Words please, part two

I almost actually included this at the end of my previous post, and then I decided against it. Indeed, in some ways, that post had been inspired by my seeing a certain man on TV the night before. That man was John Shuttleworth.

And since I wrote that post, the song with which Shuttleworth (not his real name) reached #4 in the charts 30 years ago this month has been making many appearances around my personage.

In the form of this Facebook group, for example, and even a T-shirt with a picture of UK prime minister Gordon Brown on it.

So, without further ado, I present "Jilted John" by Jilted John. And although it's only a silly little novelty punk record, I have to ask: Is there any way in which all the subtle nuances of this track could possibly be conveyed without lyrics? I rather think not.



The words, since I said please and all (though I have not proofread them or anything [no time], so don't go blaming me if they're wrong):

I've being going out with a girl
Her name is Julie
But last night she said to me
While we were watching telly

This is what she said………

She said "Listen John I love you
But there's this bloke I fancy
I don't want to two time you
So it's the end for you and me."

"Who's this bloke?" I asked her
"Gordon," she replied
"Not that puff!" I said dismayed
"yes, but he's no puff," she cried.
"He's more of a man than you'll ever be."

Here we go -- 2, 3, 4

I was so upset that I cried
All the way to the chip shop
When I came out there was Gordon
Standing at the bus stop

And guess who was with him?
Yeah Julie
And they were both laughing at me

Oh she's cruel and heartless
To pack me for Gordon
Just because he's better looking than me
Just because he's cool and trendy

But I know he's a moron
Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron

Here we go -- 2, 3, 4

Oh! She's a slag
And he's a creep
She's a tart
He's very cheap
She is a slut
He thinks he's tough
She's a bitch
He is a puff

Yeah yeah - it's not fair
Yeah yeah - it's not fair

I'm so upset
I'm so upset
I'm so upset

I ought to smash his face in
Yeah - but he's bigger than me - ain't he
I know I'll get my mate paddy to hit him
He'd flatten him
Yeah but Paddy's a mate of Gordon ain't he
Ah well - I don't care
Oh I don't care.

Cat. Arm. Shagging.

I get quite a few hits to this blog from people typing "cat humping arm" and similar search terms into Google. This is because of this post written more than two years ago.

In the time that has passed since, Cat has completely given up on shagging my arm. I think it's because -- SLIGHTLY DISTURBING MENTAL IMAGE ALERT! -- one night, as he, ahem, finished, he caught his, ahem, cathood(?) in my bracelet. Since that night he has shunned my forearms in favour of Red's. She's getting it every which way most evenings. In fact, if she doesn't get a visit in the dark as we're readying ourselves for the Land of Nod, we suspect the wee lad is feeling under the weather.

But today a new low (or high) has been hit.

Checking our respective mail, Facebook, MySpace, forums, etc before breakfast (my God, we've become Intraweb slaves!) we were joined by Cat in the office space.

"Mau," he said.
"Hey, kitty," I replied.
"Mau."
"'Sup dude?"
"Mau."
"Yeah, just a minute and we'll come and have breakfast with you."
"Mau."
"Shhh."
"Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ..."

Red decided to go see what he wanted. Five minutes later she returned.

"He just wanted sex," she said. "He's quiet now." And so he was. I'm wondering now whether it was "Ma" that he was saying. And also whether I can learn a thing or two from him when it comes to getting my wicked way.

It’s one of those things, innit?

Facebook, I mean.

Those of us who do this blogging thing seem to have a compulsion to find out about and join other Web-based thingamajigs. Those of us who grew up in an era when people had real, flesh-and-blood friends who they'd meet up with once in a while might not fully understand what all these things are for.

Facebook, MySpace, BeBo, and whatever the fuck else is out there for "social networking". I read a few months ago about one social-networking site aimed specifically at black people, and that it is devised as neighbourhoods that you aspire to or something. I forget the name now. Oh hold up, it might be The Block. Something like that, anyways.

I have a Facebook account, just as I have a YouTube account, two MySpace accounts, and several blogs. But I don't know many people on Facebook. I've been there a few weeks, but no one I know in real life has one. And my Facebook account is in my real name. I know Cappy is on there, and Shea and Adam and Martha. And Will and James K.

So... do I hook up with peeps who I know only in blogland? Or do I set up yet another online thingy with my nom de plume? Oh, I just don't know anymore. It's complicated having all these personae. I feel like a superhero. Without the super powers, obviously.