The guy who played bass on 'D.I.S.C.O.' having his innards ripped out by a herd of portly walri..Clive Dunn's final erection..two bison falling out over a drug deal..'Little' Jimmy Osmond shitting his pants on the way home from Dudley Zoo..an astronaut's obituary..a smattering of owl smegma..John the Baptist's death rattle..the sad but necessary incineration of Gareth Gates..the collapse of papal rule..The Abominable Snowman getting his cock caught in his zip..Black Lace's funeral procession..Kendo Nagasaki licking Stuart Little's haemerrhoids..a solitary maggot doing the 'Hokey Cokey'..a Sunday morning knife-fight with that bloke from Kitchens Direct..a leopard impersonating some dandruff..a former member of Hare Krishna chewing some moss..the needless destruction of avaries..Geoffrey Boycott's arsehole exploding..
'One of the funniest men at loose in his own clothes, his is a Northern English nightmare of puppets, explosions, mental illness, wigs, music and sausage fat. He is unlike any other performer you have ever seen. If you enjoy masochistic laughter: weeping, aching ribs, stomach cramps and peeing yourself, hey, come on down!' - Blang!
'A Northern English nightmare of masks, explosions, football results, The Grumbleweeds, The Royle Family, senility and childhood' - 12 Bar Club, London
I reluctantly left my mum’s womb on a cold winter’s evening in 1966 in Harrogate, a small town in North Yorkshire in England.
I attended prep school where I excelled at Latin and was a promising cricketer.
From a young age I began to spend a lot of time imagining I was someone else.
In 1978 I went to the local all-boys public school, which was to play a crucial part in my lack of emotional development
I fell in love with the ‘Do-It-Yourself’ ethos of punk rock and began to make art and music without any semblance of ability.
I found my spiritual home in The Ramones’ world of cretins, geeks, weirdos and pinheads.
I borrowed my dad’s bass guitar and formed a band, appropriately called 'No Reality'.
I got an admirable 0% in my art exam for ignoring the set questions and tracing the sleeve of the first Ruts album instead.
Left school at 16 and practiced being socially inept.
Moved to London.
Made a valiant attempt at normality, wearing a tie and working for the Civil Service.
In 1990 I returned to Harrogate just in time to suffer a breakdown.
Whilst convalescing I wrote songs and made collages.
I sent my bank manager some of my dark poetry.
He took me to court.
The early part of the 90's was spent sleeping until in 1994 I somehow ended up joining Francis Dunnery on tour, playing acoustic guitar and performing my surreal poetry to bemused audiences across the world, culminating in a live album 'One Night in Sauchiehall Street'.
Spurred on by a short-lived belief in my abilities I formed dark-pop band YY28's, signed a major record deal and thought I could be the new Elvis.
One year and one album later we lost the record deal. I returned to Yorkshire to hibernate, listen to dub reggae and Steve Reich and get nursed through another severe depression by Misty the dog.
There then followed
a frenzy of creativity. I produced over 100 collages, which I subsequently dumped at the tip for no apparent reason.
I recorded and toured a collection of dark poetry, comic songs and primal noises, ominously called 'Itchy Circus Odour'. At this time I was often to be found performing on various stages in the UK wearing a sheeps mask and making moaning noises.
I recorded an album of melancholy pop songs called' Children Rule!' in 2003 followed in 2007 by a sprawling collection of poetry, comedy and death rattles 'A Conglomeration Of Jockstraps'. This year has seen the release of 'Melancholia', an experimental music and spoken word CD.
What-ho there, old sport - and thanks for discerning the evanescent sliver of good cheer in the work of two cats who'd quite happily hang themselves if there was nothing good on the telly. Keep it gangsta, etc... CrackTown
Hi Ash, Do you (or anyone you know) make zines? We need zines for an exhibition in Halifax. I think we're going to dangle them from the ceiling at eye level or something; a kind of Forest of Zines? Should be good providing they don't all get tangled up by cheeky scallies. Drop me a line if you interested
Gracias por tu amistad, felicidades por tu trabajo, me ha emocionado. Tus aportaciones y comentarios a mySpace son bien recibidos, es un layout muy visitado y querido en España.
That cracker of a headline was from my local paper The Hucknall Dispatch. The chief writer, Denis, has worked there for 55 years (How bloody old is he???) and writes the most fantastic headlines!
Sorry I can't make it to your re-enactment of the Deliverance scene but rest assured that in my mind my pants are indeed dropped and I will, internally at least, squeal like a pig. I am at home, alone, battering the living daylights out of MacAulay Culkin for spitting through the cat flap again. The cheeky wee shite. Eric's in fine form though. Sort of fluid and damp like ink. I sold him my cold sore.
Hi Ashley, great to hear from you again and thanks for the Video ... it's really excellent, absolutely top class. Anyone who starts rucking with Lizards gets my vote anytime ! ... send it to Philip Moss too, he'd love to hear from you. Hope all is well with you, all the best, David.
Muchas grassy ass for the add, I really enjoyed those songs. I wet myself listening to them; not because of age-related incontinence, but because I was laughing so hard.
Personally, I like to maintain a high level of mediocrity. Thus:
There was a farmer from Greece, Who did obscene things with his geese, But he went too far, With a budgerigar, And a parrot phoned the police.
There was a young man called Cranley Whose parents were Ethel and Stanley Ethel stank of cheese and Stanley of pee So Cranley murdered them and then severed his own head from his body
I've just checked out Clive Dunn on Wikipedia, and nowhere does it mention his final erection. Has he had it yet, or what?. I'm sure you can imagine my disappointment.
A dry-stone wall is very similar to the decline of the z-list celebrity. Both can get wet when outside in inclement weather and both can be climbed over by media folk and A & B list celebrities. However, the dry-stone wall is much more durable and intellectually much more stimulating to talk to.
I sold the millet grinder to Joey, the industrialist budgie. But OK, you have a deal. I'll kill him on Wednesday using a cockroach, a lump hammer and pepper spray. But you MUST allow me to shag Anne Diamond before the cock crows.
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