A man is working on the buses in the US collecting tickets. He rings the bell for the driver to set off when there’s a woman not quite on the bus.

The driver sets off, the woman falls from the bus and is killed. At the trial the man is sent down for murder and seeing as its Texas he’s sent to the electric chair.

On the day of his execution he’s sitting in the chair and the executioner grants him a final wish. “Well”, says the man, “is that your packed lunch over there?”

“Yes”, answers the executioner.

“Can I have that green banana in your packed lunch?”

When the man’s finished, the executioner flips the switch sending hundreds of thousands of volts through the man. When the smoke clears the man

is still alive. The executioner can’t believe it.

“Can I go then?”, the man asks.

“I suppose so”, says the executioner, “that’s never happened before”.

The man leaves and eventually gets a job with another bus company selling tickets. Again he rings the bell for the driver to go when people are still getting on. A man falls under the wheels and is killed.

The bloke is convicted of murder again and sent to the electric chair. The executioner is determined to do it right this time so rigs the chair up to the electric supply for the whole of Texas. The bloke is again poised in the chair.

“What is your final wish?” asks the executioner.

“Can I have that green banana in your packed lunch?” says the condemned man. The executioner sighs and reluctantly gives up his banana. The bloke eats the banana all up and the executioner flips the switch. Millions of volts course through the chair, blacking out Texas. When the smoke clears the man is still sat there smiling in the chair.

The executioner can’t believe it and lets the man go. Well, would you believe it, the bloke gets his job back on the buses. Once again he rings the bell whilst passengers are still getting on, this time killing three of them. He is sent to the electric chair yet again.

The executioner rigs up the whole United States electricity supply to the chair, determined to get his man this time. The man sits down in the chair smiling.

“What’s your final wish?”, asks the executioner.

“Well”, says the man, “Can I have that green banana out of your packed lunch?” The executioner hands over his banana and the man eats it all, skin included. The executioner pulls the handle and a brazillion volts go through the chair. When the smoke rises the man is still sat there alive without even a burn mark.
“I give up”, says the executioner, “I don’t understand how you can still be alive after all that?”. He stroked his chin. “It’s something to do with that green banana isn’t it?”, he asked.

“Nahh” said the bloke, “I’m just a really bad conductor….”

A small scout cruiser flashed across the darkened surface and docked.

The scout’s single occupant leaped from the cockpit and hurried to the ante-room where his commander waited.

“This had better be good!” growled the senior officer, “For you to interrupt my feeding is a serious matter…”

“Sire,” breathed the scout, “a million apologies, but what I have discovered places us in great peril. I fear we must flee…”

“Flee?” stormed the commander, “what could induce us to abandon 60 years of planning and ‘flee’ at this stage?”

“We are in great peril,” asserted the scout, “these are not the primitive savages we took them for. Our intelligence is flawed.”

“Explain – and as I said – this had better be good.”

*********

The alley was dark and cold, overshadowed by the building whose rafters poked skyward like the ribcage of a rotting carcass. Above that rose the brick shape of the bottle oven. All that was left of a once proud industry.

In the corner of the alley, against the gate of an abandoned terraced house, Fred slumped in a doze, which had more to do with the can of strong lager than any exertion on his part. After all, he had done no paid work for seven years and the payout he received was long gone.

Damp seeped through his thin coat but he didn’t feel the cold any more. Somewhere a cat yowled in the dark and the eerie noise did little to penetrate his thoughts.

*********

“Sire, you know we have been intercepting the transmissions from this planet for many years…”

“Of course, fool, crude and primitive at best, sometimes entertaining…”

“Quite so, lord, but I fear we may have misinterpreted some vital information.”

“How so?”

“I recently entered into Phase II, the interrogation of a native. I selected a lowly individual in a nondescript area so as to avoid detection and suspicion.”

“Get on with it, you’re keeping me from my food!”

*********

 Fred felt a strange sensation cutting through his haze – a slight buzzing in his ears and a bright light, so bright it made his skin tingle. A looming shape stood over him shining what looked like a torch, straight into his eyes.

“Just what I need,” he thought, “ a nosy copper…”

“Look up” said a weird voice – Fred, in his fuddled state, could have sworn the noise came from inside his head, not outside but he felt compelled to obey.

“What is your name?” the voice asked. Fred was aware of a tall, hooded figure studying him intently and he remembered thinking “that’s no copper.”

