Blogs
If someone says the word "unprecedented"
one more time I will not be held accountable
for what comes next
what about the Spanish Flu
the Black Death and other plagues
including the Bible ones?
did they not happen?
did they "unhappen"?
~
does no one read history books any more
and did no one look at what was happening
in China in these supposedly connected times?
what about those warnings from the World Health Organisation?
are we no longer a part of the world?
do we think that we exist in a bubble
and that nothing or no one will burst it?
what about our own scientific community?
what were they thinking or couldn't they agree?
and why is there always a "lag"
in official data on weekends
can't they rota staff to give a
24/7 pandemic
24/7 coverage
in the information world
as figures received on Tuesdays sometimes jar?
where are we on those charts
those peaks and troughs of our lives
our deaths?
why don't we learn anything any more
particularly now that we really
do have something to learn from?
it's almost as though our minds
are erased as we sleep
making everything appear unprecedented
as it's harder to have a viable past this way
I want my past even if I don't always like it
...
Robert Godber was the last Punk left in the South Wales Valleys.
It was nearly 43 years since the Sex Pistols had shocked the Rock N Roll Community with their slogans of Never Mind the Bollocks and God save the Queen.
How times had changed.
So had the slogans too.
Never Mind the Botox and God shave the Queen was more relevant to 2020.
However, strangely enough he was still Public Enemy No 1 in the little valley Town of Merthyr Tydfil, as despite the health warnings of Covid-19, the dirty bastard still insisted on spitting on the pavement everywhere he went.
All the colours of the rainbow- but mainly shades of yellow and green paint you could only find on a B & Q paint chart.
In fact, the streets around where Rob squatted on Brecon Road were so full of spittle, most visitors thought that Merthyr had seen an influx of Premiership Footballers.
At 56 years, Rob the Gob, as he was known locally, had become quite an accomplished shot with his mouth.
He put it down to a misspent youth and his upbringing in the 1970’s as a latchkey kid, developing his oral skills, by using his pea shooter and box of hard- boiled Leo peas to take out the bulbs on the top of the wooden lampposts.
His Norwegian music teacher in school, Mr Per Cushion, had noticed that Rob had both strong lungs and a powerful trachea and therefore had him marked his strong voice out in his class as a potential trumpeter, nicknaming him the ‘new Sachmo’.
Rob thought to himself ‘What a wonderful World he lived in’ back in his halcyon schooldays, when all he had to worry about was avoiding his drunken Father’s fists and how much ‘bingo’ money he could steal from his Mother’s coat pockets before she noticed.
Now being a rebel all his life, hadn’t helped him one iota.
He had no job, he lived in a squat house that was overdue demolition, with no means of heating or lighting or mains sanitation and worse still, his advanced hair-loss had meant his green and blue Mohican/Stegosaurus had gone the way of the dinosaurs too.
His foray into the World of Punk Rock, busking outside train and bus stations under the band name of ‘Dogs die in Hot Cars’ had ended prematurely, after his backing vocalist, Flob the Dog, had been bitten by karma and died in his former mate’s hot car.
Rob the Gob didn’t care for anyone anymore- human or animal, especially after another traumatic event in his sad existence.
He was nearly 30, when his 16 year old running mate, Rusty Pinn, had died at the Reading Festival in 1992 at the Carling ‘Monsters of Rock’ Festival, whilst watching Nirvana- drowning in the Mosh Pit in a sea of what smelled like Teen Spirit and he had a held a ‘grunge’ against the World ever since.
He was the only person to cheer at the TV, when he heard that Kurt Cobain had blown his own head off with a shotgun.
There wasn’t much Love lost.
Rob the Gob didn’t have many material possessions but he was quite a follower of fashion with his proudest possession being a pair of Vivienne Westwood trousers from the Punk era with 40 different zip fasteners sown into them.
Which was great when you are 17 years of age but not so good when have a dodgy prostate at 56 with a failing memory too.
To add to Rob’s woes, he had also had an unfortunate accident whilst off his head glue-sniffing in Aberfan Cemetery.
Whilst listening to the Punk Band ‘The Skids’, he had pogoed himself into an uncharted mine entry inadvertently going ‘into the Valley’ in a totally different way.
His dyslexic sniffing mate, Alf Abett, would have saved him but unfortunately, he was arrested for importuning after he was caught ‘sniffing aerosols’.
When the rescuers found him three days later, he had to have an emergency operation to remove three days build-up of mucus, which equated and weighed three Pounds in weight from his throat.
He was given an emergency tracheostomy and had a tube inserted into his windpipe.
He was only capable of communicating with hand gestures or by placing a kazoo next to his larynx, making him sound like an effeminate Darth Vader.
Strangely enough, it didn’t stop him spitting.
Perhaps it was because of his past addiction to Camel cigarettes, but he could still produce more Phlegmish works of kerbside art than Belgian painter Peter Paul Rubens.
But when life gives you lemons, I suppose you have to do something with them.
And in this life, when one door closes a new airway opens.
Rob’s tracheostomy was to hand him an unexpected lifeline.
After the local pub, the Catholic Arms had reopened its’ doors to a limited number of visitors due to the new social distancing provisions, by accident Rob had discovered a strange new talent.
Whilst sitting in the snug, a fellow drinker, Ystradgynlais’ own Rory Railtrack had complained to the barman about the smell of Rob’s breath and the barman decided to take matters into his own hands by placing a Glade Plugin Air Freshener in Rob’s throat-hole.
It worked for a short time, but Rob suddenly realised this was an infringement of his human rights.
In anger, he thrust down his diaphragm internally with mind control and pumped his lungs with all his might.
Aiming for the sweet-spot between the ‘Neath’anderthal’s complainant’s eyes- just below his unibrow- Rob let fly.
The Glade Plug-in shot out and smacked the caveman right between the eyes and just like the Biblical confrontation between David & Goliath, the giant man of orange apparel dropped like a stone to the floor.
This brought out a loud cheer from the rest of the room, as the dazed railway worker was led from the bar in the direction of the casualty department of the Queen Camilla Hospital.
Rob had never been so popular.
He had rid them of the pub version of Simpsons’ bully Nelson Muntz.
Pints were passed to the Down and Out in Brecon Road Hills and whilst he may have had the dishevelled look about him of Nick Nolte- he no longer felt like a Poor Man but a Rich Man too.
He was even more surprised to be offered a game of darts by one of the regular more sporting patrons, Len ‘The Bull’ Taurus.
Rob felt honoured but his attempts at hitting the board failed miserably despite being given a 200 point head-start by his fellow ‘dartiste’.
He bounced more times off the tyre than Brazilian racing driver Ayrton Senna.
And then Rob had an Epiphany.
By placing the flight in the hole in his throat, he then followed the same diaphragm and throat manoeuvre that he had with the Railway Bully and all of a sudden, he was hitting treble twenty with each ‘throw’.
Len the Bull was astonished.
“Hit double top!” came the request.
Rob concentrated and the repeated the procedure.
The dart struck it’s intended target.
