Drinks were consumed....
I live in fear of ever encountering the beast that laid this cable. Mind you, I wouldn't be surprised if it died of severe trauma and exhaustion shortly after.The title refers to 'Turd Scene Investigation: Brixton'. Don't bet against that appearing on a cable channel soon. The use of the scaling device should in no way reflect upon the quality of that product. To help you fully grasp the gargantuan magnitude of it: that piece of card is just over 21cm long and approximately 4cm wide. That must be like giving birth. To a mudbaby.
Where to begin eh? I like the increasingly histrionic use of capitals but my favourite part has to be the penultimate sentence. It sounds like something from a Bond film:
[Bond strapped to a table, in a dark, grimy cell. Head Villain strolls around the room, brandishing a pair of pliers and a blowtorch.]
Bond: "Your plan will never succeed, Mr Suwareh!"
Mr Suwareh: "Your pain is my responsibility 007....you will not be disappointed [evil cackle]"
Having said that, if he really can solve my problems in a few days then he could be worth a call. Wonder if the power of Kahteem has much to say about academic careers?
EDIT:
Have just looked on google to try and learn about the power of Kahteem. The only link to come up was this: http://www-us.flickr.com/photos/schnappi/37861589/in/set-138866/. Mr Suwareh evidently has an accomplice!
Who is this kid?? Who is the old chap with him? The plot thickens... the Google boffins need to pull their fingers out and come up with some handy picture image search thing that would answer these questions for me. Perhaps there's mileage in some sort of Dave Gormanesque show whereby I try and track down not people who share my name, but those who share my slightly Georgian features. I would meet them, shake them by the hand and then have my photo taken alongside them. Perhaps I could ask them who they have been compared to....I'm thinking out loud now...I could draw up some kind of Willis lookalike tree, with me in the middle and the branches leading off to other people. Wonder how many steps you would need to get to Brad Pitt? This is gold dust...I shouldn't be publishing this in the public domain. At the end of the series I could gather everyone in one big room and then someone else, perhaps my parents, could have a giant game of 'Where's Wally?'. Which would be rechristened 'Where's Willis?' for the occasion.
Anyway, believe it or not that was all just an amusing cul-de-sac. As I was saying, the world of lookalikes is a topic close to my heart. Also by chance in the last fortnight, my father's short-lived celebrity career re-entered the spotlight. You might remember Stephen Willis from such roles as Michael Howard in 'The Secret Election', or Michael Howard in 'This Week: Election Special'. A couple of weeks ago, the Independent had a feature on the booming celebrity lookalike industry. To all our surprise, Stevo was pictured in the article (which you can read here if you really want to pay for the privilege). [I took the photo that they printed... I assume a cheque is in the post, Mr Kelner]. For completeness, a response from the man himself can be read here. You can book Stephen here: still available for Christmas parties!
Lookalikes are in demands then. (When the world needs a Joey Rainbow doppelganger, my phone won't stop ringing...). A lookalike Tony Blair will do a speech at your corporate dinner, have his photo taken with you and so on. Musical tributes have of course long been popular too. This hit a surreal peak a few years ago when Oasis tribute act 'Nowaysis' somehow charted with their cover of 'I'd like to teach the world to sing'. I'm not sure why you'd want to spend several quid seeing someone with a moptop wig on playing Beatles covers but I can see they serve a useful purpose. 'Bjorn Again' played our Grad Ball and that was great. However, I think a line has now been crossed with the advent of the comedy tribute act. I recently saw an ad for a Chubby Brown tribute act appearing in my home town of Stalybridge. Normally standing at the front of a pub shouting foul-mouthed 'jokes' would get you an ASBO. Now it seems it can be a handy second income. If Royston Vasey's not your cup of tea (unlikely as that may be) then how about some reheated Peter Kay gags? An hour long set?! Telling someone else's jokes! Man alive. Why not just put a DVD on? It's ridiculous. "Ha! Look! He's skidding on his knees! That's just like Peter Kay! And now he's doing that thing where he sticks two fingers up on the side of his face to look like he's got an itch! Genius!"
A suggestion for anyone looking to book this: save your cash and just play one of Vernon Kay's Radio One shows instead - he's got Kay's high-pitched vocalisms down to a tee and repeats the same jokes.
Hmm. Doesn’t really scream ‘relaxing evening experience’ does it? This flyer was sent on Oct 19th, 2006. You might be aware that on 28th September, 2006, there was a double shooting in Brixton McDonalds [ssh! I don't think Mrs Parker knows about that! South London Propaganda Ed]. Somebody clearly didn't think this one through.
