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Elliott Thomas was a loner.

He had for the entire sixty years of his life lived with his late elderly Mother, Norma, at their remote log cabin home in the woods near Pontsticill in South Wales.

He had few human friends with his ten year old cat ‘Jonesy’, (named after the cat in the horror sci-fi film ‘Alien’ ) being his only regular companion.

Elliott loved that cat and Jonesy loved him back.

Most evenings Elliott would put his feline friend on a lead and walk him in the 

Taf Fechan woodland for the cat to do his business.

Clearly it is not just bears that shit in the woods.

One thing was certain though Elliott was not frightened of the dark- his Mother had taught him that there were no monsters under the bed and that the same things would be still there whether or not he turned the bedside lamp on or off.

Jonesy had grown accustomed to their twice daily stroll in the pine fresh clean ozone of the Brecon Beacons National Park- once in the Morning at 8am and later each night at 9pm.

Jonesy being a cat, didn’t like to defecate in his own garden but preferred to leave his faeces for someone else to step into his second hand Whiskas supermeat and share the love.

Elliott had been left comfortably off by his late parents, with his only expense being having to have his septic tank emptied once a year.

He didn’t pay Council Tax as his Property straddled the border with Merthyr and Powys and he fraudulently told both sets of Councils that was paying the other one - he felt is was unfair anyway, as if he wasn’t receiving any direct services from either in any event.

At the age of 60, he like most people in Merthyr had never held down a job but unlike the majority had never claimed any Government ‘benefits’.

Elliott spend most of his time reading old back issues of his treasured Americana, such as the now defunct ‘2000 AD’ and looking towards the Heavens with his telescope.

He didn’t possess a television set as the thick conifer and fir trees that surrounded his camouflaged cabin wouldn’t permit a terrestrial signal.

Despite it being 23 years since the title of his beloved sci-fi comic had passed it’s sell-by date- Elliott didn’t possess a mobile phone nor a landline.

He loved the concept of the future but didn’t embrace it.

His electricity and heating came via an ancient oil generator but generally speaking Elliott would turn into bed after his evening ‘catwalk’ and as soon as the sun set through his solitary West facing window.

His only contact with the outside world was the cash in hand, six monthly oil delivery and once a week the postman would deliver Mail always addressed to his late Father.

He hadn’t told anyone that his Father was dead and had assumed his identity and National Insurance Number as he was Elliott Thomas Junior.

Accordingly to official NHS records he was over 120 years of age.

There was a pile of letters from the local hospital inviting his deceased father to attend the ‘well man clinic’ which was somewhat ironic as had been dead for over 50 years, killed and buried in the woods after a single blow from a frying pan had done for him, after his Mother had accidentally killed him mistaking him for an intruder when Elliott Junior was just ten.

He had helped his Mother bury him downwind of the septic tank so as not to raise any suspicions on the rare occasion a lost rambler knocked on the cabin door.

Elliott was not just a loner- he was a Ufologist and believed that the Earth had been visited not just once by aliens but several thousand times over the last millennia believing that the purpose of the Blue Planet was as an Alien Ant Farm.

His one true friend, Mulder Rice, who had emigrated to the USA many moons ago continued to send him clippings of ‘Close Encounters’ with Alien visitors from his Roswell home in the Nevada desert near Area 51.

Elliott didn’t believe the official USA Government’s version of events from 1947 that the famous Roswell incident was in fact the remains of a weather balloon rather than the wreckage of an alien spacecraft.

He was convinced that it was all a big cover up.

Elliott was also dead jealous of Mulder’s claim that he had been abducted by grey aliens and taken up in a spacecraft.

He loved reading about the British version of Roswell - the Rendlesham Forest incident in 1980 - when various US Air Force staff witnessed strange lights around their Suffolk Airbase.

Elliott longed for his own close encounter with a creature from another planet and frequently dreamed of experiencing the same.

The young Elliott had never owned a television-only his late Father’s radio with a very limited signal which had ultimately indirectly brought about his Father’s death.

His Mother had been in the kitchen listening to a re-run of Orson Welles’ radio broadcast of War of the Worlds from 1938 and mistakenly believed her prankster husband to be a real alien and whacked him with a Teflon Saucepan across the temple.

Poor amateur astronomer, Elliott Thomas Senior , was seeing a whole universe of unknown stars before his legs buckled from under him, dropping dead to the floor like a version of tragic Merthyr boxer Johnny Owen- only ‘Match(Non)Stick Man- hands closed like a fist.

Such a tragedy had a massive impact on the impressionable Elliott Thomas Junior, as he was instantly promoted to doing all the things ( bar one) that his Father had always done.

It is certain that if Elliott Junior was examined by a psychiatrist, then that would have explained his series of facial ticks and sudden aversion to fried foods.

But after the recent death of his Mother, Elliott’s only companion was Jonesy- the last surviving kitten of a litter of five tabbies who had been adopted by Elliott when found abandoned like Hansel & Gretel in the woods.

He had never forgotten the sound of their mewing in Owl’s Grove and often woke up in a sweat as to what their fate would have been if he hadn’t taken them in that Autumn night.

Every since, Elliott always checked the area around the car park for any strays because he had heard innocently from the local Postman that it was a known ‘dogging’ spot.

Just like the disciples of a Judas goat, Elliott was easily led- except went it came to his body.

Elliott stared at the pile of letters but like most men of PeterPan persuasion, he didn’t want to accept the inevitable in that he was aging quickly.

