The Girl Behind The Chair
Sitting Across From Jane Tennant
By Kevin Liptop
I'd heard a few rumblings around the Armchair Monthly office about Miss. Jane Tennant, long before I journeyed down to meet her in person. There were several stories which drifted back and forth, across desks and around water coolers, regarding her status as the Undisputed Queen of the armchair, and her comment last year about sofas being French bullshit. But in our office it was mainly the persistent rumour she was getting off with the editor-in-chiefs son, however for legal reasons I had decided beforehand I would not get into that. I had also decided not to make any judgements until I actually met her myself.
Then I'd judge her silly.
Wed arranged to meet in a tiny cafe just a few minutes away from her flat for two reasons. One, because it was the only place left in Ormskirk that let her smoke indoors, and two because she was paying. When I arrived at the place, I understood both reasons as to why we were here.
The term greasy spoon shithole springs to mind. As for the lady herself, she was something of an enigma. The stories of her armchair usage were legendary, and many of our rival armchair publications consider her to be the finest sitter downer in living memory, but some have questioned the validity of her claims. Her current record of twenty nine hours of staying awake straight in a chair are, as we all know, still being contested by Guinness, and some speculate it could be months before we know whether the record was a triumph or not. I myself had only ever spoken to Jane by e-mail, and one disastrous phone call to her flat where I ended up speaking to a prejudiced idiot, but she always signed off her e-mails with a kiss. Was this a good sign?
She finally arrived, fifteen minutes late, clad in boots, jeans, a Dusty Springfield top, oh and her trademark dressing gown. Rumours are she never goes anywhere without it, and has been wearing it since puberty. She seemed a little distracted, apologised for being late, and then ordered cornflakes, a full English breakfast and four rounds of toast. Oh and a Snickers. God knows where shes going to put it because theres nothing to her.
Jane, theres been a lot of talk lately about whether or not your record was actually a success. What do you say to the claims it was faked?
I say...
Jane was distracted at this point by the arrival of her cornflakes and her first round of toast. Despite my several questions, I had to wait until shed finished the flakes and the toast before she would address me again. And even then she insisted on lighting a cigarette before she began to speak.
Erm, how did (cough) your armchair life begin Jane? Weve heard various versions, and I think our (cough) readers would love to know how it all began.
Well Kelvin, my family were originally from the Isle of Mann, and as you know life there moves a little slower. From the word go, I was always encouraged by my parents not to move. My Mum always used to say to me Jane, theres always more you can accomplish sitting in a comfy chair than you can standing up in a church hall And I stand by that phrase to this day. So does my Mum, well she would if she hadnt been involved in a fatal head rush accident a few years ago. I dont know why she got up so fast...totally out of character for her...but to answer your question there was always a reason to sit down when I was a kid. Its raining outside, lets have a sit down. Im making a cuppa, lets have a sit down. Dads been missing for four days, lets have a sit down. Sitting down just always appealed to me, and I could always sit down longer and harder than my brother or my sisters. The path was pretty much set from the get go.
Are you still in touch with your family?
No, Im afraid Im not. When I applied to University my Dad not only threw me out into the street, he threw my chair out as well. So that was that. He couldnt understand why I wanted to leave. He just kept shouting, Theres nothing for us out there on the main land! They all move around, all the time! Its unnatural! The idea terrified him. He was a simple man who liked to sit down.
What did he do?
P.E. teacher.
And its after you left home youre acclaim really started to build on the armchair circuit. Tell us about those early days.
Well back in those days everyone said you couldnt make a name for yourself with just a chair, a remote control and your arse. But I never listened to what they said. Mainly because Id have the TV up so loud I couldnt hear them. I mean, you went from place to place in those days, never knowing where the next chair was coming from, and there were some grim times...I remember once being escorted from DFS, because Id been sat in their living room section for five hours straight. Ive never been back to Preston since. Grim times.
I'd like to talk briefly about your dressing gown, I know its a sensitive subject and in the past youve always liked to keep it private, but could you just give us a quick explanation as to how it got started? And how it ended up becoming your trademark?
I have to be honest Ken, it is a little bit of a sensitive subject to me, and I always think someone has the right to keep their professional life and their dressing gown life separate, so if we could just skip over this question I'd really appreciate it...
I see. Can you tell us anything about your dressing gown?
Yes.
What?
Its black.
At this point of the interview Jane physically shushed me when her English breakfast arrived. She made it apparent she could not be disturbed whilst she ate, and when I attempted to speak to her as she moped up her plate, she flicked a bean into my eye.
