Lynden awoke to find that it was raining again in Cardiff, as he did every morning as it always rains in Cardiff. Incidentally, that's why Cardiff is known as 'The Rainy City', but we're getting side-tracked already. So anyway, Lynden awoke and immediately smelled some tea. Shit', he thought, overslept and missed lectures again, but then he realised that in fact he didn't mean that kind of tea. He meant the tea that you brew - the type that you can smell. Sometimes. Well, for the purpose of this story anyway.
So, as Lynden ambled into the kitchen, with his usual confident, unassuming and, some might say, wobbly gait, he noticed two things. Well, two things of note and much more besides that didn't really matter, and we won't go into them. He noticed, one, a cup of tea, and two, its maker (the tea that is not the cup, although it does turn out a bit further on that the lad making the tea - shit, I've given away that it's a lad now, aw, and used the word 'I' which means that I've ruined the 'third person' concept - did actually do some pottery on a school trip to Staffordshire once, however, that's a little bit more information than you required). Its maker was Tad. Or Mad Tad Antoniak as he was known to his flatmates, who lived constantly in fear of him, and in his fear, which was of spiders curiously enough. What a soft twat.
Anyway, as Lynden looked on at his fearsome flatmate with as much trepidation as you can imagine and also a sort of, er, squint which he had apparently acquired as a result of the previous night's drinking, not that he would boast any such laddishness, Tad turned around. He stirred his tea. First left, then right, then he gave over trying to 'psyche it out' and just mixed the milk and sugar in it with a small spoon - a spoon which he called a 'teaspoon'. Lynden had no idea what to expect. He ought to have been used to it by now, after all, it had been three long weeks now that he had lived under terrible Tad's beastly, er, can't think of a word for despotic authoritarian terrorism that begins with 'b'. Anyway, I think you get the basic point.
Suddenly, Tad turned; with his demon eyes gazing right into and through Lynden's, if that's possible, which of course it is in the pretentious world of novels, on-line soap operas and other works of fictitious literature. The gaze lasted for what seemed like hours, but of course wasn't. That would have been ridiculous really. Well it would here anyway. Look, even if it's not that ridiculous I'm the writer/author OK? OK. Anyway, after what seemed to Lynden to be quite a long time (?!...) Tad said, "Morning. Good night last night? Er,.............. rooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!"
Lynden laughed and relaxed, for he knew that the question was genuine and the terrible one's roar was merely jocular, in discerning reference to his terrible ways, which he himself claimed were of no fault of his, but the result of an odd upbringing; an upbringing that had started with him being named Tadek Mark Antoniak for example. Could we imagine that?, he would ask, and his servile flatmates would answer simply "No, oh great one, er sorry....sir...." and things like that. That morning, Tad and Lynden had what Lynden later described as 'quite a pleasant chat really,' and all seemed well. But was it? It had become apparent that even those who seem terrible and frightening most of the time can actually be not such a bad bloke at times, perhaps especially when making tea, but other things were afoot; and not just the bottom of a mountain. A door opened out in the hallway.......
"Shit! What's that noise Tad?" asked Lynden, in a rather silly, over dramatic sense.
"It's a door opening, Lynden. Everybody knows that sound effect and anyway it said that it was a door at the end of the last episode," replied Tad, looking not very angry at all.
"Yes I know it's a door y'dick, I was just trying to make it a bit more dramatic."
"Well don't, you're very bad at it."
"Sorry." As Lynden tried to look as apologetically at Tad as he could, the kitchen door swung open.
"I won't make a joke about the final copy looking OK?" [surreal...]
Suddenly there was a thud and in walked Big Man Tayls. That wasn't his real name of course. Boringly enough his name was Mark John Taylor, but who wants to be called that? His friends in the dull and tedious county of Gloucestershire, in a moment of extreme hilarity for them, had nicknamed him 'Big Man Tayls'. It could have been 'Big Mama Tayls', but then not everybody has an imagination like the Vance Productions' scriptwriters. Anyway, he was big certainly, a man probably, and wore a tail convincingly, but there would be no need for that this term as the fancy dress party isn't on anymore as a consequence of fancy dress parties being a pile of shit.
"Shaddap Lynden y'dick!"
"I said shaddap Lynden y'dick. And you can shaddit as well Tad or I'll fackin' squash you!"
"Sorry" said the pair of 'dicks' in unison, and in harmony - they had been practising for some time and Lynden was well known for his excellent baritone.
"Shaddap Tad! And make my breakfast. I'll have sixteen eggs, a pack of pasta, four yogurts, a toasted loaf, your stir fry, nine cups of tea - your tea - a jar of neat soy sauce, some chips, some rice, fourteen pints of cider, a chapati, some naans and a chicken biriani. I'm on a diet."
"It's yes thank-you sir."
"Shaddap Lynden. What the fack are you doing out of your room anyway?"
"Oh yeah. That's really interesting - will you do mine? Am I going to live forever and ever?"
"Dunno mate, I was having a grin."
"Shaddap!" he turned to Tad, who was quivering, This was decisively odd for Tad, who was a known mad man, but seemed to be in a rather tame mood, "harry ap wiv moy fackin' breakfast y'cant! Naaowww!" Tad brought the trolley of food, which he had prepared in double quick time, over to the table, which wasn't big enough. It would have been even worse if their flatmate Phill Opielercurry had been there, playing on the Playstation as he normally was.
"So, what will you be getting up to on this jolly morning, Mr Mark?" asked Tad, again in a rather tame manner - perhaps this was the calm before the storm.
"Shaddap Tad! Don't talk like a Hampshire twat to me. Er, yeah..... well, my good friend Olympiakos is coming round after I've finished my breakfast. Then we're going for some light lunch at that new EatAllYouCan! restaurant in town because I'm on a diet, then, we're playing waterpolo, we've got training, then I'll be starving so I'll probably come back and eat you, then basketball, a minor heart attack, some light lunch - perhaps just a couple of small cows because I'm on a diet - then I'll spend a couple of hours taking a dump, then I'm going out with the waterpolo team to pull."
"But you did that yesterday."
"Yes but they're good looking lads. Er, shaddap!... when I come back, Antoine Le Coque and I are cooking lunch for the lads in D3, and if I'm still alive I'll probably just fancy a curry."
"A curried ox."
"Shaddap! It's getting tedious! Where the fack are Phill and Selwyn anyway? And where that fackin' loverboy Joey Melville? Er, y'dick."
As the three sat in the kitchen, wondering where their other three flatmates were, there was a tap on the window, no in fact, forget that - I'm not putting that shitty old joke about having to change the plumber in - er, there was a ring on the doorbell. What on earth were people doing leaving cups on top of things like that? No that wasn't very good either. OK, someone rang the bell, and before the three knew it, they had started episode three.....
