Monthly Archives: June 2016

Broken Biscuits No.2.

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Broken Biscuits 2 - Flyer frontBroken Biscuits 2 - Flyer back

Upwards and onwards. On Saturday 26th June, the second BB will spring into action at the superb Observer Building in Hastings. And oh my stars, what a line-up! The mighty David Quantick, one of the finest comedy writers in the UK (or anywhere, for that matter), has agreed to do a turn; that bunch of gypsy tramps and thieves Ingrid Pitt Orchestra will chuck up some Transylvanian Glam/Punk/Folk (for easy accordian); St Leonards’ very own performance powerhouse Kate Tym is gonna kick arse because…well, you’ll see, and Idle Eye will try to keep up. And somewhere in all of the above, we’ll be showing three of Dan Laidler‘s magnificently bizarre animated mini-episodes Windy’s Farm.

A night to remember, then. Or, as the New York Times recently described it, “something to do if Game of Thrones isn’t on.” We’ve been advised by the Observer Building that there is a strong possibility it will sell out, so in order to avoid disappointment a link will appear somewhere below this. Use it and relax, safe in the knowledge that you will be a small cog in the history of stuff. Because that’s what you wanted, right?

http://bit.ly/BrokenBiscuitOB

Idle Eye 186 : The Final Curtain

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I was having a couple of drinks at home, like you do, when the curtain suddenly billowed into the room. Despite it being a hot evening, I knew for certain that the windows were shut, so I went over to see what was going on:

Curtain:  Say your prayers. Tonight, we fly.

Me:  I’m sorry?

Curtain:  I said, tonight we fly. This world is no longer your concern.

Me:  Excuse me?

Curtain:  I’m a metaphor. Work with me.

Me:  A metaphor for what?

Curtain:  FFS!!! I thought you were a reader?

Me:  I am. But you’ve got to admit, it’s a bit odd to be having a conversation with my curtain on a school night. And besides, no one says FFS these days.

Curtain:  I’ll spell it out: I’m Death. You know, as in The Final Curtain. Yes, it’s a bit literal but if I turned up in black with a scythe, you’d just think I was taking the piss.

Me:  True. But, if I may be so bold, you probably need to come up with a more obvious visual clue. Most people won’t make the quantum leap, even if they like Frank Sinatra.

Curtain:  Frank who?

Me:  Sinatra! That’s the joke, right?

Curtain:  Still not with you.

Me:  Hang about. You just came into my flat, unannounced and uninvited, and said I wasn’t long for this world. Then you told me that you were a metaphor for death, and now you’re saying you’ve never heard of Frank Sinatra?

Curtain:  I never said that. And of course I’ve heard of Frank Sinatra. Just not within this context.

Me:  Surely that’s the deal? And so I face/the final curtain. Everyone knows that line.

Curtain:  No, sorry.

Me:  So what’s the point of you being a curtain then? If you’re actually meant to represent death?

Curtain:  I thought it was funny.

Me:  It’s only funny if you’re in on it! Anyway, the whole death thing is meant to be scary, so just blowing your way in here isn’t going to work. And even if it did, you need to brush up on your crooners: there’s an obvious simile you’re missing out on.

Curtain:  I can do a bit of White Christmas.

Me:  Doesn’t quite get the ‘you’re about to die’ message across.

Curtain:  What about Release Me, then? I could do it in a sort of grindcore way, that would put the shits up them.

Me:  Better. Have you got an agent?

Curtain:  I’m working on it.

Me:  I’ve got a couple of contacts in Charlotte Street, although you might have to dumb down initially.

Curtain:  Great! Oh, and about what I said earlier; can we just brush it under the carpet and forget about it?

Me:  That’s it! The Final Carpet, it’s brilliant! No one would expect that…

Curtain:  I like it. What about a double act? The Final Carpet and The Underlay of Eternal Damnation. For one night only.

Me:  Thanks for coming in.

IE Audio 26 : The Sea, The Sea

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Murdoch spouts poppycock. As per…

Idle Eye 185 : The Lovers (a farce in one dimension)

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London called me on the landline last week. I knew something was up because we’d been down to communicating by text and this meant business:

London:  So what’s this, I hear?

Me:  Er…

London:  Don’t piss me about. Word’s out that you’re leaving. Is it true?

Me:  It’s more complicated than that.

London:  Okay. So, you come to me in the 80s, a miserable, deadshit no-mark with nothing going for you whatsoever. I pick you up, put you in touch with people who turn your life around, introduce you to fun stuff, make you a bit cool (that was a tough one) and now I gather you’re buggering off to the seaside?

Me:  Look, Lon: it’s not you, it’s me. We had a great time together, no one can take that away. But I just think it’s time for a clean break. You know, start afresh. And, let’s be honest, I hardly hear from you at all these days.

London:  Do you have any idea how busy I am? Seriously, any idea? I’m a fucking capital city, I can’t be…

Me:  Sorry, got another call coming in.

St Leonards:  Darling! Can you talk?

Me:  Hang on…

London:  What’s going on?

Me:  It’s nothing. Can I call you back?

St Leonards:  I’ll be here as long as you want.

Me:  I wasn’t talking to you, Len.

London:  Who’s Len?

Me:  I wasn’t talking to you, Lon.

St Leonards:  Who’s Lon?

Me:  Hold up, I’ve got another call coming in.

Brighton:  Darling! Can you talk?

Me:  Not now, bra, not now. Can I call you back?

St Leonards:  What’s going on?

Me:  It’s not what you think.

London:  What the..?

Me:  Lon, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.

St Leonards:  You tell that bitch she’s history, doll.

Me:  Len, please: let me do this my own way.

Brighton:  And what about me?

Me:  Can I call you back, bra?

Brighton:  You’re all the same, you London ba…

Me:  Hold up, I’ve got another call coming in.

Hastings:  Darling! Can you talk?

Me: Jesus H Christ.

Brighton:  Who’s this?

Me:  I’ll call you back

Hastings:  I hear you’ve been sniffing around my sister.

Me:  It’s not what you think.

Hastings:  I’ve got everything she has. And more besides.

Me:  Look, I love everything about the pair of you; really, I do. Please don’t make me choose!

St Leonards:  Tell her to rack off!

Hastings:  Back in your basket, bitch!

London:  Hello?

Me:  Can I call you back?

London:  I’m hanging up the phone now. Call me whenever.

Me:  Don’t go! I’ll sort something.

Brighton:  Goodbye.

Me:  I’m so sorry.

St Leonards:  I’m waiting…

Hastings:  I’m waiting…

Me:  This is ridiculous! Can’t you two talk? I’m sure we can work something out.

St Leonards:  Good try, girlfriend.

Me:  Come off it, you’re basically the same p…hold up, I’ve got another call coming in.

Hove:  Darling! Can you talk?

Ad nauseam