|
|
Post by Fergal on Apr 16, 2008 12:37:24 GMT
How on earth did you get mistaken for John Simm? the others i can sort of understand but that one throws me haha. You must be quite flattered to have been mistaken for so many people, I must admit i thought you were Fray for a while. Have you tried to get "Dark Circles" published and what is it about??
And also, who is apparantlyso then?
|
|
|
|
Post by scruff on Apr 16, 2008 12:44:29 GMT
John Simm was on that Coldplay board. Basically I never give my real name to anyone, so that board assumed I was famous and that was the reason.
I was pretty much obsessed with Life On Mars, I look a bit like Simm and mentioned that, he's also a Utd fan and loves Echo and The Bunnymen and New Order.. same as me. So that board convinced themselves I was him.. funny stuff really!
Dark Circles is about a group of mates approaching the millenium, but one of them is writing a book called "revelations" and he uses their real life escapades as the premise of his story, but within that story the writer is the antichrist and one of his mates is the second coming.. "revelations" is basically "dark circles" too, so the book is a book within a book and hints at its own conclusion, nobodies ever tryed anything like that before as far as I know, the main character becomes famous whilst his mates end up dead, jailed or destitute and he pretends he doesnt know them and they are bunch of cranks claiming to know him.
It reads as a cross between Trainspotting, the Omen and Mike Leigh's naked.
Had an offer on it and turned the money down..big mistake!!
Not sure who Apparantlyso is... might be Liam Fray
|
|
|
|
Post by Cardinals of Langley on Apr 16, 2008 19:27:48 GMT
|
|
|
|
Post by cal on Apr 16, 2008 21:14:03 GMT
are you Mike duff. this forum is getting tricky
|
|
|
|
Post by Fergal on Apr 16, 2008 21:30:55 GMT
are you Mike duff. this forum is getting tricky this forum is getting tricky. i hope i can conceal my identity as noel gallagher for a few weeks yet |
|
|
|
Post by Cardinals of Langley on Apr 16, 2008 23:53:04 GMT
are you Mike duff. this forum is getting tricky nar mate, I'm Liam Fray. |
|
|
|
Post by cal on Apr 16, 2008 23:58:09 GMT
i was gonna say, you cant be mike duff, im Mike Duff
|
|
|
|
Post by scruff on Apr 17, 2008 0:10:14 GMT
are you Mike duff. this forum is getting tricky this forum is getting tricky. i hope i can conceal my identity as noel gallagher for a few weeks yet get off the fucking internet our kid and put kettle on for me and Nicole ;D who's Mike Duff? |
|
|
|
Post by Fergal on Apr 17, 2008 9:08:38 GMT
this forum is getting tricky. i hope i can conceal my identity as noel gallagher for a few weeks yet get off the f**k**g internet our kid and put kettle on for me and Nicole ;D who's Mike Duff? Me |
|
|
|
Post by fastfuse on Apr 17, 2008 13:40:03 GMT
Yep and I'm Ferg!!
|
|
|
|
Post by Fergal on Apr 17, 2008 17:26:02 GMT
did i mention i was also a postman |
|
|
|
Post by scruff on Apr 23, 2008 0:21:31 GMT
England My England (seeing as its the 23rd of April)
"Fuckin Kill Him, stick your boot in his fuckin clog dancing face". The screams of the luckless tourist from Amsterdam echoed around Trafalgar Square.
Steven Caldwell was urging his partner in crime to new heights of unrestrained hooliganism,the attacker was his new found best friend Ian "Slasher" Bamford. The hapless Dutch victim cowered, like a fox hunted by a devoured pack, he curled himself into the foeatal position as the blows came down upon him. Slasher suddenly pulled out his weapon of choice, his beloved flick knife and with the skill of a precision artist carved the name of his crew into the Dutchmans face. B.B the Brixton Bootboys, leaving him bleeding on the concrete before finishing him off with a choice kick to the ribs.
This Was Euro 96 in full effect, Tuesday the 18th of June, England had just beaten Holland 4 goals to 1, advancing to the quarter finals of a tournement they were surely destined to win on their own soil. The Nation buzzing with expectation and exitement. To Caldwell and Slasher it was just another day at the office, the football was a mere sideshow, the real exitement came later.
Caldwell was a member of the London S.S, a select group of ex cons, wannabe nazis and general hardmen. They followed with loose association to the actual football one of the Capitals leading Premiership clubs.He was proud to tell his new friend "Slasher" he had created havoc aat 3 cup finals in recent memory, and at to post match celebrations of premiership title successes. He revelled in the fact that one of them was against Liverpool just 11 days after the Hillsborough disaster.