Nowadays, whilst waiting to urinate at his makeshift wooden toilet, he had become conscious that it was taking longer and longer for his ‘engine’ to start.

And once he was in midstream , he was like Magnus Magnusson on Mastermind in that he had started so he would have to finish.

Unbeknownst to Elliott, he had an enlarged prostate and it was interrupting his rite of passage.

But contrary to posthumous advice from the late comedian Bob Monkhouse,  Elliott was too proud and too scared to have the simple test.

He believed stringently that it was purely an exit and not an entry hole.

Unlike the rock band , Led Zeppelin, he didn’t agree with going ‘in through the out door’.

It was nearly 9pm and Jonesy the cat was rubbing his body against his master’s legs - a sign he was ready to lay some cable.

Elliott grabbed his late father’s Gannex raincoat, last in fashion when Harold Wilson was Labour Prime Minister in the Seventies, put Jonesy on his lead and the pair set off in the direction of Owl’s Grove.

****************************** *(**

“Pass me the paste brush!” ordered PC Wolf Blass of his partner.

Constable Isaac Haynes reached onto the floor of the ‘Jam Sandwich’ police car and dipped the brush into the bucket of Solvite.

Holding onto the paste brush, Wolf Blass grasped the sticky bristles before dropping it on the floor next to the lighting column.

“Nice one!” He moaned, as he rubbed the excess paste onto the grey concrete upright.

He picked up the brush and pasted the Police Notice onto the lighting column next to the Red Cow Public House in Pontsticill, Merthyr Tydfil.

The headline read:

Police Notice:

Missing Hitchhiker, Woody Stock last seen in this village on Friday May 4th.

Anyone with information please ring Crimestoppers on 666.

There was a photograph of the missing hiker replete in his Hippy outfit taken from his drug arrest charge sheet from Glastonbury Festival 2022.

“666 is that the number for the Australia Police force?’ Asked Haynesy the detective.

“Printer Error …I ‘suspect’…but probably the reason we haven’t yet had any public calls at HQ!” Replied Wolf Blass.

“Went missing on Star Wars day too!” declared Haynesy.

“Star Wars day?” Asked Wolf Blass scratching his policeman’s helmet then his hat too.

“May the 4th!” Replied Haynesy.

“Huh?” Said Wolf Blass not following the reference.

“May the Force be with you? Said Haynesy quoting Obi Wan-Kenobi.

“The Force is always with us?” Queried Wolf Blass still lost in the conversation.

“Never mind….no wonder you didn’t make it to detective grade!” puffed an exasperated Haynesy.

“Perhaps we should consider putting up posters when we retire as a part-time job!” suggested Wolf Blass.

“Become Bill Stickers, you mean?” queried Haynsey.

“ We could call it ‘Old Bill’ Stickers?” He chuckled sarcastically before eating the last of his KFC mega bucket.

***********************

About two miles away in the woodland glade near Owl’s Grove, Elliott was excited he could see flashing multi-coloured lights ahead and he knew instinctively that it wasn’t Mr Whippy the usual ice cream van at this time of night.

Tying Jonesy’s leash to a thin sapling, he approached stealthily hoping not to startle the diminutive occupants of the spacecraft, who had descended down the metal steps and gone into the woods.

As he approached he suddenly noticed an unusual smell not normally encountered in the backwoods of Powys.

Unbeknownst to him, it was the Gallifreyan version of chloroform and by the time he had worked it out he was suddenly dropping unconscious to the forest floor.

****************************** ****

“That’s the last poster finished….shall we go back to the station or do you want to chance a visit to Owl’s Grove  to see if that Ice Cream Van is still there!” Asked Wolf Blass.

“ Do they still do alcoholic ice cream?” Asked Haynsey.

“Yes…they do Police ‘special’ versions with 999 flakes…!” Replied Wolf Blass also desperate for a fix.

“Owl’s Grove it is then!” Hands on the wheel trembling with delirium tremens.

****************************** ***

Elliott came round from his enforced slumber and found himself strapped to a medical table.

He was experiencing ‘fifty shades of grey’ alien.

He glanced around the interior of the spacecraft and noticed huge transparent glass cylinders around the perimeter containing many specimens of animal species all floating in a clear liquid.

Suddenly, his nose detected a familiar pungent perfume-like aroma.

Petunia Oill or Junkie Juice to give it its colloquial name.

He turned his head to his right and could see that there was another human male wearing a dirty yellow bandana, a CND tee-shirt and faded blue denim jeans.

He looked out of it - but he gave the impression from his outfit that he was always out of it.

Suddenly, a metallic door slid open and three grey aliens with huge saucer-shaped black eyes and three elongated thumb-like fingers entered the room.

The adjacent Hippy suddenly came alive.

“Not again!” He screamed at the diminutive creatures.

Elliott suddenly began to regret his lifelong ambition to be abducted.

“The name’s Elliott Thomas !” Said the nervous captive trying his best to extend a hand of friendship from Earth to the rest of the Universe from his restrained position.

One of the Aliens ticked off a sheet of paper bizarrely marked NHS with his middle finger.

“ET …I would phone Home if I was you!” Warned the Hippie.

“I don’t have a landline or a mobile !” Replied Elliott.

Suddenly, the table he was lying down on parted and his legs were spread in opposite directions as his lower body was raised.

He could feel his lower garments being removed telepathically and no sooner than they were at half mast then the middle finger of the lead alien began to glow and light up.

The table then turned 45 degrees, so Elliott was now facing the hippie and the smell of Petunia Oil mixed with Body Odour became overwhelming.

