I'll be quick about this 'cos I'm still hurting and I to get away from Ewan and his damn snickering. Suffice to say shit went down but that's got nothing to do with me. For those not in the know, I'm gassing about the bitch hot Screwball Scramble Championship and this year's final was a night to remember. It was no '97 but there were some upsets that took down the strongest men I know.
It started off with some chuckles when Biffa Munchkin showed up with his Mouse Trap set and was systematically beaten as per protocol. Then to kick things into motion Rubby Tumpish lost seven minutes on the log hoppers and left Budgy Cripper an easy route through to the semis.
Sufford Spatch went down to a wrist sprain after he overloaded his burger at lunch and Frankle Buthering got through on a technicality only to be bashed up the face with a swift circuit from Arnoldson Arnold Arnoldson.
By the time we hit the semis I was busting the sweetest moves I've ever scratched. Being a mix master has its advantages and after I took down Spadgington Miller I was well on the way to victory. That was until Little Tommy Worthing managed to take down Biffa after a by-ruling brought him back into the tournament.
During the final time out I could here Worthing gloating about his ten year winning streak but I knew this was my year and I knew everyone present didn't want him knocking Sir Desmond Claridge out of the record books.
The stress got to tenuous and so we had to hit the game. We were both fine over the see-saws and after a shaky fudge through the metal rods we were neck and neck on the studded platform. A loss of concentration allowed me to take a few seconds on the maze but the advantage got the better of me and I lost my head.
All I had to do was ease myself over the catapult and victory was mine but I panicked. I fucking panicked that shit game to bugger and lunged that motherfucking marble halfway across the social club. After Tommy's cheers had died out I found the ball in the G-spot of the damn dart board. The shame.
Suffice to say I'm not doing well. I lost my self-respect, my confidence and a title that should rightfully be mine. I could see the disappointment on the faces of everyone in that room. They had nothing else going for them. It was up to me to take that trophy and end Worthing's spree but the moment has gone and I don't think I'll ever pick up another Screwball Scramble board as long as my days are ticking.
Tuesday 29 May 2012
Sunday 20 May 2012
Journey To The Centre Of The Countryside
Well, Ewan finally found the laptop. Turns out we'd just left it on the table after our last game of charades. Problem facing us now is how to get to Cirencester before the bridges close. I say to myself every year that I won't go, but the prospect of the annual Screwball Scramble Championship always proves to alluring.
Perhaps if I wasn't such a slave to the game I'd be sat at home taking in some Golden Girls repeats while Patters shimmies back and forth to the kitchen with a generous supply of leaks and tea. I've always enjoyed the dusks over Upper Lower Tollwoodford. Ever so dimly bright and full of magic streaming from the local guilds, but alas my current mental intrusion is of one of fevered anticipation and frustration and I fear that another day is lost.
Only Ewan's rendition of 'The Upper Hand' theme is giving me the kazoo fix I need to keep my stress at bay. The rain is letting in far too much sun and the heat is unbearable. The roads all look the same and because of our last pit stop we're hours behind schedule.
It appears a local acting troupe were doing an impromptu performance outside Fat Lenny's Hotdog Stable and the opportunity to take in 'Two Cats and a Twisted Yum Treat' was one I couldn't bring myself to miss and a more riveting performance was never witnessed. The acting was superbly dreadful and hit the exact comedic tone needed for the piece. I even felt myself warming to the character of Stubbins who I've famously hated in all his incarnations but Miss Sissy Jennings did a justice to the part I never knew possible.
After the troupe had gathered up all the applause and packed them away it took us a few hours to get over our artistic high and get the wireless Internet in the butching van back into action. It wouldn't have been too bad had we not got stopped at Riverhill's notorious tollgate.
I've heard stories about frank Frank but his insistence that the van was unsuitable for river crossing because of its colour was frankly absurd. Personally I think the pink is very fetching and Ewan started blubbing when Frank insulted the star mural he'd painted onto the windscreen. Eventually we got round him and if we're lucky he won't sue. I'm counting on it because another lawsuit will really rip into this month's food budget and to be honest I only chanced it because I've heard factual rumours that Frank once had his heart broken by an impressionist who specialised in doing lawyers.