How do you feel when you look at the various contenders on the armchair market these days? I mean obviously the fields expanded enormously since you first started, and there are so many young armchair users out there now, all across the world, I was just wondering if you ever feel threatened by them?
You know, its a matter of philosophy as far as Im concerned. People have sat on things for thousands of years. Rocks, anchors, neon signs, and now in this day and age we have the armchair. And its wonderful, it really is, I still get a buzz when I see one, but things are always changing. And the mark of a winner is someone who can change with the times. Someone who can evolve. Not like the dinosaurs. They couldnt evolve. And where are they now? Steven Spielbergs bank account, thats where.
So if a designer or an engineer came along with a revolutionary new approach to sitting down, youd be willing to trade in your armchair?
Shit no! Who the hell do you think I am? Im Jane Tennant, and chairs are my bitches!
I see. Now you're currently studying History at University aren't you?
That's right.
What attracted you to that subject?
Only when we know where we have been, do we know where were going.
Did you read that off my coaster?
No.
*For the record of the interview, Jane totally did. She even stole the coaster at the conclusion of the interview*
Later this year I understand youre taking your first steps into acting. What can you tell us about that?
I'm working with a very exciting up and coming film maker called Dennis Cube, who's making a feature called Armageddon Armchair. It's basically a psychological horror thriller comedy. With musical undertones. I play a nuclear physicist who discovers a rare virus strain in the fibres of an ancient armchair, and have to stop a cult from delivering the chair to the British Natural History Museum, where the American President, the Pope and Madonna will all be sitting in the chair. I basically have to save the world. But it's a love story as well, I fall in love with a struggling graphic designer called Bill, whose father happens to run the cult.
Wow, that sounds really plausible. Who's playing Bill?
Patrick Stewart.
I know we've touched on this already, but could you give us your thoughts on Guinness decision to investigate your record breaking armchair sitting event? A lot of people now seem to think the event was faked.
What people?
You know, people. The public.
Which ones? I mean specifically.
Well when I called your flat to arrange a time for us to meet, the boy I spoke to seemed to believe it was faked.
Was his name Clapton?
How did you know that?
At this point in the interview Jane decided she didnt want to be interviewed anymore, and left the cafe. She also decided not to pay her bill, and so I ended up coughing up for it.
Overall the conclusion I came to is that the appeal of Jane Tennant isnt likely to diminish any time soon, she appeals to the sloth in all of us, and is forever poised to expand our horizons and further our potential...all from the seat of an armchair. She may be difficult and improbably to predict, but isnt that how we like our heroes? We here at Armchair Monthly salute her, and hope she carries on making arse grooves in chairs for many years to come.
Pissing In The Wardrobe
Down And Dirty With Max William Leonard Alvin Simon Theodore Baker
By Chloe Duvell
There are certain names and faces that spring to mind when you say the words piss artist. Oliver Reed for instance, Peter OToole, Keith Moon, Richard Madeley, and of course Max Baker. His reputation is one that both proceeds and eclipses him, and over the last few years you'd be hard pressed to walk into a pub around England without hearing tales of his almost Biblical buffoonery. Many of his critics say he's a bad influence on young people, and is an inebriated annoyance to society in general, others that champion him say he's a necessary ingredient to everyday life, and the idea of a Britain without him is unthinkable. Whatever your opinion of him, you cannot deny that if the English dictionary was re-written, and a new definition for pissed was needed, Max Bakers face would certainly appear next to it. So, with all this in mind, it was something of a surprise when last week our office was hit with a barrage of calls from someone who claimed to be Mr. Bakers legal representative, and assured us that if we wanted to speak to, let alone interview, his client then we would have to put forward twenty thousand pounds in cash and a years worth of Olde English Cider. This offer was met with some confusion, but before anyone in the office had chance to negotiate Mr. Bakers representative hung up.
Four days later, and I am scheduled to meet up with Max in a location that both my editors, and Max himself, have decided is suitable for the course of the interview: the Buck I'th Vine pub in Ormskirk. We suggested the local park instead, but Max assured us he was no longer allowed in the park. Not during daylight hours anyway.
By the time I arrived, Max was nowhere to be seen. I enquired about his whereabouts from the landlord, and he lead me into the Gents Toilets, where we found Max lying fast asleep in one of the urinals. He is exactly as the stories describe him; vacant eyed, scruffy haired and stumpy of hand. His clothes bear the mark of many years of constant wear and tear, and his shoes appear to be held together with Prit-Stick. It took approximately fifty minutes to get him into a coherent conscious state, and by the time I did he was already ordering a round for the both of us.
Max, how do you counter the accusations that you're a bad influence on...
Do you want a double? I'm getting a double.