Tayls, Tad and Lynden sat together in the kitchen, which had been altered between the last two episodes (by way of moving the furniture) without a single person knowing. Someone was about to come in. It was obvious. Everybody knew it. The script said so anyway, and the audience could clearly see, so there was no pretending. Suddenly, in a swift, whippet-like movement, Phill Opielercurry (room 4) entered the kitchen. He was a true stallion of a man with shoes, cream slacks, an Everton shirt, gel-spiked hair and a curious look. His flatmates looked at him in awe.
"New slacks, Phill?" enquired Tad.
"Yep. Hmmph." replied Phill.
"They're, er, very nice."
"I'm not asking you to loik them Tad!!!" raged Phill in his odd, Hereford/Brum drawl of an accent, which his flatmates clearly envied and tried to copy.
"Sorry." said Tad, for about the fifth time in the last few episodes.
'The audience', thought Lynden, 'must be getting pretty suspicious of this Tad character. First he's introduced as some nasty mean character with a penchant for, er, killing people and stuff, but all he manages in the first couple of episodes is a token roar. All rather odd it must be to the audience', thought Lynden, further, 'that he simply keeps apologising and making tea.' 'In fact', thought Lynden, 'I might well think that Tad was named Terrible Tad in the beginning simply for the cheap effect of simple alliteration'.
But, of course, that would never happen in this kind of soap-opera, set in totally trendy Talybont, where alliteration was as unheard of as Oasis posters on student walls, Sleeper spewing from student study er cells, and dickheads getting their faces painted for England games in the serene but super silly social centre. Or whatever.
Phill immediately set about making his breakfast. He would, as usual, have sautéed rat's vomit, with diced spam, some tinned stew, with his name on of course, some tinned new potatoes, followed by escalloped pig's trotters with black peas and toenail clippings, and of course a tin of cold rice pudding, which he would later fashion, with unimaginable imagination, into a bowl of cold rice pudding. It was all quality stuff.
"Shaddap Phill! That looks rank!" said Tayls.
"I'm not asking you to eat it Mark!" retorted Phill, in a stunning blow. Earlier in the week, their other flatmate Joey Melville, the cheeky cockney type, had remarked that Phill's tea had looked like he'd thrown it up. Phill had said that he wasn't asking Joey to "loik" it, that it wasn't his business and that he should keep his nose out. Joey said that in that case his nose would probably the only thing that wasn't in it. Phill did not take kindly to this type of criticism. He was sat now, angrily pondering the sheer rudeness of his flatmates, which you just wouldn't get in the Hereford countryside, where cows walked idly in the street, passing the time of day with the womenfolk, who made dried flower arrangements and wore big silly dresses and stuff. 'It was despicable,' thought Phill. 'How dare they?'
After all, he had kindly left his TV in the kitchen for everyone else to watch. If he wanted to eat rat's puke and toenails that was his business, and how right he was. Again the other three sat and stared in awe. No other human could possibly eat that kind of shit and expect to live, whether their names be on the tins or not. Phill was super human obviously, but could he, his food, or his slacks save them from what was now afoot in the hallway? Again the door and all of their ears twitched.....
The four flatmates present in the kitchen sat having a really fun time, waiting for various things. Tayls was waiting for his second fridge full of food, Tad was waiting to be asked to make another cup of tea, and of course to roar, and as he and Lynden sat discussing why Phill needed seven wanks per day and of course the general ethos of Picasso's cubist period, Selwyn mumbled something about "crickeet". But most of all, they were awaiting the arrival of their final flatmate, Joey Melville. Or at least this is what Joey would like to think. The cheeky cockney fellow constantly reminded himself of his supposed brilliance: his charm, sophistication, wit and astounding good looks; all reflected by his amazing haul of two rough girls all year. Hmmm.
Suddenly, the door slammed open if that's possible. In walked Melville, or Joey Zeus, as he insisted on being called. Tad and Lynden broke into their customary tune for 'The Arrival Of The Zeus', a parody of an Adam F record; the lyrics only slightly altered in accordance with the personality of the Zeus:-
"Alwight tossers!" shouted Joey as he entered, doing a sort of funny dance and no doubt weighing up what he could sell to the other flatmates in cheeky barrow-boy fashion, "or was that more information than you needed?"
"Shaddap Melv you tosser!" exclaimed Tayls, excitedly.
"It's a Lan-dan fing." replied Joey, hilariously. "Where's my mail anyway, you fat prick?"
"I ate it."
"Oh Tayls you're sach a fat prick. Where's that prick Phill gone with his cool slacks?"
"To his room for a wank." intoned Tad.
"Shat it Tad. Who asked you anyway you ginger Tosser? And you can shat it Lynden you northern scam! Selwyn, you've got cum on your t't' pants like!" Joey shouted, again hilariously. It was all quality stuff.
"Er, Joey, sorry, Zeus..." started Selwyn.
"Yes Redpants you tosser?"
"Erm ,very good, er, what y'doing tonight like? Nowt?"
"Well chuck like t't' Redpants t't' like..." began Joey in a hilarious mimic of Selwyn's Sheffield annoyance, sorry, accent, "....first I'll go t't' pub like an I'll 'ave ten pints like [shandy] and then I'll go an' shag t't' Donna an' then I'll 'ave t't' Emily like an' then business Clare'll want it up 'er so am in fer a busy t't' night like."
"Is that the same as going down the social for two or three and then ending up in bed with Suzie again?" asked Lynden. The others laughed, except for Tayls who wasn't allowed to laugh, on the orders of his doctor, due to fears that he might explode.
"Shat it you tossers! I am a gallis; the sex prince; they lav it ap 'em! Oi oi, Saveloy!..." said Joey, now looking excitedly out of the window at (shock horror) a girl, "....do you want it ap you lav? Lan-dan massif, turn it in san! They all want a piece of the Zeus....." Perhaps this meant that 'they' were all looking for that piece of him the rest of us had missed, ie, his brain. Perhaps we would find out. After a while, the Zeus stopped spouting rubbish about girls and nonsensical phrases about London and sausages and so on, and invited Selwyn into the hall to play cricket, "where Ill whip your northern arse, Redpants or not, Selwyn!...". Just as they were about to go though, the doorbell rang....
Joey Zeus went into the hallway to answer the door, with Selwyn following him with his sort of, old-lady-pretending-to-have-quite-a-severe-hip-problem-walk. Again the doorbell rang. The Zeus was doing a sort of cockney-walkabout walk, and so it took him a couple of minutes to reach the door as he pretended to stop off and buy some jellied eels and mash. The doorbell rang throughout; it was obviously an impatient caller. Eventually, Joey reached the door and opened it in a rather knobheadish way. Selwyn looked on. On the other side of the door was Olympiakos, a friend of the Big Man. Olympiakos was a small but very stocky Greek man, apparently in his early twenties (though this was debatable). He stared Joey in the eye.
"'Ello! 'Ow are you!?" he asked before pushing Joey to the ground and walking in.
