The Beard of Love, On-Line Consequences anyone?? Options

[Glenn UK]

...Not much surfing in Ilford," was the retort when the steward pulled the plug on the band's first gig.

The repercussions from this much-criticized debut performance were to be felt for many years afterwards. Most notably,the Right Honourable Enoch was to quote a line from "Surfin'UK' a few months later in his notorious 'Rivers of Blood'speech, since misrepresented literally dozens of times:
" Everybody has gone surfing, surfing United Kingdom" was what Powell actually said, upon being asked if he saw any end in sight vis a vis the plight of Britains disaffected West Indian population [primarily the younger males] and NOT [as has been frequently cited] " they're all a bunch of scrounging c**ns."
In his biography [ 'They Should all be Strung up'] a few years later, Powell was to claim that My Glove had not only ruined his career as a politician, but also nipped his embryonic bid to be a Pop Promoter in the bud:
"....perhaps one of my biggest regrets in life"[he wrote] is pulling that toe-rag out of the cesspit in Rishikesh."*

* 'They Should all be Strung Up' Hodder and Stoughton 1976 [p.443]

Glove had to act fast and then decided to sack his band and then move with the times, renaming the band Peach and wearing a peach kaftan and growing his beard long. Glove moved to San Francisco to try to recruit a new band, " as this was where it was happening, maaan", only to be told he had arrived a year late, but still perservered with the Peach concept recruiting four hippies with the offer of free acid to record a concept album about love, peace and trasncenendental meditation, with plenty of references to surfing, to keep the old fans happy. However, the hippies took so much Brown Owsley during the first session of the untitled Glove project that they thought they could fly and ended up jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge and never being seen again. Glove again had his plans for musical domination thwarted.

[The Hat]

Glove again had his plans for musical domination thwarted.

It was around this time, that the imbecile first began to hatch a fiendish plan in his otherwise rather limited mind as to how to go about stealing my magic crystal...

However, returning to Rishikesh.
Unaware that The Conservative Member for Wolverhampton had taken pity on the pathetic figure cowering beneath his speckled buttocks, and knowing that time was of the essence with regards to The Maharishi [and his henchmen... and henchwomen], I hastilly packed my meagre belongings into my Gladstone Trunk and scribbled the following note to Glove:

Dear Glove,

[Cool Cool Water]

I'm lost in this thread??

[colin]

Plot summary:
My Glove has, in all likelihood, stolen the "Sacred Crystal"of TM from the cheap plastic crown of Jack 'The Hat' Plankenspanker [previously a mere chartacter in this story, but now active in it's narration]. This is as a direct result of his Rishikesh experiences. However, the cunning Plankenspanker has been equally devious in his drugging of Glove through doctoring his spaghetti sauce [during The Slurporama] into forcing Glove to admit that he [Glove] is the culprit. Along the way, we have seen appearences by such luminaries as The Beachy Heads [ Bryan and Carlo Wilton, Bruise Chormondley-Smythe et al], Patrick Duffy, Rolf Harris, Dr Eugene Landry,Arturo [an emaciated ferret] and sundry others.
A good deal of the action has been in Gloves imagination so far, whether drug induced or via simple concussion. Anyhow, the most important thing to remember is that there is NO set story as such and that anything can happen...literally! It's basically just an exercise in pointless creativity for the amusement of both the writers and readers...
Now read on...

[Landlocked]

"Dear Glove,

Please don't take 'Dear' as a term of endearment, it is not, it is merely a salutation and used the world over to friend or foe; as in Dear Lawyer, Dear Brian, Dear Deirdree etc.

By the time you read this i will be far away, not because i am scared of you or the safety of my crystal, nor the fact that being near you makes me retch, though since you have taken to sleeping in the communal cesspit, i must say many people have done so in your prescence , they are not bowing to you Glove. No, i have to leave becuase you bore me. I was hoping you would be a fine adversary to me - a Moriarty to my Homles, Rommel to my Montgomery, Cooper to my Clay. A Joker to my Batman would be good but you can't even be Laurel to my Hardy. You are a joke; the number of times i have purposefully left my crystal for you to take have been too many to mention; just so that i could have the challenge of retreiving it; but it's been too easy. you are no longer a challenge to me, and so i must go and find something else to amuse me.

oh, by the way, i think i should tell you before you make yourself look even more stupid; the 'TM' that you see behind company logos is not the corporte giant sending a subliminal message. It has nothing to do with Transcendtal Meditation. Oh, how me and the Matashitsu laughed about that when you went to your cesspit bed..."

i wanted a breather, i would finish the letter shortly, i knew time was not on my side, but i wanted that last bath in elephant milk, with a hint of peach foam...

my head was under water, so i didnt hear the first knock at my door, the fourth knock i had partly dried and was ready to go back to finishing my letter. who was disturbing me now? I knew what i wanted it to be - those Rishikeash Double Burgers are sent from heaven and as i last treat i had ordered one.