The glowing alien thumb like finger then entered Elliott’s rectum and began to burn all as it went higher and higher into the body cavity.

All Elliott could manage to say was:

“Does this mean we’re engaged?

The Alien scribbled something onto the sheet of headed paper before a computer in the corner of the room went into overdrive with more flashing bulbs than a celebrity on a Hollywood red carpet.

“Be Good Elliott…your prostate is fine…but you need to drop 35 pounds…you’re fat!” declared the lead Alien whose white name badge showed he was called Woo.

“Doctor Woo from Gallifrey?” queried Elliott as the straps began to undo untouched by any hand -human nor alien.

“Og ot eerf er’uoY!” Said Woo as Elliott was propelled slowly backwards towards the metal steps.

Elliott had never really reversed himself before, as the Time Lord disappeared from sight as he involuntarily backed out of the spacecraft.

As he reached the sapling still holding Jonesy the cat captive, he was astonished that time seemed to go in reverse.

Jonesy was even more in shock than his human master, especially as the shit he had just laid a few Earth minutes earlier had shot back up his furry feline arse.

The pair then moonwalked backwards like Paedo Pan of Pop, Michael Jackson being led to his cabin by Bubbles the Chimpanzee for their Honeymoon night.

The Spacecraft then simply took off at high speed into the night sky heading in the direction of Exoplanet, Proxima Centauri b.

A few minutes after, the cops arrived at the copse only to be disappointed that the ice cream was no longer in situ.

They were surprised to see however a cat taking its owner for a backward walk on a leash in the woods.

The pair decided that such an unusual event was worthy of further investigation- as they only really walked backwards after a heavy session on the beer at the Merthyr Rugby Club.

As discreetly as two 25 stone policemen could be, the pair followed paw patrol by car until they were forced to park up and follow breathlessly on foot.

Jonesy knew the way back to the log cabin backwards - which was good really - as to the untrained human eye he was in fact leading his human master back to his log cabin home.

***********************

At the Queen Camilla Hospital in Merthyr Tydfil, the Computer in the Proctology Department run by Artifecal Intelligence (AI) burst into life…printing a series of ‘semi- colons’ and colons on the NHS pages marked Elliott Thomas Senior.

Prostate check complete.

Enlarged but not cancerous it concluded.

The report was torn off and then filed by a Filipino Nurse under T.

Jeremy Hunt’s  much lauded reduction in NHS waiting times using  

private ‘illegal aliens’ had worked to the disappointment of small craft watcher Nigel Farage.

***********************

Outside the log cabin the pair of detectives lay in the undergrowth eating the last remnants of their sirloin sandwiches.

They were on stakeout.

“Right…do you want to be good or bad cop this time?” Asked Wolf Blass.

The pair made their way to the cabin door and rapped on the wood.

Inside the cabin, the time warp had rectified itself and Elliott was now moving forward    once again.

As he opened the door, Jonesy slipped outside.

He was desperate to offload his recycled log having been trapped in the environment of the non-log cabin.

It didn’t possess a cat flap but his furry arse did.

He was so desperate to go he could only reach the septic tank area before evacuating his bowels.

“Can I help you Officers?” asked Elliott- face ticking nervously like he held a guilty secret.

“Have you seen this man recently?” Asked Wolf Blass holding up a sticky paper poster.

“ Yes…that’s Colonel Saunders!” replied Elliott innocently.

Haynsey tugged at the front of the KFC wrapper that had become stuck to the front of the Missing Person poster.

“Sorry…not him…HIM …Woody Stock !” Wolf Blass said apologetically holding up the photograph of the Hippie.

Unbeknown to Elliott everything that had happened to him on the flying saucer had been deleted from his memory banks.

“No…!” denied Elliott believing that statement to be true.

“ If you can remember Woody Stock you weren’t REALLY there!’ Quipped Elliott half recalling the strange alien hippy encounter.

Haynsey’s attention was now drawn to where Jonesy was frantically digging trying to cover his shit in his own back yard.

“He was last seen hitchhiking in the nearby village of Pontsticill!” continued the unrelenting Bad Cop, instinctively smelling a deception and second handed petunia oil.

“Sorry …but I don’t drive or own a car!” replied Elliott.

“Are you trying to point the finger at me?” he continued.

Haynsey then pulled his partner’s shoulder and turned him in the direction of the cat and the septic tank area.

Poking through the mud was a bony male thumb.

Boz

(scroll down for English)

Mae’n bosib mai’r ddau drac yma yw’r mynegiad mwyaf pur a chrisialaidd o brif thema’r albym – profiadau Bethan ac Ynyr o fod yn rhieni. Maen nhw hefyd yn ganeuon pop da – felly roeddent yn teimlo fel par o ganeuon addas am sengl ddwbl.

1,2,3
Fel nifer o’r caneuon ar yr albym, cyfansoddwyd y gân hon yn wreiddiol ar y piano gan Bethan. Mae Ynyr a Bethan yn chwarae’r utgyrn ac yn ymuno a hwy mae Ioan Hefin, y dyn sy’n gyfrifol am solo trwmped mwyaf eiconig cerddoriaeth Gymraeg yn Gloria Tyrd Adre gan Eryr Wen. Mae hi’n gân am gariad a’r teimlad o geisio amgyffred maint y cariad gallwch deimlo at rhywun. Mae’n berthnasol i unrhyw fath o gariad ond yn yr achos hwn fe’i hysgrifennwyd wrth i’w merch droi yn dri mlwydd oed, gyda Bethan gwneud ymgais i fynegi a deall y cariad roedd hi’n ei deimlo am ei phlentyn a mawredd rhoi genedigaeth; yr her, gorchfygu a gorfoledd a holl fregusdra amrwd y profiad.