Joey was incensed. He got up quickly, clearly raging. "Oi, you facker, don't be thinkin' you can get away wiv fings like that when you're dealin' wiv the Zeus! I'm a fackin' gallis mate! More of a Greek god than you'll ever be! Knees ap mavver brown an' all that!"
He was no longer in the mood for cricket. "Selwyn you tosser, I don't want to play t't'crickeet now like so t't' fuck-off like." Very funny mimicry.
"That's OK Joey," said the Redpanted man, "Am going owt tomorrow night like, taggin' along with some lads from t't' Neuro Science like. I'll be needin' at least a day's t't' sleep for preparation like." He went to his room.
"Fackoff then!" he stormed, and barged (or bowled, as he preferred) into the kitchen again. As he opened the door, he spied Big Man Tayls trying to eat the curtains without being noticed.
"Tayls you fat prick, cat it out!"
"No it's OK, I can eat it whole." replied Tayls.
"No, I mean stop eatin' the fackin' curtains will ya? Fack's sake."
"Well, I need something to tide me by until I get to Olympiakos' house."
"He lives next door you fat facker!"
Joey tutted, before strutting around the kitchen and shouting something nonsensical about "lavvin' it ap ya!" at some random girl outside. Meanwhile, Olympiakos was up to something. He was shaking the radiator vigorously, apparently trying to prise it from the wall.
"Eyyyyy!!!!!!" he said very loudly "Your radiator is not very safe eh!? Heheheheheh!!!!!!! Heheheh!!!"
"Shaddap Olympiakos!" shouted Tayls, "Stop doing that! I'll be needing the water in there later on. Come on, let's go."
"OK!!!!!!!" screamed Olympiakos, as they both 'walked' out of the door, making the entire block tremor as they went, "bye bye ladies!!!!! Hehehehehehe!!!!!" he finally screamed as they went, displaying a keen sense of humour.
Tad, Lynden and Joey remained in the kitchen. The Zeus was strutting all he thought he had to strut. Tad sat quietly, and Lynden did the same, though obviously mindful that Tad was fierce and could explode at any time.
"Make me a cap of tea you ginger tosser." said Joey to Tad.
"OK." said the fierce one. Joey obviously didn't realise who he was dealing with.
"And where's that prick Phill Opielercurry?"
"Gone to feed the ducks again." intoned Lynden, and just as he said it, the door swung open. It was obviously Phill, as the door had been kicked before it opened, and that was a true sign of the Opielercurry man. Phill walked in, as if he was trying to be very confident but didn't quite know where to look.
"What do you want you agly facker!?" asked Joey, more politely than usual.
"Oh, great. Hmmph." enthused Phill, "It's still there."
"What is?" "The dish water from last week's washing up..... I'm tryin' to make mi own shampoo. Hmmph."
Phill gleefully put the filthy water into a big bucket and 'walked' happily back to his room, where Babe Watch, the incredibly rubbish porn film, was no doubt paused until he got back. The three laughed in the kitchen, as fierce Tad made the tea. Joey was strutting big time now, and while Lynden was still cautious as to Tad's behaviour, he was also pondering the imminent arrival of his mate Simon Whitworth, who was coming to Cardiff to visit for a couple of days, and also to watch Cardiff play at home to his team, Bury, in the Auto Vimto Cup preliminaries.
Tad's look turned to an inquisitive one. "Joey, you know when you, you know, when you, sort of, erm, with Suzie, erm, you know, erm......." he tried to ask.
"When I shavved it ap 'er!? She lavved it!"
"Yeah, but did you, you know, erm, give her a blow job?" Lynden and Joey fell about laughing at the hilariously atrocious question Tad had just asked. After about 3 minutes of pure laughter, they began trying to speak again, but it was no good, it was just too funny. Eventually, they managed to look Tad in the eye again.
"Tad, where the fack do you cam from!!!!!???" asked Joey.
"Shut up, you know what I mean, erm did you, did you, well I don't know do I? I mean there's no word for it is there?"
"Hahaha you piece of Hampshire toss.... look, I slipped her the length, she lavved it ap 'er, I'm a fackin' gallis and that's all you need to know, you little Englander Les Dennis lookalike simple ginger tosspiece."
"Thanks." replied Tad, and finished making the tea. They almost immediately started to laugh again, as they heard the sounds of muffled masturbation moaning from Phill's room. Another girl walked past the window. Joey had a plan. Hilariously, he would walk towards the window and shout "I'm a gallis!"/"You don't like it ap ya, you lav it ap ya!"/"Do you want some of my length lav!?" or something equally mind-blowingly cheeky. But before he had chance, another distraction occurred. The doorbell rang again....
Again, Joey the Zeus insisted on answering the door. He 'bowled' down the hallway, this time taking only a small number of minutes as he pretended to stop off and sell stolen watches to some imaginary tourists. Lynden thought that it was daft that Joey always had to answer the door. Joey pretended that he had to answer it because "it's obviously sam fit bird wiv big tits who wants it ap 'er... and I am a tits man."
"I am a tit's man" was the new Joey mantra, which he had acquired over the Easter break which occurred between this and the last episode. Much had happened since The Flatmates had gone home for Easter. The furniture had been moved again, Phill Opielercurry had been renamed Phillth due to the his continued culinary awfulness, and Selwyn had missed Easter altogether because of "t't' hibernation," a strange episode in which his parents came down all the way from Sheffield and failed to wake him up, even after having gone through over a thousand packets of Super Noodles with a four day 'Super Noodle aroma vigil' outside his bedroom door.
Anyway, Joey's opening of the door was even more pointless than normal this time as Lynden was certain who it was. It was Cliché Si, an aptly named mate of Lynden's from back home. It was obviously Si because he said that he would arrive at 10:00am prompt and he was always precisely punctual. He had been this way, apparently, since he heard the advice "a stitch in time saves nine" from his gran, when he was a boy. Joey eventually opened the door and was disappointed to see Simon.
"Yeah, what do you want y'cant?"
"Hello mate!" replied Si, "Is this where Lynden Berg lives?"
"Yeah, what do you want that northern tit for? Even though I am a tits man. Fack me! (!) You sound like him actually you sad northern tosser."
"Er yeah, thanks," replied Si, "actually, I don't think you should provoke and incite me like that, it's like a red rag to a bull, that is."
"Aw shat 'ap you tossah! Cam in then. I don't want you standin' 'ere gettin' in the way of all the fit birds that'll be wantin' t'cam round" exclaimed Joey, as he looked into the rain and the empty street. "They lav it ap 'em y'know! Lav it! Er, Lynden's in the kitchen, go on in I suppose."
"Thanks" replied Si, "you've just dangled the carrot that I wanted."
As Simon was about to walk into the kitchen, carrying his heavy bag (he didn't mind carrying the bag, as he remembered some old advice he's heard as a boy, that 'the burdon of a heavy pack upon one's back is nothing but the burdon of one's will') Joey interrupted him.
