chaunceyq

And that's the End of that Chapter

Wogan to be replaced by soul sapping, single entendre merchant Graham "chubbier than he looks on telly" Norton. Twat. Now, against all the odds, the music will be the best thing about it. 

 

Monkey 'Arris

Monkey 'Arris was born in 1978 in Paignton, he moved to Bermondsey before he was two years old and recieved what little education he got on the streets. Monkey wouldn't want you to feel sorry for him though. Sure he's had his tough times, his ups and downs but he's smart and tough and he's a practitioner of three martial arts to a very high standard. He was a shamus then, divorce work, suspicious spouses, petty crime. Then one day a dame sashayed in to his office and said she wanted to know where her husband was at all hours of the night. It seemed like the usual stuff, Monkey figured he'd find the guy hunkering down with his secretary in some seedy, two bit hotel. Next thing Monkey knows he's being sent down for 5 years, he got 2 off for good behaviour but it really doesn't make him feel too much better considering he was framed. Monkey didn't steel those bananas, somebody wanted him out of the way. Word is he was getting close to uncovering a major smuggling ring and the dame's husband was in so deep he was drowning not waving.

Well Monkey did his time, made some good friends too, like Legs the dancing bear. He was in for lewd dancing and Monkey took him under his wing, protected him from the bad element you sometimes get in prisons.

They're both out now, sharing a house in Streatham with a nice little family and some other hard luck cases like Mr Pentapus. But it's tough on the outside, even if you were innocent. People aren't willing to give a monkey shamus a break, nobody wants a detective with a worse criminal record than the guys he's supposed to be investigating. Legs dances for pennies outside the Oxfam furniture shop while Monkey works as a minder for a kid named Oscar. Oscar is a good guy, but there's trouble out on the streets of Streatham and somebody has to look out for the good guys.

But don't you worry, 'cause one of these days Monkey 'Arris is going to catch up with the one who put those bananas in his holdall and when he does...

 

Monkey 'Arris

 

 

 

 

 

Don't mess with Monkey 'Arris

Super Potato!

Chauncey's is nothing if not a questing mind and if you ad to that the green fingers (well off yellow anyway) you have what can only be described as a handsome cross between Alan 'Lover Man' Titchmarsh and Albert 'Hair' Einstein. Yes Chauncey has entered a new world inhabited by only the bravest of souls, Chauncey has joined the ranks of the Gods in his desire to create life! Yes you heard me correctly my little ponies, life, but of course from little conkers and all that, so I'm starting not with a Frankenstein like monster but rather with a super potato.

A super potato as defined by Chauncey's Streatham English Dictionary is one created from the seed found inside the berries a-dangling from the humble potato plant. These berries look not unlike an unripened tomato but beware all those who enter this underworld of potatoes for the berry is poionous to us humans. Still the advice I have encountered is that you should shove them in your blender, immerse them in water and give them a quick squiz round to seperate the seeds from the pulp. However Chauncey as you will probably know already is a horny handed man of the earth, all rippling muscles and pink prawns (but I'll leave out any more of these descriptions lest I send the ladies among you in to frantic convulsions of unrequited passion) and he decided to do this bit by hand (it had nothing to do with the fact that he still can't work the blender depite having owned it since Christmas).

Anyway these berries contain upwards of 300 seeds each of which is apparently genetically different, but I won't go in to the science of it for fear of loosing you my humble minded reader. After planting these seeds and growing the resultant potatoes you then weed out the weaker varieties and start all over again continuing this process over and over until you have created a form of super potato that can withstand the worst a small, and occasionally neglected, back garden in Streatham can throw at it. Basically you create the potato you want, so if you are a bit partial to mashed potato you create one with a cramy texture and mashability, or if you like a nice chip well I'm sure you can join the dots from here.

I also assume that having created this potato yourself you can also name it so I'm thinking Chauncey's Splendour or Chauncey's Old English Earth Apple. Either way I'll have to postpone my Burke and Hare jaunt to the cemetary for a few years now.

Rock the Spuddy Fatwa!

 

Chauncey's Splendour the super potato of tomorrow

Film4 Luvs Gene Tierney (turning in to a strange rant)

Does anybody know anything about Film4?

I mean do you know who/how they pick which films to show?

Obviously the more up to date films get shown in the evening when the majority of people are likely to see them and the older films are shown in the daytime because they assume that old folk who are retired are the only people who would want to watch old films. So far so predictable, but Chauncey looks deeper than these simple signs. Chauncey you see likes a good old film much more than he likes a modern film and so he, out of idle interest (and with no intention of pulling a sickie), keeps and eye out for what gems are popping up in the afternoons on Film4.