So, with only a towel around my waist, dripping water all over the tiles'r'us flooring, for which i felt no guilt, i answered the door.

It was not my burger, but i was shocked, and i must say scared at who who was standing in front of me...

[The Hat]

It was not my burger, but i was shocked, and i must say scared at who who was standing in front of me...

"...Oh Jack..." she squealed as she saw my gaily patterned towel fall to the ground, " I'd forgotten quite how hu.."

"Gladys!" I replied, bending to retrieve my towel, "how many times do I have to tell you; you're engaged to Glove now!"
And this was true. Gladys Vishnagurtee [whom I had rescued from a life of weight-lifting drudgerey] was a dwarfette [female midget] with a mission however, and the slight inconvenience of being betrothed to an incredibley stupid [not to mention vain] pop singer with a penchance for nearly anything in a skirt or bikini was but a mere trifle to her:

"But Jack my beloved" she pleaded...

[colin]

But Jack my beloved" she pleaded...

"But Jack nuthin'" the ruthless Hat snarled as he slammed shut the chalet door with a decisive thud. Honestly, as if he didn't have enough to do without mollycoddling those even more vertically challenged than himself!
Unbeknownst to him [and Glove] however, the poor woman was 'with child' and was not to be brushed aside quite so lightly.
Instinctively knowing that circusfolk were unlikely to allow a 'bastard' [G]love-child amongst their ranks, and that the paying public were likely to be even more unforgiving, Vishnagurtee was desparate to attach herself to either Plankenspanker and/or Glove; one of whom was almost certain to be the childs' father [alongside Freddy Garritty, with whom she'd also had a brief flirtation].
Thus, with a count of three, the barrel-shaped and impressively musclebound Gladys lowered her right shoulder and charged with all her might against the cheap plywood door:
"HI-EEEYAHHHH!!!!" she shouted...

[Landlocked]

Thus, with a count of three, the barrel-shaped and impressively powerful Gladys lowered her right shoulder and charged with all her might against the cheap plywood door:
"HI-EEEYAHHHH!!!!" she shouted...

Hat heard a loud noise, 'my burger, at last' and he opened the chalet door, which apart from turning the handle needed no effort, as Gladys the Midget flashed passed as she came hurtling through the doorway at break-neck speed with the momentum of a 10 foot, 5 ton, elephant crouched in a ball. rolling down a one in ten hill; only a lot, lot smaller. Her performing slippers offered little resistance on the tiled floor and her scream turned into an "oooohhhhh shhhhhh...." as in no time at all she had reached the end of the chalet, was out of the balcony doors, across the balcony and straight over the edge; plumetting down three stories to the communal cesspit below.

Hat stood rooted to the spot looking from the doorway to the balacony and back, several times, trying to let what had happened sink in and to make sure there were no more midget lemmings on their way...then Hat snapped back to his senses; he could not bring himself to look over the balcony as he feared the worse...

[colin]

he could not bring himself to look over the balcony as he feared the worse...

However, by freak good timin' [good, good timin'/you need good etc etc] Gladys had not landed on either his protege [Glove] nor The Right Honourable Powell, who even now were making their way back to Enochs' chalet [whose fellow occupant was none other than actor Charles Bronson] eagerly discussing their plans for 'The Peach Boys' [whom Powell had originally wanted to call "My Glove and the Enoch Powell Sunshine Valley Skinhead Stompers"... but that's another story].
Gladys Vishnagurtee had in fact just managed to clear both the cesspit and the adjoining laundrette, and was just beginning to make her descent in the region of The Maharishi's compound [easily recognizable by the red and yellow bouncy castle conveniently placed in his holinesses front garden]....

[Landlocked]

and was just beginning to make her descent in the region of The Maharishi's compound [easily recognizable by the red and yellow bouncy castle conveniently placed in his holinesses front garden]...

Hat was still rooted to the spot, staring through the balcony wondering whether to go and look below, when he thought he saw Gladys, fly up in the air before his eyes and back down again. Hats brain working fast, this was not dead Galdys, rising to angelic heights, Hat put this down to too much caffine and not enough sleep; when again Gladys the midget was shooting up through the air. This happoened two more times the third time Gladys was not shooting straight up but angled like the trajectory of a failed missile...