"Oi oi Saveloy! What the fack is that you've got on!?" he shouted, pointing at Simon's shirt with the Bury FC badge on the chest. "Are you sam type of cant?"
"It's Berry FC y'know...my team."
"What do you mean 'your team'? Do you fackin' play for 'em or samfing? Do you fack!"
"No," replied Si, "but that's partly the reason I'm here. I'm watchin 'em play Cardiff in the Auto Vimto preliminaries, though I will be having a drink with the players this evening."
"What, all of 'em?" asked Joey. "Well, the team that drinks together wins together," replied Si, and walked into the kitchen to the sound of Joey exclaiming to the world that he was a "tits man!".
He spotted Lynden at the table. "Hello mate!" said Simon , and, as Tad made them both some tea, the two began to talk, about Simon's train journey, Bury ("Berry") FC and other football and public transport related topics. Suddenly, they were interrupted, just as Simon was talking about a "train of two halves". Joey Zeus entered the kitchen, clearly astounded.
"Fack me!" he begged, sorry shouted, "Av a look at who i've got 'ere! It's Selwyn fackin' Redpants!" And he was dead right, although Selwyn looked more like he was just dead. His four week hibernation period had seen him lose 2 stone, look even paler, and grow hair which reached almost half a metre into the air. He may have been known as Mr Redpants, but he was also Mr White Afro. All four looked on at Selwyn, completely amazed. Tad was clearly returning to his fierce old ways after making the tea, as he made a smart remark about the rest of the flat being forced out if Selwyn's hair grew any more.
Joey had different ideas: "I fink you should build a fackin' bird's nest in there! That'd be right ap my street!..... They don't like it ap 'em, they lav it ap 'em!" Perhaps the Zeus had designs on becoming the new Bruce Forsyth, such was the tiredness of his catchphrase.
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." intoned Simon. Perhaps he could be the new Soloman. In any case, the talk of football and "lavvin' it ap 'em" could wait. Selwyn was, as always, in serious need of food. He would require double his usual daily dosage: a packet of super noodles, and a minute frozen shepherd's pie. Big meal time indeed. Tad got to work on the 'meal' right away, but as has become customary at the end of an episode, the doorbell rang. Now who could it be this time?.....
Joey again insisted on answering the door. As he walked down the hallway, he recited a little 'cockney chant' to remind himself what a 'diamond geezah' he was: "They don't like it ap 'em. Can I maff ya? They lav it ap 'em. Here cams the absolute fackin' diamond gallis, and I am a diamond, and I am a tits man." He answered the door. To everyone's surprise, it was two of his friends, Sunbed Dettori, and Mark Driedon-Brownstain.
"Alwight san!" said the Zeus.
"Alwight geezah! Laverly banch o' coconuts! Nice!" replied his fellow cockney Sunbed.
"I used to live in Landan. I'm a geezah!" shouted the one known simply as 'Brown'.
"Shat ap Brown you top dickhead," replied Joey immediately. "Diamond!" it was all quality.
The three walked, or 'bowled' into the kitchen, where they all sat down. It was traditional in these circumstances, that is, when two 'diamond cockney geezahs' got together, for them to speak very loudly to each other in an incomprehensible manner for a few minutes, or at least until they got bored and starting pining for some pie and mash. They proceeded.
"You're never gonna guess what the old trouble and strife's been ap to san..." began Sunbed.
"I can't fink mate! Don't tell me, she's gone and set fire to your brand new whistle and flute?"
"No mi owld china! Guess again."
"She's gone and half-inched your razor, and now you can't have a dig in the grave so you've got a new Johnny Cash on yer boat race?"
"Well fackin' tell us then! I'm a cockney and I get bored easily. Cam on, lets go down the old rab-a-dab and see if we can start a new fascist party, or are you gonna tell us what your old trouble's been ap to?"
"She's only gone and lost my favourite fackin' dish what I eat jellied eels out of. Fack's sake!"
"No! Give the old Doris a fackin' slap for 'er troubles. That's well out of ordah! What did you do when you found out?"
"I ran straight down the apples, got on the dog and bone, ordered a new dish and then got a scrapper track to cam round an' tow 'er motor away!"
"Nice work san!"
"Well, I am a geezah! Anyway, I'm bored as fack, got any pie and mash?"
"Yeah, giz sam food gavnor," intoned Brown. "I'm beggin' ya. I'll pay."
"Fack's sake Brown!" shouted Joey, "You're sach a top dickhead. Every time there's sam food goin', you cam round. Fack me. It's not as if you're sam type of fit bird who lavs cock or anything is it? The women lav the Zeus, but the Zeus don't lav you. Cam on then you top dickhead, lets 'ave a look."
Joey got up, and the three of them 'bowled' over towards the freezer. It was at this point that another guest character entered the scene. Anyone who looked out of the window would have seen John Powell, known as 'Cozy' walk past, with his guitar, which he carried everywhere. Everyone shouted "alright" to him, and he replied "alright" and walked away. He had clearly asked for a walk-on part. Meanwhile, Lynden and Cliché Si had moved on from public transport and onto the Bury's tough game in Cardiff, the second leg of the Auto Vimto Shield. Lynden asked Si what he thought of the first leg at Gigg Lane.
"Well," said Si, "It was a game of two halves. First of all, they set their stall out and I thought that we wouldn't have scored if we'd have played 'til midnight. I mean, you'd have put your house on it, it was like men against boys really, but cometh the hour, cometh the man, and Tony Ellis stepped up to put us ahead. We've been relying on him, and of course you shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket, but Jemson played up front with him and a problem solved is a problem halved. Of course, you don't want to play too many up front, because too many cooks spoil the broth, but at the end of the day there's no such thing as an easy victory. Ellis is as Ellis does, and when a 30 yard chance came his way, he didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. He can shoot from there all day."
"Yeah, I heard that. He and Jemson cost quite a lot by Bury's standards though didn't they?"
"Well,... the value of a thing is what it brings, and they've ensured our place here and in the first division for next season. Oxford didn't want Jemson anymore, and we said, well,... waste not want not, and that's our philosophy really. I mean, just as you sow you shall reap, and Ellis wasn't doing that well before. When Jemson came, they really helped each other out, and a friend in need is a friend indeed."
"Jemson's last boss, Malcolm Crosby, didn't really rate him that much though did he?"
"Well,... a bad workman always blames his tools. Crosby thought that Jemson was a spent force, but it's not all over 'til the fat lady sings. He's still got time on his side, so Crosby shouldn't have counted his chickens before they were hatched. I think he's a strong character in the dressing room, Jemson. He's had to start a clean slate more than once in his career, and for many people that would mean once bitten, twice shy, but Jemmo's realised that life's what you make it, and I don't think that he's the type to throw away the chance of a lifetime."