Anyhow, it appears that chastisement resulted and I was highly amused by this email that dropped into my inbox yesterday, 24th October:
I can't make that any more legible so I'll summarise. The email is titled 'Uproar of Brixton bar publicity campaign'. Oops. Basically they've realised that 'bang bang' probably isn't the smartest name for a bar in this area of town and are going to change it. Apparently, the " intention of the promotional material was to show the difference in the misconstrued negative perception of Brixton by some people and the ever increasing positive reality of the area. We greatly regret that it has been interpreted very differently to our intention and unreservedly apologise for any coffence caused."
Any suggestions for a new name are welcomed. Ok, how about "Bar-doh!"? Cheers.
Several questions here: does anyone know of a less appropriately named establishment? On a related theme, does anyone else grumble at the trend for increasingly pathetic bar names? At the weekend I passed one that announced itself as a 'pub, bar, club transmogrification'. F*ck's sake.... I'm going to sound like someone off Grumpy Old Men here but what happened to good old names like 'The Flea & Whippet'? If you're opening a bar now it appears that you should firstly try for a pun using the word bar (as contrived as you like, it doesn't matter) e.g. 'Baa bar' or 'Bar roque'. Failing that, try and cram in any old pun e.g 'So.uk'. "Do you see?! The place has some North African-ish stylings! And, erm, well the internet is popular nowadays isn't it?" Great work, wifebeater.
Another thing - turning into a rant now - the names of, ahem, gentlemen's establishments. Here's how you do it:
1. Pick a colour
2. Pick an animal
3. Add them together
Simple! Blue Leopard! Red Leopard! er, Spearmint Rhino! I eagerly await the opening of Puce Maggot. Which sounds like a condition you might end up with after spending too long in one of those places.
2240
Begin the slow exit from the theatre. John Sessions is behind us and I earwig on his conversation with a friend (who I'm pretty sure is the narrator guy in the current production of the Canterbury Tales on in London).
2250
Get outside. Some people dressed as peasants are shouting for 'anyone going to the party' to follow them. We consider following, but decide against it. Lurk outside for a few minutes in case any other interesting people emerge, but no more.
And there we are! To be honest, we both felt that if it wasn't for the razzamatazz of it being the opening night, we would have been a bit disappointed. A few jokes aside, the 2nd half was pretty lame I'm afraid: it was mostly filler, the story was non-existent and it suddenly struck me that it was all a bit panto. There are no real female roles in the film so they've tried to shoehorn one into the musical. Understandable, but they shouldn't have bothered: it adds nothing aside from a contrived finale and some pretty pointless songs. There's also a big song about how you need some Jews involved if you want your musical to be a success. Someone near me booed during that. I wouldn't have gone that far but I did feel a bit uncomfortable during it. It just wasn't very funny really, and felt like an attempt to copy The Producers. If I'm being ultra-picky, I'd say that the make-up made the lead lady look like some kind of cat. That was from the highest seats in the house - god knows how it looked from the front.
But my favourite example of nonbrand-specific ads like this can be found adorning the pitch-side hoardings at the home of Fulchester United FC:
I'd never seen anything like it. Let's take a closer look at the treats on sale:
Plasters, sanitary towels, condoms and headache remedies. Chuck in sherbet UFOs and that sounds like a cracking weekend! That one second from the bottom? Shoe polish. Clearly, a better class of toilet clientele than Nottingham. Maybe toilet vending machines could be used in a similar manner to the maps of the UK that the Government released this week - the location of toilets selling pregnancy tests compared with those flogging shoe polish.
Yes, the resemblance is striking isn't it? A few people mentioned that. Ok Father Dowling, so it is me with a mullet. Eveyone is fascinated by mullets aren't they? You can't help but stare. And I think that secretly everyone would like to have one, just to see what it looks like and then probably get rid of it. For reasons that I'm not going to go into (watch this space) I happened to buy some hair last week from one of Brixton's many hair and wig shops (there are loads! and they're always really busy!). One pound for a big plait. Bargain! I saw an opportunity to give myself a mullet and I went for it.
Way back in March, Hackin and I went on an expedition to the windmill. I was going to write about it on here but the windmill was closed and there wasn’t much to see so I didn’t bother.
However, last weekend was Open House and Brixton Windmill was one of more than 600 participating buildings. Some facts:
Since January, I’ve become a dancer, knitter and amateur pest controller. To that list can now be added ‘Friend of Windmill Garden’.
* Last weekend I saw a guy with a snake on his head.
After tracking down the original toilet door entry, I indulged in a bout of harmless blog onanism, looking back at past entries (I must confess to being rather fond of my long-arms pic). So, I thought it might be appropriate to provide an update on some of the stories to have featured here in the opening eight months of Tombolablog…
Celebrity spotting
Then: notebook and instructions mysteriously posted by anonymous benefactor.
