The Non - Christmas CD 2004

Heres the script, as requested (by nobody)...

Intro: La Hormigosa by Tonylow

Festive greetings amigos, and welcome to the 2004 non-Christmas CD, made largely because I can, and an excuse for me to take advantage of my head-runner position and pretend to practice a bit of editing. So thanks for that.
2004 has been an interesting year I suppose, and will be remembered largely as the year I knuckled down and got a proper job, but it began back in the days when I was young and carefree, notable mainly for my absence, gallivanting around in South America. But it wasn’t to last and by late February I was back and in the mood for some reunions.

Track: Bongo Bong by Manu Chou

Steve Collins and Ben were the first recipients of the good news; Steve took the opportunity to say some funny stuff, and Ben brought some girl along for the obligatory pub meet up.
Suddenly February was over and we had to get on with March, as tends to happen around that time of year. For me it was a time of reflection, a good excuse to avoid getting a job, whilst everyone else was probably drunk and immature, as undergraduates tend to be.

Track: This Charming Man by The Smiths

To be honest it’s become pretty tricky to remember as far back as March, leading me to believe that I spent most of it in bed. But there was that one unforgettable evening in Brixton that springs to mind, Zero 7.
Despite everyone getting messy, I was compus-mentus enough to remember Picto and Steve disappearing for a rather long time- I’m still waiting for that drink.
Steve Allen made up for only about half of James’ brain turning up by being there twice, but it’s James himself who won the day, eyes shut and rocking like a pensioner, turning to the group every now and again to make an inappropriate and completely random comment.
I could play a track to remind you of that night, but I won’t.

Track: ‘Holidays In The Sun’ by The Sex Pistols

So that was March and along came April, which I spent temping at a call centre and delivering post, interspersed with spells getting to know Ben’s sofa bed (for which I am eternally grateful). It was around this time I took my only foray to Bath. Despite being on my best behaviour for Steve, I pretty much ‘did a Shaun’ and was asked not to return.
So I haven’t.
Everyone else seemed suitably busy in April, but like March, It’s one of those months that really fade with time.

Track: Promises, Promises by Cooper Temple Clause

Now May I remember. The weather was better for a start, and I got a job and a flat, went to the zoo and to homelands, and generally made up for missing most of spring.
Ben again featured heavily as my most prominent friend, largely because he lived down the road- even if that road was the south circular. He still had this girl hanging around with him too, she practically lived with him at this point, and only remedied herself by naughty talk and fanny farts.

Track: See Emily Play by Pink Floyd

June too was a memorable one- had my birthday, Picto had his, festivities were rife and work was still fun. Ben and Picto both tied up their loose ends at University and escaped relatively unscathed, while Steve Collins continued to be more prominent than his namesake, who had all but disappeared, and James probably confused himself.
Glastonbury came and went, the overall feeling being it would have been better if I was there. At least between Ben and Picto, who instead had to put up with my increasingly erratic behaviour in Durley.
I may be speculating here to an extent, but I am amazed at how so much happens over the course of a year, yet becomes increasingly distant once you sit down to write about it. I might as well be making it all up.

Track: Swords of a Thousand Men by Tenpole Tudor

Which brings me on to July. The month that will be forever memorable for James spending 250 quid on an inflatable fish tank and Picto impressing us all by being only a month away from pulling. Though admittedly none of us were aware of it at the time.
Steve C went to Yeovil to work at a militant cider company around this time, spending all his spare cash- more than I had earned all year- on helicopter parts and his bedroom floor.

Track: A Little Respect by Wheatus OR that track from Anna’s CD

In August we went to the Big Chill, which was.
The elusive Allen was sighted hanging from a tree near Hereford, and Picto fulfilled his destiny, at my tent’s expense, James finally went mad, Ben revealed that the girl hanging around (who I think I mentioned earlier) was in fact a long term girlfriend of his who we allegedly all knew, and all the ducks swam in the water.
It was also quite hot, memorable only for its current absence, and the fact that everyone else seemed to be enjoying something of a summer holiday.

Track: Don’t Bogart That Joint by Country Joe and the Fish OR Don’t Forget Me by The Red Hot Chili Peppers

September was something of a rude awakening, arriving as it did in the middle of the night.
Steve C made the transition over to Guildford again, and completely unprovoked, punched me in the face. He also said something so funny that we can’t remember it.
Sod it, September was a quiet one, answers on a postcard for memorable occurrences that prove me wrong.

Track: Epic by Faith No More
October was crap, I didn’t enjoy it, for reasons too boring and ultimately irrelevant to go into. John Butler trio played, and Steve Allen was glimpsed hanging from a chandelier. And everyone made a friend upon whose name we are still taking bets. Either ‘mate’, ‘Kerry’ or ‘avon lady’.
Although this all actually happened in November, I decided I couldn’t have two quiet months, so have shifted it back in time to a more suitable slot.
Picto proved once more that not only can he pull, but that he can only and always do so in Brighton. He also spilt wine, water and massage oil, and broke most of James’ degree work and his laminate flooring.
Which went almost entirely unnoticed by James, whose mind was on holiday in outer space.