Again and again repeated requests from the bar to hit a certain spot were met by Rob.
He was now more accurate than a US Drone strike over Iran.
The Pub Landlord, Alan Murray, was shocked to see that Rob could hit more doubles than even he could and he was suffering from ‘Publican’s disease’.
However, the entrepreneur realised this was the chance he had been waiting for.
Kismet had ‘thrown’ this golden opportunity his way and he was determined to seize his chance.
He had read in the Industry Newspaper that local businesses were being given a kickstart by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and despite the scientist promised second wave of Coronavirus not occurring, people had changed their habits and were no longer using pubs, inns and taverns with the frequency that they once were.
His Commercial Landlord based in the Tax Exile Cayman Islands, had come up with a series of promotions to encourage more punters to return in numbers by arranging for celebrities to visit their establishments.
But at the same time expected full rent for the three -month period the pub was unable to open.
Who could possibly resist missing a Karaoke Night with Jedward or a Mixed Martial Arts wrestle with Conor McGregor (before the real action happened at closing time) or visiting a newly refurbished Punch Tavern hosting Tyson Fury.
But the one that stood out to him was an evening of ‘Red Arrows’ with Phil ‘the Power’ Taylor, the Stoke-on Trent born, 16- time World Champion.
He was aware that the Olympic athlete was currently touring the UK and was prepared to take on all and sundry with a prize of £250,000.00 to any amateur pubgoer that could beat him over 3 legs.
Alan Murray pulled up the full rules on his mobile phone and began to read them.
If only he had taken this much time and scrutinized his pub tenancy agreement in the same way he wouldn’t be in this predicament.
His Tenancy Agreement with no Coronavirus provision meant he was still liable for full rent during the pandemic, and worse still he was obliged to buy his beer from the tied brewery at inflated prices, despite not having anyone to sell it to for over four months.
He now had more barrels than the Great White Shark in Jaws.
He scanned the rules in depth:
No Professional Players.
No discrimination- Male or Female players or combinations of both were eligible to enter the Contest.
B.A.M.E players to be given a discount off the entry fee.
DISABLED PLAYERS TO BE ENCOURAGED TO TAKE PART.
No re-throws allowed.
Only one entry per person allowed.
Referee’s decision to be final in all circumstances.
Free Goldfish to be given to all participants.
One phrase that jumped out at him was that of encouraging the disabled to take part.
Surely, Rob the Gob would fall into that category?
So what that he would have to spend thousands widening the doors, put in ramps and an mechanical lift near the dart board in the main bar- but IF an agreement could be reached with Rob and THEY won that prize then it would be the solution to their problems and they could BOTH breathe easier.
Not only that there would be a book in it and the spin-off film rights too.
Go ahead Punk and make my day!
Alan Murray the Pub Landlord was on his own self-induced Flight of Fantasy.
He decided the best course of action was to run an internal darts contest to test Rob’s new found ability.
The Evening of the Warm-up started well and despite a mere sixteen entrants turning up Rob had won the contest hands down.
So much hands down in fact, it was almost like the first ever live darts and ventriloquist act ever performed.
Come the final against Len the Bull, he was so confident of hitting his intended target that he had shouted the phrase ‘a gottle of gear’, as the dart made its way towards double top.
As Rob was crowned Catholic Arms Pub Champion much drunken celebration took place, with celebratory Covid-19 hugs all round.
Alan was now happy to submit the application form for entry online and provide a £500.00 bond.
The Bond was too ensure that the former World Champion would not turn up to an empty pub with few punters present to the embarrassment of Phil Taylor.
They didn’t want a Power Shortage or a Blackout like had previously happened at a Jim Davidson gig.
Due to the size of the bar, only 100 people were allowed as this was the maximum capacity for Health & Safety purposes.
In recent years, this had never been a problem but Alan had to take precautions and had charged £10.00 per punter entry fee to come in.
Rob was allowed one free ticket and had chosen to invite his fellow homeless friend, Pierce Head to the gathering.
He wanted Pierce to bear witness to his big payday by beating the Power in his own back yard.
Rob also had a grudge against the local electricity company, who had discovered his abstraction of electricity and shut the Power off at his squat.
His mate, Pierce Head, had already hit the jackpot by being temporarily rehoused in the 3star Castle Hotel for the period of the pandemic.
Very soon, he was being turfed out onto the street by Central Government immediately once the subsidy stopped.
In the meantime, Pierce was making merry lying on the floor in a pool of his own alcoholic vomit and piss.
Rob was getting nervous as the Competition was due to start at 7pm and it was nearly 6.15pm, as he stood outside the hotel trying to waken his friend who was busy doing an impression of the late Keith Moon of WHO fame.
Rob called up from Glebeland Street below for Pierce to hurry up.
He eventually came to the first- floor window, grey faced looking like all the blood in his body had been replaced by alcohol- which in truth it had.
“I am locked in – my religious parents are trying an intervention!” shouted back the living flagon.
“I have an idea!” shouted back Rob.
“Do you remember the Children’s story Rapunzel?”
The other grim brother from above replied “Yes!”
“Step away from the window now!” ordered Rob.
As Pierce did so, he sucked in his diaphragm and hocked a twelve- foot green ‘loogie’ skyward towards the hotel room window just like Marvel character Spiderman firing a web.
“Rapunzel, let down your hair!” shouted the drunken Pierce, as he slid down the impromptu builder’s chute funnel to safety below.
The pair raced their way to the Catholic Arms.
They made it with two minutes to spare.
Pierce was let in first but Rob was held back as Phil Taylor made his entrance from the lounge with dry ice to the song ‘I have the Power’ by Snap.
He looked the business in his flashy satin shirt with ‘The Power’ emblazoned on his back.
Rob hadn’t even chosen a song.
All he could think of was a Marc Bolan and T-Rex hit.
He asked the Landlord if he had ‘’I hock a loogie…jitterbug bogies- on the jukebox- which fortunately he did.
His Sports Direct tee-shirt had Rob ‘the Cuckoo’ Godber written in permanent black marker pen on the back.
As the pub crowd cheered their local hero, the pair went to warm up at the oche.
Rob was under orders from Landlord Alan not to show too much in the warm up, and threw the darts conventionally at the board with his right hand, scoring a composite total of 26 with his first three darts.
Phil ‘the Power’ Taylor rocked up with Shanghai just for openers- single twenty, triple twenty and double top.
The watching crowd went wild.
Rob started to get nervous.
He had never played darts in front of so many expectant people before, nor in a pressure tournament.
The sweat began to roll down from his forehead onto the rusty safety pins that he had inserted many years ago into his face.
He looked like the Mothercare version of Hellraiser.
The decision would go first would be decided by one dart closest to the centre of the dartboard bull.
Phil ‘the Power’ Taylor rocked up and hit the bull with ease.
Rob placed the dart in his neck aperture and fired.
It split the flight of the 14- time World Champion knocking it out of the board before striking the exact centre of the dartboard.
Phil ‘the Power’ Taylor looked at veteran Darts referee Tony Green who was equally stunned.