Erm, okay. So what would you say to those who say you're nothing more than a pissed newt, swimming upstream in a world of sober seagulls?
That's a good question Chloe, a damn good question. I like it. It's got all the right words in it. But firstly, before I answer that, I'd just like to take this opportunity to dispel a few myths that the tabloids have ran with as truth concerning myself. For example, the story that has me in Scotland during the St. Georges Day riots of last year is a falsity, and also the rumour that I was involved in post production on Pete Dohertys second solo album is complete gibberish. I dont know where these people get their ideas from. Never mind me, what the hell are they drinking eh?
Actually, that story with you and Pete Doherty was one that I was involved in writing. Are you saying you didn't play bass on the third track on the album Shitting In The Fridge?
Look, every now and then I meet some bloke in a pub who claims to be Pete Doherty, but I don't take him seriously. It's like for a short period when I claimed to be Miley Cyruss osteopath, I mean no one actually takes that as Gospel. If you were to check up and down the boozers of this land there's actually Pete Dohertys all over the place, mans a menace. And besides...I can't play bass.
What would you say is your biggest influence?
Bulmers.
Is that a philosopher?
No it's a cider.
I'd just like to go back in time for a moment, and go back to your early days. Everyone had fond memories of their early drinking years, and I was just wondering what you remember about the first time you quaffed a few ales?
What I remember? Shit all. Well, that's not entirely true. You see I was playing Joseph in the school play, and the thing about Joseph is it's kind of a duff part, I mean Ian McKellan would struggle to make Joseph interesting. What does he do really? He walks. Mary gets the kid, God gets the glory, Joseph stumbles along for the ride. He and the donkey might as well be the same part. Anyway, on the night I'm suffering from some pre-play nerves so my good old Dad snuck me a White Lightning or two.
Did it improve your performance?
Sort of. I slapped Mary and pushed over a shepherd. My Joseph was a bit more pro-active you see. Are you gonna finish that?
During this part of the interview, Max hoovered up not only what was left of my drinks, but cleared tables and hoovered those left overs as well. I tried to stop him, worried that the landlord might take offence, but he gave me my first hint of The Face. Now weve all heard about this legendary look, but to actually see it in person was something of a surprise .I decided to touch upon the subject.
I'd like to talk for a moment about The Face, which has garnered just as many tabloid headlines as you yourself has. Where did it begin?
What face?
The face you've just made. The Face.
I dont make a face. That's just how my face is. The Face, as you call it, is just a point of view. You know, like Star Wars.
Right. Many of your critics say you're glamorising a life of boozing, and making it cool for young kids to get out of their heads and waste their lives and their bodies. How do you counter accusations of this nature?
Glamorising? I woke up in a urinal an hour ago, does that sound glamorous to you? The thing about alcohol is your attitude towards it, you see in this world there are two kinds of people Chloe; the people who wake up in a puddle of their own piss and scream, and the people who wake up in a puddle of their own piss and roll with it. I roll.
To physically emphasize his point Max began to roll around on the floor at this point. I thought this might encounter problems with the fellow Buck I'th Vine patrons, but if anything they seemed nonplussed. One regular even stepped over him to get to the bar.
Max, could you please get up.
I'm a jam roll. Jam rolls don't get up. They roll.
Max get up. I'll buy you a Sambuca if you get up.
How big a Sambuca?
Following the four half pints worth of Sambuca he proceeded to sup, Max became both physically and verbally incoherent. It is a strange sight to see him become like this, with no prior warning. Twice he tried to order a round of drinks from a fruit machine, and he attempted to flee the pub with a table on his back several times before the landlord finally put the table outside for him. We continued our interview out in the street.
Max, a lot of our readers have expressed an interest in your current pursuits. There have been stories that you're either working as a double agent for the Norwegian government, or that you're poised to take over Jeremy Paxmans role on University Challenge. We'd like to shed a little more light on what you're actually up to these days. Can you tell us?
She was all, hey you can't leave with that, it's part of the set and I said, Ey, you listen here, I count Ken Livingstone as a personal friend, so if you want to contact my people, then you better know who you're getting into bed with Officer. Course I didn't know there was actually going to be anyone in my bed when I got home...still! Got a free beanbag out of it.
I'm sorry?
Florence is a beautiful country you know, and when the Turns are nesting in the East, well it'll melt your face. It really will. I'm serious. Don't I look serious?
To be honest you look irrevocably shitfaced.
You have beautiful shins, has anyone ever told you that?
Max took this opportunity to attempt to kiss me, and since he was aiming his lips for my ear I assumed the kiss was not genuine in nature. A slap and a glass of cold water later, some of his sense apparently returned.