Track: Willie the Pimp by Frank Zappa

By November Ben had disappeared too, rumoured to be hiding out in a safe house cooking vegetarian pasta bake to asylum seekers. He turned up for one gig though, where Picto bought a ripped t-shirt and decided to stay for the week as a result.
The Beta Band played, James almost got me into a fight with a guy that Picto had to get me out of it by taking his place. If that makes any sense you’re doing better than I was.
As the fashion is to shun all music listened to at gigs this year, now seems like a good time to ruin that theme.

Track: Assessment by The Beta Band

And so came December, conveniently falling towards the end of the year. Despite my memory of this month being good, I have nothing to say about it, save for the almost inevitable feeling that we had better not start doing anything interesting because it was nearly Christmas. So I haven’t done anything, not even bought presents, or written this little voiceover in time to make it sound polished, tight and utterly hysterical.
It’s just too cold for creative thinking.

Track: Winterlong by The Pixies

So, that was that for another year, save for the obligatory alcohol fuelled final week.
I regret that I had not spent more time watching Steve Allen grow, or reminiscing about James’ mind, which is sadly missed by all.
As for next year only time will tell, and I for one don’t want to tread on the toes of time, so I will bid you adieu, best wishes, and end the show with the most unsuitable song for a non-christmas album.
Or perhaps not.

Track from Mark Lamarr’s Naughty Christmas

Fridges

Dear All,
It would be greatly appreciated if all the fridges could be cleared out over the Christmas period, as having spent a great deal of time in their company over the last few months, I am quite sure there are products within their doors that are no longer of suitable edibility (and the short break is a perfect opportunity to remedy this).
N.B. This does not apply to those whose food resides in the basement fridge, as a currently unknown saboteur has rendered most of the food to the dustbin, thanks to an open carton of milk and an angle of 90 degrees.
Apologies if your food is missing in the morning, but someone covered it in cow juice.
Thank you for your time,
Sprengiko

The Sauna in Budapest

Caught a cheap flight to Budapest the other day (I had holiday to use up and nobody to go with). All in all it was pretty uneventful; I stayed in a citadel on top of a hill, ate dumplings and embraced the fall of communism. I also decided one evening to head to one of the renowned hot baths for a relaxing soak.

Unfortunately, it was closed.

Fortunately, a man suspiciously lurking outside informed me that there was another one close by, so cutting my losses I headed off that way instead. Upon arrival I paid my fare and entered the changing room, where I bumped into a fat American chap who I recognised from dinner the previous day. After exchanging 'we’ve got to stop meeting like this' pleasantries, he casually informed me "you know this is a gay sauna, right?" (I didn't). "Yeah, the steam room gets kinda steamy..."

With that he promptly re-attired himself and left me to fend for myself, with all these homosexual Hungarian hunks lingering in the background.

Never one to pass up a challenge, I casually continued to undress, until I was wearing nothing more than a skimpy tea towel to cover what was left of my fragile modesty. I then headed in the direction of the baths, at which point, right on cue, I was approached by one of the attendants. "Would you like a massage?"

My brain went into overdrive. Say no, say no... SAY NO!

"Yes please".

Next thing I know, I am face down on a table in a room full of men, my flesh being pummelled by a meaty great Hungarian. I have also by this point been relieved of my tea towel. For the next twelve minutes my masseuse covered every inch of my naked body with his fists, while I cowered away in silence trying to think of something (anything) else.

When the ordeal was over, I decided it was time to 'investigate' the rest of the establishment. I headed straight for the baths and, naked once more, sat in warm water while a fat man eyed me up. I had never seen so many penises in all my life.

After what was, in my opinion, a fairly impressive amount of time - roughly twenty minutes - I saw a man exit the far end of the bath with what was quite unquestionably a massive erection. Enough was enough. I removed myself from the pool and headed off somewhere a little quieter (the changing room).

Passing the steam room on the way, and by this point feeling worryingly confident, I couldn't resist giving it a go. I emerged a few minutes later regretting it though, thanks to the proximity of another fat Hungarian, added to the general warmth of my surroundings.

Having been at the sauna for over half an hour I decided I had had my money's worth, and found myself in the relative comfort of the changing room. Upon exiting the venue I made my way down a flight of marble stairs to the foyer, where a group of men had congregated after their cleansing visit. Cool as ice I removed my hand from my pocket, unfortunately displacing tub of Vaseline (my lips were sore thanks to the general cold you would expect to find in eastern Europe in December) that was held within.

The small metal pot bounced in slow motion down the stars, thud, thud, thud, landing at the feet of one of the men at the bottom. I managed to hold my composure together, bent down to pick it up, winked (mentally if not physically) and was on my merry way. Quickly.