Neither of the pair had witnessed anything like it in their 40-year professional careers.
After a quick check of the PDA rulebook, Green allowed Rob to ‘throw up’ first.
As he inserted the flights into his neck, the gathered crowd could clearly see the name of the sponsors on display.
Strongbow.
Rob fired off his first three darts scoring a treble sixty with each one.
Tony Green announced over his microphone the now familiar ‘180’ to raise the excitement in the packed bar area.
People leaned on their friends, peered under armpits with some stood on tables and standing on the bar area.
All the while, Alan continued pouring pint after pint.
Irrespective of the outcome, he would at least achieve some great beer sales if nothing else.
Phil went up and replied with his first three arrows which brought the house down as another ‘180’ boomed around the room.
Rob then repeated the action.
360 points from 3 darts.
Anything Rob did- so did the Power.
A perfect twelve dart match so far.
Both players were three darts away from a nine- dart finish- the ‘heavyweight’ equivalent of a 147- maximum break at snooker.
Rob wasn’t very good at mathematics but fortunately Barman Alan was good at both doubles and trebles.
He also had to do a bit of ‘creative accountancy’ by using his awful handwriting to blur the figures over the years just to stay afloat, so he wrote the sequence required on the chalk board next to the bar for Rob.
Treble 20, Treble 19 and double 12.
Rob was never very good at following orders being an ‘anarchist and a trainee Anti-Christ’, but follow them he did, as he promptly completed an amazing 141 out sequence.
He turned around to the acclaim of the audience, arms raised aloft so proud at his achievement.
Holding a pint of Strongbow- supplied by his sponsors, he poured the golden liquid into a plastic funnel and let that slide down his tracheostomy.
Phil ‘the Power’ Taylor applauded the actions and skill of his opponent sportingly.
He knew he was in for a real challenge this time and would have to raise his game.
He did so by producing his own 9 darter to level the match at 1-1.
He did the 501 in a different sequence.
Treble 20 x 7, Treble 15 and Double 18 outshot.
The crowd gathered knew they were witnessing something special really special, especially as both players had started the final game with two rounds of treble twenties each.
Both players were on 141 out-shots, but crucially Rob the Gob had first chance.
As long as he held his nerve, he would beat the 14 times World Darts Champion at his own game.
But pressure does strange things to a man and more so to 56 -year old punks with a history of glue-sniffing.
And to Sports Direct Tee-Shirts too in a jungle environment.
The Cuckoo became the Suckoo.
Rob looked up at Pub Landlord Alan Murray, who was willing him on with ever sinew of his body.
The crowd too wanted to see the underdog turn the tables and finally win one for the underclass.
Rob was now sweating more than Liberal MP Cyril Smith in a Rochdale children’s play park.
He had developed a continuous cough and a really high temperature (103) and his throat felt like it was closing in on him.
Was it the pressure of the big occasion or the onset of Covid-19?
His body was all of a ‘quiver’ which normally was handy for someone dealing with arrows.
He looked across at the chalk board by the bar and saw the sequence written down for him.
Treble 20, Treble 19 and Double 12.
The Landlord gave him a cheery second wave.
Three darts in the correct places on the board and he would never have to work again- not that he had ever started in the first place.
He could hear the Mark Knopfler theme tune to the 1983 film ‘Local Hero’ playing in his head.
He knew his opponent was in Dire Straits.
First Dart from the Puff Daddy hit its target.
81 left.
Treble 19 next.
Rob the Gob set his ‘sights’ on the tiny patch of green separated by two thin metal wires.
Flob- and the missile sailed towards its destination.
He got it.
Only the double left.
He glanced at the chalkboard.
He sent the dart on it’s way and it hit the double.
Rob jumped in the air -the finest pogo he had performed since that Siouxsie & the Banshees concert in 1981.
“Bust!” shouted Tony Green, as he brought the Punk back down to Earth quicker than the NASA Space Shuttle Challenger.
“But I hit the double 13!” protested Rob.
He glanced up at the Landlord who had his head in his hands.
His shaky chalkboard writing looked from a distance just like double 12.
“Unlucky thirteen!” laughed Taylor, as he replaced the gutted Rob at the oche.
“Yet another ‘Choker’....141 eh…I can do that blindfolded!” boasted the Professional.
Pulling up his Coronavirus mask over his eyes, he proceeded to do just that.
Treble 20, Treble 15 and Double 18 out.
“Well normally Rob I would shake your hand but….!” Said the Power.
“Time for a ‘Merthyr Blackout’!” said the Punk.
Rob could take no more -his flights of fantasy was over in true Valleys way, he just lifted his fisted hand to land an uppercut on the fifth chin of his opponent.
Anarchy in the UK soon followed.
Sera (from Caernarfon) and Lowri (from Newport Pembs) will be especially familiar to Welsh music audiences as two bilingual singer-songwriters that have been writing, performing and recording as solo artists for some time. Between them they have been championed on BBC 6 Music, Radio 2, performed everywhere from Greenman, Festival Number 6, from King Tut’s to the Union Chapel; From Wales to America to France, which is as it happens, where the two met for the first time last year, performing at the Welsh Pavilion at the Lorient Celtic festival in August 2019.
This first meeting sparked an idea to form a female fronted band and to create their own brand of Americana; an act that could headline and represent women’s voices. Inspired by The Highwomen , a US ‘supergroup’ featuring Brandi Carlile and Amanda Shires, who formed as a response to the lack of representation of women artists on country music radio and festivals.
Their songs take their musical colours from a broad palette that includes Americana, Roots, Folk and Country, all beautifully knitted together through their innate musicality and heartfelt delivery.
AmeriCymru spoke to Sera Zyborksa about the new band and their plans for the future.
.....
Two of Wales best known singer songwriters have come together to form a newAmeriCymru: Hi Sera and many thanks for agreeing to this interview. Care to introduce your new band Tapestri for our readers?
Sera: Of course! Tapestri is a bilingual Americana band fronted by myself (Sera Zyborksa) and singer-songwriter Lowri Evans. I live in Llanfairpwll in Anglesey and Lowri is in Trefdraeth in Pembrokeshire. We’ve both been solo artists for years, releasing music in Welsh and English. This collaboration brings together our ‘roots’ influences, and the whole drive behind the project is to have confident female voices singing about the things that really matter to us and move us. We’ve got a bit of inspiration from Brandi Carlile, First Aid Kit, Sheryl Crow to name a few. The whole vibe of the band is very much inspired by The Highwomen, which is a US all-women supergroup that formed last year in response to the lack of support form women on Country Radio. They don’t just sing sad love songs and they don’t ‘play it safe’ - they write songs about all kinds of topics and their music manages to be both heartfelt and get you on your feet, make you think but also make you feel really good!
"We think that the fact we also sing in Welsh brings a nice Celtic flavour to our brand of Americana and is so important to who we both are."