...Gladys had let herself down, her circus training had always instructed her to land with two feet, the last time she landed on the bouncy castle with only one and shot off through the air towards the peasants quarters. The straw roof broke her fall, without any harm to her or the miracle she carried inside her, she dropped through the roof and landed upright in a chair. She was not happy to find herself sitting next to Enoch, but rather pleased that the person sat infront of her, with his feet behind his ears in typical TM pose, was non other than her former lover.. Glove...

[The Hat]

feet behind his ears in typical TM pose, was non other than her former lover.. Glove...

" Oh golly gosh!" ejaculated Gladys, as she took in her surroundings with amazement; " it is with some astonishment that I am being seated in the same room as not only one of the greatest orators of the 20th century England" [at which Powell gruffly nodded in agreement] " but also the marvellously talented and deeply humble Glove sahib with whom my marriage has been so masterfully arranged!"
" Eurgh!" spluttered Glove, going a deep shade of red, "eurgh...I ah..."
Before the somewhat embarrased [and 'marvellously talented'] object of Vishnagurtees gushings could form a coherent sentence in reply however, in stepped Charles Bronson carrying a tray laden with a pot of tea and some freshly made Bakewell tarts [whom some of you may remember were Gloves favourites?]
"Cakes anyone?" the Hollywood hard man grunted, as he entered, " careful... they're just out of the oven..."

[Landlocked]

"Cakes anyone?" the Hollywood hard man grunted, as he entered, " careful... they're just out of the oven..."

Charles put the tray on the centre table, the steam from the cakes and tea seeming to join and dance together, upwards and out of the new hole in the roof. Charles took his gun out of its shoulder holster, once a prop now for real after his latest role as Head of Security for the Mahirishi complex. The other three people in the chalet looked on nervously, but Charles just put the gun on the table, a stark contrast to the tea and cakes, and proceeded to take off his boots...Chalres smaked his hands together and continued to rub them, as if about to announce his plans for world domination...

'Right, who's up for a go on the bouncy castle before it gets dark?' 'No, thanks, i just had a go' Gladys replied; Enoch gave Charles his best Paddington Bear hard stare and Glove didnt speak, just looked around the room in any direction but that of Gladys. 'Your loss' Charles shouted over the his shoulder as he was out of the chalet door.

Enoch looked at Glove then Gladys and decided that, infact, a few rounds bouncing in the air would not be a bad thing at all and before you could say 'when did you last change your socks', Enoch had slipped off his loafers and was running out of the door 'Wait for me Chuck..'

Glove and Gladys were alone. Glove now cross legged on the floor which put him at the same eye level as Gladys; the only thing seperating them was the table of tea and cakes and the gun...

[colin]

the only thing seperating them was the table of tea and cakes and the gun...

True to form, Glove stretched out a hairy hand and snatched the plate from under his fiancee's nose:
"Mine!" he shrieked in a shrill voice, before scuttling off to Bronsons adjoining bedroom and barricading the door. The truth be known however, as her husband to be still stank to high heaven of the cesspit, [and as yet hadn't washed his hands] Gladys Vishnagurtee was not as 'put out' by this outrageously selfish behaviour as one might perhaps imagine. Indeed, knowing that her best chance of escaping both rural Rishikesh and India itself ,lay with the repugnant smelling singer [and his promise of marriage], the idea of criticizing his piggyish behaviour would most certainly not be in her best interests. That could wait until after the wedding she prudently intuited.
Instead, the pint sized weight lifter helped herself to a nice cup of freshly brewed tea, as she sat listening to the animal like sounds of Glove filling his face with piping hot Bakewell tart [severely scolding the roof of his mouth in the process]....

[The Hat]

[severely scolding the roof of his mouth in the process]....

Whilst all this was going on, I had finished my packing, completed my farewell note and was just about to depart from our temporary accomodation when suddenly a flash of inspiration hit me. 'Why not' I thought to myself, 'why not land that odious little jerk in it REALLY big time as a sort of parting gift?' I reasoned.
As the Maharishi had somehow got it into his head that I was hatching something behind his inspirational back, why not go along with this, but pretend that Glove was behind it? Knowing that my companion kept a journal of sorts [full of his pathetic rantings and crazed notions] and that he'd 'hidden' it underneath his straw mattress, it was but a moments work to whip out the cheapo imitation leather-bound book and flick the pages through to the latest entry:

"I serialusly think" he had written, "that Jack dusent like me sumtimes. All I sed to him was that he is not very nise to me sumtimes and he got all angry and stuff and sed that I diserve it and that if I dident stop wineing that he wood send me back on the first plain..."

As I said: pathetic.