Geiriau
Shwt gall rhywbeth mor bitw
Siglo’r ddaear, tanio iâs?
Pan fi’n teimlo fe’n curo,
So’ fe tu fewn nawr, mae e tu fas,
Un, dau, tri Menywod doeth oedd yn gwylio,
Fy nghyn-famau, rhowch i mi nerth.
Holltodd twll yn y nefoedd,
Dysgu gwers o beth yw gwerth.

Fflachlwch Bach
Teyrnged i’w plentyn cyntaf-anedig. Daeth yr ysbrydoliaeth wrth i Bethan geisio cyfansoddi rhywbeth ar y piano gyda’i merch yn ei chôl yn scriblo dros y nodau. Mae prydferthwch mewn normalrwydd a phethau dydd i ddydd, gorfoledd mewn diwrnod arferol gyda phlant bach. Mae seren y gan yn ymddangos gyda solo allweddellau a’i llinell;

‘Beth chi’n aros am? Cân neu beth?
Fi mynd i ddechre un nawr so agor eich clustiau!’

Rhwng ysgrifennu a rhyddhau’r gan, mae eu hail blentyn wedi dod i dynnu sylw a chreu anrhefn wrth y piano unwaith eto, gan ysgrifennu rhan i’w hun yn y gân o nawr ymlaen hefyd. Mae Llyr Parri ar y dryms, Elen Ifan ar y soddgrwth a Mari Morgan ar y ffidil yn ymuno â Bethan ac Ynyr ar y trac yma.

Fflachlwch Bach (Bach) yw teitl y fersiwn fyrhaëdig hon o’r gân, gyda’r ferswin lawn yn ymddangos ar y record. Roedd y dull hyn o enwi yn fwy diddorol na galw’r trac yn ‘(Radio Edit)’ er ei fod mwy na thebyg yn fwy tebygol o achosi dryswch.

These two tracks are possibly the most crystalline and pure expression of the album’s main theme – Bethan and Ynyr’s experiences of parenthood. They’re also good pop songs – so they felt like an appropriate AA-side.

1,2,3
Like much of the album, this song was initially composed by Bethan on the piano. It features Ynyr and Bethan on trumpets but also features Ioan Hefin, the man responsible for performing Welsh music’s greatest and most iconic trumpet solo in Eryr Wen’s Gloria Tyrd Adre. It’s a song about love and the feeling of trying to comprehend the magnitude of the love that you can feel for someone. It can relate to any form of love but in this instance it was written when their daughter turned 3 years old, with Bethan trying to articulate and comprehend the outpouring of love felt for a child and the hugeness of childbirth; the challenge, escalation, triumph, glory and the raw vulnerability of it all.

Lyrics:
How can something so small
Shake the earth, spark shivers?
When I feel it beating It’s not inside now, it’s outside
One, two, three Wise women were watching
My ancestral mothers, give me strength
A hole split in the sky
Learning a lesson about what value is

Fflachlwch Bach
An ode to their first-born child. The inspiration came as Bethan was trying to compose something on the piano with their daughter in her lap scribbling over the notes. There’s beauty in normality and the everyday, joy in an average day with small children. The star of the song also makes appearance with a keyboard solo and her self-penned line;

‘What are you waiting for? A song or what?
I’m going to begin one now so open your ears!’

Between the writing and release of the song, the arrival of their second child has brought fresh distractions, beats and chaos to the piano, thus writing himself a part in the song. Llyr Parri on drums, Elen Ifan on cello, Mari Morgan on Violin join Ynyr and Bethan for this one.

This shortened radio edit version is called ‘Fflachlwch Bach (Bach)’ whereas the full-length album version is Fflachlwch Bach - bach means small or little. Whilst it’s more fun than just calling it ‘(Radio Edit)’, it’s probably more confusing. 

Q & A with Mark

So Mark what about yourself? Have you ever experienced love at first sight?

Mark: Definitely, but unfortunately it hasn’t worked out for me yet. It is hard with my lifestyle. I am always on the road, travelling the world but it puts a lot of pressure on my relationships as you will hear on my new EP ‘Getaway’.. But these stories give me hope and you never know what is around the corner.I did see photos of Catherine Zeta Jones over the weekend on instagram of their beautiful family dancing. Just wonderful. Now apparently when they first met Michael Douglas said it was love at first sight and he just knew. He said he was going to be the father of her children and well the rest is history.

Is the song heartfelt about a true story?

Mark: Yes. When we were just 18, me and my friends went on holiday to France. On the first night, one of my friends saw a girl on the other side of the campsite bar and said ‘there she is, she is the one’. Of course we all laughed, but despite the fact they spoke different languages and lived in different countries they are now married and live happily in Wales with two children. He was right after all and this song is about them.

How did the idea come to you?

Mark: As with most of my songs, the music comes first and mainly from an acoustic guitar. I was away working on ship and sometimes when I arrive the guitar is out of tune form the travel. I remember the top E string being detuned to a D and it surprisingly sounded good, so I kept playing and ended up with this dreamy arpeggio guitar part that drives the song. The rest soon followed.

Do you think love at first sight is a real thing?