On a related subject, do you have anyone in your life at the moment? A few gossip magazines recently reported you were seeing Lindsey Lohan, any truth in that?
Me and Li-Lo? Not bloody likely. The girls a disgrace! Falling out of clubs at three o'clock in the morning... bottle of vodka in one hand, and a movie script in the other. Disgusting. What kind of example does that set? Uww a penny!
Max fell over the table at this point, his interest apparently taken with an object on the floor. He assumed it was a penny. Upon closer inspection it was in fact, a penny.
The next fifteen minutes or so were spent with Max attempting to steal a sign in broad daylight, when I asked him why he wanted a thirteen foot Waterstones sign he merely stared at me. The Face was present for most of the stare.
Following an ugly incident with the manager of the Waterstones branch, both Max and I returned to the beer garden. By now his eyes were both focusing in separate directions, and he appeared to be incapable of using his arms.
After years of heavy drinking Max, and no doubt many years to come, is there anything you'd like to say to the general public? Any piece of wisdom or advice you can offer to them, in dealing with the harsh realities that lit all around them?
Cakes.
Cakes!
At this point, Max leapt up from the table and ran off down the street. Ten minutes later he returned, jam and icing sugar smeared around his mouth. He offered me the last of a half eaten strawberry turnover, and then collapsed. Despite all my best efforts, I could not rouse him, and decided to leave him there. It is certainly a strange and wonderful and terrifying thing to cross paths with this creature, he who defies everything we know about logical, social behaviour, and basic human decency.
It was only when I got on the train, heading back to our head office, that I received a call from Max's representative asking if I knew where he'd left his phone. And his trousers.
Sadly, I did not.
I Am Not A Pervert, I Am Just Curious
Sticking Your Hand Down Alex McCoys Trousers Of Truth
By Percy Drake
People often ask me, both in professional and personal circles, if I'm prejudiced against Alex McCoy. I usually think for a moment, and then say something along the lines of hey, life's too short to be fussing and fighting. Most people nod, smile and dont believe me. Some start singing. Then they usually ask the same question again. Are you sure you're not prejudiced against him? then a pause, Considering, you know, he slept with your sister,
Now here at Jugs UK we're a broad minded bunch. The world is an ever changing place, and we have to be ready to change with it, so when I think about the man I'm going to interview today shafting my baby sister and then disappearing like a rat up a wine bottle, all I do is smile and shrug. Hey, like I said, life is too freaking short. Im a professional, and so when the assignment to hang out with one of the most renowned wankers on the British circuit came through, I was in my car and on my way.
Mr. McCoy certainly has an interesting history; after spending much of his youth training under a French sex monk, he has spent the last few years of his life scouring the globe, in search of good Vino, classic literature and decently priced pornography. His articles in various international publications also cover a range of topics; from wine to gambling, science to cheese, even the state of all modern Religions. In fact, his article last year Who'd Win in a Fight Between God and Buddha? won many prestigious literary awards. But his success is not without its criticisms. Some call him an imperialistic throw back, a dinosaur of a sexist misogynistic age long since gone. "Obese hairy bollocks", does Mr. McCoy reply, and continues to publish articles on both women and wine all around the world.
I met him in a sleepy village adult book shop, and we sat down to discuss his life and the state of his boxers. He is slightly more frayed around the edges than I expected, a little starry eyed, and constantly seems distracted by something, but at least his shirt looks ironed.
Alex, I'd like to start by asking what you think of the current state of modern sexuality? Imparticular the move in the last few years, especially in the West, towards gender ambiguity and the general let's shag anyone attitude of many young people out there.
Percy, I'd be lying if I said I knew what the hell you were talking about.
You don't have any thoughts on the current state of the nations sexuality, for instance?
Hmm. Lot of lesbians around at the moment isn't there? I mean don't get me wrong, I'm actually quite fond of lesbians, I spent a short time in my teenage years convinced I was one, but now I just buy their clothes and enjoy their music. Tegan and Sara for example.
I believe you met them last year, at Redding Festival. How was that?
To be honest with you I dont really remember much about the festival itself. Somehow I wound up with five boxes of wine in my backpack and no spare underpants. Quite a five days. I do remember being escorted out of the VIP tent though.
Why was that?
I tried to get off with Tegan and Sara. I think at the same time. Kasabian thought it was funny.
When people think of you they tend to associate you with two things don't they Alex?
Yeah. The left and the right.
No, I was referring to your two main interests in life: pornography and wine.
