Sausage Life 313

Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE 
The column which thinks most of these conspiracy theories are put about by lizard men in the government

READER:  Ah that was a nice holiday!  Do you feel refreshed and renewed and ready for 2025?

MYSELF:  Ah, the turgid swamp of torpor we like to call The Christmas Break; the celebration of the expired shelf-life and the unloading of warehouses full of useless tat which has become mysteriously useful if only for restocking the loft.

READER:  God, you really hate Christmas, don’t you?

MYSELF:  Not hate exactly, since it’s a fascinating enough phenomenon to observe, but for us Northern Powerhouse types, the Hogmanay is the main event.

READER: Jings! It’s a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht. Och aye the noo! Lang may yer lum reek like twa long-dead corbies! Come on! Tell us all about it! I’m half Scottish myself you know.

MYSELF:  Oh dear I’m genuinely sorry to hear about that, which half is it? Regarding my New Year’s Eve routine, which I follow to the letter every year, it goes like this:
December 31^st 11-59pm: to see off the old year, I wait until Big Ben strikes midnight, then knock back a mug of Buckfast’s Medical Grade Fortified Wine and nibble a Jock Tamson’s Brackie Bowser, a hard, tasteless biscuit made from pebbles, followed by a wee dram of McFeenie’s Auld Trossachs Single Malt Whisky (aged in tar barrels and buried in peat bogs for 25 years).
January 1^st 12-15am: After an ice-cold shower, I jog to the beach and take my customary five-mile swim in the sea, followed by a naked bicycle ride to Upper Dicker and back.

READER: Naked? Brrrrr! Surely that’s going to be unbearably cold!

MYSELF: Not in the least.  I will be lathered in a thick layer of goose fat reserved from the Christmas roast potatoes.

A YEAR IN REVIEW
2024’s cultural movers and shakers

ART:
National treasure and Sussex art icon Bandy Sponk effortlessly takes the prize for best exhibition of the year.
This Could Be the Start of Something Small, his retrospective at the Upper Dicker Pink Cube Gallery demonstrated yet again the extraordinary vision of this radical installationist.
At the private view, awash with local celebrities like Penguin Enchilada’s Norwegian bassist Nøstrumm Fjørd, and Sussex Police Chief Hydra Gorgon, we were treated to a feast of visual and aural delights.
Projected on to a huge screen in the foyer, a mob of animated bagpipes rampage over a bowling green, eliciting gasps from the incoming guests. To the right, velvet curtains part to reveal Sponk’s latest opus, Fanfare For A Hat Run Over By A Steamroller,a mad, ear-jangling juxtaposition of ball bearings, cheap pewter earrings and 18^th century French cutlery whirling around inside a spin dryer.

MUSIC:
July 2024: The event to be seen at was the invitation-only concert celebrating the grand reopening (following the gruesome murder of former owner ‘Mad’ Joe Lavatorrio) of Cockmarlin’s legendary music venue The Cat’s Pyjama.
It showcased the reunion of my favourite band Real Eskimos Don’t Smoke, with original guitarist Tapestry Boulevard but alas, minus the other three original Eskimos. They eventually staggered onstage 2 hours late and bulldozed their way through a ten minute version of their 1997 Indie chart-topper Drive-By Shouting before handing over to scratchmeister MC Squaird, whose unique mixing of Psychic Garage and Elizabethan Plainsong sought to challenge even the most enthusiastic dancers. Regrettably the venue was forced to close the following week after new proprietor Ron ‘Fearsome’ Reptile disappeared with Violet Pelligrini the owner of Saucy SecretsOne-Stop Lingerie Shop ‘n Money Laundrette next door.

POETRY
Alistair Milqueflote, always a favourite of mine, possesses the uncanny ability to spew verse like a broken downpipe in a thunderstorm. His 2024 collection, Folliliquy, was no exception. Take this opening stanza of the title poem:

To beard or not to beard,
that is the question
Whether tis nobler in the mind
to fluff up the chinless facades
of outdated morons,
Or to take arms against these facial follicles,
And by epilation,
end them.

BOOKS
Emily Wildebeeste’s epic novel The Epiphany of Cuthbert Waspwas, for me, the standout book of 2024, voted the number one holiday read by What Holiday Read?
Critics praised the author’s sensitive treatment of Monophrenia (The inability to lie convincingly), her louche grammatical swerves and the colourful depictions by illustrator Rupert Doppelgänger, of the protagonist’s erotic adventures as a toxic waste inspector in 19th century Middlesborough.

THEATRE
Titanic-The Musical at the newly-refurbished Hestmonceaux Parthenon.
I loved this ambitious production, despite its cruel panning by the critics. (During the penultimate song Help! I’m Drowning!20,000 gallons of water leaked out of the huge tank, flooding the auditorium and washing several members of the audience out to sea). Yes, it closed on its opening night (just like the real thing), but on a positive note it did at least provide some relief from the Parthenon’s usual fare of low-grade tribute bands and racist comedians.
READER: I was there, and for once I agree with you. I just managed to get out in time by clinging on to an usherette.
MYSELF: I blame electronic cigarettes and Andrew Lloyd-Webber.

TELEVISION
Channel 5’s I’m an Unemployed Actor, Get Me an Agent,  Diahorreah of a Nobody ITV’s Felicity Smallgoose medical drama, and Strictly come Dancing, if only for it’s sheer vile unwatchability

READER: I love Strictly, don’t be so mean! Anyway what do you know about ballroom dancing?
MYSELF: Me? I’ll have you know I hold several medals, including silvers for the quickstep and foxtrot and a bronze for the galloping major. The composer Lionel Bart once described my feet as “like two miniature hovercrafts”

 

 

Sausage Life!

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Photo credit: Alice’s Dad (circa 2000)

Click image to connect. Alice’s Crazy Moon is an offbeat monthly podcast hosted by Alice Platt (BBC, Soho Radio) with the help of roaming reporter Bird Guano a.k.a Colin Gibson (Comic Strip Presents, Sausage Life). Each episode will centre around a different topic chosen by YOU the listener! The show is eclectic mix of music, facts about the artists and songs and a number of surrealistic and bizarre phone-ins and commercials from Bird Guano. Not forgetting everyones favourite poet, Big Pillow!

NB: IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A PAID SUBSCRIPTION TO SPOTIFY, THE SONGS WILL BE OF RESTRICTED LENGTH

 

https://vimeo.com/user129836501https://vimeo.com/user129836501

JACK POUND: JESUS WANTS ME FOR A SUN READER aka PASS THE INSTANT YOGA

CHEMTRAILS ON MY MIND
MORT J SPOONBENDER

On September 11th 1958, José Popacatapetl, a retired tree psychologist who’s father was head gardener for the CIA during the cold war, was hitchiking through the Alberqueque desert when he was picked up by a black sedan driven by J Edgar Hoover’s ex-boyfriend André Pfaff head of FBI underhand operations and extra-terrestrial banking who once worked as a quantum mechanic for the KGB under the direct orders of the zombie reincarnation of Josef Stalin whose mummified corpse was kept in a secret underhand bunker in the basement of the Vatican.

https://vimeo.com/user129836501

 

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SUPERCALIFUCKINGFRAGIFUCKINGLISTICEXPIALIFUCKINGDOCIOUS

 

 

By Colin Gibson

 

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