Mark: I believe so for many people. I read some statistics recently - Nearly 34% of people claim they have experienced love at first sight 41% of men 29% of women. And It’s a nice thought in a world where there’s so many break ups. But you still gotta work hard for it!

Have your written any other songs about love on forthcoming new ep?

Mark: I’ve written about being in love and it not working out, but always wanting to be there for that person. I couldn’t say it to her so I put it in a song. My last single was an upbeat summer song about Getting away from the struggles of day to day life. There’s also one about that moment you’re in love and you just want to shut out the world and make the world wait. All heartfelt stuff.

What’s next for you, more love and music?

Mark: Well, I’m still working on the love part, but my new ep will be out early next year so I’m looking forward to finally being able to share that with everyone.

From the Wikipedia: - "Miriam Kate Williams (6 May 1874 – 8 August 1946) sometimes called Kate Roberts and better known by her stage name Vulcana, was a Welsh strongwoman. With strongman William Hedley Roberts, better known as Atlas, she toured music halls in Britain, Europe, and Australia. The couple performed as The Atlas and Vulcana Group of Society Athletes."

The extraordinary tale of a Welsh strong woman. Watch the embedded video below.

“Did you forget something from last time?” Asked Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.

Disgraced Former-British Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, held out the hand he had previously offered to COVID patients in 2020 expecting the President to grasp it.

He declined.

“What do you want Boris?…..did you come to Ukraine to claim ‘Non-Dom’ status like some of your former Cabinet colleagues?” continued the President in impeccable English.

“Don’t mention that weasel Cummings to me!” replied Boris, still stung by the previous back stabbing from his former aide.

“Are you in trouble again and want to distract the public attention?” Asked the wise President.

“Boris….isn’t that a Russian name…as in Boris Johnson, whose Conservative Party have had multiple donations from Russian oligarchs and likes to play tonsil tennis with their wives?” Interrupted former World Heavyweight boxing champion, Vitali Klitschko.

“Not that one….so honoured to meet you though ….always been a big fan of the Klit !” said Boris switching his hand toward the pugilist.

The handshake was once more declined.

“Friend of two beards …Lord Lebedev of Hampton & Siberia?” continued the boxer.

“Shall I punch his lights out Mr President….we ARE supposed to be in blackout!”

Zelenskyy raised his hand for the Southpaw threat to stop.

“Look at that Chicken Kyiv…he is shaking more than a Russian conscript holding a Molotov cocktail!” Continued Klitschko.

“ Did you bring any tanks with you?” Asked the President.

“No …but I assure you that they are on order….I did however bring a few jars containing tomatoes for your civilians to continue taking down those pesky Russian drones!” Said Boris still shaking like Matt Hancock having a cupboard knee- trembler.

“ You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble!” Said Zelenskyy sarcastically.

“No trouble…I put it on my parliamentary expenses anyway!”

“We have invited ‘Biden’ to the Feast - to finally win the Cold War for the West!…surely then we will get our wish to join the United Nations, NATO and the European Union?” Said Zelenskyy hopefully.

“Of course!” replied the professional liar.

Boris looked more sheepish than a Welsh Hill Farmer.

“Sleepy Joe has agreed to send 31 M1 Abrams tanks to add to the German offer of 14 Leopard Tanks so we can decimate the out-dated Russian T72, T80 and T90 tanks on the battlefield and reclaim Donbas & Crimea from Putin the Great Bear!” The Ukrainian President announced triumphantly.

“ And make him more like ‘Winnie the Pooh-tin’ when you, the Victorious Ukrainian Paddington ‘peppers the pigs’ with tank shells?” Replied Boris trying to play to the crowd with his usual unintelligible drivel.

“Any chance you could close the crack in that ‘Iron Curtain’ over there ….as the orange flames from the missile fires are blindsiding me more than Keir Starmer at the dispatch box?”  pleaded the former PM.

“So exactly when will we receive the promised British Challenger 2 tanks, so we can make UK Rain with them ?” demanded Zelenskyy.

“ Or even copy Flybe and impose a no fly zone over our Country!” 

“It will have to be after the release of the Russia Report, the Sue Gray Partygate Enquiry and of course, the inquiry into how so many Gangster Russians have entered the Upper Chamber- the inquiry into the Soviet ‘Crimea’ Lords if you like…!” Continued Boris.

“That goes against the grain!” Replied Zelenskyy.

“Is that a veiled food threat ?” Asked Boris.

“My former KGB contact…oops sorry …that evil Vlad the impaler Putin threatened me too recently ….he offered to send me on a cruise - I thought marvellous…another freebie holiday….but sadly he was referring to the missile !” 

“Did you have any witnesses present to corroborate that claim?” Asked Zelenskyy.

“”Of course not…but you can ask my former editor of the Times Newspaper or Tory grandees Michael Howard and Michael Gove….I never fabricate stories or lie…!” protested Boris.

“Back to the original question Boris….when will we get the Challenger 2 tanks?” Ordered  Zelenskyy 

“Well, the Challenger 2 tanks will take some time but we have some tanks we can offer immediately - they are the Ajax tanks built in the original Donetsk -in the South Wales Valleys!” offered Boris.

“ They are ready to ‘rumble!’ he continued.

“ I have heard of that place….Hughesovska Tydfil ….on a Friday and Saturday nights it is more of a war zone than Ukraine…It is the amateur boxing capital of Wales especially near the Kooler nightclub…I fear to go there on my own!” Said Klitschko.

