I'm not tired, I don't want to go to bed, Ewan is just being a tasteless prick. After his behaviour during the last twenty four hours I couldn't take another day on the road with him. Reluctantly I turned the van round and headed back south. I know he's my butcher but he can really take things too far.
It all happened yesterday. We got a puncture outside Wales and while we were sat by the road eating jam sandwiches, Ewan had this idea. He'd noticed this dead badger on the side of the road so with more enthusiasm than was natural he rushed over to pick it up. He knows that I have a pure hatred for road kill. It cost me mother and my father, but that doesn't stop him dragging this carcass across the road like some sort of demented taxidermist. The look in his eyes was scary, he was like a kid at Christmas. He couldn't wait to get his hands on that lump of coal.
So he dunks this dead badger in front of me. The flies and insects start to invade my jam sandwich is never a constructive way to get into my good books. I throw away the sandwich and just stare at this corpse. It can't have been dead long. There was blood oozing out of the eye sockets and the whole thing stank of shit. I'm holding back the retch to end all retches then Ewan takes it too far.
He grabs this badger and hugs it around his shoulders and starts playing Bodger and Badger. He's running up and down the road thrusting his junk at all the cars and telling them how he loves to make mash potato. This Elderly Couple slow down to see if we need any help when Ewan suddenly jumps off the roof of their caravan onto their Volvo estate. The Old Lady starts screaming when she sees all this infected blood dripping onto the windscreen. The Bloke puts on the wipers and this just makes things worse. The whole activity spurs Ewan on and he breaks out into tune. He gets a bit bored midway through his tenth rendition of, "He makes them into shapes and east them everyday", before shrinking off into the undergrowth. The Old Couple use the opportunity to do a bunk and floor it off down the road. I could still here the Old Lady's yells of terror halfway down the County.
It all goes quite and I find Ewan has disappeared. Two hours later he comes hobbling back Quasimodo style with this little grey bundle in his hands. Turns out he's hunted down a mouse and hollowed it out with a twig and wants me to play Mousy. I'm stunned. Even I thought this was tasteless. Luckily the police showed up and dealt with things. They dragged Ewan off to hospital and I got left with the task of fixing the flat tyre. Funnily enough it turned out that the tyre was fine and the escaping gas we could hear was coming from the badger we had hit. The burning rubber we incorrectly identified was in fact scorched shit.
It took me a while to track down Ewan. I followed the trail of disgust and outrage until I found him unconscious in the local psych ward. It turns out he had a fever of 110 degrees and had three tabs of acid swimming around his belly. That still doesn't excuse him, even if it was me who slipped the acid into his Thermos.
The tour had to end. We couldn't go on after this. There was no music playing on the way home, just a sad silence. That man has ruined one of my favourite television shows, an act I deem to be a cardinal sin. It would be like painting a cock on Postman Pat's forehead. Some things just aren't done, and dry humping a Volkswagon Golf Mk5 while wearing a dead badger over your head is one of them.
Ewan can't talk now because he's still under sedation but I would like to publicly apologise to Andy Cunningham and thank him for the years of enjoyment his creations have given the world. I wouldn't have gotten through my thirties without you.
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