His vocal chords worked without him telling them to, and they said “Fred Wilson.”

“Do you live in this…this city?”

“Yes, all my life.”

“What is it called?”

“Stoke-on-Trent – this is ‘Anley”

“Are you what they call a common man – a worker?”

Despite the truth drug or hypnosis or whatever the stranger was doing to him, Fred managed a bitter laugh.

“I was – till they laid me off. There’s no work, the potbanks are all gone. Like this one ‘ere, falling apart or knocked down.”

“There are economic problems?”

“You could say that, that’s the posh way of saying there’s no work for people like me.”

“What did you do? What was your work?”

“I was a potter. I made saucers.”

Fred felt the psychic bond between them flinch as though the stranger had been struck. He squirmed on the freezing pavement as if aware for the first time just how uncomfortable his position was.

“Saucers you say? You made saucers? A common, low-caste worker like you was able to make…saucers?”

“Yeah,” Fred felt his irritation rising at this line of questioning. Maybe he wasn’t up to much now but in his day he was one of the best saucer makers in the factory with a tally running into hundreds of dozens.

“Where are these saucers?” That seemed a weird question.

“In peoples’ houses, of course. Where else would they be?”

“Each one of these dwellings has a saucer?”

“Course, at least one, probably six or more.”

“There are hundreds of thousands of dwellings in this area. You are certain each one of them has multiple saucers?”

“Listen, mate, whoever you are, if there’s one thing I do know about in my worthless life, it’s saucers.”

The light went out and in a glimmering the mysterious figure had gone. Fred found himself kneeling on the damp stones with a blinding headache.

*********

“My Lord, you know these primitives appear to be a superstitious bunch. They have taken to calling sightings of unexplained phenomena ‘flying saucers’”

“I am aware of that,” chuckled the Commander, “they no doubt refer to our reconnaissance craft which have charted this planet for decades. Simple fools!”

“Not so simple, I fear,” stated the scout, “ I have discovered that beneath the surface veneer of simplicity, there lurks great danger to the whole invasion fleet.”

“What? You have managed to turn a simple interrogation into a mystery, AND you are still keeping me from my food!”

“Each human dwelling conceals a spaceship – at least one, and possibly many more.”

“How do you know this?”

“I questioned a worker drone – using the truth ray. You know that cannot be overridden. He must have been telling the truth.”

Now it was the Commander’s turn to start to feel uneasy.

“What did the probe reveal?”

“The simplest and lowest of the workers are capable of building and operating these ships – and they exist in their millions.”

“So they have been tricking us all these years?”

“I fear they have, Sire. Possibly it is a trap to lure us to destruction when we reveal the Fleet.”

The Commander was used to action. He rose from his seat and raced to the bridge.

“Signal the Fleet!” he barked, “Maximum speed out of this system. We may yet escape with our lives!”

*********

In the alley, Fred stirred again.

“What a weird dream,” he pondered, “wonder of the off license is still open….?”

