Fat Bloke on a Bike

It's quiet.  The chief clown is sat in a now dark and empty negotiating room.  There's a quiet holographic video of Les Dawson playing carney music in the corner of the room using all the wrong notes not necessarily in the wrong order.  The spattered walls and ceiling is marbled with sweet cream, strawberry sauce and smashed bits of flan.     The clown slowly reaches up, pushes through the cream fondant and with a pop pulls the red nose off his down turned face.  His eyes are tired and smothered with chocolate sauce as though brown tears have started to form.  His white gloved hand drops into his lemon curd covered lap.  His pinched fingers slowly open and the red nose drops with a plop into the custard coloured snowscape that blankets the room.  He slowly looks up and eyes his wonky unicycle in the corner.   The BREXIT negotiations are done.  There's not a smile to be seen anywhere in any of the European parliament's circus rings. ...

I need, no no it's wrong to ask in such a manner, no.  I would appreciate your help.   This is likely to be a long read so please do persist if you think you might be able to help me.  But only if you have time right now during these days of self imposed isolation.  Indeed at a most Christian time of the year and before New Year.  When we all have time to think and contemplate what has been and what is to come then, if you have an inkling to help then please read on. Most of you know me.  You know that I am a big guy.  Not big big in that 6ft 6 and sporting hands the size of shovels way.  I tell folk that I am 20 stones and nearly every man jack of them say, "no way!".  Yes I am, I must be like a Tardis.  There's a lot more of me on the inside!  I'm heavy yes, rotund yes, quite strong and relatively fit for my size and age.  Well one has to be to be able to do the tour riding that I now do in this hilly country.   A fat bl...

The World is coming to an end.  A new Covid variant has germinated in the south-east.  Not a surprise really cos I hear Kentish Men are dirty buggers.  Then there's the cheese eating surrender monkeys, who being very French, have unsurprisingly closed their borders.  International flights have been cancelled.  Christmas too, courtesy of the unicycle riding custard pie carrying clowns in Government and Parliament.  BREXIT talks, like the A2 / M2 towards Dover are gridlocked due to an eye-watering crash of European and UK political unicycles and subsequent custard pie throwing by the clowns on both sides of the channel.  A new star has appeared in the west.  A time of tribulation looms.  The end of days is nigh.  Oh dear, I better go for a quick ride on my bike then before it's too late.  Well, perhaps not my bike cos its back wheel is probably now forever stuck in Hermany and all I've got left is an option to turn the remains of the ...

I'm walking south towards the shops.  The low Sun is burning coldly into my squinty eyes.  Its shiny spinning disk cuts a fresh razors edge into the black rooflines of the houses ahead.  Suddenly, above me there's a Baboon's scream from what I suspect is an invisible shite-hawk cos for sure I know that there aren't any Baboons in this neck of the woods.  With a CA-CAAAWW! CA-CAAAWW! RAAAAHHHH!!!, it proclaims to the world that it is cold enough this morning to freeze the brass knobs off a shite-hawk's pet monkey. For sure it's an angry bird.  Going by the sound I reckon it's a very hungry gull.  I look up towards the raucous noise but can't see it, I suspect, due to its monochrome colouring against the bright early morning sky.  It is for sure well camouflaged.  I expect it is fed up because it cannot lift the lids on the neighbourhood's bins cos of a lack of thumbs.  Poor thing.  That, or a crow which has had its testicles wrapped in a ...

'Are we going to get a doggy, mummy?!?', asked the excited child when she heard her mum say to the butcher, 'Can I have some bones please... [and then under her breath] ...for the dog...'.  Well that's how it used to be back in the day.  When all you could look forward to for tea was boiled sheep's brains or tripe 'n onions.  No doubt a tasty cheap non-nutritional dinner for the family.  But really, would you unless you had to?   I catch Martin, my local butcher dropping a pigs head into the meat recycling bin at the back of the shop and shout 'Hey! To some folk that'd make for a lovely Sunday dinner!'.  It does pain Martin, a proper Yorkshireman with very deep pockets, to dispose of it in such a manner.  However, he's also a family butcher with scruples which cause him to walk funny.  So to bin such meaty morsels does make him feel faint but he explains why.   'Some butchers will use the pig's cheek to add to their sausage meat',...

Winter has arrived and it's kinda depressing.   In that size 12 way as might be experienced by an intrepid exploratory ant in a pedestrian zone.  Or in that exasperated oh-no! here we go 'I can't breathe!' way as experienced by a girlfriend after tickling the naughty bits of an over excited cabbage chomping hippo.  Perhaps.  Or in that pummelled flat sea state way as seen under a heavy squall.  Yeah we're all quite flat today. The 80 year old Howardian Pillock is also flat on his back.  Yes, he faked his n'th demise again yesterday.  Well, he was doing his best to firstly frog me off and then smash his bed with his inglorious and well over the top camp as feck Julius Caesar 'I'm dying' scene from Carry on Cleo.  'Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!' he cried as he swan dived off the top of his headboard with the back of his wrist limply pressed against his feeble temple.   His bed felt him launch, looked up and metaphorically sc...