“Rumble’ alright….those tanks are reputed to suffer excessive noise and vibration and have a top speed of 20mph and no reverse gear !…..my military advisers have told me they are about as useful as PPE from a Conservative Party Fast track company!” Complained Zelenskyy.

“But what you do is to ‘Putin’ your older more deafer Tank Commanders in them from the Ukrainian equivalent of the Walmington-on -Sea Dad’s Army Home Guard- the most expendable ones…like we did with Liz Truss and hide the better tanks behind them…!” Said Boris.

“Who do you think you are kidding Mr Hitler?” Asked Zelenskyy.

“ I prefer the comparison to Winston Churchill if you don’t mind!” Replied Boris.

“ He wanted to ‘Nuke’ Russia too …if my reading of history on Wikipedia is correct!” said Zelenskyy.

“And ordered the British Army to open fire on his own people- the Tonypandy miners!” Interjected Klitschko.

“Yes …but at least we Brits are more decent …it’s not like we would ever invade the Crimea like the Russians did in 2014!” declared Boris.

“Now that operation would be ‘unthinkable’! “ said Zelenskyy taking the piss.

“Would you take a bullet for your leader?” Asked Klitschko beating his chest.

“For Rishi Sunak?” Chortled Boris.

“ I would die for my Country like thousands of my countrymen have before me!” said the patriotic boxer.

“ I NEARLY died for my Country when I caught COVID in 2020….in my own version of the Cold War….does that count?” Replied the narcissist serial shagger.

“No!” Said Zelenskyy bluntly.

“Sign this commitment to Ukraine!” Ordered  Klitschko.

Boris took one look at the paper containing lots of clauses all written in a foreign language and grabbed a pen.

“ I don’t do detail….as the Brexit deal and the Northern Ireland Protocol proves!”

“Us True Blue Conservatives are diametrically opposed to ‘red tape’ !” boasted Boris.

“ I assume ‘shchytok tila’ means ‘Free Trade Agreement’ in Ukrainian?” laughed Boris knowing that he had no mandate to act on behalf of the British people anyway- in the exact same way that two of his successors Prime Ministers have.

“There….I have signed it….it’s all there in black n white…or more precisely in blue & yellow!……now where can I find those Babushk’s?…I too want to get inside those Russian dolls!”  

“ Shchytok Tila means ‘body shield’ in English in the same way Lonsdale means below the belt in Boxing!” replied Klitschko.

Boris looked more worried than the time Wife Carrie cracked his laptop password.

“Congratulations President you have your Churchill Tank after all!”

Kaysha Louvain - Trouble out 10/02/23

Kaysha Louvain is an award-winning songwriter and BBC Radio Wales A-Lister based in South Wales, UK. Having learned her craft for over a decade playing and writing with various musicians and bands, Kaysha has developed her unique sound into what it is today.

Drawing heavily on her Welsh roots, love of 80s and 90s Pop/Rock and the honesty and delivery of country music. Through her experiences and influences Kaysha has created a sound that is uniquely hers, not pressured into fitting into a certain box, Kaysha takes her influences and writes from the heart. Her music has been compared to the likes of Sheryl Crow, Stevie Nicks and KD Lang.

Her debut album ‘The Song Goes On’ was a hugely successful debut with two Welsh a-list spots on BBC Radio Wales and BBC Introducing, a Radio WigWam nomination, song of the year on Indie Top 39 and a song of the year on Glacer FM.      
      

A loving couple is prevented from physically touching by an oppressive ruling authority that deems their union to have “expired” in the UK Sci-fi indie Expiry, now available for free in North America via the Fox Corp-owned OTT platform Tubi TV.

First released through Cinedigm in the early months of the Pandemic, Expiry has found resonance among post-pandemic audiences who were prevented from having physical contact with their loved ones during repeated Covid-19 lockdowns. Expiry, filmed in South Wales, UK, before the Coronavirus dominated global headlines, is an eerily-prescient relationship drama set in a not-to-distant future that could well be our own.

Multi-hyphenate Tom Gatley, who not only wrote and directed the film but also scored its award-winning soundtrack, creates a world in which wearable tech devices monitor relationships and the success of a marriage is governed by a couple’s ability to conceive. Expiry presents a possible future where our increasing reliance on mobile devices to interact with one another results in technology that overrides our personal choices and dictates how we are able to connect.

Following its VOD distribution across major platforms in the US, Canada and UK, and the recent announcement of a distribution deal covering all 52 territories on the African Continent, Expiry is now available free with ads via Tubi TV in the US and Canada. The film’s listing can be accessed via the following link:

https://tubitv.com/movies/582964

Daniel Lyddon, the film’s producer for Seraphim Pictures, said: “The creative team welcomes the addition of Expiry to Tubi TV as the film continues to expand its distribution across the globe. With over 50 million monthly active users on its ad-supported streaming service, Tubi TV presents a significant opportunity to increase Expiry’s audience reach.”Tom Gatley, the film’s producer for TG Films said: “We are excited to see our feature film Expiry build its audience further, this time via TUBI TV. This is a great deal for the film and all of the team involved, and I look forward to seeing where it goes. I will be sharing the platform and news with friends and family.”

For more information please contact:
Daniel Lyddon
Company Director
Seraphim Pictures

daniel@seraphimpictures.com
www.seraphimpictures.com

28 December 2022 – Husband and wife duo BRRDS release their sophomore album, Soon Comes Forever on 03 February 2023 on Bungalow Ranch Records.

The album was inspired by 90’s compilation tapes. “We went to a car boot sale and took a punt on a cardboard box full of old cassettes” explains Dave.