Ghost on the 110
Julie was a bit nervous; it was the first time she had driven the route after dark, and the cold, cheerless December night had closed in with the added hazard of clammy mist.
Also, the inevitable canteen comedians had been winding her up.
“Have you heard about the ghost on the 110?”
“You won’t like that run in the dark – what about the Lady in White?”
“Wouldn’t get me out there tonight, I can tell you…”
Don’t fall for that! She told herself. The bus company’s latest recruit, just six weeks out of the training school, and as green as grass. With her easy-going nature and ready laugh, Julie had made lots of friends, but they were inclined to tease.
The 110 was a semi-rural route, with several miles of country lanes to negotiate. It was quiet at night to the point of being dull, a few pub-goers or late workers. They said it became exciting if a rabbit hopped across the road.
After the first half of her duty, ferrying frantic Christmas shoppers, Julie was looking forward to the peace and quiet of the 110.
Until the leg pulling started, that is. The ‘ghost on the 110′ was a traditional trick played on all new staff, going back to the days of double-deckers, when fresh-faced conductors were warned ‘not to go upstairs alone at night on the 110.’
Were they being serious? Julie found it hard to tell; she laughed it off as best she could.
“Leave her alone, you rotten lot!”
A new voice cut across the canteen hubbub, and there was Bill, the Inspector. Julie had always thought of him as a gruff old bear, with a loud bark far worse than his bite. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to protect her from the worst of the ribbing.
“Got nothing better to do? I’ll find you something!” Bill warned, with mock severity. Julie smiled back at him, and she detected the faint twinkle in his eye.
Blushing, she checked her watch, and saw it was just after seven: time to go.
“Watch out for the Lady in White…” she heard, as a parting shot behind her. She slammed the canteen door, hard.
Two hours later, the silly words and giggles came back to her, but they were no longer funny. The darkness swirled with filthy fog, reducing visibility. Julie picked her way carefully along the lane, anxiously watching the comforting red glow of the ticket machine’s time display to see if she was dropping behind. Suddenly a figure stepped from the nearside hedgerow, arm outstretched in the time-honoured signal for a bus to stop. Julie’s gasp came involuntarily, and she was glad the vehicle was empty with no one to hear her.
It was an eerie sight, which greeted her. A figure all in white, blending almost into the mist. Long black hair, half-hidden by a veil, and deep, sunken eyes.
The Lady in White? Surely not, it was just a joke! Julie’s reflexes had stopped the bus, pushed the door button to open. The apparition glided silently inside, made no effort to stop or speak, just sat, those great dark eyes staring forward. Not daring to challenge the woman, or even look, Julie put the bus into gear and moved away. Each glance into her mirror was pure terror. There sat the proof that the canteen cowboys had been right.
A mile further on the vision rose from its seat – Julie’s heart froze to her ribs. Surely there was a bus stop somewhere near, she recalled from the training run?
The minibus halted at a lonely crossroads. In seconds, the Lady in White had left the vehicle and disappeared up the lane, into the night.
With chattering teeth, Julie drove on. Soon she reached the welcome glow of the sodium streetlights, which meant she was nearing town.
Nine-forty read the clock, nearly ten minutes late. What should she do? Should she tell anyone? How they would all laugh! Her attention was caught by the dark, uniformed man standing at the first of the town stops. It was Bill! What was he doing here, his shift had surely finished an hour ago?
Gratefully, she pulled up, admitted the Inspector with a hearty sigh of relief.
“Just thought I’d check up on you,” he said kindly, “I could see they were getting to you with those daft ghost stories.”
“Am I glad to see you! You won’t believe what’s just happened!” In a few breathless sentences, Julie blurted out the story. To her surprise, Bill chuckled knowingly.
“Oh, her? That’s Hippy Hilda, our resident nut. She’s got a cottage somewhere up that lane. Never recovered from the Sixties, they reckon. Too much funny weed, eh? Doesn’t talk, won’t pay her fare unless I’m about. Sound like her? ”
“God, yes, thanks. I thought I was cracking up! Now I just feel silly for letting her get away with it.”
“That’s all right; you’ll know her next time. Just remember, Julie, I’ll be here to keep an eye on you. Now let me off at the next stop, and then get your toe down a bit. The fog’s clearing and you should just make it in time for your next trip. ”
“Thanks, Bill, thanks very much.”
Julie watched Bill in her mirror, a big upright figure marching away from the bus stop with a military air.
“Bless him…” she thought, then checked the clock. Nine-fifty p.m. Bill was right, just time to do it.
At the bus station, Julie parked her bus with two minutes to spare. Time for the loo, she reckoned.
Inside the admin block, a knot of men stood, drivers, the depot clerk. They all looked glum, awkward.
“What’s up?” she asked, cheerily. Bill’s explanation and reassurance had certainly lifted her mood, but this lot looked awful.
“You won’t have heard, being out in the country,” said one of the drivers.
“Heard what?”
“It’s Bill, the Inspector. Just after eight, walking to his car, going home. ”
“What, for goodness sake?”
“Well, we know you liked him…”
“Will you tell me before I brain you?”
They all coughed, or shuffled, or looked at the floor.
“A heart attack,” said the depot clerk, finally. “Sorry, love, he’s dead. ”
Waves of shock bounced off Julie: she slumped into a chair.
“It can’t be, not Bill, not eight o’clock! I saw him, just, not ten minutes ago!”
And there was a flurry of knowing looks – the conmen would not be conned.
Now, the 110 had a new ghost.

There comes a time at Christmas where the turkey and pud have to be walked off so we loaded Houdini hound into the car and took off for Oakamoor, where you can follow the path of the Churnet Valley Railway to The Rambler’s Retreat at Alton (yes, of ‘Towers’ fame!).