Anyhow, picking up Gloves well nibbled biro [with that odd plastic bit from the end oddly missing] I began to write [copying his feeble style and spelling as best as I could]....

[colin]

[copying his feeble style and spelling as best as I could]....

"Wile I was lissning to the swarmy, it suddenly dornrd on me that he is an old frord. I meen, all this boring meditashun bisnis.wot duz it meen? i am going to say to jack that i wont to leev but that furst we shood go and set fire to the silly old gotes beerd or sumthing. jack will probly say that i am beeing stupid or sumthing, and mite even go and tel the barsted that i am planning to get him but i beleeve its wurth the risck."

That should do the trick, The Hat muttered to himself, as he placed the journal [open on the offending page] on top of the shack's 'occasional' table. Not having time to hang around however, lest one of The Maharishis roving bodyguards happen by, Plankenspanker snatched up his bulging Gladstone bag and briskly set off.

[Landlocked]

Not having time to hang around however, lest one of The Maharishis roving bodyguards happen by, Plankenspanker snatched up his bulging Gladstone bag and briskly set off.

Hat was pleased that he had purchased the latest Gladstone with wheels at the back as it made for easier work over the rough terrain; he had turned past the bouncy castle and was within sight of the exit when he heard banging, shouting, and muffled voices coming from Enochs chalet. Hat's inquesitive nature got the better of him and though he knew he should be on his way he decided to wait to see if there was any action, even if he could not hear what was being said. and hid himself behind the eastern turret of the castle.

CHARLES banging on shack door: "Glove, come on now, there is no point barrackading yourself in the room..."

GLOVE: "Mmmmph otumpt moff"

CHARLES: "Stop mumbling man, i can't understand a word you are saying"

GLADYS: "My silly love glove sausage has burnt his mouth eating all thoses cakes"

GLOVE: "phaapt ooft"

CHARLES: "Please open the door, its not exactly fair you locking yourself in Enoch's room when you have a perfectly good room in your own shack to lock yourself in"

Enoch just sat sulking in the corner of the main room

GLOVE: "mmm phforry"

CHARLES: "Listen i will go and check your shack for spiders, as usual, so that you know its safe to go in, if you promise to come out"

GLOVE:"mmpk"

Chalres turned and headed out.

The commotion had died down, then from his viewpoint, Hat saw Charles Bronson emerge from the shack and stride purposefully towards Gloves abode (and the journal). Hat was sniggering to himself as he carried on with his way to the exit

[younger]

It is the ending,isn't it?A long story

[john k]

It is the ending,isn't it?A long story

No and yes, in that order.

Another thing - are you listening, Y? - your comments on this award-winnng topic are most welcome but please post them here, there's a good chap.

BTW who's your favourite Beach Boy?

[colin]

The commotion had died down, then from his viewpoint, Hat saw Charles Bronson emerge from the shack and stride purposefully towards Gloves abode (and the journal). Hat was sniggering to himself as he carried on with his way to the exit

A quick note to clarify just who's bedroom it was that Glove was stuffing his face in, as [to the observant reader] there may appear to be some confusion. Whilst earlier stated that Glove had barricaded himself in Bronsons room for the purpose of masticating some piping hot Bakewell tart, after a moment or two, Glove had noticed a 'Daddy-Longlegs' [cranefly] on the wall, and being scared of insects of this and similar airborne ilk, had repaired to Powells more commodious sleeping quarters with all due haste immediately thereafter. Thank you for your kind indulgence.

We resume the story as Bronson finds the cleverly forged entry in Gloves open journal....

[colin]

We resume the story as Bronson finds the cleverly forged entry in Gloves open journal....

As Bronson read the incriminating scrawl, his first instinct was for revenge. Had Glove some kind of death wish he thought?
And then another thought hit him almost instantaneously. A thought that would reap him millions in the coming years and launch him into the Hollywood 'A' list. But it is neither the time nor place to discuss Charles's brainwave now, as matters are much more pressing. As the Youngster just so correctly pointed out, it IS a long story isn't it?

Taking matters into his own hands was second nature to the squinty eyed star as he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth in a vengeance seeking stance. He'd see just who was gonna git their manky beard set alight first! And it sure weren't gonna be The Swarmy!

At about the same time, Glove [completely unconscious as to what was just about to befall him] finished brushing the cake crumbs from his knee-length bermuda shorts onto Powells otherwise spotlessly clean bedroom floor and heaved a deep sigh of contentedness. It was [of course] just then that something gleaming and sparkly caught his beady eye as he happened to glance over at the renowned British politicians immaculately polished travel- hatstand. Why... it couldnt be? Surely not? But it was!!
It was a turban! And, oh no... not just any old turban.....