One in particular caught their imagination. Labelled ‘Soon Comes Forever’, it had a range of genre-spanning tracks. “That tape was on rotation when we were writing this record” continues Kerrie. “It just had a real sense of adventure, hope and optimism”.

That spirit, sound (and title) cruises through BRRDS second album, which fuses the guitars and vocals of dream pop and shoegaze, with the programmed beats, analogue keys and found sounds which featured heavily on BRRDS’ first album, Liminal Space. The record was written and recorded at their home studio, Shaker Heights; and mixed by Alex Newport whose credits include Bloc Party and Death Cab For Cutie. 

The album also reunites Kerrie and Dave with former bandmate Lee Nicholson from electronic indie wanderers formula one on the final track ‘Is anybody coming out tonight?’. And what of the original mixtape? “Well, we tried to find out who made it, but we’ve drawn a blank. Who knows, maybe we’ll find them by releasing the album. That would be amazing, maybe someone can reclaim their box of tapes!“

Soon Comes Forever will be released on Friday 03 February 2023 on CD and cassette at www.brrds.bandcamp.com as well as all streaming services.

In praise of BRRDS:

‘Gorgeous future pop. They have the capacity to be one of the most exciting groups of next year’ - Graham Duff (Ideal/Alpha Papa/Totally Radio)

'Under the Orange Lights', is an utter delight, burnished with an illuminating carousel of synths and clicking beats house a jovous melody that captures the thrill of a night escaping to the bright lights of the city and the beats of the dancefloor’ – God Is In The TV ‘Gorgeous, microdosed, folktronica’ Slow Music Movement
‘Hypnotic melodies that capture your heart, soul and mind’ (A Musical Priority)

‘Like a widescreen cinematic Wire’ Adam Walton, (Radio Wales).

About BRRDS:

BRRDS are a husband-wife duo from rural South Wales , UK. Their name comes from an 80’s computer programme designed to simulate and predict birds’ flocking behaviour. They made their name in electronic wanderers, formula one; and have since racked up releases on over ten labels. They now record in their home studio, Shaker Heights; a barn full of wheezing synths, creaking computers, and masking-taped drum machines.

Email: brrds.music@gmail.com
Website: www.brrds.co.uk
Bandcamp: www.brrds.bandcamp.com
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/brrds_music
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Brrds
Linktree: https://linktr.ee/BRRD

“Oh Harry.. you are so gullible!” Protested his Wife, Meghan lying alongside him in the purple Heather of the Balmoral Estate.

“ I’m not meant to be a gull ….I am meant to be a chicken!” His Former Highness snapped back.

The two were dressed in blue and white bird outfits that Meghan had borrowed from a Hollywood backdrop of the Gene Wilder film ‘Stir Crazy’.

“Let me have a look at that invitation again!” she demanded.

He handed her the expensive card with its emboldened heading.

“ It’s not the RSPB ….it’s RSVP which means respondez s’il vous plait - you idiot-!” Meghan complained.

“ Well it does say it is a surprise party for Dada…and that it is Fancy Dress too!” Harry replied.

“Well it WILL be a surprise when you and I turn up …I mean they had to invite us but they don’t REALLY want us there, after your revelations in your book Spare now do they?” Said Meghan.

“Yes…it is almost as if we have become the ‘black sheep’ of the Royal family!” Said Harry sarcastically.

“Fuck Off Ginger!” came the Princess-like reply.

“Look it says here that we are to come on foot - use the tradesman’s entrance- the one Sammy Davis Junior had to use - to prevent any unnecessary press intrusion for a the event-low key after the expensive Coronation in May …it is the correct date is it?” She continued with the attitude of a menopausal woman with haemorrhoids.

“Definitely August 12th !” Replied Harry ….”I checked that bit….it seems to ring a bell for some strange reason but I can’t remember why!” 

“This bloody outfit is too hot to wear!” Complained Meghan.

“ What are you moaning about now? I thought you being an actress would love to dress up….in fact it ‘Suits’ you!” Said Harry.

The Medusa-like stare was enough, as she began to strip down.

“What’s this?” She said seeing the sun reflect off a piece of metal in amidst the Erica.

“Careful …it could be a land mine that my late Mother was always ‘banging on’ about I witnessed a few of them I.E.D devices when I was hero in Afghanistan…have I told you about the time I killed 25 Taliban?” asked Harry.

“Me and the rest of the World …ad nauseam!” Grunted Meghan.

Harry crawled forward like a commando and began to remove the top layer of the Heather from around the metal.

“The closest you ever came was a Telly Ban from the BBC for bring ‘The Firm’ into disrepute!” Replied Harry.

“It’s okay…it is only part of a stash my late Grandmother’s Sister, Margaret kept hidden around here…look it is a full bottle of a sixty year old whiskey….!” Said a delighted Harry…

“Well we are in Glen Fiddich after all!” quipped the former actress.

“ Oh you are Nut Meg!” Said Harry.

“ You too Ginger…you too!”

***************************

The golden ceremonial coach pulled up on the gravel driveway of Balmoral Castle.

Inside was King Charles III , Camilla, Duchess of Rothmans and William- the self proclaimed Prince of Wales.

“Do you mind…there are three of us in this carriage!” protested William.

His Father having vaguely heard a similar phrase before somewhere, stopped canoodling with his former mistress and now Wife.

Dropping the King Charles Spaniels’ ears in the process.

“I thought this was meant to be a low key affair a surprise party for you away from the constant hounding of the press!” queried William looking around at the journalists and their motors parked in the grounds.