It was colder than a mother in law’s kiss on Monday, the Bank Holiday, or Boxing Day to give it its UK title. The sunlight through the trees, over frozen ponds,was extraordinary.

It’s a great venue and the events are usually well worth a visit and this was no exception. The mock combats were undertaken with such determination that one fighter was knocked out cold for real!

Viking combat re-enactment at Tatton Park

It all reminded me of the tale of Ulrik, a mighty Viking warrior who spent much of his time pillaging and plundering round Europe and having a high old time.

One day his luck ran out and he received a head wound which left his vision very fuzzy.

‘Right,’ said Mrs Ulrik, ‘no more raiding for you. Your days of rampaging are over.’

However, one day Ulrik heard his mates planning a raid to Britain, a place he’d never pillaged. He began to wheedle and nag at Mrs. Ulrik to let him go.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said, ‘with your eyesight you’d be dead in the first skirmish.’

But Ulrik was nothing if not persistent and he was determined to go. His constant nagging wore down Mrs. Ulrik and eventually she agreed, but on one condition.

‘These British are famed for their sanitaryware and I’d like a decent sink for our hovel. You can go as long as you bring me back a British sink.’

Ulrik would have agreed to anything so off he went with the lads, burning, looting, and enjoying himself immensely. So much so that he forgot his promise to Mrs Ulrik, regarding the sanitaryware.

On the last night of the raid as they were burning one final monastery, he suddenly remembered.

‘Oh Gods, she’ll kill me, what can I do?’

He spied an old monk and his apprentice cowering and waiting to be put to the sword.

‘Old man,’ he roared, ‘I’ll spare you and the boy if you can get me one of your British sinks for my kitchen back home.’

Now the old monk had not lived to his great age by being slow witted. Looking around he spotted a builders’ hod used for carrying bricks for repairs to the monastery. He picked it up and gave it to Ulrik.

‘Here you are, Viking, one of our finest british sinks!’

True to his word, Ulrik told the pair to flee for their lives, and marched off grasping his prize.

The old monk strolled away at a leisurely pace, much to the horror of his apprentice.

‘Master, don’t you think we should run?  He’ll be furious when he finds out!’

The old man just grinned and patted the lad on the head.

‘Don’t worry, son, everything will be all right. After all, a hod’s as good as a sink to a blind Norse!‘

Melys

Welsh Music Award Winners MELYS are to play their first live gig in nearly 6 years at HENDRE HALL, BANGOR on WEDNESDAY 30th SEPTEMBER 2009 with a fantastic DJ set from Radio Wales’ ADAM WALTON too!

Watch this space to find out when tickets go on sale and what the full line up will be…all to be announced soon!

**STRICTLY OVER 18s ONLY**

More information on Melys here

Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Time:
19:00 – 23:30
Location:
Neuadd Hendre Hall
Street:
Lon Aber, Talybont
Town/City:
Bangor, United Kingdom

AND FOR THOSE OF YOU NOT FAMILIAR WITH THE BAND HERE’S SOME HISTORY AND

INFO….

Melys are a Welsh independent rock band from Betws-y-Coed in Conwy, Wales, formed in 1996. They sing in both English and Welsh. They

recorded eleven sessions for the late and great John Peel on BBC Radio1, came first in his Festive Fifty in 2001 and won Best Welsh-language

Act at the Welsh Music Awards in 2002.

The group was formed by Andrea Parker (vocals) and Paul Adams (guitar and keyboards) when the two met in Betws-y-Coed in 1996. The two became both musical and personal partners and recruited Adams’ brother Gary Husband on drums and their friend Carys Jones on keyboards.

After releasing two EP’s with local label Ankstmusik the group was signed to Pinnacle Records releasing their first album Rumours and

Curses in 1998. Unfortunately their relations with Pinnacle, always strained, fell apart completely when that label went bankrupt at the end

of the year. The group subsequently founded their own label, Sylem Records, on which their second album Kamikaze was released. Jones left

the band at around this time to be replaced by Richard Eardley (@Colossous on Twitter) who continues as bassist with them to this day.

John Peel, a long-time fan of the group (and with whom they recorded no fewer than 11 Peel Sessions) introduced the group to Dutch band Seedling in late 2000 and they released a split single in collaboration with them (the song on Seedling’s side was called “Cool Baby My Hips Go Woo”) in early 2001.

