From the desk of Laurence Havelock, bon viveur and inventor of several cuts of trouser
Friends, family, fans and others,
You’ll be pleased to know that Paddy and I have slightly moved ourselves from our resounding arse-sitting position and have actually bloody recorded some stuff for Podshambles, due to lap up against your ears like the shore of a gentle lake or the tongue of a randy dog in the coming weeks. To make sure you can get the whole series of updates (YEAH THAT’S RIGHT, MORE THAN ONE), make sure you subscribe on iTunes here or make sure your reader is updated with our podcast RSS feed.
So please, rest assured that we are actually bloody doing something and will have lots of stuff for you soon. Promise.
Paddy and I have both been pretty bloody busy. Well, maybe he has had more reason to, after being at the centre of a bloody news storm, even getting blogged about by Stewart ‘Comedy Vehicle’ Lee on the Guardian. In between meeting his publicist for machiattos, getting outrageous new hairstyles and publicly lambasting political parties, he’s also organising a tour of the country which you should definitely look at – if only there was somewhere you could get tickets.
As for me, well, it’s all been looking up. After my second-hand speedboat company went under – a small incident involving a family of belligerent seagulls claiming that after their aunty Josephine was caught in a particularly violent turbine engine meant that we were sued for several million pounds – I tried my hand at vaudeville dance, but was quickly found out for being far more of a rag-time kinda guy (a completely humiliating experience, I tell you).
Anyway, after the lengthy court proceedings, I eventually made my way to Bremen, with the sole intention of becoming the world’s leading kitchen and BBQ tongs entrepreneur. I met up along the way with a sardonic gannet called Henrik, a tax collector from Coventry named Beryl O’Monkeys, and my own lingering sense of self-doubt. Together, we crossed the mighty autobahns of south-western Germany, overcoming the grim wardens of many roadside service stations and protecting our sacred burden, The Galvanised Sausage-Switchers of Morrison’s, the most fantastic set of tongs we’d ever laid our eyes upon.
In the end, though Beryl O’Monkeys ended up being a sleeper agent for the wicked Lord Armpit, king of the Orang-Utans and the opposite of an all-round swell guy. After many moons of fighting, our precious Sausage-Switchers were wrenched from my possession and brave, brave Henrik fell. And died. As did my lingering sense of self-doubt.
Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I’ve got a lot more time on my hands, especially if my self-basting turkey idea takes off. In the mean time, if you’re in the UK make sure you continue squeezing every last ounce of good out of this lovely weather, if you’re abroad then celebrate our good fortune with a traditional British jellied eel, and have a listen to this while you do. Good evenday!