We finally got onto the A999B-6 but had to switch onto the C-roads after a road kill warning flashed up on the radio and we are now currently stuck in traffic somewhere in the countryside with a few hundred sheep and an intoxicated farmer blocking our progress. The man is clearly a champion for the whacky backy but herding livestock is neither the time nor the place for such indulgence. If he doesn't stop dancing to the sounds of my engine I'll soon be forced to run him and his livestock into the sweet British earth. In hindsight the mural may have been a bit of a mistake. Not only has it become the focus of the Farmer's religious beliefs but also my vision is restricted to a narrow three-inch gap that is very much unsuited for the job of a mass cattle annihilation. Still, it looks very fetching and that sense of joy cannot be ignored.
The good news is that the wait has given Ewan the chance to get on the roof and fix the Internet aerial again. The wind keeps blowing leaves into the signal and my driving is taking a lashing while I type this.
Bollocks. The Farmer's amassed a rabble and they are mounting a service in praise of the windshield. If only it could shield me from stupidity and anger, apparently we aren't there yet but I've invested in some promising companies that could well give me my desired technical dominance in the future.
Right, I better skedaddle, a good hit and run needs exceptional concentration. If we are lucky we can get to the Championship on time. It's about 3 o'clock now, which gives us until later to get to Cirencester.
Hold on E I'm going to get us back some time!
Perhaps if I wasn't such a slave to the game I'd be sat at home taking in some Golden Girls repeats while Patters shimmies back and forth to the kitchen with a generous supply of leaks and tea. I've always enjoyed the dusks over Upper Lower Tollwoodford. Ever so dimly bright and full of magic streaming from the local guilds, but alas my current mental intrusion is of one of fevered anticipation and frustration and I fear that another day is lost.
Only Ewan's rendition of 'The Upper Hand' theme is giving me the kazoo fix I need to keep my stress at bay. The rain is letting in far too much sun and the heat is unbearable. The roads all look the same and because of our last pit stop we're hours behind schedule.
It appears a local acting troupe were doing an impromptu performance outside Fat Lenny's Hotdog Stable and the opportunity to take in 'Two Cats and a Twisted Yum Treat' was one I couldn't bring myself to miss and a more riveting performance was never witnessed. The acting was superbly dreadful and hit the exact comedic tone needed for the piece. I even felt myself warming to the character of Stubbins who I've famously hated in all his incarnations but Miss Sissy Jennings did a justice to the part I never knew possible.
After the troupe had gathered up all the applause and packed them away it took us a few hours to get over our artistic high and get the wireless Internet in the butching van back into action. It wouldn't have been too bad had we not got stopped at Riverhill's notorious tollgate.
I've heard stories about frank Frank but his insistence that the van was unsuitable for river crossing because of its colour was frankly absurd. Personally I think the pink is very fetching and Ewan started blubbing when Frank insulted the star mural he'd painted onto the windscreen. Eventually we got round him and if we're lucky he won't sue. I'm counting on it because another lawsuit will really rip into this month's food budget and to be honest I only chanced it because I've heard factual rumours that Frank once had his heart broken by an impressionist who specialised in doing lawyers.
We finally got onto the A999B-6 but had to switch onto the C-roads after a road kill warning flashed up on the radio and we are now currently stuck in traffic somewhere in the countryside with a few hundred sheep and an intoxicated farmer blocking our progress. The man is clearly a champion for the whacky backy but herding livestock is neither the time nor the place for such indulgence. If he doesn't stop dancing to the sounds of my engine I'll soon be forced to run him and his livestock into the sweet British earth. In hindsight the mural may have been a bit of a mistake. Not only has it become the focus of the Farmer's religious beliefs but also my vision is restricted to a narrow three-inch gap that is very much unsuited for the job of a mass cattle annihilation. Still, it looks very fetching and that sense of joy cannot be ignored.
The good news is that the wait has given Ewan the chance to get on the roof and fix the Internet aerial again. The wind keeps blowing leaves into the signal and my driving is taking a lashing while I type this.
Bollocks. The Farmer's amassed a rabble and they are mounting a service in praise of the windshield. If only it could shield me from stupidity and anger, apparently we aren't there yet but I've invested in some promising companies that could well give me my desired technical dominance in the future.
Right, I better skedaddle, a good hit and run needs exceptional concentration. If we are lucky we can get to the Championship on time. It's about 3 o'clock now, which gives us until later to get to Cirencester.
Hold on E I'm going to get us back some time!
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