That’s what we are also trying to do. We love the confident attitude of the artists involved in that project and felt like it resonated with us. We want to put on a great show too, and so the music we’ve been working on so far has a lot of light and shade. Some songs sound great with just acapella; two voices in harmony, while others have a full country band sound and have been so much fun in rehearsals. We think that the fact we also sing in Welsh brings a nice Celtic flavour to our brand of Americana and is so important to who we both are. Tapestri as a name represents the blending of our musical tastes and our personal experiences. The logo itself depicts trees with roots, and this is a nod to the folk and roots origins of our music.
AmeriCymru: When and where did you and Lowri meet and decide to form the band?
Sera: So although Lowri and I have been making music and performing for years as solo artists here in Wales, I don't think we've ever played on the same line-up as each other, which is actually quite strange. There are a lot of similarities between us, both acoustic bilingual acts, and I would have thought our paths would have crossed long before now! We are based in opposite ends of Wales, so that might have something to do with it, but also many festivals unfortunately don't tend to book too many women on their line up. And as it happens, was one of the driving forces behind forming Tapestri. It’s an issue we bonded over when we first met, backstage at the Welsh Pavilion in the Lorient Interceltic Festival last year in August 2019. Lowri was there performing with her partner Lee and I was there on my own, as a last minute addition to the line up that year. It was nice to talk to another woman in the ‘folk/singer-songwriter’ music scene who seemed to share many of my frustrations, goals and drive. After coming home, I remember feeling really inspired, musically, ready to take on the world, and wanting to start something new, something exciting.
"I remember talking to my husband about wanting to form an all-woman Americana band. I started thinking of who could be in it. I thought of Lowri."
I remember talking to my husband about wanting to form an all-woman Americana band. I started thinking of who could be in it. I thought of Lowri. At about the same time, I got a message from Lowri on Facebook asking if I'd be interested in forming an all-woman Americana band. It was really weird indeed! But obviously something was going on here, and I think we both felt that it was something that had to happen. We decided to have a writing session and see if it would lead anywhere. Soon after that Lowri came up to my house in Llanfairpwll, and we spent the weekend writing songs. I think we wrote 4 songs, all really different to each other, and it seemed to be working! It was a really interesting process. Spending so much time with someone new and trying to write really honest songs together requires you to get to know each other fast! Wine helped, as did just talking and listening to music! It made the songwriting bit come quite painlessly then, and it all felt quite organic. Which was quite the thing considering we barely knew each other at that point. After that, I went down to Trefdraeth a few times and we started laying down some tracks, making plans and pretty soon we were officially ‘Tapestri’! By Christmas, we had Lowri’s partner Lee Mason on bass and drummer Iwan Hughes on board and we had our first jam. It sounded great! Plans were put in motion for some February launch gigs and we were all set!
AmeriCymru: How difficult has it been launching a new musical project against the background of the Covid 19 crisis?
Sera: Everything seemed to be going so well in the latter part of 2019 that we felt 2020 was going to be epic for us! We were due to launch the band in February at a theatre show. We had worked so hard to rehearse our set, meeting halfway between North and South Wales in an old school hall several times, near Machynlleth. I'd been down to Pembroke a few times, and we'd started recording our EP and booked our summer tour already. We put in a lot of hours in a very short space of time. But the morning of our launch gig was the morning after Storm Ciara hit the UK. We got a call saying that the theatre had severe weather damage. So that was rearranged for July. We were disappointed, but it gave us more time to get the EP ready for the July gig and put on an even better show. Of course, the July show hasn’t happened either, so we’ve still not officially ‘launched’ Tapestri. That show, along with every other date we had in our diary for the summer was cancelled. From festivals to theatres. All gone. What's more, due to travel restrictions, I couldn't drive to Pembroke to carry on recording our EP either. Literally everything had to come to a halt after such a whirlwind few months.
"It’s now more than ever that bands and artists should pull together and try to support each other as much as we can."
Who knows when we'll be able to play again. However, every band is in a similar situation. So it’s not as though we are alone in this. It’s now more than ever that bands and artists should pull together and try to support each other as much as we can. Help each other promote our music online, even just saying kind words and watching each other’s virtual gigs helps keep with morale. One good thing is that a lot of the groundwork has been done with Tapestri. The band exists, we have plans in place, but on hold, so soon as we can, we’ll hit the ground running again.
AmeriCymru: What can you tell us about your first recording 'Y Fflam'?
Sera: Y Fflam (‘The Flame’ in English) will be the first single from Tapestri. It’s ‘Track of the week’ on BBC Radio Cymru from July 20th and then it’s released on all digital platforms on Friday the 24th of July. We really felt it was important to put something out during this time of limbo for us. We recorded a song called 'Open Flame' a while ago - It was one of the first songs we wrote together on that first weekend of songwriting I mentioned earlier. A little while ago we translated that song into Welsh and called it ‘Y Fflam’. The song is probably the most poetic and ethereal we’ve written, and that made it easy to write a Welsh version. It’s a song about a feeling, a sensation, rather than an event or specific experience, so the translation didn’t need to be completely literal. Although the story and the message remains the same; being drawn to something that may not necessarily be good for us and learning to let go.
We have a lot of light and shade in our set, with many of the songs really upbeat and fun to play, but Y Fflam is not one of those. It’s one of the most satisfying songs to perform though, as it relies totally on mine and Lowri’s vocals connecting and communicating the emotion behind the song and in fact, the language it’s sung in doesn’t seem to matter. It felt like a fitting song to release for the time we're in and also a nice way to introduce Tapestri, which at its heart is 2 women’s voices coming together. On a practical level, as the music was already recorded, we just had to re-record the vocals in Welsh, which we had to do separately of course. Making a music video for it was a challenge as again, we had to film apart.
AmeriCymru: What's next for Tapestri. Any new recordings / gigs in the works?
Sera: Ideally, we want to finish the EP and get it out for Christmas. If we can sort a tour out for it for the New Year, we will. At the moment everything is so up in the air and we have to take each day as it comes right now until we know when the UK will be able to have live music again. But we're keeping the creative channels open and we're focusing on launching the band with the single at the moment. This isn’t a project with an end date on it but something we see as a long term partnership, so a little pause right now won’t change our plans. We both write a lot, so we foresee an album in the future. We also are very keen to head out to the States and Canada as our music would probably find a good audience there, being Americana! We also want to explore other European and international scenes - I think the fact that we are a bilingual band opens our music up to different audiences and those interested in languages.
AmeriCymru: Any final message for the readers and members of AmeriCymru?
Sera: We’d love to hear from Americymru readers and members what they think of our first song and if there would be a welcome for us Stateside!
Lowri and I would also like to send our love and best wishes to you all during these uncertain times and thank each and every body who has supported independent musicians during this time, whether it's liking their facebook posts or buying CDs. It all means a lot.
It would be great if you could follow us on Twitter/Instagram/Facebook etc.
