Au revoir, Meribel, Merci pour le memoirs

A’right a’ready, I get it, no more questions asking for opinions or knowledge, comprehensions or wisdoms or participation of any kind.  You only had to say and I wouldn’t have been such a burden.  After all, I guess you just wanna know what I’m doing, not thinking, right?  I mean, it’d be dull if I started letting you into the depths of my conscious so you could possibly learn a little more about your friend Saul, right!!?  You don’t want to have to think about anything, do ya?   You just wanna read it and then forget it, huh? (all of these are strictly rhetorical, please don’t feel the need to answer, It might cause a thought to occur and you wouldn’t wanna share it with me, would ya?…again, rhetorical).  I will ask nothing of the billions of you who read this again, I promise…..


Anywise, since the last regurgitation, and my last question, something very similar happened between ‘mon ami et moi’.  You recall the Mark Knopfler – Willow incident?  Well, the very next day, I was dreaming of werewolves and then Colt Seevers (PLEASE look up Colt Seevers, if anyone knows the words to the song relating to this 80’s legend, I’ll send you a creamy bun).  On my awakening, I told my comrade about my dreams, and unlike any of you, he responded to my mutterings!!  This twilight zone shit keeps happening between us for some reason.  First Mark Knopfler, then, whatever else the other thing was, now, as I’m dreaming of Werewolves and Colt Seevers (although I wrote Curtis Stiegers in my dream cos I wonder why we hold on, with tears in our eyes), the dude lying next to me is thinking of A Company of Wolves and the The Fall Guy!!!!!  The Fuck?!?!  Come on, tell me that’s not weirder then smearing jam on ya face and your Nan not wiping it off with her gob filled hanky? (No response expected).  Strange things are afoot in the Guff Bus!!


Ok, this is my last week in Meribel and so I’m gonna treat you to the biggest pile of faecal kebab bile from Harry Snotters Halal Hole you’ve ever had to read or, depending on your point of view, the most almond fancy like, and please, wont someone award this special cake Legend status in the cake name bible, due to the fact that not only does it actually have almonds in it (there aint no French in a French fancy, I’ve checked, just some lush fake cream inside a nipple, possibly the sexiest cake idea ever, and a host of disco outfit ideas from the Grand Master Flash-like icing.  Maybe ‘hip-hop boob cakes’ would be a better name, I’ll make a rap up in a minute, it’s a winner, ya heard it here first….. y’all!!) but it also has the word ‘fancy’ in it, which, placed after any product you can think of, sounds like you well want one.  “I’ll have a fart fancy please”, “Sorry Sir, we’re out of those at the moment due to the huge popularity of products ending with the word fancy”.  “Oh well, I should’ve guessed, I’ll have a Jam Tart instead”, “Wise decision Sir, conjures up all sorts of risk-ay thoughts, doesn’t it Sir, maybe they should have called them French Tarts, that would have set the cat amongst the pigeons, don’t you think Sir?”, “Just get me my fucking cake would ya, smart arse”, “Sorry Sir, right away”.  Almond Fancy?  I think I just made that up.  Actually, its an Almond Slice, isn’t it?  How foolish of me, and to think my Nan made me a batch every time I went to see her and I just called her a slut by suggesting she would make me something with such a distasteful word within.  Ooh, I feel positively vulgar at the thought.  Sorry ‘Hip-Hop Boob cake’, I instate you to your rightful place at the peak of the cake-name elite:


I’m brown, pink or yellow

Enjoyed by fellows

‘got nipples of cream

I’m a perverts dream

I’m fluffy and sticky

Not like Metal Mickey

And if you offer one to me

Gonna give you a hickey…….







(rapped to any beat you think appropriate, I personally think Knights in White Satin works pretty well)


I just copywrited that sheeeeeet, ya get me?!!!!!