Slasher was his latest companion in violence, mutal respect had grown between the two of them in the last few days ago under the banner of English pride. Even though Slasher and Caldwell were together under the banner of English Pride twice during the season they would attempt to kill each other in the disguise of Caldwells London club travelling North to be entertained by a bunch of Welcoming Mancunians. Slasher was the leading Mancunian face, given the name for the artwork he left behind on his victims. But the time was now Euro 96, club rivallry forgotten and everyone united under the Rule Britannia mentallity, the dogs of war, England My England and for The love of St George and other such cliches.
This was an army assembled from English footballs top boys and no foreign scum would beat them on their own stomping ground. Switzerland were up first but that was easy, the Swiss didnt have enough top boys to make it fun. The real fun begun with the visit of Scotland three days before the Holland encounter. Every hooligan in the country had been looking forward to that one and it hadnt disappointed. A pitch battle was fought in Trafalgar and Leicester Square moving on into the posh bars of Soho to give the upper classes a vision of the real England. Barring a few casualties hear and there it was safe to say that England had defeated Scotland twice in one day, Gazzas wonder goal forgetten and celebrated in tandem with one swipe of an iron bar. The biggest one was yet to come, if England could defeat the Spanish both on and off the field, The Germans awaited in the semi finals, World War III and for any self respecting psychopath like Caldwell and Slasher that was just too good to be true.
The friendship had preveiled in the days since the Scotland game and tales of two cities worth of violence were regailed because of an incedent in the Soho riot. Caldwell had found himself surrounded by four of Glasgows top boys and a wee Aberdeen fan in the background weilding a claw hammer and trying his best to look hard in a tartan skirt. One of the Scots had Caldwell pinned against the wall of the Soho bar that the violence spilled into and was about to introduce him to the remains of his quickly consumed bottle of broken lager. It was at this moment Slasher and another member of The Mancunian firm came to his aid. He applied a Glasgow kiss to wee little Aberdeen, before a well aimed kick to the sporran took care of Celtic. The Rangers boys were now fair game to a freshly activated Caldwell and his two Mancunian saviours. Caldwell took care of one of them by adding him to the window display of a well known Department store, before escaping police attention down a convenient back alley and losing themselves in the hustle and bustle of a London evening. Now talking after their latest Dutch victim of an unwarrented hatred of anything Unbritish, the fact they were drinking German lager, Italian designer gear and French footwear were entirely lost on them as they sat proud and fuelled with adrenelin the King George and Dragon Pub just off Trafalgar square.The pub sign creaking in the summers evening breeze
A week later and the same pub was the meeting place for the expected big one, England had beaten Spain on a tense penalty shoot out, the bravery and pure Englishness of Stuart Pearces decisive penalty symbolising the new found air of proud Britishness. The Charts were full of britpop, Oasis were the everymans new band , and the expectnecy of a new Cool Britannia labour goverment after years of Thatcherism made it a great time to be young and English. Even better than all that Germany had defeated Croatia and tonights showdown was on.
Inside the pub was a massive show of solidarity. The location was perfect all the local landmarks and possible German venues of celebration were well within stabbing distance. A rowdy version of "Rule Britannia" filled the pub, followed by "FootballsComing Home" from the chart topper that caught the zeitgiest of this perfect summer so well. The air of impending violence dominated, you could virtually smell the fear on the watching police and the residents and property owners of the London Precinct.
"Im gonna kill a Kraut tonight" boomed Slasher, even Caldwell looked uneasy at the proclamation of his friend. "Just a good fuckin rumble Ian mate" he said "Kick a few fuckin heads in" calling his mate Slasher at this point didnt seem such a good idea incase he took to practising upon him.
"Bollocks I want blood" Slasher was beyond the point of reason, fuelled by the intake of booze before and after the game, and the result of course a defeat on Penalties (AGAIN) to the old enemy. "look you tosser" he shouted pushing Caldwell outside the bar "see that sign, St George is English, we are English and for the Love of St George I want blood" The pub sign flapped in the wind oblivious to the crescendo of deluded bravado taking place below it.
Suddenly like a gang of Christians about to be fed to The English Lions came around the corner and onto the precinct, singing victory songs as they marched. A foolish man would have known beter.
This Was it, a sea of bottles and bricks rained down upon the German army, the police were outnumbered and this was nothing to do with them anyway. The battle developed into full scale carnage. a three way fight , more and more police armed with riot shields joined the melee. Shop Windows were broken, cars overturned on adjoining streets. Frightned theatre goers and niave drinkers ran for cover, shattered glass was everywhere whilst the aroma of petrol and flame filled the air. Caldwell and Slasher were central to it all.