You can find us across social media @tapestrimusic
And there are a few videos you can watch on - Youtube
Here’s the pre-save link to ‘Y Fflam:’ - Y Fflam
On twenty two consecutive days
in April 2020
over 1,000 people died
of Covid-19
in my country
though Ministers daily
downplayed this abomination
with figures of three digits
my country
in need of care
though you wouldn't know it
from the way it is treated
by its careless rulers
those leaders that morph into
cheap game show hosts
Brylcreemed
three digits
knowing winks
and prizes you can't use
my country
a bump on the earth
a thing of beauty
radiating from the smiles
that come gladly to the faces
of the low paid and short changed
I applaud them
I applaud anyone
who has not swallowed
the lies attached to the events
of these rariefied days
as the undertakers work overtime
and the monumental masons
inscribe new stanzas
on the Avenues of Tombs
The North American Festival of Wales may not be meeting in person this year, but virtual events are still in the works, and the #NAFOW #Eisteddfod carries on!
Psych pop band KEYS unveil new single | 'This Side Of Luv' Out via Libertino 17.07.20
By Ceri Shaw, 2020-07-14
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“The hiss is another instrument” and it’s an instrument integral to the new recordings, sounds and songs by KEYS. Over the next few weeks we will be unveiling the latest collection of songs by the band, as Matthew Evans vocals / guitar / songwriter explains: “We recorded these tracks on Cassette four track machines during lockdown. Let’s not pretend we had access to an expensive studio, we didn’t. It was a time to connect with bedroom songwriting again. These are not band arrangements worked out in a rehearsal room – these were written and recorded simultaneously. Not demos but songs that took shape during the "recording process.”
The hiss of the cassette turning is the sound of the endless possibilities and magic of the pop song spilling out in vivid colours at the exact moment inspiration took hold. No second guessing or over thinking, only the joy of creating.
A perfect example of this is the first single ‘This Side of Luv’. “This was our attempt at joyous early 70’s Midlands pop. 3-day weeks, winters of discontent, a Tory government…yet out of that bleakness came some heroic, ecstatic British pop music.
Music has the power to lift the spirit, if we can do that for 3 and a half minutes then we’ll feel our efforts were not in vain.” Matthew summarises this collection of songs, also written in trying times, as: “something to help us get through this lockdown. Hopefully you can use it too.”
Online KEYS
https://twitter.com/thekeysmusic
https://www.facebook.com/KEYSband1
Bydd Sera Zyborska (o Gaernarfon) a Lowri Evans (o Drefdraeth Sir Benfro) yn gyfarwydd i gynulleidfaoedd miwsig Cymru fel artistiaid dwyieithog sydd wedi bod yn ysgrifennu, perfformio a recordio yn unigol ers amser. Rhyngddynt maent wedi cael eu hyrwyddo ar BBC 6 Music, Radio 2, wedi perfformio ym mhobman o ŵyl y Dyn Gwyrdd i Gŵyl Rhif 6, o King Tut’s yn Glasgow i’r Union Chapel; O Gymru i America i Ffrainc, sydd fel mae'n digwydd, lle bu’r ddwy yn cyfarfod am y tro cyntaf y llynedd, wrth berfformio ym mhafiliwn Cymru yng ngŵyl Lorient yn Awst 2019.
Sbardunodd y cyfarfod cyntaf hwn syniad i ffurfio band gyda merched ar y blaen, a chreu eu brand eu hunain o ‘Americana’; band â all berfformio ar lwyfannau mawr a chynrychioli lleisiau menywod. Wedi’i ysbrydoli gan The Highwomen, ‘supergroup’ o’r Unol Daleithiau sy’n cynnwys Brandi Carlile ac Amanda Shires, a ffurfiodd fel ymateb i ddiffyg cynrychiolaeth artistiaid benywaidd ar radio a gwyliau canu gwlad.
Mae ei caneuon yn cymryd eu lliwiau cerddorol o balet eang sy'n cynnwys Americana, ‘Roots’, Gwerin a Gwlad.
Mae nhw wedi cael dechrau anodd a dweud y lleiaf. Roedd Tapestri am lansio mewn sioe yn Y Galeri Caernarfon yn ôl ym mis Chwefror, ond cafodd ei ganslo oherwydd difrod i'r theatr gan Storm Ciara. Yna fe gafodd ei phlaniau i recordio a rhyddhau EP a mynd ar daith haf, fel gyda llawer o artistiaid a bandiau eraill, ei effeithio gan amodau Covid-19. Ond er eu bod yn byw 4 awr ar wahân, mae Lowri a Sera wedi llwyddo i barhau i weithio ar eu recordiadau. ‘Y Fflam’ yw fersiwn Gymraeg o’i trac ‘Open Flame’ a fydd ar eu EP yn y dyfodol.
‘Y Fflam’ is the first single from newly formed ‘Tapestri;’ the Americana band fronted by Lowri Evans and Sera Zyborska
Sera (from Caernarfon) and Lowri (from Newport Pembs) will be especially familiar to Welsh music audiences as two bilingual singer-songwriters that have been writing, performing and recording as solo artists for some time. Between them they have been championed on BBC 6 Music, Radio 2, performed everywhere from Greenman, Festival Number 6, from King Tut’s to the Union Chapel; From Wales to America to France, which is as it happens, where the two met for the first time last year, performing at the Welsh Pavilion at the Lorient Celtic festival in August 2019.
This first meeting sparked an idea to form a female fronted band and to create their own brand of Americana; an act that could headline and represent women’s voices. Inspired by The Highwomen , a US ‘supergroup’ featuring Brandi Carlile and Amanda Shires, who formed as a response to the lack of representation of women artists on country music radio and festivals.
Their songs take their musical colours from a broad palette that includes Americana, Roots, Folk and Country, all beautifully knitted together through their innate musicality and heartfelt delivery.
They’ve had a bumpy start to say the least. Tapestri was due to launch at a show in Y Galeri Caernarfon back in February, which was cancelled due to theatre damage from Storm Ciara. Their EP release and subsequent summer tour then, as with many other artists and bands, suffered from the effects of the Covid-19 lockdown. But despite being a 4 hour drive apart, Lowri and Sera have managed to continue to work on their recordings. ‘Y Fflam’ is the Welsh language version of their ‘Open Flame’ track from their forthcoming EP.
Cyfryngau Cymdeithasol/Social Media
www.facebook.com/tapestrimusic
Twitter @tapestrimusic
Instagram @tapestrimusic
Cysylltu/Contact
Bookings: tapestrimusic@gmail.com
Label: Shimi Records
Cyfryngau/Media: kev@pyst.cymru / Nannon@pyst.cymru
John Mouse announces new album 'The Goat' & Shares urgent new single 'Le Pigeon'
By Ceri Shaw, 2020-07-14
John MOuse releases his new album ‘The Goat’ via digital platforms on the 31st of July followed by a physical vinyl release on the 28th of August through Keep Me In Your Heart Records. It is preceded by the lead single ‘Le Pigeon’ at the end of this month.
When lockdown commenced John MOuse seized the opportunity to create a new album. The concept behind The Goat, was to write, record and release a song on a weekly basis. Each song, accompanied by its own artwork was then uploaded to Bandcamp.
