An Adventurer's Mate

HEEEEEERRREEEEEEE'SSSSSSSSSSSS WAAAALLLLTTTTEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

2009-02-05T22:59:00.000Z

Alright, motherhumpers?
Walter is back in da hizzoooooooo!!

Ahem.
Do excuse me; I fell asleep infront of a Kevin Smith movie earlier and I fear it has leaked inbetween the synapses of my brain.

Help!

2008-07-19T12:51:00.001+01:00

I have a flat populated with both real and imaginary beasts.

Ninjaraffe has, once again, eaten all the Pringles.
Pa Spooky is still looking for Spooky, Jr.
Ma Spooky is still flirting with Mr D. Evans.
Bertie The Deadfox is worryingly cheerful for a dead mammal.
Ian The Spider Costume has got married.
Ollie The Tourettes Octopus has, as is his way, been swearing at everybody.

Me?

I have a headache.

Ian The Spider Costume.

2008-05-27T12:40:00.006+01:00

Now, you may remember Ian The Spider Costume from way-back-when, he's cropped up quite a lot in my adventures but he first really came to attention when he webbed the postman to my front step.

Ian is, as has been pointed out, a spider costume.
He is not, and he stresses this most clearly, a spider.
He doesn't like spiders.
They have, in his words, "...a right nasty look in their eyes".
Ian, however, usually has bloodshot eyes.

His size varies on a second-to-second basis, seemingly influenced by situation/mood/alcohol level.
So, when I first met him, he was roughly the size of a bean bag.
Moments later, he was about the size of a brick.
The next evening, he was as large as a rotweiller dog.

I've pressed him on this and he has never been able to explain it... he has mentioned several factors, depending on when I've asked, which have included
an evil curse
a drunken gamble
a mystical machine
a time-travelling police box (I don't know what he thinks about, sometimes, I really don't)
a small wizard
and "... mind your own business."

He did, once, admit to being a mercenary-for-hire (is there another type?) who was able to smuggle goods and/or people inside his spidery inards, and this has proved useful on a recent adventure. Why and how he came into existence, however, is something I can't decipher.

The reason I'm writing about him is that he is the reason that I have become a wanted man. Again.
*sigh*
You think I'd get used to this...

The Return Of Deadfast!

2008-05-25T19:31:00.002+01:00

Hello, world!

This is Walter, and I'm back!
Don't ask where I've been (a long story involving ectoplasm, werewolves, Jack The Ripper, a small man named Clive, a sausage dog, and numerous other things); suffice to say, I'll be one again reporting on the adventures of me, Walter, and the world-famous Deadast.

Do stay tuned!

White gunk.

2006-07-18T20:07:00.000+01:00

It was 2am, when I was rudely awakened by Ian the spider costume tapping a jaunty rhythm on my forehead.
He wears great big hobnail boots, you see.

Anyway, the reason for the dance was that Ian had found some porn stashed behind the sofa.
"Red Hot Webs", he said it was called, and he was asking me if I'd go to the 24 hour garage and get him some Kleenex.

I trudged down to the garage (making sure I was dressed; I've made that mistake before when Ian has demanded goods, and Mr Habib at the kebab shop still hasn't forgiven me), and took Ninjaraffe with me.

On the way to the garage, half-listening to Ninjaraffe whittering-on about Manga, I slipped in something on the floor.
Ninjaraffe, with his ninja-like reflexes, failed to catch me and let me land painfully on the floor. He did, however, have the courtesy to laugh like drain.

"What did I slip on?" I asked him.
"It's some sort of white gunk," he told me. "This is Knocker's Alley, so what do you expect?"
"That isn't your usual white gunk," I said, getting to my feet. "It's ectoplasm!"
"Jism, more like..."
"Shut up."

I sent Ninjaraffe off to the garage as I studied the ectoplasm.
It had congealed, but was certainly something spooky...

A host, a ghost and "women's things".

2006-07-06T20:26:00.000+01:00

We rushed into the aisle and... lo and behold... there was Spooky, peering out of a packet of "women's things".

I refuse to go into more detail.

He startled a young lady buying some of the aforementioned "women's things" and she had stumbled backwards into a display of beans... you know the type. They are piled into a pyramid.
Well, she had landed on this display and knocked them for six... there were bean tins everywhere, rolling around like Fred Durst on a gyroscope.

"Are you ok, miss?" I asked as we raced down the aisle.
"Wah!" she wailed.

Spooky, spooked by our arrival, flew off into the next aisle and I sent Ninjaraffe after him.

As I tried to help the young lady to her feet, I heard a terrible commotion coming from the adjacent aisle.