Oh. Oh those two, sorry, thought you were referring to my man breasticles. Sorry. Yeah I guess they do. Well when I think about it from a historical point of view, pornography is something which man has always desired and pursued throughout the ages, we've all seen the carvings and the pieces of tapestry depicting how man and woman's genitals interacted thousands of years ago. You know those really weird pictures where the people have melons for heads? Well, the methods of how pornography is given to the masses may have become more modern, but the desire is essentially the same. As an ex girlfriend once said to me, "Alex, man is an animal. He knows no control".
Oh, was she quoting someone?
No, she was having a go at me. I'd just tried to get a blow job off her in a Wacky Warehouse. Ahh Tracey, she was always so good at phrasing things...she was just like Byron. Except blonde and really angry.
You cite your influences as everything from Virginia Woolf to The Viz, and you are well known for quoting at length various works of film and theatre (mainly when off your face .Ed) can you remember when you first began to flirt with literature as a child?
You know Percy, I can remember the very first book I ever read as a nipper. And I think that book was partly responsible for the way I've developed as a person. It was the novelisation of Wild Things, you know that film with Denise Richards in? Absolutely blew my mind. The description of Matt Dillon's characters suitcase left me breathless. And even back then, I knew I'd always be smitten with two things: fine art, and Denise Richards. And neither of them has let me down yet.
Wow, that's really something. I was just hoping you could tell us some insider info about the project you're currently working on in Denmark, we've heard it's a revolutionary concept.
Well unfortunately for legal reasons I can't say much at all I'm afraid. But I will give you this one tiny snippet: wine bottle shaped prostitutes. That's all I'm saying. You'll have to wait till 2011 to find out more.
Alex then proceeded to tell me exactly what he has planned to do in Denmark in 2011, and if the scheme wasn't so,
A) completely unrealistic
B) totally laughable and
C) illegal,
I'd tell you all about it. During this part of our chat, Alex left our table and began chatting to the woman behind the counter. He also then insisted on bringing her back to the table and letting her take part in the interview. Her name was Sandra.
If you had to choose between the two Alex, would you either go for a devastatingly beautiful woman to spend the night with, or a bottle of fine red wine?
Alex: What kind of red wine?
Sandra: Would you be able to give the wine back if you got half way through and weren't enjoying it?
No, that's not the point of the question. Never mind. What about the long running rumour that you're going to start your own adult film company?
Alex: Well for a time it seemed like a plausible option. I was going to call it Inconvenient Erection Productions, and make a bunch of films taking historical events, and turning them into more interesting historical events. For example, the first film was going to be about the Magna Carta. But instead of bill rights and all that bullshit, it was going to be a law that forbade people from walking around unaroused. Lesley Grantham was attached at one point.
Sandra: Really? Oh wow, I love him!
Alex: Don't we all...don't we all.
A lot of people say you're sexist Alex, how do you feel when someone throws that insult at you?
Alex: Well, as long as the insult isn't attached to a brick, they can throw whatever they like at me. People have a perfect right to think I'm a twat, a friend of mine taught me that.
So, in your experience, what do you think is the most beautiful part of a woman?
Sandra: her lipstick.
Alex: shoes.
No, I meant physically. Which body part do you think is the most alluring on a woman?
Alex: does the arse count as a body part?
Sandra: my husband always used to say my neck was the most beautiful part of me, he said it was the most beautiful neck he'd ever seen.
And what would you say is...
Alex: Sorry what was that?
Sandra: What was what?
Alex: Did you say husband?
Sandra: Yeah.
...
Alex: Oh balls.
If I could just get back to the...
Sandra: Is something wrong Alexy baby?
Alex: No, no. Everything's fine, but I've just remembered...I left the oven on at home. And I have to go now.
Look, if you two would just let me speak...
Sandra: You can't go my little kangaroo, I thought you were gonna take me to Brighton for the weekend!
Alex: And were you gonna invite your husband along as well?
Sandra: Well, I thought he could just, you know, sit in the back of the car.
I really must insist we get on with the interview
Alex: Sit in the back of the car? But why would he even be in the... wait, are you a swinger?
Sandra: Don't put labels on me!
Alex: Good Jesus you are a bloody swinger!
YOU SLEPT WITH MY SISTER AND YOU NEVER CALLED HER BACK YOU BASTARD!
Alex: What? No I didn't. Wait put that chair down, no, stop! Not the face!