Social distancing meant that the music for the album was created Lincolnshire by long term collaborator Phil Pearce and then sent to John in Cardiff who worked on the lyrics and vocal melody for each track. The result is a typically idiosyncratic and heart on its sleeve, electronic pop album, heavy on spoken word content and catchy chorus hooks, these songs possess musical hints of everyone from Adian Moffat, Momus to early Pulp .
The lyrical subject matter is varied ranging from fleeing from a pigeon on urgent first single ‘Le Pigeon’ (loosely based on Suskins novella The Pigeon) with its vivid stream of consciousness and chirruping synths. To fragments of bittersweet memories, witty imagery, despair not salved by defunct technology and Anne Summers parties.
Ten tracks were completed and are now set for official digital and physical release on Keep Me In your heart records.
“The Goat” is John’s fifth full-length album and his first since last year’s limited digital release of The Fen Sessions and 2018’s warmly received ‘Replica Figures’ which was described as "In turns touching, hilarious and heart-breaking" by Buzz Magazine and as "powerful stuff. Rentokil wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with any of this." Louder Than War. While 2014’s ‘The Death of John MOuse’ was praised by The Line of Best Fit and its brilliant lead single ‘I was a Goalkeeper’ featured Gareth from Los Campesinos, prompted Steve Lamacq to pronounce it ‘my new favourite football song’.
John MOuse, real name John Davies has been described as ‘A Welsh Beck,’ under his previous incarnation JT Mouse he worked with Sweet Baboo (aka Steven Black) while in 2010 he scored a cult hit with a song about a gay romance with another duet, this time with TV presenter Steve Jones lifted from the acclaimed album ‘Humber Dogger Forties’. John MOuse has received airplay support from Huw Stephens on BBC Radio 1, Mary Anne Hobbes, Steve Lamacq, Stuart Maconie, Gideon Coe and Tom Robinson on BBC 6 Music and Adam Walton & Bethan Elfyn on BBC Radio Wales.
“The blend of unpredictability, wit and sharp reminiscence contained within is the real joy of this latest offering by this highly original artist a Welsh indie pop hero…reminiscent of a South Wales David Gedge” Louder Than War
“An extraordinary piece of poetry” Mary Anne Hobbs on ‘Robbie Savage’.
“There is only one John MOuse, a Welsh Superstar and an impassioned performer.” Tom Robinson
Munching a Crunchie bar
he splutters as the daily death figures
don't come down quickly enough for him
when the total reaches 44,000*
he starts to feel a bit like
it's Medieval days again
only this time with apps
that don't always deliver
and the act of dying more private
splutter splutter
mutter mutter
stutter stutter
he gets restless as the deaths
are now at least twice the amount
the scientists said would be
an acceptable outcome not so long ago
who can you believe?
who can you trust?
thank God for TV remotes
pity they can't switch off his mind too
and those of the others
though at times he thinks
even this is debatable
the weather suddenly
turns cold windy and damp
unsettling and depressing
a summer bypassed
he feels a shiver in his t shirt
remaining resolutely sun-worshipping
despite the evidence
*insert your own country's figures or update the UK figure if so inclined
Animal Rights activist A.L.F. Egan lay completely still in the long grass, high above the Welsh Valley of Cwm Twp.
He motioned to his 15- year old accomplice, ‘Popeye’ Doyle, to lie still until the factory searchlight had passed overhead.
Once it had done so, the pair all dressed in black and camouflage gear used the wire cutters to snip the perimeter fence.
In the distance was a grey metallic building called Abbot’s Trois, owned according to Companies House by a French Company based in the Tax Haven of Jersey, called Vaches Mort R-US.
A.L.F. & Popeye didn’t call it Abbot’s Trois.
To them it was Cowschwitz.
A place where animals were taken to be slaughtered.
Both A.L.F. and ‘Popeye’ were committed vegetarians – A.L.F. more so than because he had been caught and imprisoned for his strong belief that ‘Meat was Murder’.
As a 3- year old child, he had continually shouted this phrase from his perch in the front of supermarket trolley, innocently mistaking Morrisons for the Smith’s Morrissey.
He was banned for life.
That was nearly 40 years ago now, and poor A.L.F. hadn’t had the more auspicious starts to life, as his Mother had given birth to him on the Greenham Common, whilst protesting at the US Airforce Base in Berkshire in the 1980’s.
His Mother only noticed when others around her pointed out that she had a baby swinging from between her legs by an umbilical cord, such was the cacophony of noise at the protests when the jets armed with nuclear missiles took off.
Having a fanny the size of Cheddar Gorge didn’t help his Mother Gaia either, but it certainly helped A.L.F. come into the World, as didn’t have a difficult birth in that F W Woolworth impromptu water birthing pool surrounded by New Age whale music.
Little A.L.F. never knew his Father, his Mother had always told him that just like Mary in the Bible it had been an immaculate conception.
He was named A.L.F. after the letters on the side of a truck that delivered food to the camp.
The young A.L.F. was raised on a diet of legumes, peas, beans and lentils- so when he was found to be listless and lethargic and taken to the Doctor by a concerned Social Worker visiting Tepee Valley in Carmarthenshire – he was diagnosed as having a high pulse rate.
His Mother was told to feed him red meat to raise the number of red blood cells in the youngster’s body.
The Doctor was told in no uncertain terms where he could put his cold stethoscope by the indoctrinated child.
A.L.F himself never considered the decision not to eat meat during his lifetime to be a missed steak.
He chose to ignore science when it was claimed that plants screamed when being ripped from the ground.
Nature provided a bounty of seasonal treats for the wayfarers of the Carmarthen Tent Village.
He always enjoyed a ‘Hippy Birthday’ with presents including blackberries freshly picked from the hedgerows of the West Walian Countryside.
Gathering nuts in May was always a favoured childhood memory, as was hunting in competition for truffles with his fellow Earth dwellers- the pigs in the dirt.
A.L.F loved the Spring, Summer and Autumn months but hated the cold Wintertime.
Most of the fellow travellers at the commune used to commit minor offences at that time to spend a little time in jail to obtain a warm cell and free hot food from the ‘Man’.
A.L.F. had always been told that the Capitalist system was like a vampire sucking the blood out of its victim- the working man.
That excuse for not working for over two decades, was now framed and on display for all to see in the Carmarthen Job Centre.
A.L.F. was very proud of it – even if he couldn’t read what it said.
He just liked to see the letters A.L.F. up on the wall, meaning that he had left his mark on the Universe, whilst signing the same three letters for his giro cheques.
Popeye on the other hand was much younger than A.L.F.
He should have still been in school if his Local Education Appeal Panel hadn’t barred him- due to his intense love of fire.
It was not like pyromania was a crime now was it?
Born and raised around a campfire, it always transfixed him.
Just like a modern- day Prometheus, Popeye believed that fire was there to be stolen from the Gods and used against ‘The Man’ himself.
It cleansed.
If there was one thing ‘Popeye’ loved it was burning a holiday home in West Wales.