A pattern has appeared, and when I say pattern I use that word in it's most basic fashion. For the 'pattern' youy see involves this lady.

 

Gene Tierney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gene Tierney. Take a look at the listings people. Today, The Left Hand of God (a lacklustre Bogart effort also starring Gene Tierney). Straight after that Leave Her To Heaven, an unusual colour film noir starring Cornel Wilde and Gene Tierney. Tomorrow, Whirlpool, film noir starring Richard Conte, Jose Ferrer and (yep) Gene Tierney. That's followed by Where the Sidewalk Ends, another noir thriller this time starring Dana Andrews and... Well what do you know, Gene Tierney. How about Thursday? Belle Starr, starring Gene Tierney. Friday, Left Hand of God again.

Now you may be sitting there in your comfy chair thinking "what's the problem Chaunce, give the girl a break. So they're showing a few of her films this week, big deal". Don't get me wrong people, I've got nothing against the films of Gene Tierney, in fact if I'm honest I love most of them, but this isn't just a one off, virtually every week you'll find these or others of her films. The Ghost and Mrs Muir, check. A Bell for Adano, check. Dragonwyck, check. Heaven Can Wait, check. Laura, check. The Return of Frank James, check. All of these and more have recently been shown 3,4,5 or more times on Film4. What's going on? Did film4 go to a boot sale and pick up the rights to a whole batch of Gene Tierney films on thecheap, why don't they go back to the same boot sale and pick up the rights to some films starring some other largely forgotten stars of Hollywoods past?

I love Gene Tierney, but honestley there's only so many times you can watch the same films over so why don't Film4 cut the old folk a break and show someone else's films for a while.

Also while I'm on the subject does anybody else remember when BBC 2 used to show old movies at six o'clock every week day. A season of Tarzan films all the way from Johnny Weismuller up to Lex barker and Gordon Scott. All the Old Charlie Chan films with Warner Oland and Sidney Toler. The Saint films with Louis Hayward followed by George Sanders and Hugh Sinclair. Or even the Falcon films (a cheap rip off of the Saint after Leslie Charteris complained about the treatment his character was recieving) starring George Sanders and being succeeded by Tom Conway his real life brother as his characters brother. The Mr Moto films starring Peter Lorre as a Japanese policeman, a series that ended as America and Japan became enemies during the war. 

Where are these old films languishing now? Nobody shows them and it seems a crying shame to me, someone who loved those films so much that I went on to learn as much as I possibly could about each and every cast member, scriptwriter and director. From there I went on to learn about other classic and sometimes not so classic movies.

What about Hooray for Harold Lloyd (he had a pair of glasses and a smile you know), Buster Keaton, Laurel & Hardy, Charlie Chaplin. When was the last time you saw any of those greats on the TV? Has anybody seen a Douglas Fairbanks silent swashbuckler on TV in the last 20 years? How is a kid suposed to find out how great these films are if nobody shows them?

I guess maybe I was lucky being a kid when those films were being shown on a regular basis. Take the piss if you will but I enjoyed George Formby and Will Hay films as a kid and I think that whoever has all these films tucked away in their archives should at the very least give kids these days a chance to find out if they'd like them too. Incidentally Will Hay's second best film (in my humble opinion The Black Sheep of Whitehall is his best) Oh Mister Porter is on BBC4 this week, but it doesn't start until around ten pm so that's most kids to whom it might appeal, unable to watch it.

Sorry for the rant but once I got started  the anger started to rise and I couldn't stop.

Rock on and all that.

 

 

 

I'm Ready For My Close Up Dr Demille

Patient- Doctor, Doctor I feel like a pair of curtains!

Doctor- Patient, patient are you sure you wouldn't prefer a nice venetian blind?

Patient- Doctor, Doctor I feel like a needle!

Doctor- Patient, patient I can clearly see your cock.

Patient- Doctor, Doctor there's a fly in my soup!

Doctor- Patient, patient get out of my surgery you're in the wrong joke.

And so on and so on.

"What's the point of all this Doctor related tomfoolery Chauncey?" you all ask. Well Chauncey Q went to the doctors yesterday and it was something of a joke. Let me set the scene.

A doctors surgery somewhere in South London, early autumn 2008. A handsome yet rugged individual enters and strides purposefully to the reception area. Luckily though Chauncey manages to dart in front of him and get served first.

After an uneventful wait to see the doctor Chauncey is eventually called through. He enters the room to be confronted by an attractive young filly of a doctor with love on her mind (or if Em is reading an ugly ageing male doctor with a hint of desperation in his bloodshot eyes).