*We should point out that following this comment Mr. Percy Drake was acting on his own motives, and did not in any way shape or form represent Jugs UK or any of its affiliates. He attacked Mr. McCoy for purely personal reasons, and the ensuring struggle was all down to him. Unfortunately the interview was halted as Mr. Drake chased Mr. McCoy around the adult book shop and caused sixteen hundred pounds worth of damage. The shop assistant was not harmed, but an entire collection of chocolate pantyhose was utterly destroyed.*
It is the Editors feeling, and the feeling of many of us at Jugs UK, that this interview should have been printed in its entirety, and that Alex McCoys central message should not be lost in a world of PC correctness gone mad, and people who are just too easily offended for their own good. He may have countless faults and possess a sensibility which is borderline simpleton, but he can never be accused of being a fake. In his own words, "Im just the guy who walks around with his hands down his boxers, if you don't like it then stop staring at me."
All Idiots Are Fair Game
Getting A Verbal Point Or Two Across; The Musings Of One Clapton Pertwee
By Farrington Cocksworth
There is a passage from Shakespeares The Tempest that reads as follows; "Some men are born great, some men achieve greatness, others have greatness thrust upon them". Well, there's one option The Bard didn't take into account; some men talk themselves to greatness.
In this country we have a fine and proud history of those who are ready to stand up and say what they think for the good of all. Political leaders, public figures, humanitarians, philanthropists, even crackpots are given their fair share of the stage, but in recent times one man has emerged, to verbally right the wrongs he sees around him, and mince no words when it comes to what could make this country a better place. This giant of a man has taken centre stage in many diverse and controversial debates, including the arguments for and against sterilisation, the environment, same sex marriages, and even the movements to bring back 17th century verbal vernacular.
Clapton Pertwee has never shied away from tough subjects, and is clearly opposed to the fact that many of our public figures are simply too afraid to stand up and say what they think. By his own statement "the world has enough Johnny no britches in it", and he passionately defends his right to "say whatever my mind can come up with at the time, regardless of how many swear words are in it".
After being in negotiations with both his legal and PR team for almost three months, a deal was finally broken for me to meet with Clapton, in an undisclosed location, and discuss how he thinks the world as we know it is progressing. He demanded only one thing aside from his fee, his legal rights, his brown M'n'Ms and his life time subscription to our publication... he asked that I bring a one litre bottle of port along to the interview. The one litre was specifically requested by his PR team, and I had a feeling that the success of the interview rested on the port's shoulders.
When I finally got past all the security checks (because as we all know several attempts on Mr. Pertwees life have been made in the past) I met with him in a grand sprawling library, with the works of thousands of years all around us. My host was relaxing by the fire, a flush velvet jacket and an extremely loud pair of Hawaiian shorts were his attire, and his acknowledged me with cool refrain.
Mr. Pertwee, thank you for letting us speak to you. I'd like to start by...
Where is it?
Where is the item that was requested? Without it there is no interview.
I remembered, and the gift was then handed over. It was a 1935 vintage port which had set our accounts apartment back a shrewd two hundred pounds. My host examined his spoils, nodded, and then to my surprise produced a 37 pence bottle of Tesco cream soda, and began to mix the two.
Mr. Pertwee, you were quoted last year as saying, "if David Cameron gets into number 10, I'll bear my anus in Top Shop's window". What did you think of his recent victory, and where does your statement stand now?
Well, I think I'm a victim. I'm a victim of the tabloid's long standing ability to fill entire newspapers with nothing but rumour, misquotes and innuendo. What I actually said was that it was going to be a three party race, with all those involved having an equal chance of victory. Since I myself have been on the campaign trail, as a representative of the Slippers Make Sense party, I know how it feels to take part in a heated political race.
So you weren't supporting the Conservatives then?
Course frigging not. Do you think I wanted to show my arse in Top Shop's window? And let me tell you, if my arse goes public stock prices plummet. You think Black Monday was rough? Wait till Bottom Thursday hits.
So you've no personal feelings towards David Cameron?
I asked him once who his favourite Beatle was, and he said Ringo. Anyone who gives that answer, in my opinion, isn't entitled to lick the shit off my shoe.
You've always been a passionate spokesman for the fox hunting movement. Is this always something you've believed in? We understand your Father was once a rider himself.
Yes, and my mother was a hound. The issue with the fox hunting is that people have the completely wrong concept of the whole sport. They believe the fox is innocent. This, of course, is incorrect. They see things like 'Animals Of Farthing Wood', read 'The Fantastic Mr. Fox' and seem to think these animals are like ginger Mother Teresas. Let me tell you, I used to work with foxes and they are no picnic. They drink, they swear, they fornicate no end, and they have zero respect for green cross code procedures. I actually once saw a fox rape a cow. Who's sweet and vulnerable now eh?
In a recent interview with Jeremy Paxman, Lord Mandelson was talking about your stance on gun crime, and referred to you repeatedly as the Northern fog horn in shorts. What was your reaction to the interview?