He had always assumed he was called ‘Popeye’ because of his love of spinach, but in reality, it was because he had bulging eyes like US actor Steve Buscemi, due to an overactive thyroid gland.
He had never broken into a meat processing plant before so it would be a real ‘eye-opener’ for him.
‘Popeye’ was so excited- as the Adult World opening up to him was completely new and unexplored.
He trusted A.L.F. like the Father he too had never known.
Once through the wire, A.L.F. had timed it so that the pair had two minutes to cross the rear compound courtyard.
There were obviously no guard dogs on patrol- despite the sign stating otherwise.
What guard dog could work all day next to the tantalising smell of meat without attempting to run off with a string of intestinal cow sausages?
There was also a warning sign for CCT cameras, but A.L.F. was an expert in dealing with those.
After all, he had spray painted more ‘Honky’ speed cameras black than the Black Lives Matters protestors.
Honky -not because of the racist term for white people- but honky after the actions of fellow drivers that sounded their horn and flashed their pale headlights to warn other road users of their location.
The silent pair of animal rights ninjas reached the side of the illuminated building.
A.L.F. looked at his wristwatch-his only concession to the 21 st Century- and waited patiently for the big hand to meet the little hand- he knew this to be 12 O’Clock.
Very soon, both he and his pyromaniac friend would be ‘burning the midnight oil’ together.
He had carried out reconnaissance over two nights and had noted that at precisely that time the lone security guard left the near side fire exit and walked around the left- hand side of the building to have a sly cigarette.
Obviously, working in a meat factory he could not contaminate the carcasses with tobacco smoke, otherwise he would be for the ‘chop’ too.
The pair would have to be quick but they would ‘nip in’, set the fire and leave the way they had entered.
With balaclava masks over their faces- no-one would be any wiser on their identities- besides given the coronavirus pandemic there were too many masked people around to pin-point them.
In -out, no trace left behind- just like their biological Father’s had done all those years ago.
The Vegan apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Seen but not ‘herd’ if you like.
Security Guard Peta Plump had eaten his remaining tuna, egg and pickle sandwiches and it was now time for his first fag break of the evening.
He would save his remaining bacon sandwiches for 3.00am when he got more peckish.
He had been warned not to smoke or fart inside the factory because it was both a fire risk and a health hazard to the workforce.
Imagine being told that the smell of your arse was more pungent than dead cattle?
He ambled around the side of the building taking long pulls on his cigarette as if in a state of nicotine ecstasy.
But it was not just the putrid stink of cigarettes that was present.
That other smell of death hung around the place and could not be removed from clothing.
It permeated everything.
His uniform, his vest and his hat too.
It was so bad that he was banned from visiting his elderly Mother at the local Nursing Home, the Gran-Yr-Afon- in case he started a riot.
God his job was boring.
Staring at screens all night and doing word-searches in the low lighting for 8 hours.
Surrounded by fridges containing animal carcasses.
He was awful worried having watched the film Poltergeist a few days ago, if such a thing as an animal ghost existed.
He had heard of the Scottish horse water-spirit called the Kelpie but hoped there was no cow equivalent.
As he looked up into the clear black valley sky above Cwm Twp, he wondered how many thousands of cattle had died at the Plant and figured that with the law of averages that it was only a matter of time before an ‘Ermintrude spectre called’ and put the shits up him.
He wasn’t normally the nervous type but he had his suspicions that something odd was going on in the last eight months he had worked the security.
He couldn’t figure what it was but things had changed just before the New Tory Government had come to power.
Inside the factory, A.L.F. and Popeye looked around them in the half-light.
They had the petrol cans with them a series of long shoe laces as a fuse and a lighter each.
Popeye became even more of a Popeye, as he stared at the topless former Page 3 Model ‘Bappy’ aged 21 on the Calendar in the Security Guard Office.
She was scantily dressed standing next to some livestock with a cattle prod looking suggestively.
“Cor… look at her she is ‘stunning’!” said Popeye.
“Obviously-all I can see is a Murderess!” replied A.L.F.
“I wonder if there is any more below?” said the young teenager hormones raging.
Popeye tried to leaf through the calendar but couldn’t unstick the pages for some strange reason.
It was a long night for Peta.
A.L.F. now entered the office area but was not distracted by the soft porn but more interested in the number of invoices sticking out of an order book on the desk of the Managing Director.
They all bore the heading Max Bygraves- ‘I want to sell you a Tory’.
A.L.F.’s interest was piqued.
He couldn’t read the words but something far out in the Universe was telling him this was important.
He had heard of journalists winning Pulitzer Prizes- although unsung hero Security Guard Peta probably deserved a different kind of one- and slipped the book into his camouflaged trouser pocket.
The sound of the security guard farting outside, shook the pair back to their original purpose.
The bastard must have been done to his last cigarette instead of the usual two, smoked alternately through both hands like an Argentinian Soccer Manager.
As Peta closed the Fire Exit Door loudly, the pair of trespassing burglars needed to find somewhere to hide and quickly too.
A.L.F. grabbed the security guard’ torch as an impromptu weapon.
Popeye, just grabbed a sandwich from the open lunch box and raced to the door.
Look around for somewhere to hide the pair had no option but to dive into the freezer section.
As he ushered Popeye inside, A.L.F. quickly placed the torch on the floor to hold the door slightly ajar.
He knew from experience. if they were to be locked inside such a sub-zero facility then it could be fatal.
Peta ambled back to his office with nicotine level partly restored.
He looked down at his desk and was surprised to notice that one of his sandwiches was missing.
Strange, he thought I don’t remember eating that.
There was no-one in the building at night, so it was a little bit of a mystery.
He looked under the desk for signs of crumbs in case a Herculean Mouse had managed to lift it from the lunch box, across the desk and onto the floor.
Peta was known locally for not being the sharpest tool in the box but now he was also a sandwich short of a picnic.
Perhaps he was losing on himself.
He looked around the rest of the desk to see if anything else was missing.
His torch had gone too.
Peta began to get nervous.
What if it was an animal Poltergeist?
His mind started to play tricks on him in the dark.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
He felt like a draught of cold air was coming from somewhere.
He looked across at his only companion for the night, the Page 3 model Calendar hanging on the wall- even Bappy looked more pert than normal.
On that evidence, there was definitely a nip in the air.
His mind told him to follow the cold air to its source.
Perhaps he had not closed the Fire Exit door properly behind him?
He walked to the door to check, keys jangling as he went.
Inside the freezer compartment, both A.L.F. and Popeye were starting to get cold.
The area had white walls and in the centre were four racks of carcasses hanging upside down on sharp metal meat hooks from the ceiling.
It was the ideal hiding place for a trespasser or two.
Popeye had never been in a walk-in fridge before.
He assumed Susan Boyle had one this size.
A.L.F. whispered to Popeye to stay down low.
It was so cold he could almost read those words on his mentor’s breath that was left behind.
Popeye had never really had the opportunity to learn to read books.
His late Brother ‘Bulger’ had been his Mother’s favourite- he always got the lion’s share of the Alphabetti Spaghetti, but not enough sadly to stop him falling through thin ice one day three Winter’s back.
