Kevin Drenched In Baby Oil!
There are always at least two sides to every story and, where Emma’s concerned, there are usually a good few more than two. Now take this incident with Spanish contortionist, for instance! She had me hook, line and sinker on that one. I mean, there was me believing every word of it. But then, luckily, I ran into Kevin. Well, not so much ran into him as slipped over him on account of the fact that he was covered in baby oil at the time.Down the Old Duck and Knackers this was, which is this really seedy gay pub down Clapham way. I don’t normally get that far out into the sticks, myself, but I’d heard there was a talent night on and, as I’ve always had an interest in things of a theatrical bent, I decided to go down and get and eyeful.
And what an eyeful I got! One of the talents on show belonged to none other than ‘Snakeman Jim’ (to use his professional name) who, it turned out was none other than Emma’s one-time boyfriend, Jim (aka Jimbo), of whom I have spoken in previous entries in this journal. Well, now at last, I have seen exactly what she saw in him. Suffice to say it isn’t his witty personality and amusing anecdotes!
However, Jim is but a sideline in the bizarre tale which I am about to relate. You will recall, no doubt, the episode I mentioned a few days ago which began when Emma was accosted by a Spanish contortionist under a table in the Purple Pussycat. In the version of the story which Emma related to me and which I, in my innocence, was about to re-relate to you, she and this contortionist (whose name, she informed me was Senor Slinkini - ha! as though I’d be taken in for one second by such an obviously made-up nom de stage !) were tootling along the street when who should pop up out of the shadows but Emma’s other boyfriend, Norm! There then ensued a battle of words and fisticuffs in which Norm emerged triumphant and Senor Slinkini slunk off to nurse his wounds and, no doubt, massage his battered bonce with his fingers, knees, elbows and toes. Thus was Emma saved by the noble Norm from a night of debauchery and set back on the straight and narrow path to virtue, modesty and (in the fullness of time), a semi-detached in Esher and membership of the local Women’s Institute.
Pah! is what I say... nay, not merely Pah!. I think this calls for a full-throated Damn’ it all!
The blasted woman led me up the garden path with her tale of derring-do between double-jointed Spaniards and the hellish fury of scorned Norms. Further investigation reveals that the truth is very far from the tale which I was spun.
Which brings me back to Kevin.
This, I should perhaps remind you, is the same Kevin who, having once masqueraded as a butcher’s boy from Plaistow, has now been revealed to be none other than the voice of TV’s favourite glove-puppet, Flapjack the Duck. So what, you may quite legitimately be asking yourself, was the alter-ego of Flapjack the Duck, doing dripping with baby oil in a seedy gay pub on the outskirts of Clapham? And, moreover, how was this related to the fictitious tale of Spanish bone-benders with which the perfidious Emma had so recently bamboozled me?
I’d love to tell you. Believe me, I would. Unfortunately, I am already well behind schedule with an article I’m writing for Flexipop! (Kevin Rowland’s ‘Testament of Youth’ - which tells the truly bizarre story of the Dexy’s Midnight Runners frontman’s adolescent exploits with the vicar’s daughter and his unfulfilled interests in women’s clothing), so the full, unexpurgated truth of Emma’s latest liaison will have to wait until another day.
More soon...
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