The Complete Dregs of History has a NEW COVER!

Yes indeed, Boldfox Designs has created me a spankingly fantastic cover for the Complete Dregs of History. The guy is awesome. Here it is in all its glory.

The Complete Dregs of History – now available as an e-book

Yes – after putting it off for months, maybe even years, the revised and Complete Dregs of History is available as an EBook for your eyes to feast upon – all 90 characters from http://www.dregsofhistory.blogspot.com  are there. – Enjoy it here  Complete Dregs of History

Fulton Farnsworth Fletcher

It’s at this time of year that I like to remember Fulton Farnswoth Fletcher … one of the true Dregs of History

 

Known to his friends as Fletch or Farnsie, Fulton Farnsworth Fletcher was a prominent figure in Yorkshire sporting circles. He played cricket, usually at the lowest possible level, as well as 23rd division Sunday morning football. His mediocre talents were spread across numerous teams, all of which tried very hard to get him to join them.

His talents were more in social rather than sporting arenas. Fletcher was an accomplished Saturday Night Specialist.

He led the drinking and visits to Indian restaurants with a passion and vigour second to none. It was not unknown for him to down 15-20 pints of a variety of real ales, follow them with rum or whisky chasers, and then consume a vindaloo curry, or perhaps two.

Fletcher was no stranger to his local job centre; he found it difficult to hold on to a job for more than a few months at a time. He lived in a small council flat in Bradford where, it was later found out, he spent his time attempting to write poetry in his brief moments of mental clarity. He specialised in his own individual version of the Japanese Haiku which he applied to the local social and industrial landscape. His seminal work is considered, by many totally unqualified to judge, to be his classic series of five haikus entitled A Saturday Night Out In Bradford.

Fulton Fletcher died early at the age of 45 in tragic circumstances. He had been out drinking copious amounts of beer and spirits and had ill-advisedly followed this with a nuclear-strength curry. The next morning, while sitting on the toilet reading the Sunday Sport, his arse exploded taking him to the next world. R.I.P. Fulton Farnsworth Fletcher.

 

A Saturday Night Out In Bradford

 

A night on the town

One pub after another

Who’s buying my drink?

 

Navigating crowds

Did you spill my pint sunshine?

Got my lights punched out.

 

The fiery curry

Challenges constitutions

A warm wind blows strong

 

Falling on pavements

Fighting the urge to vomit

Where’s my house gone mate?

 

Sat in the throne room

My arse a ring of fire

Torturous hours

This is an extract from The Complete Dregs of History which is available Here

My favourite politician – if only…

‘Laid-back’ Lawrence May

 Lawrence May has had a long and very undistinguished career in Parliament. As a young man growing up in rural Dorset he used to spend much of his time just lying in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. As he grew up he graduated to lying the grass with some cider while trying to focus on the clouds, and then with cider and the local girls while ignoring the clouds altogether. Then he took to lying in the grass smoking some grass and saying things like, ‘Man, look at those clouds man…like, wow.’ It was clear to all of the laidback folk of the small town of Wanton Dope that he would be ideal to represent their interests in Parliament. They enrolled him as a candidate in the next national election, and he was voted in without his even knowing that he was a candidate.

So, all of a sudden, poor old Lawrence found himself sitting with all the stuffed shirts listening to the endless drivel that passes for parliamentary debate. He felt he had no choice but to go to the bar and have a drink until the drivel was finished – but it just went on and on, leaving him no option but to have a drink or two and read the paper and a few surfing magazines. That was back in 1967, and the drivel is still going on. Because of this Lawrence has never really left the bar while in London on parliamentary business; he cannot bring himself to enter the House when a politician is speaking because, in his words, ‘It’s just not cool, man.’ On the rare occasions he has to go in to vote, he takes a hipflask with him so that he can keep his level of anaesthesia sufficiently high until the ordeal is over.

He travels back to Wanton Dope to recharge his batteries for long periods and has often questioned the townsfolk about whether they still want him to go to Parliament as their representative. The general consensus has been that they’d rather he went as they know and trust him, at least to the extent that he will be too spaced out to make any trouble for them and will not be ambitious at their expense. Being a rather relaxed population, they have never expected him to achieve anything of note and they have not been disappointed.