I didn't see it.
You didn't see the interview?
No. 'Ashes To Ashes' was on.
It was broadcast twice, both on BBC One and Two.
I had a burrito in the oven. Look, there were other pressing matters at the time. But of course I have total respect for Mandy. He's done so much for the Labour party, and for twats in general, and I cannot fault his ability to leave a sticky trail of faecal matter over everything he touches. Even I have to draw the line on some things. Homeless people at cash machines for instance.
You know, when homeless people sit next to cash machines. Honestly, what do they expect? Us to just hand over a crisp ten pound note because they happen to have hit the crack hard in the nineties and are dealing with the after effects? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm as likely to side step a Big Issue seller as much as the next man, but when I see things like that I cannot, and I will not, stay silent. The British public needs a voice, and I am that voice.
I understand you recently paid a visit to Vatican City, and met with senior figures of the Catholic Church, to discuss various sociological and religious issues.
That is correct. And I'd like to state here and now that the tabloid's story of me impersonating a Pontiff to get a free meal at KFC is absolute twaddle. As everyone knows, I'm viciously opposed to anything KFC related.
What about the other stories that emerged whilst you were out there?
What other stories? I can assure you that most of what was said was a complete falsity.
The story about you attacking a nun with a sandwich?
She jumped the queue! I'd been waiting in line for ten minutes, and this penguin appears and swoops right in front. And, to add insult to injury, she takes the last meatball and cheese six incher! Any thinking man would have reacted the way I did.
So, would you say, on reflection of your visit, that this could be the start of a harmonious relationship between yourself and the high echelons of the Church?
As we all know the Church has been through a rough time lately, and many people have lost their respect for it. I'm different. I never had any respect in the first place, but I do respect its power. The power to put such a sense of fear and shame into people all around the world so that they end up giving all their money away and living exclusively by its teachings. In fact I often reflect that I have much in common with the Church, and with Jesus especially. Me and Jesus share the same outlook on life.
Is that so?
Yep. He hated market places and so do I.
What about the rest of his teachings? Such as loving thy neighbour, forgiving your enemy and treating all as you would like to be treated?
Well, we all talk bollocks sometimes don't we...but you know what always confused me about Jesus and the Disciples? How come theres no reference to any hangovers? I mean pretty much every parable in the New Testament has them lot knocking back the wine like its going out of fashion, and yet no Gospel ever starts, "Low, and Jesus did hear of a town where great suffering was on the people. Day and night they did cry out for His help and wisdom. But as he was still shitfaced from ye night before, return to his bed did he, to eat crisps and text Mary Magdalene", If the Bible wants to engage with people, why doesn't it speak to the modern Christian?
You've never been someone who's backed off during a debate. We all remember the seven hour long argument between you and Vanessa Feltz on live television, following your theory that idiocy is like an airborne virus, and once a person is diagnosed as suffering from it, they should be transported to an island facility and left to fight it out with other sufferers. Where do you think this "if you bite me, I'll bite back with a bear trap" quality in you comes from? Was your ability encouraged from a young age? Or has it grown as you've matured?
It's certainly an innate ability which few possess. My father used to say that I was the only baby ever to come out of the womb and have a go at the Doctor for keeping me waiting. That story might be true actually, as I'm still locked in legal proceedings with said Doctor.
I understand you're currently working on your first book. What can you tell us about that?
The fourth word on the top line of the hundred and seventy fifth page is "moonboots". Apart from that, nothing.
Not even the title?
Do I look like I'm going to repeat myself?
Oh, sorry.
No, that's the title. "Do I Look Like I'm Going To Repeat Myself?" The title I believe is essential. It's the first thing the reader sees, the first words your public encounters. The title is everything. However for a time it was a close race between that and "Scarborough's For Dicks And Trannies". I think I've made the right decision. The book will be the first in a trilogy. Paramount are very interested in adapting.
Finally, do you have a reason as to why the average person on the street agrees with your views?
It's very simple. Most of this planet is covered in complete and utter tools, and it is the responsibility of all the none tools to point out to the tools that they are in fact tools. This is where I enter. Stupidity is a disease of our times, and I am the immunisation jab. Stick out your arm, and I'll stick you with the truth. It wont be prim and it wont be pretty, but you may just get a lollipop at the end of it.
Hm, I see.
Yeah. I won't be paying for the lollipop, but you'll get one.
Just one last question, have you any advice for the future?
Buy cheap, sell high, and make sure you know one end of a shotgun from the other.