Now: An early flurry of sightings led to several entries. Pickings have, however, proved far from rich in recent months.
Bird feeder
Then: thriving, noisy food station for Brixton’s population of blue tits, great tits, goldfinches and robins
Now: grounded. Taken down by my housemate while I was on holiday. Brixton’s dirty pigeons overwhelmed our small garden and bullied us into submission by thrashing about outside my window every morning. A second attempt is being considered for later in the year…
Jive dancing
Then: Brave and courageous foray into self-improvement that earned me the respect and admiration of my peers.
Now: Beginners Level One completed, Level Two was set to begin this month. However, recent changes at South Pacific have left a question mark over the courses, and jive dancing at all, at that venue.
Chester
Then: inquisitive, shy rodent that kept himself to himself and left very few clues as to his presence.
Now: Openly flaunting widely-respected and commonly-held standards of communal-living etiquette. A new front has opened on the ‘war on terror’. The device suggested by Munch here has been purchased and should arrive later this week… Time to pack your bags, son.
Knitting
Then: Pioneering, boundary-smashing widening of horizons greeted with respect, warmth and approval by friends and colleagues.
Now: The scarf has grown slowly, but much further work is required before it can be used in the manner intended. Knitting club has not been attended since that successful initial visit, but this is largely due to holiday and work commitments.
Look harder – that little blue and yellow one. Yeah, that one. Almost says Willis don’t it?
While on the subject of Mr. Hill, I've just remembered something I found hilarious/disturbing in a newspaper once. I don't know if he still does it but Damon Hill used to run some days where people - rich celebrity knobheads mainly - could go and drive fast cars around a racetrack. A couple of years ago I read an interview in a Sunday paper Motoring supplement with rich celebrity knobhead Gary Rhodes. He was talking about how he had gone on one of these days and taken his young son along too. According to the stupidly-coiffed pan-botherer, his son had found the high-speed experience so enjoyable and thrilling that he said 'Daddy, my willy has gone hard'. Rhodes could only nod and say 'Yes, son, I know what you mean'. Quite.
Those who have seen my room might think that I still have that article somewhere, but sadly I don't.
A broad one to kick things off: various members of the Greek national football team. When Greece won the European Championships in 2004, practically every time a player appeared in close-up, friends would look at me and snigger. (See also the Georgian football team). 
Marti Pellow
In September 2001, I got a new student ID card. I was sporting cropped hair and a stern expression. Also in September 2001, Atta’s mugshot appeared in the world’s press, sporting cropped hair and a stern expression. Cue finger pointing and much hilarity. I look like a terrorist. Ho ho ho.
Not a lot to say about this one either, aside from him having a ridiculous name. Both him and Paul were in their respective Aussies soaps in the early-90s.
This is actually the first time I have looked for a picture of this clearly very handsome chap. He’s a comedian. A mate sent me a text a couple of years ago from the Edinburgh Festival gleefully informing me of yet another lookalike.
when a woman started telling me that I looked incredibly like someone she once knew:
I swear I’m not making these up. A woman I briefly worked with at Debenhams provided this one.
Do me a favour. The guy who said this was surely taking the piss, right? Right? Look at his ears!
A couple of people during A-levels found it very funny to say ‘One ha ha ha…two ha ha ha’ to me.
During my first year of University, one of my housemates came to the hilarious realisation that I resembled a white Nwankwo Kanu. I was never sure whether they were joking or not.
New today actually. I texted Potts (the one who pointed out Danny Bhoy) to ask which look-alikes he could think of and among the usual, he came out with this. He also suggested the anteater from the Pink Panther, and John Merrick. Cheers.
Another one I collected in New Zealand. I once dressed up as him while performing in a strange Beatles-tribute act at a school event. When I say 'perform', I mean pretending to play something that didn't look even remotely like a guitar that was made from two bits of foam and a metal pole.
The bane of my childhood. I dreaded the morning after a new Mr Bean episode was on and the impending school taunts. My heart sank when I learned there was going to be a goddam film of the bastard*. Yeah, so Atkinson is a funny guy. But years of schoolyard mockery can really change the way you view people. I’m releasing some festering emotions here, but why do people (usually dickheads in bars) feel the need to loudly shout out that you look like someone? I can think of several occasions where this has happened and it still f**ks me off. There’s no way you can respond to it either: unless you want to end up getting smacked, you just have to politely chuckle as if it’s the first time you heard it, while inwardly cursing and wishing that you were a trained ninja. My usual solution is just to head in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. And then fire up my blood pressure by stewing over it for the rest of the evening and imagining violence upon the protagonists.