The cold always reminded him of his brother.
As did the almost blue carcasses hanging in front of him.
He wondered what sort of animals they were at the cattle plant as he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, whilst eating the very tasty sandwich he had managed to rob.
“Psst… A.L.F. have a look at this will you?” asked Popeye.
A.L.F. moved a dead cow out of the way and joined his fellow burglar further back into the freezer compartment.
“Look at this one!” said Popeye.
“It looks human to me!” the scared youth continued.
“They all do!” said A.L.F.
“But this one has a mop of blonde hair!” stuttered Popeye.
On closer examination, A.L.F. discovered that his friend was correct.
It DID have blonde hair and more than a passing resemblance to Boris Johnson the previous Prime Minister of the former United Kingdom.
“Bloody Hell Popeye…..it does look like him….and he had a reputation for hiding in a fridge when things got tough!” said A.L.F. somewhat astonished at their discovery.
“Look there are more, here at the back too!” said Popeye moving along the line of fat lardy carcasses.
“I thought he was supposed to be as fit as a butcher’s dog what doing those press-ups when no-one told him that his inflatable woman had been stolen from under him!” said A.L.F.
As Popeye walked through the rows of cadavers, he was shocked to see hundreds of bodies which like ‘Boris’ were almost human.
A.L.F. noticed that none of the carcasses had any internal organs and definitely no heart.
“They look like Tory MP’s!” he said to himself.
Which is somewhat fitting as they have turned the Country into a ‘Right Shambles’.
He examined the cadaver next to ‘Boris’ and wondered what the Hell had gone on.
Had the Russian Mafia who had contributed to Tory Party funds caught up with the Right-Wing Junta, after finally being forced to release the Russian Report into the Autumn General Election?
Who had ordered this massacre and on such a ‘Grand’ scale not seen since the Brighton Conference in 1984.
Was it Dominic Cullings?
He looked at the tag and noted that different cadavers had different coloured tags and extra meat additions.
He checked the Order Book for the colour coding.
The blood coloured ones had ‘Red Wedge’ marked on them and seemed to be all marked for delivery to the North.
They had ‘best before election 2024’ dates marked on them.
The ones with green tags had ‘Washington, the Former Colonies, USA’ stamped on them.
Particularly the ones with four more ears.
A.L.F. saw the flags and pretty colours and figured they were part of a Trans-Atlantic Trade deal in exchange for chlorinated chicken.
Post-Brexit, it would appear that the British Establishment was back to its’ previous jingoistic 19 th Century Foreign policy of ‘Transporting’, so called ‘inferior’ humans to the New World- but this for time for Trump Rallies.
This was clear because the cadavers with the stars and stripes had a battery cavity in their ‘ass’ in the shape of a Democrat Donkey.
A.L.F looked at the opposite page and noted that an order had been placed by one Welsh Tory MP, Neil Hamilton for thirty ‘CHADS’ to be supplied to BBC studios in Greater Manchester for an audience.
It was marked under ‘Cash for Question Time’
A.L.F. had a revelation – he could now see the wood from the trees.
“That explains how the Conservative Party won the last election!” he said.
“ Manipulation of the Main Stream Media, Russian interference, Bots on Social Media, links with the Klan in the US of A and dead voters in the Northern Labour Heartlands….we are the only ones that know where the bodies are buried!” A.L.F. continued to the utter bemusement of his companion.
“This Client book is worth a fortune, almost as much as Epstein’s- it makes it clear that the proceeds of the whole dodgy deal are being funnelled offshore to the Tax Havens in the Channel Islands ……it is the French Connection all over again Popeye…..what legitimate Company has a Frog- faced Director on its headed paper called Sir Loin?” continued A.L.F enraged by the corruption that existed at the top of Central Government.
“Imagine using the Coronavirus Pandemic as a distraction to carry out their undercovid operation?”
“It all makes sense now- WHO would go near any meat processing plants with their reported high infection rates other than the ineffectual World Health Organisation?….they weren’t ramping up the testing but ramping up the exports of cadavers….that explains why the Nightingale Hospital in London and the Millennium Stadium was empty!” continued A.L.F. the ultimate conspiracy theorist.
Popeye was lost.
“But where did the brain cells for the zombies come from?” asked the youngster.
“You are too young to remember this politician but according to the book- they were donated to the Tory paper by one David ‘Two Brains’ Willetts-!” replied A.L.F looking at the photo on the inside cover of Patrons.
“So there never was a real Covid 19 Pandemic then?” asked Popeye.
“An invisible germ that came in from China- that killed only the elderly and the already ill only?” said A.L.F.
“What do you think?”
“I try not to….it hurts too much!” said the easily influenced teen.
Unfortunately, their whispering had been overheard from the Security Office.
Peta Plump wasn’t easily scared but that film Poltergeist had spooked him.
Reading up that child actress Heather O’Rourke had died at age of 12 in mysterious circumstances had frightened him even more.
He didn’t want to mess with the Spirit World.
He was concerned that he could hear mutterings coming from the Freezer Area.
This was one of the ‘Forbidden Zones’ in the factory.
He was warned not to go in there by the Management in case he got locked in and froze to death.
Peta Plump had the Paper Lace Song ‘Billy don’t be a hero’ playing inside his head.
But he was paid £7.50 an hour so he had to pretend he was one.
He listened again and thought he could hear strange whisperings coming from the area.
He peered out of his Office and could see a chink of light coming from the door and lo and behold there was his missing flashlight.
Summoning up all his courage, he walked towards the door, wheeling his office chair as back-up.
The sound had stopped.
He would place the chair in the freezer door and poke his nose in.
Nothing more then he would slam the door shut.
The hackles on the back of his neck were raised and he had goose-bumps but he wasn’t sure if it was caused by fear or just cold.
He was half-expecting something out of a Stephen King book to leap at him from the dark, as he treaded in baby steps towards his torch and the freezer door.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the door.
How stupid did he feel as a grown man afraid of his own shadow?
He lifted the torch from the gap with the intention of replacing it with the with the chair, whilst he had a quick look around from the safety of the door.
Curiosity had got the cat.
As he started to open the door wider and increase ‘the Shining’- he was stunned to see a frozen Blonde- Haired cadaver suddenly come sliding at him at speed.
Peta heard the words “Here’s Boris!” as he was bowled over onto the floor.
Ironic really, as just before he passed out the last thing he saw was the words hurtling at him from inside the locker room was :
‘Stay Alert’, “Control the Virus”, Protect the NHS!”
A.L.F. & Popeye then rushed passed the stricken guard in a state of semi-consciousness have being body checked by a frozen PM in ‘Tip Top’ Condition.
The Animal Rights Activists no longer wanted to burn down the factory as they had bigger fish to fry.
Popeye and A.L.F. owed it to the dead animals and composite humans to bring the French Connection to justice.
There was also the small matter of an investigative journalist ‘Paul Foot n Mouth’ Award to collect for their efforts and of course lots of people in high places to blackmail.