As an independent, Lawrence May spends as little time in London as possible and claims few expenses. He campaigns for environmental interests, farmer’s interests, and when he can get motivated, the legalisation of marijuana. He has no electorate office, instead making it clear that he can be found in the Travellers Arms or down at the beach. If he is not there people are welcome to come and find him at his farm provided that they come armed with some food or drink. He is so popular that he is unlikely to lose his seat until he dies.

Laid-back Lawrence May is a great example of how a person with no discernible talents whatsoever can eke out a successful career in politics. It is alleged that he is also responsible for consuming a good five percent of the marijuana sold in The City.

 

well – it is election time in the UK after all. More of this ridiculousness can be found at http://www.dregsofhistory.blogspot.com

Lord Barr-Studd of the M1 – a politician of note

New politicians can do themselves a favour by studying the career of Lord Barr-Studd. A long sitting Member of the House of Lords, Barr-Studd has managed to achieve very little in his career, but has provided a great many examples of how to come up with the cutting and memorable quote.

Lord Barr-Studd resides in on an anonymous property between Milton Bryan and Eversholt, near Junction 12 on the M1. The good Lord has managed to lose his driving licence no fewer than 17 times. He is currently suspended from driving. Lord DeVere Barr-Studd is, in fact, the 27th Earl of Drule, however the number of times he has been seen standing at Junction 12, and many other junctions between there and London, trying to hitch a lift to Parliament, led to his title being officially changed to Lord of the M1. Barr-Studd refuses to travel on any form of public transport because he is convinced that cholera, malaria, rickets, tuberculosis, polio, scarlet fever, and the Black Death, are still rife among the lower classes.

He is currently lobbying to be made chairman of the Road Safety Committee due to his extensive experience in this area. When asked about the reason for this he replied, ‘We need to change the law on the speed limit. It is outrageous that I cannot drive my Aston Martin as fast as it can go. Speed limits were only ever meant to apply to the common people who do not have the common sense to drive safely.’

Lord Barr-Studd sees it as his patriotic and ancestral duty to attend the House of Lords and, despite his often late appearance, he has managed to cast his vote on many issues. An outspoken critic of everybody, Barr-Studd eventually decided to become an independent and sit on the cross-benches. Due to his current driving suspension and wish to only hitchhike with ‘the right sort of people’, not the ‘common oiks’, he now spends much of his time on the benches of the Red Lion drinking real ale. In his most recent press release he has announced that he is independent of thought and will no longer be taking his seat in Parliament. All five parties of which he has been a member agree that he is indeed independent from thought.

Regarded as slightly to the right of just about everybody else in the country, Lord DeVere Barr-Studd’s most famous quotes include:

 

  • Sink the boats before they reach our shores. We don’t want them in this country.’ This was a reference to ferries full of French tourists.
  • ‘Paying tax is for morons. Look how much of it the government wastes.’ He said this when his own party was in power.
  • ‘Everybody should own a gun, this was just a minor mishap.’ This quote came after he was shot by his friend and fellow Lord, Winstanley Watson of Rockall, on the first day of the duck hunting season.
  • ‘This is a police state! Speed cameras just raise money which is then wasted on poor people.’ – after losing his licence for the 7th time.
  • Who are all these senile, dribbling, and rambling old bastards?’ – on attending his first party-room meeting.

 

Bartwald on Jousting

I want to tell you about my favourite sporting hero – my apologies in advance

 

Bartwald was the premier jouster of his time. He performed many times in front of Henry II. Undeniably the star of sport, he had a serious following throughout England and neighbouring European countries. This consisted mostly of young women, including a large proportion of the Royal Court. It would be fair to say that he was the forerunner of the modern football star.

Bartwald never won a tournament but was often in the final. He never gave up, and was eventually immortalised in the well-known portrait Bartwald Flies Again, by the famous painter of the time, Thyrdwulf Eardwulf. He acquired his nickname due to the number of times he copped a lance in his face and ended up flat on his back, or fell headfirst from his horse.