"What do you think for the second leg then?" "Well,... you never know with a team like Berry. There's nowt as queer as folk, and we've been up against some pretty tough old teams; I mean, if you lie down with dogs you're gonna get fleas. At the end of the day, win lose or draw and we'll be there, but hopefully someone like Peter Swan will pop up and steal a winner."
"Swan?" asked Lynden, "he's a bit rough isn't he?"
"Well,... actually he's more like a bull in a china shop than a swan, but when it comes to the crunch he can do the business and hopefully another one bites the dust... time will tell."
"Cardiff are a rough bunch of fans though aren't they?"
"Well,... the devil will find work for idle hands to do, but seriously, once one starts acting the goat, they're all at it. Like I said, lie down with dogs and you get fleas, but seriously, there's bad apples in every barrel and it's not really fair to tarnish them all with the same brush."
"Are you not worried about getting jumped."
"Well,... not really. What needs must, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Time will tell."
"Would anyone like a cup of tea?" Tad interrupted.
"Aye," said Selwyn.
"By the way, I've got t't' news like. Sowper Nowdles and that. I've been asked to be t't' captain o't England cricket team fort'next test series like. You must now call me Captain Redpants."
"Captain fackin' campants, hahaha" shouted the Zeus, and they all sat down, waiting for Tad to make the tea, and smelling the pie and mash that the cockney fellows had just started making. It was sunny now, and they were resting. But was there to be another episode?
Due to an extra injection of cash from our new backer, Cheef Jusin P69, we are able to bring you an extra episode of The Flatmates. This is definitely the final episode of our much loved soap opera which, incidentally, was recently described as "an amazingly accurate critique of student life... surely the most influential work of fiction in modern times" by the highly respected Vance Free Press.
It was originally felt that our bank balance might be a little too strained were we to produce another episode, due to guest character Cliché Si's extortionate wage demands, based upon his insistence that "you get what you pay for in this life", but now we are able to afford both this and the fee for other guest characters who may or may not make appearances in 'walk-on' roles.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for your continued patronage of Vance Productions Ltd. We have enjoyed supplying this ground-breaking work of fiction and we hope you enjoyed it all too.
I would also like to scotch rumours that the hostile take-over bid by Little Englander Productions was successful. LEP did put out a lot of unsuccessful propaganda which hopefully none of you will have bought into. If you did then you must be a prize tit. Only joking, no offence to professional gift tits or anything etc etc. On the subject of propaganda, LEP is run by a Les Dennis lookalike from Hampshire and is a shit company with not one but two broken drinks machines in reception. Their head office is a portakabin and their executive toilet a bucket. No bitterness intended.
Corporal Lynberg Vance
The weather was now extremely hot, and the air stuffy. Music, most of it admittedly really shit, spewed from every window, except the ones from which it didn't. The kitchen was full and the heat was intensified by the oven which was cooking "top Landan grab Saveloy" as Joey called it, or pie and mash as everyone else did.
Tad was making the tea as usual and keeping out of everyone's way, while still attempting to look fierce. After all, he was Fierce Tad, or Super Tad as he had taken to calling himself. This was a bit daft, as actually he looked exactly like the famous Liverpudlian 'comedian' Les Dennis, who was very famous for being a very funny man on the television from Liverpool and having something called 'Scouse Wit' which was obviously very funny. Very funny indeed. Not only did Tad look like Les Dennis, he had also tried to entertain everyone with his astoundingly shit jokes, but his voice didn't carry so he went back to being fierce. Fierce Tad.
Captain Redpants stood still, admiring his 'humorous' gorilla feet slippers which were his pride and joy, along with his Super Noodles. Nothing could stop his hair now, he thought, from taking over the flat with its astonishing growth rate. Now that he was the Captain, he would show them, he would force them out so that he could use the entire flat to hibernate in. Tad's fierceness, Phillth's martial-arts-in-cream-slacks moves, Tayl's sizeable gut, Joey's 'charm' or Lynden's sheer size (and Lynden was over eight feet tall) could all come at once, and the Captain's hair would overpower them. He would reign supreme, he thought, but he may just have to get a couple more days sleep in first.
Between this episode and the last, much had happened. Although it is all continuous, certain things had to have happened for the story line, or Fabula, as it is known when revising for Film Studies exams, to work properly. It is on this principle that Bury had now played the second leg of their Auto Vimto Shield game against Cardiff and been successful. Si and Lynden were again deep in conversation.
"So," said Lynden, "you think Bury deserved their victory then?"
"Well,... all's you can do is your best, and they worked like dogs, so I think we were good value for the 3-0 win." replied Si.
"I thought it would work well putting Swan up front as a big man, rather than little Jemson, and it looks like Stan Ternent thought the same."
"Well,... great minds think alike, Lynden. You and Stan must be like two peas in a pod. The Cardiff fans weren't happy with our long ball game, but all's fair in love and war."
"Yeah. It's a real shame you don't have a clever playmaker you can feed the ball to isn't it?" asked Lynden, really getting into Bury's tactical predicament.
"Well,... I beg to differ. What you've never had you never miss."
"There was a bit of scrapping though wasn't there? Frank Burrows said his players came off looking like they'd been thrown to the lions."
"Well,... I think that's a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Our lads played like the heroes of the hour. It's all sour grapes. I mean, there's no love lost between these two sides and they were at each other's throats like cats and dogs, but what needs must and what's done is done. It had to be done and it's all water under the bridge now. Anyway, thanks for the room last night. I'll return the compliment; have to be going now. See you later, and don't worry about the tea."
"Alright mate, I'll see you to the door. Fuck's sake, it's hot in here...." said Lynden as he left the kitchen and opened the front door.
"Well,... if you can't stand the heat stay out of the kitchen" replied Si, and walked out of the door.
"I certainly am," said Lynden as he returned to the kitchen, and he was. As he entered the kitchen, he saw two friends, Macca and Nick walking by. They were holding hands and looking like they were too busy concentrating on each other to come into the flat. It was too hot. Lynden shouted to them, but they didn't hear him, such was their blissful relationship. They started kissing. Lynden suspected that they might be gay, but he didn't really think so, because it was still illegal in Wales, except between man and sheep.
The front door was barely shut for ten seconds before Big Man Tayls stormed back into the flat, looking extremely angry and very red. He was now naked, and barged into the roasting kitchen, with his friend Olympiakos not far behind him.
"Shaddap you cants!" shouted Tayls as he went even redder, purple even. He was obviously very angry about something. He couldn't have lost at basketball because he hadn't been there long enough, even though a football match had taken place in the meantime. The fabula was obviously going to need more work if it was ever to become a film, which it wasn't. Perhaps Olympiakos or 'Jon' as his name was sometimes abbreviated to, could provide a clue as to Tayls' extreme anger. Jon was laughing.
"Oi oi Jon." shouted Joey, "what the fack's the matter with fatty?"
