Idle Eye 22 : (Round) The Block

Every once in a blue moon, those golden nuggets we scribblers rely on to metamorphose into glorious full-blown posts simply dry up. Nothing to be embarrassed about, apparently, happens all the time. There’s no shame to be had in the non-delivery of goods promised in the conjugal contract between writer and publican, is there? Of course not. In any relationship there has to be a bit of give and take, and when the give breaks down, the recipient will naturally collude with the donor in order to reach mutually acceptable ground. Or so you would think:

Me: Bro, I’ve dried up.

Nibs: Don’t worry, been through that one. Top up the tank with a Jager and you’ll be back in no time.

Me: It’s not the sauce, it’s the blog. I’m spent, can’t think of anything.

Nibs: Balls! There’s tons to write about. What about Mothers Day? And the bogs, remember?

Me: I’ve already covered the bogs.

Nibs: Then tell them that I’ve been out to Dubai. There’s a certain mystery to that, no?

Me: It depends what I tell them you did out there.

Nibs: You don’t have to spell it out. Just hint at the exotic. That’s what I pay you to do.

Me: That’s the whole point. The muse, it’s gone! I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here. And the readers expect a certain standard. I can’t let them down now we’ve actually got a few.

Nibs: Sorry, bro, gotta go. Timmy’s done a massive shit on the carpet and we open in forty minutes. You’ll think of something…

It’s a powerful image: The last remaining morsels of my dwindling creativity being sidestepped by a cat offloading hers in the only way she knows how. So I rake through the clues in our woefully brief chat. What’s in there? What did he mean? I’m Sarah Lund without the sex appeal or the jumper. Hmmm… There must be something. Anything. And then, mercifully, it comes to me:

Me: I think I’ve got it. The cat. Dubai. He’s really trying to tell me something…

Lund: Ooets nawwt thaat simples.

Me: I think it is. He just wants me to get more relevant stuff in. What he’s doing. Timmy: She’s a pub cat. Dubai: It’s where he’s going this week. Can’t you see? It all fits.

Lund: Yaah, buüt mabee we haaf to loork further.

Me: Lund. Thank you for your help. Really, thanks. But I’m not sure how many Idle Hour punters are going to get this reference. You’re a Danish detective from the telly. I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversaton and I’m pretty sure Nibs will have something to say about it.

Lund: Søøry.

Me: Don’t mention it. Oh, and Timmy, you finished yet?

Timmy: Meow.

Me: What’s that?

Timmy: Meow.

Me: No shit! Bin the Dane? Focus on the pub? Ok, Timmy, you the lady.

So then, Mothers Day bookings: Sorry, dudes, all gone, all gone. Don’t shoot the messenger…

Idle Eye 13 : The Resolutions

I’d like to start off 2012 with an apology and then we’ll get down to business. It seems that one or two of you were deeply affronted by the insinuation made on the Cast & Crew page that Nibs’ and my own dear mother is somehow affiliated with the Nazi party. On reflection, I have come to the conclusion that this may not be the case (despite some damning evidence to the contrary I am legally bound not to disclose) and I apologise unreservedly for any offence caused. So much so that I spent the week after Christmas tracking down the only surviving member of the Waffen-SS, one Herr Josef Ümlaut, to make the apology in person. I am, and have always been, a gentleman.

So where were we? Ah yes, 2012. Well, we all enjoyed the fireworks (thanks, Boris) and we’ll all be working just that little bit harder to pay them off, right? But never mind that, it’s the Olympics, innit! THE OLYMPICS!!! Sponsored by health and efficiency magnates Coke and MacDonalds and mascotted by cuddly cyclopses Wenlock and Mandeville. Brilliant! I don’t know about you but I am going to be glued to my set for weeks, swilling official fizzy pop and burgers until I am fit enough to hound down one of those monocular LOCOG lackeys and lance it with a javelin. There, I said it. Now, who else can I offend this week? C’mon Seb, have a pop.

I also promised Nibs that I would make this blog more Idle Hour-centric in one of my less rational, claret-sodden moments of weakness. Well, it was New Year and I was welled up with the mucus of human kindness. So we discussed characters we could slowly introduce that, in time, you will all become familiar with, based on your favourite pubs’ staff, locals and such. It was a drawn-out process but we got there in the end. So, without any further ado, I would like to introduce you all to Timmy:

You:  Hello Timmy!

Timmy:  Meow.

You:  TimmyTimmyTimmyTimmy!

Timmy:  Meow.

Obviously, over time, Timmy’s inherent qualities will manifest themselves on the page and her (sic) antics will become increasingly unlikely and hilarious, but first I have to get to know the little gal and this far in it’s all she’s given me. However, I think you can already tell she’s got the X-factor and I’ll be exploiting this ruthlessly as you might imagine.

Lastly, but by no means leastly, I’d like to thank you all for reading this nonsense over the past few months. Perhaps if you stick with it, you will notice a maturity of style and keen wit develop as the weeks go on, and perhaps, in an ideal world, you will meet Giles Coren in a fancy restaurant he is being paid to eat in and beg him to review Nibs’ tiny but perfectly formed establishment. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Oh, and Happy New Year.