Doctor- Hello there, before we start would you mind if we filmed this consultation for training purposes?

Chauncey- Not at at all my dear, shoot away.

At this point I'll skip the majority of the consultation as I'm sure you aren't interested in Chauncey's health. Sufficient to say the problem relates to the stomach and poo came in to the conversation. The Doc suggested I lie on the table so that she could have a feel of the old belly, turning her back to prepare the table chauncey, forgetting the camera thinks to himself now would be the ideal opportunity to make sure there's no belly button fluff and so quickly, in front of the camera, hoiks his t-shirt up and has a quick root around...

Oh well I'm sure these people have seen worse in their time, I'll let them have that little giggle on me.

Later in the visit the doc shocked Chauncey by using the phrase "this is perfectly normal for someone of your age". Someone of my age?! I'll have her know that once the flush of youth was on this ruddy cheek too and that in time age will take it's toll and she may just look back and tearfully regret her words.

Towards the end of the visit (and again I won't bore you with the details) the young filly/decrepit old buffer and I had the following exchange (still infront of the camera).

Doctor- Well that's pretty much everything...(pause) I could have a look at your bottom if you like.

Chauncey- (pausing for a split second to ponder if this was medical or just a come on) I don't think either of us wants that.

And, after a quick apology to camera,  I think Mr CQM made about as dignified an exit as was possible.

Doctor, Doctor indeed...

Rock the bummy fatwa! 

 

No Finer, More Noble Persuit

Tonight when I get in from work, the good lady and myself will bathe little Chauncey Jr and put him to bed. Then I, Chauncey Sr, will release the old plates of meat (briefly before bundling them in to the loving embrace of my slippers), put on my cardie, buff up my elbow patches, light my meerschaum, crack open a beer and settle down to my Ravensburger Political Map of the World jigsaw puzzle.

 

Map of the World

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I've already done the edges, the flags and Greenland. Yes, some may raise a quizical, mocking eyebrow but what do they know of life, these mockers? I'll tell you what they know, they know mock all.

The history of the jgsaw puzzle is a long and boring one which I won't go in to here, what I will say is just check out Me and My Pal starring Laurel & Hardy and a jigsaw puzzle. Yes my friends if it's good enough for the titans of double act comedy, then it's good enough for me.

By the way, and don't tell the little man, but when Oscar is old enough I'm going to get him to sort out the edge pieces for me. God it's boring. Also if he is the sort of chap who wants to do a jigaw with his old dad I'll be happy to have him join me, however I'll be hiding a piece in my pocket so that I get to put the last bit in. I'm a dad now, I've got to do these things it's the law.

Puzzle on mutha puzzlers

Thoughts on the Credit Crunch

Sounds to this kiddie like somebody has been playing FTSE under the table with the wrong man's wife as some index or other fell for the fourth day. If you ask me this is just the governments way of creating jobs in an otherwise choppy financial climate, after all somebody has to be up all night standing the thing up again.

Here I quote the Guardian (40p off thanks to vouchers handed out in a natty little wallet yesterday at London Bridgge station I picked up two, is this morally wrong?). "Sir Victor Blank chairman of Lloyds TSB, yesterday revealed details of the bargain struck with the prime minister to save HBOS". I feel like Les Dawson here, but I dare you to fill in the blank. I've got a tip for you Sir Vic, why not sell off the second l in Lloyds, some mugs will buy anything and it'll ease that crunchy credit thing that's putting the wind up everyone.

It's a confusing game and no mistake, after all Chauncey understands the meaning of nearly every word on the first few pages of todays paper, but I'll be damned if I can make any sense of them once they've been strung together in that order. I'm not proud of being ignorant of these things, however it's never affected me adversely. You see CQM works on the principal that you spend what you have and no more, if for example Johnny has 20 pence and he wants to buy some penny sweets, he really shouldn't be looking at getting anymore than 20, although I'd be inclined in Johnny's position to hold on to a few pence to pay of the mortgage.

Maybe I'm being naive, but I'll be lying if I don't consider myself something of a financial giant compared with the knuckleheads working in the City. If they'd only worked on the same lines as Johnny and his penny sweets we'd not be in this mess now. Actually now I look at it the penny sweets analogy (if it's not to flimsy to bear that title) is probably all wrong, what I should have said was Johnny has 20p and wants to buy some imaginary penny sweets, the price of which constantly fluctuates rendering their name redundant, so he'd probably be best of spunking his 20p up the wall on coke and prostitutes on account of how it's such a hard life figuring what imaginary products to buy or sell and everyone has the right to unwind don't they?

