Posts Tagged ‘Pubs’

Our local pub has a disco on Friday nights. For years the music was provided by a bloke who went under the name Moby Discs until he was imprisoned for benefit fraud.

Now the Friday night disco is DJ’d by “Disco Dave – Ready to Rave!” – he is rabies free by the way.

“Disco Dave – Ready to Rave!” is down with the kids (but not in a Jimmy Saville kinda way) and shares some of his favourite dance floor fillers for you cats to use when you put on a bash.

Disco Dave – takes up the story……

“Recent shoplifting expeditions to charity shops in order to obtain new platters for my mobile discotheque, Disco Dave’s Dancing Delights, have unearthed some gems that will have the Merry Fellow rockin’ and a rollin’ all night long. Here are a couple of songs I will be playing……

Jive Bunny – “Whole lotta shit going on” – never used to have time for Jive Bunny until I found out he actually is a real performing rabbit so although this mish mash of old rock n’ roll hits is crap, you’ve got to take your hat off to him because he really is a rabbit. Rabbit rock is here to stay!

Simon & Garfunkel – “Bridge Over Troubled Water” – bit maudlin – but put in on 78rpm and hey presto! its sounds a bit like Lonnie Donegan and seeing as I’ve been unable to nick any Lonnie Donegan it’ll have to do.

John Miles – “Music” – goes on way too long, disappears up its own arse at the end and he couldn’t hold a tune to save his life but gives me a chance to neck a few beers and nip out the back for a ciggie.

Dave will share some more of his favourite dance floor fillers with you as soon as he steals them. Keep rockin’ in the free world

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12 months ago we introduced you to Del Springett, removal man. Sadly, Del passed away this week when he was crushed to death by a runaway Tallboy in Harlow. As a tribute to this workshy legend we re-print the only time he could be arsed to write for GFB.

Del Springett – never knowingly did a days work in his life.

Hello Fella,

In my line of work every day is different. One day you can be clearing a house, the next day moving someone into a house and the next day realizing you’ve moved the wrong people into the wrong house! But that’s what the Works Order said, so it ain’t my fault.

Recently I was asked to go an old folks home in Leyton to clear the flat of an old girl who had passed to the great commode in the sky. Get there and yep you’ve guessed it. Bleedin’ lift was out of order!

So I get the keys from the warden (no offer of a cup of tea) – up two flights of stairs and let myself in.  She’s only gone and left a three-piece suite behind! This is a two man job I thought to myself. So I went to the pub.

When I returned, slightly the worse for wear, an old girl across the way puts her head round the door and asks if there is anything she could do to help?

“Get on the end of this sofa sweetheart.”

She looked a bit put out but, with a lot of wheezing on her part and a bit of puffing on mine (had to stop for a ciggy now and again didn’t I?) we managed to get the sofa down the stairs.

She didn’t look too clever but it did her good. Better than playing carpet bowls and drinking tea all day I reckon. Suddenly a big yell goes up and she disappears from view.  Her bleedin’ prosthetic has come off!

Dear oh dear. What a palaver.

I had to do the last five yards on my own, load the sofa, pick up the old girl (and her leg)  and prop them up against the gate. Knackered I was.

I gave the gardener the heads up and said “You better get her back inside sharpish mate, looks like rain.”

Anyway, driving down the road I saw a sign asking for firewood. Ideal! Sofa’s burn well. My mate Baz set fire to his when he fell asleep with a roll up in his hand. Didn’t half go up.

Police, two fire engines and an ambulance turned up plus a film crew. An emergency services full house!

I reckon he could feature on the new series of “Police, Camera, Fuckwit!”

He’s still on the sick now. Lucky sod.

Anyway I reversed into the drive, pulled the sofa out and left it strategically placed by the front door so the owner won’t be able to get in.

Job done.

Went  to the pub afterwards. Reckon I earned it.

Don’t be a stranger Fella

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Ginger Poems

Hello folks.

Gingerella, Gfb’s poet laureate has penned a new poem for us to enjoy.

So, we hope you do!

Thoughts of Wampum (Gingerella)

I met the man who drank the farm.
He again slapping his heavy hands together,
Talking at the bar’s sweet spot.
He was
Well…busy busy.
Slapped his heavy hands together,
Rocked on his heels,
Stepped back
Stepped forward,
Looked smiling around the bar.
No one paid him much mind.
Maybe some if they could be bothered looked away.
Who wants to catch his eye.
Sucked down his rum and coke.
Made great play of just enough ice in the glass.
Slapped his callused hands together as he wilted.
Standing at the bar
Past travels done,
Worked over.
Conversation empty
Best slap the hands together.
Rock in and out of the Bar’s sweet spot.
Hard earned
Single handed applause from all.

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