"Heheheheheheheheh" replied Olympiakos, "hehehehehehehehe" ...... "heheheheh" .... "Mark was thrown out the basketball court for having no clothes on... heheheh... he ate his clothes on the way... heheheh, it was very funny, heheh."
"Shaddap you cants! Shaddap! Shaddap!" Tayls was now very purple indeed.
"Settle down fatty," Joey tried to help. "Rrrrrrrrrr.. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!" exclaimed Tayls, as he exploded, disseminating into millions of fragments which scattered about the kitchen. The reaction to Tayls' death was mixed. Jon laughed and said he was going back to his flat to tell Antoine Le Coque, Lynden looked a bit shocked, and was disappointed to find some regurgitated pasta in his hair. Tad was now annoyed because the cups had been lost in the carnage and he would have to start again, Selwyn was privately pleased because it meant that there was now one less person to 'grow out' of the flat and the other three didn't notice, as a girl had just walked past the window and they were too busy telling each other how she must "lav cock."
Behind the girl was Matt Vlemmiks, an old Jim McDonald-style drinking partner of Lynden's from back home. He approached the window and in an odd voice and gait, asked Joey, Sunbed and Brown if they had "ever heard of... hmmph... insect politics?"
They all said no, but Joey added that he had once attempted to have sex with an insect. Matt then walked away, after exclaiming "these aren't the droids you're looking for!" These walk-on parts were a strange affair indeed. Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open again with a kick and in walked Phillth Opielercurry. He had changed from his Everton shirt and slacks into his Everton shirt and joggers. He looked a treat, just like his dinner.
"Roight then," he said in his weird accent "Oim off to Tae Kwon Dohwwww. Hmmph. Bugger me! What's all this mess loik?"
"It's fat boy Tayls you mappet. He's popped his fackin' cats and dogs."
"Brilliant, what a lovely meal all this'll make. Oill just get some Tupperware. Hmmph." and he was in and out of his room in a flash, scooping up Tayl's remains while they were still at boiling point. "Oill get a thousand meals from this. Hmmph."
"Oi Phillth!" shouted Sunbed. "Is that a new haircat or jast a fackin' disgrace?!"
"Am not askin' ya to loik it. Hmmph!" replied Phillth, in another quite stunning blow of wit. He collected what he could before Joey and Sunbed beat him to death "for being a top mappet." Brown was now undecided about who he wanted to be best mates with in the flat. He liked hanging around with Sunbed Joey and Lynden, but he was officially best mates with Selwyn, and also needed to grovel to the one and only captain. On top of this, he had loyalties to Tad as they were both from the 'fierce' county of Hampshire. He decided to go for them all.
"Right," he began, "I am a geezah, see you two later; oh, Tad, the tea was lush, even though I didn't drink it I know it would have been; Selwyn coming to play t't' crickeet?"
"Can dow," replied Selwyn, as the two walked out "then I'll very probably go and hibernate again t't' sowper nowdles, eeh by 'eck like, what a funny year like, it's just not crickeet, very probably. Si thi all in t't' bit."
"Shat up you pair of top dickheads!" shouted the two cockneys together, and Tad tried to join in.
"Right then," said Tad, "right then, erm, right, well, erm obviously I'm a geezer, God bless England and God save the Queen. I'm off for a tom shit, then I'll have a dig in the shave, brush my Hampstead teeth and then wash my old grey hair and plates of feet in the David shower. I'm off out to watch a very talented musician this evening, like fierce old geezers do. He's very accomplished on the old Princess piano. I am a real trendy geezer. God save the Queen old chaps, God save the Queen."
"Shat ap Tad you prize tit," said Joey "you obviously don't get the principle of cockney rhyming slang. It requires a great deal of fackin' wit. It's a Landan fing. Now fack-off into your room you poncey little Englander dickhead."
"Erm, shut your effing mouth Joey, we all know you've never given a girl a blow-job, er, ha ha." replied Tad, before rushing into his room and locking the door looking anything but fierce.
"Fackin dickhead eh, Sanbed?" said Joey, who was now reflecting on the news that his team, West Ham, were about to pay upwards of £5m for Teddy Sheringham, or Ready Steady Teddy as he was laughably known in London.
"Yeah mate" said Sunbed getting up and leaving. "Anyway san, I'm off. Gotta go and make a porn flick with a right pair of sorwts. Hard core janglist massif. It's a Landan fing. See ya later Zeus, and remember, Jimmy White, king o' pots." And he was gone. He was, after all, a champagne cockney.
"King o' fackin' pots," repeated Joey "and I am a fackin' gallis. And I am a tits man. Hartson! 1-0!" Joey left the kitchen for his bedroom saying only something about "turnin' one out because I am a tits man" and at the end, just as in the beginning, Lynden was alone. Fierce.
With The Flatmates all gone their separate ways, the future was very uncertain. Perhaps nothing would be heard again. Big Man Tayls, who was due to move into a house with Olympiakos, would have to make a startling recovery if he were to make any further appearances in any other Vance Productions series. So would Phillth. Tad would have to regain his courage and Selwyn would have to regain consciousness. Lynden and the Zeus were due to move in to the best house in Cardiff with three other housemates next year, all of whom were Welsh. Perhaps this could provide the necessary framework for a new series. Who knows? Just remember folks: Jimmy White, king of pots. Ruck 'im over Ieuan.
From: TADEK ANTONIAK
Date: Wed, 28 Jan 1998 15:46:49 GMT0BST
A N D Y, IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU BACK, CAPS LOCK off. and sending everyone wacky emails again. W H EN IS F LAT MA TES 4 COMING OUT ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????!!
I've decided that Vance productions needs some extra creative input. Here's some ideas:
Bramall gets a bona while doing the full Monty in the hall way, his reason being that Joe's body was too much for him.
Phill becomes a Muslim and joins a Luncheon Meat Sacrifice Cult. All members are equipped with standard issue slacks and slick back hair.
Mark's lower intestine ruptures under it's own weight as he is playing Basket ball, spraying all the other players with large quantities of Goat's Cheese and pasta.
Tad takes over as the Shagaholic of the flat.
Andy marries his long suffering girlfriend and disappears to Colombia in order to find Joe's killers and to have a honeymoon.
Andy comes back and talks Dorothy Cashflow to death, using his conversational skills and the excessive use of the word Vance.
Mark purchases a new lower intestine from the Co Op and sends Tad on an Inner Space type mission in order to 'connect' all the right parts.
Tad disappears for five years.
Tad ends up in Marks toilet bowl, only to discover that he had been away for just 5 minutes, because time moved at a different pace inside the vast cavern of 'Inner Mark'.
Andy tries to hide the body of Cashflow in Bramall's mattress, Bramall complains that his bed is lumpy.
Phill turns into a large piece of luncheon meat, then, much to his relief, turns back again before anyone notices.
Phill embarks on writing a novel entitled "My 4 Second Life As A large Piece Of Luncheon Meat" and becomes a hero to the Welsh people.