This was it, Slashers point of revenge for tonights result and the one in Italia 90. A young German fan sporting a Bourissia Dortmund flag had been cornered, Slasher punched him twice in the head before grabbing him around the throat with one hand and pinning him up against the wall of The St George and Dragon pub, with the other he pulled out a long and jagged edged combat knife.
"JESUS CHRIST", even Caldwell was astounded to see the size of his friends weapon of choice "Leave him Ian, hes just a kid for Fucks sake". The German kid trembled with fear, to Slasher this was the only confirmation he needed of his superiority and the superior state of The English race in general. He plunged the knife without remorse into the young fans stomach. withdrawing it just as savagely as the boy fell to the ground, his life slowly draining out of him.
Slasher turned to Caldwell holding the dripping knife in front of him, "Are you fucking English or not" he cried the psychotic tone in his voice told Caldwell his new friend had lost the plot completely. Luckily for him Slasher turned his attention to the police cordon, lined up thirty strong and witnesses all to a cold blooded murder. "Come on you Scum" he bellowed removing his Shirt standing bare chested and dripping with German blood, arms held out in the crucifixion pose. He need not have worried that the police would take care of him.
A blinding flash of white smoke filled the area, completely masking everything in sight. Slasher could no longer see the line of police, nor they him, even though they were just 20 yards apart. When the smoke cleared no man could believe their eyes. In the neon lit square sat an ancient knight sat atop an immaculately groomed White horse. He wore full battle armour and by his side he draped a lance of at least six feet in length. The police just froze open mouthed at the amazing sight. Slasher stood in front of the ancient warrior, his combat knife looking as pitiful as he did, bare chested and no armour in sight. Before he could speak the legendary figure beheaded him with one foul swoop of his lance, the decapitated head rolled tragically to the feet of the still open mouthed cordon of police. No sooner than this event happened the mystery figure disappeared as quickly as it had arrived leaving nothing but another blinding cloud of white smoke it its wake.
Caldwell just ran and ran as fast as he could away from the carnage, taking advantage of the police distraction. This was surely a nightmare, he would wake up tomorrow and England would be on the back pages of all the newspapers preparing to face The Czech Republic at Wembley in the final of Euro 96. Well he could kid himself, couldnt he??
The carnage was over nobody had the heart or the will to fight on after the amazing scenes of the past few minutes. The pub sign replaced the crescendo, only the creaking of hinges was apparent in the warm summers evening breeze.
No One knows what happened that day. Everyone had a theory. Some said it was an act of God, devine retribution for Slashers cold blooded killings. Some said a time vortex opened and cultures of English heritage clashed violently. I think the real truth is a simple one. That one figure alone who stands for the true pride of The England we know and love was sick and ashamed of having his name taken in vain as an excuse for unprovoked violence under the banner of an English flag, so he took revenge the only way he knew how. As for Caldwell hes never attended another football match since then and everytime he sees an England International match on TV he can be found in front of it, crying hysterically wrapped from head to toe in the flag of St George
|
|
|
|
Post by cal on Apr 23, 2008 0:40:09 GMT
tell ya what scruff you know how to get a message out there pal!
more poems though man, love them
|
|
|
|
Post by scruff on Apr 23, 2008 11:15:35 GMT
tell ya what scruff you know how to get a message out there pal! more poems though man, love them a message?? me muse has left me mate, having trouble thinking of poems................... but.... I think I might write another poem soon. Yeah I can feel one coming on That first little idea just popped into my head. Oh no, hang on its gone. Think Scruff Bear think, you're a genius on Coldplay of word play To not think of verse is adverse To not think of rhyme is to waste everyones time But still nothing comes, oh hum! I thought I had a fraction of an idea just then But no it was a thought about crisps Not even Cheese and Onion but Chicken Frankly thats foul and its taking the piss Its mocking my situation, with great insinuation Its saying Scruff you are losing your touch And if I dont think of anything to rhyme soon I'll begin to agree as much Ah sod it its almost 3am, its too late for poetry So if you find my muse please show it to me Dont matter where, dont matter who, dont matter when If I dont find it soon I'll never make anything rhyme ever again I'll write another poem soon Until then I'll cry and stare at the moon I cant see one anywhere I go if you see my muse.. let me know  |
|
|
|
Post by Fergal on Apr 23, 2008 12:12:25 GMT
ha quality! quite enjoyed that
"England My England" is proper powerful stuff, again a very good read.
Do you write more poems than stories or is it the other way around? Which do you prefer?
|
|