Wasn’t comedy crap when we were kids, all Jim Davidson and some dude wearing his wellies on the wrong feet, like that was the funniest thing in the Universe.  Gimme Vic and Bob any day, or Alex Higman!!  Funny, me and my companion keep reminiscing about funny people we have met in our lives, its amazing how life really brings the comic best out of people.  I can honestly say that this whole journey has been one of comic splendour.  My fellow traveller has got some kind of disorder, whereby when he has a hangover, he hits absolute peak form, both comedic and philosophical (although, if today is anything to go by, NOT in a fashion sense, you should have seen his ‘slopes attire’, it was like a Miami Vice wardrobe, mirrored in a tramps fashion show sponsored by Mary Curie Cancer Care in Cheadle!)  Seeing as hangovers are part and parcel of being a human, this disorder raises its welcome head now and again and as I seem to suffer from something similar, comic hilarity and stupidity regularly ensues.  The other day, we started mimicking the sounds of each others methane mutterings, something so stupidly infantile as to promote an eye watering burst of giggling fits between us and now this game has grown into an international sport, with a governing body and conventions and everything.  Honestly, try it, no matter how dumb it sounds, you’ll secretly be hooked, you can get a points system going for the best mimickery and once you’ve mastered the impressions, you move on to the next ‘weight’ category (waste category maybe?) of singing the sounds.  Trust me, it beats paying twenty quid a pop for singing lessons.  I’m sure there’s a future in this sport, just need to get over our English formal-ness and politeness and we’re there.  I still find it amusing that something so natural promotes such flustering and red faces in our country.  Imagine if people took offence to sneezing or blinking, its really the same thing.  Still, if you’re not ready to participate on the bus, I guarantee if you try it between the sheets with your loved ones (that sounds weird, clearly I’m not trying to get you to pile your whole family, Nan’s and all, into your sack for a game of ‘Re-flatulations’ as a friend suggested it be called, jury’s still out on that one), it’ll take the embarrassment out of this most natural of events.  Maybe it’ll change society’s unease regarding massive bum songs!!  Hey, how about Conflatulations or Songflatulations?  Send in any ideas, although rhetorically of course!!


I invented a new word too.  Queard.  It’s the name for men who have ridiculously shaped beards, or Queer shaped beards.  Not in a Gay sense of course, I don’t know how one would go about having a Gay shaped beard (why do I keep capitalising Gay?  Not that I shouldn’t, don’t be offended anyone… oh god, here I go, HA HA , capitalising Gay but not god, that’s indicative of the way we’re heading, huh?  Shut up Saul!!!)  Anyway, Queard, a queer shaped beard, like a George Michael or one of those silly Italian pencil line things.  I’ve got a beard, you’ve got a Queard.  I’m writing to the Oxford Dictionary Company!!  If you’ve got one, get rid of it or I’ll point at you and laugh and no girls will want to snog you ever.


I saw a club full of 14 year olds getting pissed at our bowling alley local booze joint last week, within which I and my compadre were the oldest goers by about 38 years.  French kids have so much more style than those at home, no mini skirts or increasingly developed body parts protruding out, just cool styles.  The 8 year old looking dude drinking half pints of Amstel was legendary, although not as legendary as the two teenagers who were literally trying to swallow each others faces.  Man, it has always been a source of amusement to me to see young dudes and dudettes snogging as hard as possible!  I wonder why they do it, like, fully open up and get in!  I laughed my backside into near rupture at it, but I love it cos it shows a sense of keenness people don’t show when they get older.


We went back to Dicks recently, a club seriously trying to get into the Worlds Top Ten biggest shit-house crack-den like Clubs in’t World, but slap me upside the head if I didn’t have the wickedy wickedy wickedest night out I had for a time.  The night before a lady we befriended (there is actually a cool gal here, Grooveriders’ ex, remember?), told us she was going to see the drum ‘n bass DJ Andy C, I guy I steered well clear of since in my old days of drum ‘n bass raves, cos he was shite.  Then, on the bus home, chattin to some lady, we managed to get 2 tickets, usually 20 bucks each, for 15 De Niro’s for the pair!!  Sweeeeetness!  So we go to Dicks, rave like Nazi’s and get proper Jo Mangled.  I even managed to laugh at myself for leaving the club and in front of everyone, slipping up and giving myself a bruise the size of a small block of flats in Croydon on my arse.  All in the name of drum ‘n bass.  Ace of Base!!


My pal Dennis is in town for our last week, its wicked having a friendly face to see.  He’s also bought a hard drive with 100 gigs of movies on it, which would be wicked to download if it weren’t for the fact that its all of a sudden stopped working (it weren’t me, I swear).  But its funny how you miss little things like being able to watch films now and again.  Just watching a snippet of Dumb and Dumber, pure comedic genius in a film, makes you realise the little things you have taken for granted in your life.  Still, I’m looking at beautiful snowy mountains everyday, not pikey 60’s council housing, so its not all bad.


We leave Sunday morning, WOOOHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!  New adventures await, which is the whole point, huh?  We’re staying at a friend of Steve’s folks’ place.  Check out, its pretty damn rude.  A SOFT BED AND HOT WATER!!!!!  For one night, but still.   Then we’re gonna see the Millau Bridge, tallest bridge in’t World.  Then we’re gonna go and slave away for nothing on a farm for 5 weeks in exchange for some vegetables and a regular bog.  This sure seemed like a good idea during Decembers grey days in East London…..!  Still, hard manual labour is good for the soul and its gonna be WARM!!!!  South of France here we come.