Tad tells Claudia Schiffer that he is busy, and sends her into Bramall's room. She runs away screaming; "He has a bona on top of his head."
The Russians discover that Talybont is really the undercover HQ of the Welsh Secret Service, and with Cashflow dead, they invade. Andy, Tad, Phill and Bramall, all come out fighting to the death. At the end, and to celebrate their victory, they erect a statue of Joey Zeus, which soon becomes covered in pigeon excrement. All the female survivors try to give it a blow job, and as with the living Zeus, they cannot find his dick.
I think you'll find that all of this material is highly feasible for the next editions of 'Flatmates', apart from the first one, because that would never happen would it?
Tad, Ginger Tosser, James Bond, Vance, Smallguy, Les Dennis
From: Vance Productions
To: V. Annoyed
Date: Wed, 18 Feb 1998 13:53:11 GMT0BST
On 18 Feb 98 at 9:37, V. Annoyed wrote:
I am writing to inform you that your portrayal of Selwyn (or whatever the hell he's called), the Sheffield tosser, has greatly disturbed me. I am currently in abode in the aforementioned city, and have not yet, over the preceding 15 weeks or so, met a Sheffield local who likes Crickeet. Apart from this, several derogatory terms were used in conjunction with the character's origin, accent and hobbies.
I felt I must draw this to your attention, as it could be misconstrued as prejudice, which it has been by me. I personally think Sheffield is wunderbar, and perhaps a negative stereotype of the Northern Scum would be more appropriate? I entrust the matter in your capable hands. Meanwhile, I'll look forward to the 6th episode of this nail biting series,
M. Durand, Ms
Dear Ms Durand
I find it particularly difficult to believe that you have not yet met a Sheffield local who is not fond of the 'gentleman's game', however, I would like to unreservedly apologise t' thee like cos o' th'offence caused. Am reet sorry, me. Seriously, the Sheffield accent is a quite hideous one, and while Vance Productions does not wish to offend in any regionalist or racist terms whatever, we do feel that if you can't take a joke you should fuckoff, erm, so to speak.
Anyway, I am glad to hear that for the most part you find our series compelling to the point of biting your nails (though it has not escaped our notice that biting one's nails whilst operating a mouse cannot be too easy). I look forward to the continuation of your subscription and patronage of this Vance Productions product.
Corporal Lynberg Vance
From: Joe Melvin
To: Selwyn, Tadek, Phillth, Tayls, Vance
Date sent: Thu, 19 Feb 1998 15:21:58 GMT0BST
Sharky has now pulled birds in D5, D7, D9 & D10 Nice. Wheras only Talys has pulled out of all of you and she was a fat bird.
Selwyn was on the pull at jive last night and she blew him out big time.
From: TADEK ANTONIAK
Date sent: Tue, 24 Feb 1998 14:41:05 GMT0BST
Subject: Re: 'Little Englander' Ltd
To the Managers of Vance Productions,
In reply to your letter in which you stated that your company was in a severe financial crisis, the main reason being that you have not generated £1 worth of revenue from your on-line product, we will of course be glad to help and advise you.
We will be buying you out for the handsome sum of £3.75 and hence will eliminate all competition in this potentially lucrative niche market, not that there was much competition anyway. As you know Little Englander is a Privatised Public utility which writes amusing articles for the internal Houses of Parliament magazine 'The Real World', the second issue of which is entitled 'Outside Whitehall - what goes on.'
There will be a subscription cost of Flatmates of £10.50 per episode and an additional charge of £5.00 will be made for every day that the subscription payment is late. This contractual agreement expires in 2 weeks and after this, the so called subscriber will be taken to a small claims court and charged a large amount of money. We have large dividends to pay and I am planning to give myself a biggish payrise in the near future, so we will not tolerate late payment, as it is a lack of financial prudence which has caused the downfall of your poxy little company.
If you are interested, I need someone to wash my wifes BMW every Friday and I need a tea and coffee boy at our new headquarters in Golden Square, Piccadilly, London. I will be sending a promo letter to all your present customers telling them about the better value they will get from this higher quality product, even though this time they will be paying for it.
Tad- a check-a-vich-ski, esq.
Managing Director Of 'Littler Englander ltd' and the now defunct 'Vance Productions'
From: TADEK ANTONIAK
Date sent: Fri, 24 Apr 1998 10:55:24 GMT0BST
Dear Vance Productions,
I recently purchased a Flatmates cuddly character toy for the not reasonable price of £29.99. The character was the one called Selwyn Red Pants and I bought it because I seem to have an unhealthy fascination with this Flatmates character.
To my disappointment, the toy arrived in a flat posted package which was odd, seeing as how this was supposed to be a 'cuddly' toy. I opened the package and pulled out Selwyn only to discover that there was no stuffing inside him. I know that this toy's lame appearance may be in keeping with the actual Selwyn himself, but I must point out that this sort of thing does not occur anywhere else, for example Goofy does not look all that dissimilar to Mickey now does he?
Hence I have felt considerably short changed. May I make a small suggestion that may save time and money; How about taking some of the stuffing out of the cuddly toy Fat Mama Tayls and giving it to Selwyn? This is what I intend to do. By the way, while were on the subject of the Fat Mama Tayls toy, which incidentally arrived by truck, I am concerned about the label on the merchandise which states; "8 Indian Communities have been bought to provide the cotton wool stuffing inside this toy, their livelihoods have been destroyed because they have been chucked out and replaced by machinery".
A Sad Fan
From: TADEK ANTONIAK
Date sent: Wed, 6 May 1998 16:23:34 GMT0BST
Subject: Welcome back Mr Vance Lyndenberg!
Hey we've had wild times since you have been away! Joe has been the grumpiest of gits, Mark asks me 20 questions for everything I do; e.g. Was the turd hard or soft?, Were you reading in there again?, How many sheets of toilet paper did you use?, Why, Why Not?, and so on. Bramall was 12th man on the Cricket team and so he didn't get any action, and his parents didn't see any (and he is the Village Idiot - see below). And Phill, well we all know and love Phill don't we now.
Anyway, I made up some new ideas that could be used in Flatmates, even though my previous ideas were ignored:
Bramall's the Village idiot because he lives in a village outside of Sheffield, and he is an idiot.
Melvin will now be known as Genocide Joe because of his comments such as "I love a good Fascist Leader", "Hitler was a genius" "I would have killed 8 million Jews, not 6 million" "Cures for all modern diseases should not be found, because it keeps the population down."
Tayls and Yannis should marry each other, become lesbians and begin a TV series for the BBC called 'Two Fat Ladies Play Basketball And argue A lot', for which they shall be paid loadsa dosh, paid for by the Tax payer.
Tad takes Melvin to the doctors, even though he only has flu..... oh that happened yesterday.
Phill turns momentarily into a tin of pineapple chunks, then explodes.