Suikerspin (Dutch for candy floss), Melys’ third album, was released in 2001. They scored some considerable success when the single from this album called “Chinese Whispers” was voted number one in Peel’s Festive Fifty at the end of the year.

After this success Melys apparently shied away from the public eye, returning in 2003 with their fourth album Casting Pearls. Their latest

release is Life’s Too Short (a title (and album) dedicated to Peel) in 2005.

At least one song on every album is in Welsh. The band have not released or played any gigs since march 2004 as Andrea and paul opened Bistro Betws-y-coed in their hometown, specialising in welsh food, they have been running it for the last 4 years. the band have just started

rehearsals (July 09) for new dates in autumn 2009.

* Fragile EP (1996)
* Cuckoo EP (1997)
* Rumours and Curses (1998)
* Slagging Off Tourists EP (1999)
* Kamikaze (2000)
* Suikerspin compilation (2001)
* Casting Pearls (2003)
* Life’s Too Short (2005)

My very good friends from Ukraine, Fotomoto, have posted this excellent video and I heartily recommend it.

Fotomoto in Moscow

Rare Fotomoto tracks still to be had by poking round http://listen.to/fotomoto

"Suranov, a?"

Some of these sayings seem so appropriate at the moment and you’ll forgive any slight liberties with the translations?

‘Nil desperandum carborunda illegitimae’

Don’t let the bastards grind you down!

‘Sic transit gloria mundi’

Gloria has vomited in the van after a weekend of binge drinking.

And this favourite, specially suited to modern bankers:-

‘Per ardua ad asbestos’

Fuck you Jack, I’m fireproof!

The Eardley family crest proudly boasts the motto ‘Not for ourselves alone’

Please feel free to addd any of your personal favourites as comments.

1. I am a Scottish Laird. The title is real and hereditary. I won it on a Radio Show on BBC Radio 2 hosted by Steve Wright, along with a load of other goodies.
2. I am the second eldest of 8 siblings – people had big families in those days as we didn’t get telly till 1962.
3. I worked for 41 years in and around the UK public transport industry, latterly for a company which specialized in public transport cartography )e.g. London Underground Map. This took me all over UK and Ireland.
4. I am a published author. Used to like sci-fi (and won a prize for it) but my novel is historical fiction and involves some ancestors. It is called Letter from Poitou and I welcome comments on it.
5. I am useless at thinking up 25 random facts about me.
6. I vastly prefer radio to television. The majority of tv is vaccuous garbage. Radio is very intimate and I think it is a much superior medium.
7. I am a music fanatic and have a very wide taste in artists and genres. Huge collection of cds.
8. My brother’s band Melys won John Peel’s Festive Fifty vote in 2000 ahead of a little known band called the White Stripes.
9. I am a good cook and will poison anyone who disagrees with that statement.
10. My favourite food is Indian and we try to eat it once a week at least – chilli rules, ok?
11. I hold a full bus driving license which I have had since 1984 and I am proud of this professional qualification.
12. I enjoy blogging and micro-blogging and am currently undergoing addiction tratment for Twitter!
13. It’s getting harder to think up random facts.
14. I am a size 36 waist (in my dreams!) More to get hold of.
15. Since my hair started thinning on top I have got into the habit of having it cut very short.
16. I have a dog called Willow who is the reason I get up early and we go looking for squirrels and foxes. She is not aware it is illegal to hunt foxes with dogs in UK and will probably end up with the fox’s lawyer taking out an injunction.
17. I have been married (to the same woman) for 35 years. We have two daughters (and one grandaughter on the way, due St. Patrick’s Day), one dog, and one cat, though not necessarily in that order.
18. I am fanatical about the correct use of apostrophes in sentences. Incorrect use can induce a fit of apoplexy. Sad, innit?
19. Getting near the end now, only 6 to go. See, my math’s half-decent, too.
20. I type too quickly and make many typos.
21. The City Centre we live close to (Hanley) is the highest city centre above sea level in the UK at over 800 feet.
22. I love real coffee and can only tolerate instant as a warm, wet fluid if I’m too lazy or traumatized to make the real stuff.
23. I drink tea black with no sugar which makes many people wrinkle their noses in disgust.
24. Red wine, Shiraz or similar, is my favourite alchoholic drink, along with whisky, gin, brandy, Cointreau – shall I go on?
25. I love beer, but it doesn’t love me, as the old man would have said.