As the footman opened the day from the outside, William could make out the gargantuan shape of former Rotherham Observer journalist, Jeremy Clarkson and Former Daily Mirror Editor, Piers Morgan chatting outside the Aberdeenshire Country Pile.

“ What are THEY doing here?” asked William.

“It’s not really a surprise party….it is a way of luring your brother Harry and his ghastly bride back to Britain to sort him out once and for all…you know from his Las Vegas days that he can never resist a freebie party!” Replied his alleged Father.

“After all it is in his Hewitt blood!”

“Why is the former BBC journalist Martin Bashir here too?” asked William.

“Are you trying to make a statement?”

Outside, Clarkson now the owner of a Cotswold Farm and Stores was talking to the shining star of GB News.

“Haven’t seen you on TV much lately?” asked Clarkson.

“ I was headhunted by Rupert Murdoch for his new right wing Channel GB News!” Replied Piers.

“ Have you watched it?” 

“No…terrestrial television has had its day….I myself am still in the ‘Prime ‘ of my career!” Boasted the former Presenter resplendent in his Top Gear.

“If there is one thing that I love most, since I became a Class Traitor, its the advent of the Glorious Twelfth and the start of the Grouse shooting season!”  he said lifting his 12 bore shotgun onto his tweed jacketed shoulder, nearly knocking his undersized deer stalker hat off his ginormous cow head.

“What time IS lunch?” continued Clarkson.

“I know from experience you get punchy if you haven’t been fed on cheese and meat platters, so I will hack into the Chef’s mobile phone and find out…after all I wouldn’t your modern day Grand Tour to be spoilt!” Replied Piers.

“When do they expect you-know-who to turn up?” asked Clarkson.

“Well the fake invitation said to be hear before 12 Noon but you know those actresses  they like to make a grand entrance and steal the limelight!” Replied Piers.

“Where did you get the personalised barbour jacket from ?” Asked Jeremy noticing the letter MORON written on the back.

“The Head Gamekeeper gave it to me- apparently the late Duke of Edinburgh used to keep this spare in case I ever showed up….I didn’t receive a gong off him during his lifetime …..I was hoping to be named as Piers of the Realm …but even so I deeply honoured!” Replied Piers.

Clarkson sniggered knowing he had one up on the know-it-all former GMTV presenter.

The shooting party headed for the stables heated by a concessionary cold weather payment from Chancellor, Nadia Zahawi.

*********************

“Oh Mellors, Mellors take me!” Cried Meghan orgasimically , as she stood upright against a tree being ravaged by her husband.

“ Are you fantasising again about Tory MP David Mellor?” Asked Harry.

“ No …it is a scene from my new big budget movie Lady Chatterley’s Ginger and just like me …coming soon to Netflix!” She groaned.

“ Time for a third one, as we already have a boy called Archie and a girl called Lilibet it would be nice to have a mixed one and call it after your Uncle Edward!” Meghan continued breathlessly.

“There is no greater feeling than being rutted by a stag in front of a highland herd of deer- take me …my Monarch of the Glen!’ she continued lustily.

**********************

“My heat-seeking device has located them Sir” said the Chief Gamekeeper, Clay Widgeon.

“They are at the bottom of the Glen, near where your late Sister-in - Law Margaret keep her secret stash of booze!”

“Can you narrow it down a bit?” Asked the new Bonnie Prince Charlie.

“Near the area where we raise the Capercaillie flock !” continued Widgeon

“Well done that man….you deserve a reward and I promise that the first £1.00 coin minted with my face on it will be yours!” replied the King.

“Gee thanks Guvnor’ said Clay doffing his cap to the Regent.

“Do I take the high road and you take the low road?” asked Charlie innocently.

At that point Clay was considering regicide but then thought against it.

“C’mon lads and bring that trebuchet!” 

*********************

“Bloody minge!” complained Meghan.

“How long have you been in Scotland now and still don’t understand the vernacular….these flies are called midges not minges!” Replied Dirty Harry.

“Not the flies….what do they call it at the Palace now ….front bottom….the 

Lady Di Tunnel?” Asked Meghan.

“Ooh you can be so cutting at times Meg…that was my mother…the queen of hearts you were referring to…..besides my Father used to call it the Nicholas Witchell!”

“So can you that frostbitten knob of yours has caused me more damage to the Windsors than the Netflix series ‘the Crown!” Replied the Throne Wrecker.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted as the August Sun went dark.

In a split second, Harry puzzled if there was a solar eclipse but as the dark cloud landed with a splat.

“Let them eat kak!” Declared Camilla as the Trebuchet full of Highland Cow manure landed on the recently copulating former Royal Couple become the Duke & Dookies of Sussex.

“Bullseye- !” Declared Fi Calmatter, the new Groom of the Stool, to the HRH and the gathered cabal of former muckrakers.

“I hate that woman on a cellular level !” Declared Piers…”not just because she opted for Oprah over me but because I couldn’t hack her phone!”

“This is the part I have been dreaming about -parading the new Wallis-Simpson through the streets of Aberdeen naked covered in excrement!” Replied Clarkson.

Dripping in slurry and smelling worse than Gary Lineker’s 1990 World Cup caught shorts, Meghan was fuming.

With steam coming out of her bejewelled ears she wasn’t the only one going ‘spare’.

A new chapter in the Meghan Markle debacle.

As King Charles III muttered from his elevated position.

‘Suits’ you Luv!”