His rugged although rapidly deteriorating good looks and his lack of intelligence, made him perfectly suitable for the sport. It was said in some quarters, perhaps unfairly, that he managed to carry on jousting for so long because there was nothing in his head to damage. This was mainly from jealous tournament winners who could not get the women they fancied because they all swooned over Bartwald. Unfortunately he was often too drunk to notice, this being the only way he could dull the pain of his injuries.

Unfortunately Bartwald met an early end when he was knocked off his horse in a joust, fell on his head and suffered severe concussion. In his disoriented and confused state he mistook King Henry for his opponent and went to launch a full-blooded attack. Running full pelt at an increasingly worried king, he drew his sword, tripped, and managed to impale himself with his own blade. This was another scene captured by Thyrdwulf Eardwulf entitled Bartwald Ends.

Being a forerunner of the modern sports star, Bartwald was often cornered by the local Court Reporters for an interview. He struggled manfully at such times but was not capable of putting many coherent sentences together. Some of his more relevant insights to his sporting life were recently found in papers that had been mixed with valuable historical documents at the British Museum.

On his chosen sport:

‘Yeah…jousting…it’s like…a game of two ends…you know?’

‘It’s a mental game, jousting. You got to have a mental approach…really mental, if you know what I mean!’

On a recent performance:

‘I done everyfing right, and would have won if I hadn’t lost’

‘I’m in good shape, probably just a couple of broken ribs and a punctured lung… Tomorrow’s annuvver day.’

‘Ggnnhhh’

 

Bartwald is one of the dregs of history – available Here

My slightly warped take on reality TV – Alice Isabor

Alice Isabor was cursed to be baptised on the same day as William Shakespeare, a fact that grew to influence her whole life. Alice was poor and grew up on the south bank of the River Thames, the daughter of a Lady of the Night.  She also went into the family business once she was old enough and was often seen plying her trade on Maiden Lane in the Clink Liberty manor. She was one of many who were licensed by the Bishop of Winchester to operate in the area, free from the restrictions in the City of London. In 1599, after her mother died from a particularly virulent case of syphilis and was buried in Cross Bones, an unconsecrated graveyard for such ladies, Alice became disillusioned with her life and spent a few weeks in deep consideration of her future. That’s what she said, but in reality everybody else said it was a deep alcohol-induced coma – but nobody thought any less of her for it.

It was about this time that she thought she needed to leave her current job and carve out a new future for herself. Having very few talents, other than those relating to her previous profession, Alice decided that she would invite people into her house to watch her live her everyday life. This, she reasoned, would make her famous and open up opportunity. It would surely be more interesting than the dull, middle-of-the-road plays being written by William Shakespeare currently being performed just up the road in the Globe Theatre. It was going to be something new and exciting!

She put an advert on the local Parish noticeboard that read – Watch Alice Isabor. Live viewing – seats available. Much to everybody’s surprise, her plan began to work. People did indeed come to watch her live her life and paid a small charge for the privilege, although many were disappointed when they discovered her change of career.

One of the problems for Alice was that she still shared her house with some of her colleagues who were working as prostitutes. It wasn’t long before her audience discovered that, while watching Alice cook her evening meal was interesting, there was something far more interesting going on elsewhere, judging by the noise percolating down the hall. Alice soon lost her audience. In a desperate attempt to maintain her ratings, she asked her rapidly dwindling audience to vote Naughty Nina out of the house. They voted Alice out instead.

Not willing to let the concept go, Alice tried more and more daring ideas in a bid to draw her audience back. It really irked her that she was still unable to draw people away from that boring Globe Theatre. She put up more notices, one saying –Bored with Shakespeare? Come and watch real life action at my new house in Maiden Lane (Not that sort of action you dirty perverts!).  But the crowds didn’t come. Alice then found herself doing more and more extreme things to get attention. She came to her end when she attempted to juggle sixteen swords in the Southwark town square – ironically this did drag a huge audience, as the prospect of a grisly death usually does.

Some twelve months after Alice died The Globe Theatre burned down when a prop cannon being used caused it to catch fire. The word around Southwark was that the spirit of Alice had caused this as she was still bitter that people preferred Shakespeare to her ‘reality’ show. Most people thought that this was just a load of bollocks.

 

This an extract from The Complete Dregs of History At this site

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