Oh yeah, this week, I’ve read The Restraint of Beasts by Magnus Mills (a supposedly comic story of some fencers, daft but easy going and time-passing enough)  and finished The Brother Gardeners by Andrea Wulf (a book so enjoyable and learn… building and important for anyone wishing to know about the history of our beautiful English Landscape that I give it 8 Jammy Dodgers and a day out at Barry Island out of 10.


Its been a reet grand life for the last coupla months in Meribel tho.  Sure, there are loadsa the worst kind of English peeps on holiday, the bars are worse then Wetherspoons on buy-1-get-47-free-and-a-local-slapper-that’ll-let-you-do-owt night, but take away the detritus and it’s a stunningly beautiful landscape, the French people are well nice and obviously skiing aint a bad way to pass the time.


The things I will remember when I’m 167 and living in a test tube will definitely be the first 6 weeks, when my blood was a constant temperature of -6 and I couldn’t sleep for shivering, the fact that I have actually learnt to swim ‘properly’, (facing a fear is always great value in my eyes, unless it’s a fear of being butchered to death with a cow by a 12 foot tall farmer, something that might be just round the corner in reality), the constant laughs at the predicaments we’ve had to face, cooking gourmet meals on a single camping stove, peeing in bottles and needing a poo at 3 in the morning and having to wait until the Tourist Office opens at 9, seriously contemplating doing ya stuff in a bag outside, in a minus 15 blizzard.  They say things like that are character building.  I have the buildiest character of anyone you know right now!


But the one thing I will remember more than anything, are the laughs that we’ve had.  Everyday, I’ve cackled myself stoopid at some silly behaviour or situation or person.  Steve, this week, trying to get on a button lift and successfully falling and being dragged along the snow THREE TIMES IN A ROW was pretty damn funny, but not quite as funny as yesterdays video of him trying to overcome his fear, grabbing the button and falling over before he’d even moved, presumably resigning himself to his immediate fate.  I cried laughing.  Naturally.  Even being TOTALLY FREEZING, waiting over half an hour for water to boil for tea, getting up at 11 cos its too cold to get up at 9, waiting for milk to defrost before being able to have breakfast, has all bought smiles cos you always realise things could be worse.  And having someone with a similar outlook, who doesn’t get pissed off cos things aren’t easy, has been priceless.


It just goes to show, having no money, no running water, no heating and nowhere decent to go for some social time, doesn’t mean you cant enjoy yourself.


And let that be a lesson to ya…


Now roll on Monday night’s warm double bed and power shower…!


YeeeeeHaaaaaaaa, I’m outta here, y’all, see you at Farmer Giles’…..


2 thoughts on “Au revoir, Meribel, Merci pour le memoirs

  1. “(facing a fear is always great value in my eyes, unless it’s a fear of being butchered to death with a cow by a 12 foot tall farmer, something that might be just round the corner in reality), the constant laughs at the predicaments we’ve had to face, cooking gourmet meals on a single camping stove, peeing in bottles and needing a poo at 3 in the morning and having to wait until the Tourist Office opens at 9, seriously contemplating doing ya stuff in a bag outside, in a minus 15 blizzard. They say things like that are character building. I have the buildiest character of anyone you know right now!”

    Just laughed out loud to that little snippet mate. The thought of you dumping in a plastic bag in a blizzard was magic – LOL!

    Cheers for the comedy heads up dude – if ever you need my comic input for speach at a wedding or perhaps just to break the ice with a girl you like – let me know and I’ll send you my best stuff, free of charge.

    You said that Dennis is coming to stay with you is the the mighty John Dennis?

    I was also impressed that I actualyl had to look up a word that you used in your blog – detritus. You live and learn.

    My aunite has a massive farm house in the south of france, its about an hours drive from Canns (not sure if thats the right spelling). I might see if me and the family can borrow it for a week or so – if we do, I will let yo uknow so pehaps you can pop up there for a while. Its a massive place set in the countryside in about 15 acres of land, so it will be well sweet.

    anyway keep up the posts, and speak soon baboon.


  2. Oh yeah, I have Crabby and Gordy coming down for a round of Golf this Saturday – we finally managed to sort it out. I’ll ensure that we hold a remembrance parade along Worthing seafront for you. Brass band the lot! I’ll even weave a flag out of forgotten dreams and wave it at the end of the pier at mid night for you.

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