At midnight, on one of the stormiest nights in living memory, the wreckage of a vessel is washed
ashore and dashed upon the jagged, pitiless rocks. Clinging to the wreckage of a coffin, until
recently filled with earth from Transylvania, is a brooding and mysterious creature destined to
make the name of a northern fishing port synonymous with terror, depravity, and excessive love
bites. This creature drifts to shore, barely alive, near the isolated, sinister, and forbidding town of
Whitby.
Our story begins much earlier, in the year of our lord 1985, when the crew of the Esk Belle
spotted a stowaway on their day excursion to Robin Hood’s Bay. Alex ‘Kipper’ Kirby had
hoped to make his way to Scarborough, and then to the great city of Hull to make his fortune.
He offered to work his passage as ship’s cook, but they threw him overboard instead. Hours later
the crew of the Whitby lifeboat rescued him at nearby Saltwick Bay, took one look at him, and
promptly threw him back in again. This ritual went on for months with depressing regularity, and
eventually became an official sport in the Whitby Regatta, known as ‘Dipping the Kipper’. At his
wit’s end, the enterprising (and very wet) young lad turned his back on the land, built himself a raft,
and resolved to live out on the waves. Living for many years on the open sea, Alex began to
develop gills and webbed toes, and set up home with a giant squid called Brenda. This idyllic life
sadly ended when Alex went to get some crab claws (to bring home for the nippers), and he
returned to discover that Brenda had left him for a turbot. A folk legend grew up about a strange
sea creature (part man – part whelk) living out in the deep ocean, and many an old mariner would
amaze comforts* with tall tales of the ‘Man from Atlantis’. Tragedy struck however, during the great
storm of ’91 with a 6.1 tide, and with a force nine gale blowing North by North-left. The raft
capsized, and Alex was washed ashore.
Lost, alone, and friendless, Alex scratched out a meager living busking on the streets, and he
hoped for a career in vaudeville. However, this being Whitby, the only entertainment in town
appeared to be rum, bum, and baccy – and Alex didn’t smoke, and rum gave him a headache.
Looking further afield, he tried walking left handed for Gilberdyke, juggling soot for Doncaster, and
then he auditioned for the position of being ugly for Goole, but the local competition was too great.
Alex’s only source of income was ‘entertaining’ sailors, until he caught the attention of a troupe of
travelling troubadours (try saying THAT with a gob full of marbles), and was encouraged to join them
by Nick ‘Get it while it’s hot’ Lumb , the leader of the group.
Apart from cleaning out the chickens and feeding the bearded lady, Alex’s first performing role
was when he was teamed up with Mick ‘Bagpuss’ Bawn, (part man – part wheelie bin), who
sang sad slow songs (what’s new?), while Alex played the mouth organ for Tommy the tap
dancing tortoise. When introducing the pair to Alex, Nick confided: ‘that ugly, wrinkled, low down,
bald headed, slow bastard needs something to do around here, all he does is crap everywhere,
sleep all day, and eat lettuce and slugs - and the tortoise isn’t much better’. Sadly the partnership
ended when Tommy was beaten to death by Nick, who complained that Tommy had been following
him around all day, and getting on his nerves. A meeting of the group’s elders sentenced him to
death. Alex immediately volunteered, and shot Nick in the arse – and he died instantly of a brain
hemorrhage. Leaving the troupe, Alex went on to study at the London School of Home Economics,
and Mick developed a niche market helping out people with only six months to live. “I sit and tell
them my theories about UFO’s and they say the time seems to last so much longer”, he beams.
“Well OK, sometimes they pull their own heads off, but either way it’s a result”.