Tayls stamps Phill into the carpet, as he does with all food on the floor. Phill tries to do Tiquando on Tayls, but seeing he is a pile of exploded pineapple, and he is embedded in the carpet, this has very little effect.
Tad stops writing this email because it has become too surreal.
Tad Les Dennis/James Bond/FierceTad/Ginge/Prize Tit
And remember; "Jimmy White, King Of Pots".
From: TADEK ANTONIAK
Date sent: Sun, 17 May 1998 13:51:11 GMT0BST
Subject: Little Englander ltd; Flatmates 7; Journey To The Other Side (of the kitchen)
As some of you may already know, Vance productions has gone bust through unbelievably bad management and most of all through bad spelling. I think all of you will agree that 'Vance TM never was and never will be a good name and your complaints of it have been well and truly justified.
Little Englander ltd has just been involved in a hostile take-over with Vance Productions and has bought it out for £3.75, a sad and pathetic value which shows the fatal financial crisis that it was in. The so called rich Financier which was supposed to have saved the company was a hoax dreamed up by Vance himself in order to try and inspire confidence in his customers.
There's going to be some changes around here, we intend to take a slightly tougher line than Vance Productions i.e., you will pay the subscription fee or you will die. Our Mission statement is short and sweet and has proven to be very successful so far; "At this company we aim to provide a high quality product through higher subscription charges, and refusal to pay will mean certain assassination at 12 noon on the day that you refuse to pay. The killings will be carried out by a trained professional with a high calibre laser guided rifle (he does not miss). Pay or die."
Tad a check a vich (ski)
Managing (very well) Director of Little Englander ltd
And business partner Paul Varios (Reading Mafia)
We pick up the story where it left off, but obviously more humour and less realism will be involved. The last episode involving cliché Si has been ignored simply because it just wasn't funny in any shape or form. Here begineth Flatmates (fiercer and more streamlined since it's acquisition) 7 After Olympiakos had gone away, much to the relief of the building, as it was becoming structurally unsafe, Tad decided to make a journey across to the other side of the kitchen.
Later in his fabled explorer journals he recorded this as 'Journey To The Other Side (of the kitchen)' He set off with his old and trusty but rusty piece at his side, his famous explorer garb his only protection against the searing heat and sulphurous gases of the hostile micro climate created by Fat Boy Tayls' arse, just before he had left the room. Almost immediately he tripped over one of Tayls' toe nails which he had left in the middle of the kitchen for everyone else to enjoy. He gave it a good hard kick but it did not move very far, so he stepped over it.
He used his grappling hook to ascend a chair and then from the chair onto the worktop. He was knocked backwards and very nearly knocked off the worktop by something large, pink and spotty - Phill's ear. He ducked quickly as Phill turned his head and the other ear swung round. Sweating in a vaguely heroic, Charlton Heston manner, Tad began the last leg of his journey- the most hazardous part through the Brown Death Swamp Forest known in the 'Forbidden Zone' as 'Bramall's Hair'.
He grimaced in a vaguely heroic, Harrison ford-manner as he thought of what lay ahead. He prepared to meet his peril and swung the grappling hook towards the trembling brown forest. While Fierce Tad The Adventurer was engaged in his second most dangerous journey- the first was through the inside wall of Fat Boy Tayls' gut, an argument was taking place in the further reaches of the kitchen.
"I don't do facking lectures, I'm a facking Gallis remember?!"
"What dfuck huh?, I make you breakfast, tea and Admirals Pie with eggs chips and beans every day, in exchange for you going to the lectures remember?" Andy may have looked angry, if he didn't have that kind of happy go lucky face and floppy fringe that you just wanted to laugh at all the time.
"Ah, Fack off, you bellend, I'm a facking gallis an' I dont facking ponce about going to facking lectures" said Joe moving a hand around inside his joggers.
"But isn't that the whole point of coming to Uni - to go to lectures?"
"No, the point of this facking place is to shag every single munter that's dum enough have a bit of Melvin's cock ap 'em." said Joe with London pride
"Right. So, how many notes do we have this year so far?"
"The one's you did"
"But I've only been to one lecture - the first one"
"Then that's all the facking poncey notes we 'av then, stop facking worrying. I'm off for some sex, see ya later kids"
Joe and Andy's course consisted of 2 lectures a week for three weeks and then a 7 week break before returning for 6 more lectures and then having another 7 week break, and that was it. Meanwhile Tad was finding it more easy to move through Bramall's hair than usual because it had recently been cut short, although it was still too long for anyone with an ounce of fashion sense. Just as Tad reached Bramall's forehead, Bramall swept a hand across his hair, swiping Tad clean off. He fell with a small splosh into the kitchen sink and sank underneath the murky brown waters.
Fighting for breath, he came up for air and was wrestling, in a vaguely heroic Crocodile Dundee manner, a large snake like bacteria that had evolved in the now toxic waters, mainly because Bramall hadn't done the washing up. Tad reached for his trusty but rusty, but as he let one hand off the deadly bacteria, it tightened it's grip around his throat..........
And on that bombshell, I'll leave you until next time; Will Tad win the battle with the bacteria? Will there be something different for dinner for Joe and Andy, other than Admiral's Pie? Will Tayls pick up his toenails?(probably not) Will Joe shag another munter?(probably)................
From: John Powell
Subject: Re: The Flatmates #8
Date sent: Sat, 16 May 1998 18:47:53 +0100
Boy did I love my walk on part or what! Cool thanks deserved. This aint really gonna be the last is it?
Also I'd like to say that they are very well written, you should write a book.
From: Simon Whitworth
Organisation: Dundee University
Date sent: Wed, 20 May 1998 17:12:47 GMT
Subject: Re: Les Vantora Maporsis!
I am sending you this message to notify you that you will soon be receiving a letter from my solicitor.
I have instructed my legal eagle to sue you for unauthorised use of clichés which I gained copyright of many moons ago. You are a friend but I feel there is a moral principle to be upheld here. I am not sure what this is but I am sure my solicitor will be able to think one up.
I must warn you if I am unsuccessful in my attempt to get my hands on your fortune (all that overtime, at that pizza place which I can't remember the name of, must add up) I will be sending Big Pete Swan round.
See you in court
Date sent: Fri, 22 May 1998 00:16:14 GMT0BST
Dear Vance Productions,
With regards to your recent soap opera Flatmates. Top stuff indeed. I was a little disappointed at some of the endings. I feel it would have been better if Phillth had been killed by being stabbed in the head with a fork after trying to stop yet another mass brawl between the Fierce Tad and Northern scum Selwyn. And I feel it would have been fitting if his last meal had, ironically, been a decent meal of sausage beans and chips just like normal people would eat.
Well bear these thoughts in mind and I would like to point out that I am in no way connected with LEP as they wouldn't dare open an office in the midlands as they would all be killed off instantly for looking too much like that twat Les Dennis.
Great work guys.
PS: Am not askin ya to loik it.