the pocket of a workman style carpenter’s apron. They knew it was the barber because of the sign. They saw the logo of clearly a barber on the sandwich board he was unfolding to stand on the pavement.

“McSpoorrran,” he said.

“How d’y’do,” Merv and Foodge chorused like the opening line of Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Their beards and throats depended on McSpoorrran and he had come down all those stairs to get them, least they decided so.

“I’ll smarten you two up,” said McSpoorrran, turning on his heel and the men on the bench seat stood as meek as lambs and followed where he led as if he no other than Mary the nursery rhyme shepherdess.

blind-barber

Acknowledgements I pinched the logo of New York’s ‘Blind Barber’ and wrote on it myself. Disclaimer. I know nothing of the fine establishment in New York. I bet it’s fine.

Hon and Merv Meet in the Carpark

18 Sunday Dec 2016

Posted by Mark in Sandshoe, The Other Side of the Carpark

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

Christina Binning Wilson, Foodge, Hon Shades, Merv

Will the real Hon Shades step forward please...

Will the real Hon Shades step forward please…

 

Story by Sandshoe.

 

Hon Shades was head down sideways on the car park bitumen and some would say arse up. Something held her attention. Under her Chrysler Merv could see that and he wouldn’t say what I just did about Hon’s rear end. Merv certainly knew an arse up from a pair of well rounded buttocks projected skywards.

He knew they were Hons’.

Merv recognised the rubber ripple tread soles of her special golf shoes she had tucked together under her for support to hold her own rear chassis up and not too far under they couldn’t be seen. Knees splayed for extra traction on a creased portion of a blue camper’s ground sheet she was trying to ferret out something or get to it.

“What’s up, Hon?” Merv called. He made a bit of noise with his feet on the gravel to let her know it was him.

“Who’s that!”

It was more of an exhaled grunt and a gasp than words but Merv got the gist.

“Me,” he said, unnecessarily as it turned out. Hon had gotten herself up and out clear of the sweep of the car line her head was disappearing under. Her muscular thighs propelled her onto her feet in a twist and a leap of the singular muscle that was Hon.

The arm projecting in front of her shoulder was transformed in a classic block and the other raised. Her fist clenched.

“Christ, Merv, it’s only you.”

“You were goin’ to deck me one, Hon.”

“One’s conservative, Merv. I was gonna thrash whoever it was black and blue.”

Merv looked crestfallen.

“Didn’t mean to get your goat up, Hon. What are you doin’? Thought you were at the tournament. You said other day.”

Hon threw herself back down on the tarp and grunted as she resumed the same yellowposture and reaching into the unseen under the chassis of the big yellow Chrysler. She was in it to win it, Merv told Foodge later. Foodge sucked on a lozenge and didn’t comment straight off. He was hands on a big case in court.

Idle curiosity rarely got Foodge best of times.

“Merv, what was she doin’?”

“She dropped a packet of ball bearings and the packet split,” Merv said. He licked a dollop of froth off his top lip.  “Think I was a bit vigorous pouring this beer, mate but it’s nicely cold and wet. It’s doin’ the trick.”

Foodge stared at Merv. “Uncle Merv, I can’t ever remember you havin’ a beer.” He swirled his glass of Milo in a gesture like people do when they’re not sure what’s going down but want to mix it so the Milo isn’t frothed separate only on the top of the milk.

 

“Foodge, I’m a proud man to hear a big shot you are these days calling me Uncle RumpoleMerv”. Tears had sprung into his eyes yet Merv wasn’t one to squander on sentiment at any bar. Maybe because it was the front bar at the Pig’s Arms where the real story was played out all those years before Foodge wasn’t a baby at all as expected, but arrived a full grown adult off the train. Not even the Sports Bar was ever off-limits to him.

Merv’s Granny’s brother built a playpen-style gate even to fence the Sports Bar off ready for the expected littl’un but so Foodge could see through the rungs of course when Emmjay decided to adopt the new baby, Foodge that is.

Foodge looked tearful. Turned out he got some Milo up his nose and sneezed. “Ahh,” he said, snuffling like he was always a new born and the very tip of his nose moist with a speck of Milo on it, “Merv, why’d Hon Shades have a packet of ball bearings?”

“Dunno” Merv said, staring in front of him into thin air. “Hon’s got lots goin’ on up top. Never know what extra hours she’s puttin’ in, cash in hand, there’s always somethin’. Hon’s an ace mechanic.”

Milo

Milo

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