Alex left college with a degree in trifles and jam roly-poly, and went full time as
singer/songwriter, with songs about such varied topics as young love, teenage angst, and the
8.15 to Wetwang. He teamed up with rising star and teen idol Lucy ‘Mars Attacks!’ Marshall
under the stage name “Norfolk ‘n’ Goode” – singing old Conway Twitty numbers. This partnership
didn’t last however, as Alex wouldn’t learn any Taylor Swift songs, and so Lucy went back to her
GCSE’s. It wasn’t long before Alex was back again with Mick ‘Butch’ Bawn to form a duo called
‘The Jelly Babies of Death’ and they were briefly successful on the Goth circuit. Mick soon left
however, because he thought the Goth scene was too cheerful, and he wanted to concentrate on his
rock –opera: ‘Ethnic Cleansing – The Musical’. Not deterred, Alex secured a part as Jason
Donovan’s understudy in ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat’ Six months passed,
and Alex left the theatre (with the coat), and went solo again. Alex was invited to the regional finals
of ‘Live and Unhinged’ where he sang a medley of his songs:
• Cut your toenails granny, you’re ripping the sheets
• There’s an alien in my jim jams, and he looks a lot like you (with Mick Bawn)
• If I fall through the mattress, I’ll see you in the Spring
• Death, death, death, death, death, death (with Mick Bawn)
• Mama get a hammer, there’s a fly on Grandad’s head
Although he didn’t win, his old friend and music impresario, Eugene ‘We dive at dawn’ Deagan,
immediately booked him – straight into an asylum. Alex was transferred to Lincoln Jail, where
he wrote his classic love song: If I can’t be your No1, I’ll have to do a No2. He dedicated this
to his prison visitor, Lou (the lovely little lass from Lincoln), who came to see him every day, and as
their love blossomed, she helped him escape dressed as a washerwoman. On the run in Germany,
Lou and Alex were a big hit in the circus as Daisy the pantomime cow. Artistic tensions got in the
way sadly, as Alex believed that he was not getting an appropriate outlet for his talents. Matters
came to a head during a performance in Hamburg. Alex tried to change places on stage, whilst still
inside the suit, resulting in a fight which left Lou suffering from concussion, hundreds of children
needing psychological therapy, and sales of Tena Lady up 20%. On the run again, they have
returned to Lincoln, and are hiding in a back room of the ‘Burton Arms’ (Six hand pumped ales, a
pool table, food at weekends, live music on Saturdays, and of course, ample parking).
Alex comes from a long established musical, theatrical and fairground family. “Music has been
in our family for generations, but then again, so has herpes”, he laughs. “From a very young
age my sister Anna and I used to entertain residents of the local old folks home by burping to
the theme tune of Eastenders”. Alex cites his main musical influences as Mick Bawn (may contain
nuts), and Donovan - (Jason, of course). Much acclaimed by his fellow musicians, we received the
following comments about Alex: ‘I wish I’d written Moors Road’, says Lucy Marshall. ‘I tell
everybody I did’ says Mick Bawn.
----- oOo -----
Editor’s Note:
‘Comforts’ are West Yorkshire day trippers who proudly announcing to anyone who’ll listen that
they’ve just come for’t day.
The first sign of madness it is...I've had other warnings though.
I have a friend who becomes animated whenever Facebook is the subject of conversation. It's quite a thing...a means of communication...a way to track down old friends and first loves, a way to keep in touch, a way to be involved. A way to get laid, payed, delayed and promoted, voted and found...a way to come together, find freedom, share and tear the big loaf. A way to grow, be accepted, protected and lost RIP. A way to be innocently positive in a sometimes cynical world. It's a way...
On my freinds well meaning persuasion I reluctantly signed up...or rather, he did it for me...by the time I logged on so many people we knew mutually were dropping me kind messages...no doubt alerted by a simple click of a key. I was dumbfounded, speechless and overwhelmed...I legged it. 'Legging it' is no new thing to me...heck, I've 'done myself in' on Myspace before...however, some venues seemed to think it was an essential element to getting a gig and so I quick-smart signed back up. Legging it from Facebook turned out ok though. If you've ever done it you'll know that you have to complete two 'captures'...my first was 'rehabilitation' the second, 'wonders'...and in a 'My Name Is Earl' kind of a way I felt comfortable with my decision...some pangs of uncertainty creep in from time to time, but thats bound to happen when you're on the outside...Li (laughed inwardly).
Although not a member of Twitter I have appreciated recieving and sending one and two liners by text to a good friend...he's quite nuts though absolutely sane. He'll rant, I'll rant...it's gone on for years...one of my treasures. It's a way...
Broadcasting is my problem I think. I sometimes find face to face interaction quite daunting but at least it's two way traffic...Writing into the ether seems a cold hold onto a human need...a bit like shouting 'echo'...but that's alright...I said so when I was speaking to myself earlier.
So, on the webhost's recommendation, here I am, broadcasting...a blog of all things...it's a way. Li!