Seriously my little straw dogs, Chauncey is'nt against people having a little flutter, but he'd really rather they did it with their own money and on something tangible. Is that really too much to ask?

Chauncey is now opening his financial clinic, if any of you would like to ask anything about the credit crunch he will be pleased to answer all in as pointless a display of flipancy as you will see this year.

Rock the boodle fatwa!

The Little Basket in the Corner...

... Contains a small child, this small child possesses delicate ears, these delicate ears (one on either side making a grand total of two) live, with their small owner, in a flat occupied by two adults, these two adults scatter swear bombs about the place like the American government would real bombs.

How do you stop? I don't want a sweary child, I want him to discover the joys of swearing with his chums in a few years time. So how the devil do you stop. It really is a vexing problem,  and when I type vexing I actually mean fucking.

Thank you in advance for your suggestions, none of which I am sure, will be silly.

Rock the boogie fatwa.

Life With Baby or Bringing Up Father

Well Chauncey, I'm sure you are all thinking, how the flip is fatherhood treating you?

Well my little kumquat's I'll tell you seeing as you are being so nosey and all. Nothing, but nothing, can prepare a man for the changes which will swamp his everyday life.

Take for example my appearance. When once I would have described myself as something of a latter day Beau Brummell at whom others would gawp open mouthed, like a school of guppy fish, as I boulavardiered one off around the fancier corners of Streatham, now the best I can hope for is to escape the house with a shoulder dry of dribble and milky sick (and before you ask it's baby Oscar who's responsible, not Em).

Or how about my past life as a bon viveur. At parties (or as they were known to me then soiree's) people would flock, nay, swarm around me like flies around sh... er like bee's around honey to hear my amusing anecdotes (or doting around my annexed mews, I was never sure which). Ladies of the opposite sex would swoon when I passed, while men of the same sex would pass while I swooned (no I don't no what that means either, which leads me neatly on to my next point if you can only keep up).

Sleep deprivation. I have never been much of a sleeper, sleep was for people who are tired was my reasoning, I considered myself something of a part time insomniac (the part of the time I was awake if you must know) but now I truly understand sleep deprivation. As a light sleeper every gurgle or trump would wake me but in the past I just had to elbow Em in the ribs and everything was fine, now however the gurgles and trumps come from the little basket in the fell... I mean the little fellow in the basket and it's not done to elbow little fellows, just ask Ronnie Corbett... Where was I? Who are you? What am I doing here? zzzzzzzz...

Rock the sleepy fatwa you funky dog shitz (I wanna work wit Diddy don't you know)

P.S. I called Oscar a basket for comic affect so leave it already.

P.P.S. Em does not gurgle and trump all night... just part of it.

Confession

It would appear that Chauncey has received no small amount of kudos after a post on this very website by his good lady, Em.

This aforementioned kudos relates to the mouse story. To fill you in, Limpy (the cat) brought a mouse in and dropped the little bugger in the bathroom alive. Later in the evening (your correspondent) Chauncey was wandering to bed clad only in his (not to mention Terry Scott's) trademark pyjamas when he spotted a mouse scuttling under the newly adapted changing table. "Don't worry wife" said CQM bravely jutting out his jaw, "Chauncey Q will take care of this little fellow". Promptly CQM surrounded said mouse (from here on in known as Jerry) with a sequence of towels bunched up and used like a fence. Gradually I eased the changing table away from the wall accompanied by the hysterical laughter of the little lady. Eventually Jerry made a break for it and was trapped beneath my cunning wall of towel, slowly I eased away the towel to reveal a little mousey tail ripe for the grabbimng.... And tyhis dear reader is were the confession comes in. You see presented with the tail, CQM fell to pieces. He just couldn't pick the little blighter up, no doubt put off by the residual memories of people/cats picking up mice and being clattered over the head with a sledgehammer (maybe it's me but I blame Fred Quimby). Anyway the point is CQM couldn't do it, he had a bash but every time his fingers got close to Jerry's tale he bottled it. Then I spotted the slipper/sock on the floor and thought "hello, that's a bit like a glove". So I put the slipper/sock thing on my hand and picked him up like that, hurling the bugger in to a bucket, only pausing to scream like a small girl when it looked like he was about to leap out, I quickly ran for the back door and free'd the raging beast (no my pyjama bottoms didn't fall down).

Anyway Chauncey is a man of honour and couldn't take all that praise without telling the real story. I apologise if I may have dented your hopes and dreams of what the world is or may be but console yourself with the thought that CQM is the heroic character you always believed him to be, even if his bravery may be in doubt...

CQM

I beseech you all to rock the boogie fatwa.