This brought my time with Clapton Pertwee to a conclusion. His PR, legal and security team swooped in the library, and I was soon led (blindfolded) back to my car and sent on my way. They assured me that Mr. Pertwee wanted to speak more, but he had a brunch engagement with the Indian Prime Minister that could not be rescheduled.
Back at the office, many of my colleagues asked various questions about the man behind the mouth. They, like us all, were curious to know what kind of person he really was. I could have offered them any nugget of trivia and wisdom I picked up from the man himself, but all I had to say was this; he is brash, he is bold, and hes just that little bit arousing.
Making Out With A Trout
Inside The Weird And Wonderfully Wonky World Of George Davison
By Penelope Shortcross
Who in the world is George Davison? That was my editors first question. I struggled to put into words the value of his work, the broadness of his appeal, the powerful glare of his eyes. So I did the only thing that would bring his name and his legacy to her attention: I gave her a tape of his most recent work, Ladybird's Pencil Back Slap , put her in front of the staff room's TV and shut the door.
Two and a half hours later she emerged, eyes wide with enlightenment, trousers damp with wonder. She was barely coherent at this point, but she managed to jot down that she wanted me to meet with George himself, and try to dissect the person behind the myth. We are all well familiar with George's rise to public attention. For the past eighteen months, his name has been synonymous with both avant garde cinema and underground folk rap music. He has blazed through award shows, chat shows, late night adult chat channels, and was even the first person to appear on Oprah in just a bib. If there are boundaries to be groped he is there, if there is something for art to say then George writes it down and lets us copy it off him. He is an artist, a musician, a man and a musician. I realise I wrote musician twice, but that was intentional; he is both a writer and a singer, two jobs with one man doing them. I first contacted George early last year, but seeing as he had no telephone, no permanent home and only a box in a train station as his postal address, it was some time before I heard back from him. The note arrived, scribbled on the back of a dead pigeon and written in what looked like glue.
George Davison was ready to meet me. He had set the place, the time, and even instructed me to bring a shovel. I shivered excitedly at the thought of being involved in one of his revolutionary pieces, and also felt a little nervous: I'd never been to a graveyard before. So finally I went to meet the artist The Guardian labelled as 'Person Most Likely To Fake An Epileptic Fit In McDonalds'. I arrived early, and found George riding a tombstone like a surf board, apparently its a theory piece on the evolution of death. George himself is tall, too tall to comment on, and the fattest thing about him appears to be his boots. I expected him to be shocking, but I did not expect to find him dressed as Cilla Black.
George, it's a pleasure and an honour to meet you. Your name is one of the buzz words of today's culture, with both your work and your public profile higher than ever. How do you grapple with success?
Like this...
George leapt off the tombstone at that point, and began wrestling with an invisible enemy. This lasted for some time, and I was both speechless and mesmerized to see it before my eyes.
He finally ended the grapple with a touch of kung fu, and turned back to face me.
Wow. Where do you get your ideas from?
Leamington-On-Spa. As you know, I was raised all over England because of my mother and fathers vocation as travelling acrobat scientists, and so I was able to soak up a lot of influences whilst we travelled. No way of life was not encountered in my youth. I saw many things others would have baulked at, but I always faced them with both hands on my pancreas. But I was forever encouraged to take a step back and think differently. My father always taught me to look at life sideways.
In a social sense you mean?
No, in a physical sense. He used to walk around with his head cocked to one side. Got him ran over on fourteen separate occasions. Brighton police banned him from every one of their piers.
Would you say your parents were proud of your career choice?
You'd have to ask them. They're over there.
At this point George pointed to the far side of the graveyard, and I followed him over to a small overgrown spot where two tombstones lay. George knelt down in front of the graves, and seemed to chant some Latin. Sometime later, he then began to burn some incense.
It must have been very hard on you, to loose your parents when you were young.
Indeed it was. I was the only person not allowed to drink at the funeral. Very distressing times...but I always knew, through all the things I did, that they were looking down on me with pride. Always pushing me to embrace the things others were afraid of, to confront the black heart that beats in the sickly chest of modern life. There's so much in the world people dont want to know about; Greenland for instance, Quick Save, Keith Harris...the list is endless. But I never wanted to turn away, I wanted to stand proud, eyes open, and stare beadily at everything that isn't bolted down. I think...
George stopped at this point, and re-examined the graves in front of us. He stood up, a look of confusion on his features.
Is there a problem?
These aren't my parents.
They're not?
No, sorry. We're in the wrong graveyard. My parents are buried in Scotland. I wondered why I didn't recognise the names!
George led me back to his original tombstone, and after having some banana sandwiches he'd made specially, we sat back down to chat about his work.