"Ninjaraffe?"
"Get off of me!" I heard a strangely familiar voice shout. "Do you know who I am?"
"You're that pesky ghost we're after!" Ninjaraffe growled in his manly voice. "Don't you deny it!"
"No I'm not!" The voice screamed. "I'll offer you a deal... or..."
"No deal!" Ninjaraffe yelled and, as I ran around the corner, I saw him hit Noel Edmonds over the head with the bottle of HP Sauce. "Wanker."
"Oh god..." I moaned, skidding to a halt at Noel's prone body, which was now in a heap at our feet. "This isn't Spooky!"
"But look how pale he is!"
"He's wearing a white jumper."
"Oh."
"Let's get out of here!" I told him, grabbing him by the cuff of his Ninja suit and pulling him towards the door. "We'll catch up with Spooky another time!"
"Wait..." Ninjaraffe spun around, and let loose with a volley of throwing stars. "That takes care of the cctv!"
"Grab the shopping and let's go..." I paused. "And grab Ian some porn from that shelf... you're tall enough."

Spooky and a slice of cake.

2006-07-05T18:30:00.000+01:00

After the postman fiasco, Ian the spider costume was hiding somewhere, so Ninjaraffe and I had to head into town for some groceries.
Usually, we'd send Ian. He had an ample space inside him to keep shopping (well, being a costume, he had enough space to fit a grown man... or at least a midget).

Ninjaraffe passes unnoticed through town (it's the ninja training, y'see) and we had an easy time heading to the local store to pick-up the essentials.

"Fudge?"
"Yep," I told Ninjaraffe. "Got that."
"Nail polish?"
"You know," I started. "I didn't think you'd be allowed that, being a ninja..."
"You have to be in-touch with your feminine side, don't you?"
"I guess so," I hesitantly agreed. "Got that."
"Cheese?"
"Cheese?"
"Cheese."
"Cheese." I ticked my list. "What else?"
"Ian wants some porn."
"I'm not buying him porn!" I protested.

At that point, a loud scream came from one of the aisles.

"GHOST!"

Webbed feet.

2006-06-27T23:47:00.000+01:00

The spider costume is called Ian.

Ian, the spider costume, is rather an aggressive young... spider... and he proved that this morning, when he webbed the postman to my front step.

Mohammed, the postman, was delivering my new subscription to "Big Huts" magazine, and (so Ninjaraffe told me moments ago) he let out a scream when Ian opened the door, and tried to stamp on him with his big postal boots.
So, Ian webbed his feet to my front step.

It was only ten minutes ago that he was set free... I finally managed to undo Ian's sticky mess with some boiling water.

Is there anybody out there?

2006-06-17T19:21:00.000+01:00

I'm writing this from... well... I an only describe it as "London, but not".

I think, whilst searching for Spooky, I've tumbled into a parallel universe.

I can only presume this because there is a giraffe sitting on the sofa of my small London apartment, and he is talking to a spider costume.
Yes, a spider costume.
The costume... of a spider...

"Where's Spooky?"

2006-05-10T21:16:00.000+01:00

I spent last night sitting in the shed of a large three-bedroom semi-detacthed house in Kent.
I was with Clive, the owner of the house, his daughter Megan and their dog, Dave.

I arrived at their charming home at some time in the afternoon and we soon got down to business.
They told me all about their haunting, and how it had started one late November night last year.

Apparently, "Spooky" is a spirit who has yet to find a host.
He came to this house last year, and spent two weeks trapped in Clive's wine rack before anyone noticed there was something odd going on.
He is, actually, very harmless. He even helped the son of the family, Robin, win his end-of-term poetry reading. I don't quite understand how, but it had something to do with a gust of wind.
The only person he doesn't seem to agree with is the mum, Mum (I haven't heard her name yet, and I was a little too shy to ask). He appeared at the end of January in the toilet bowl just as she went to use it and... well, you can guess the rest.

Anyway, he seems harmless. They had, infact, started to treat him as another pet. Dave the dog was a little put out at first but even he has warmed to Spooky's cold undead charms.

The reason I had been called here was because they hadn't seen or heard from the little guy in over a week.
Previously, he had been seen by at least one member of the family on a daily basis.
So, his sudden absence was seen as suspicious.

I spent the rest of the afternoon using my hi-tec ghost hunting tools (bought from a mail order firm on a "pay now, pay more later" basis) to survey the house. Unfortunatley, I found no sign of Spooky or anything else other-worldly.

So, Clive and the others sat with me in the shed because they knew that Spooky always emerged first from a hole in the bottom of the garden.
We sat all night, sipping a weak lemony drink, and waited.
And... nothing.

Come morning, there was only one question to be asked;
Where's Spooky?

Ghost Hunting

2006-05-08T22:25:00.000+01:00

I've become a ghost buster!

Well, a ghost hunter, anyway.

Over the past few months, while recovering from the incident that I'll only ever refer to as 'Deadfast vs. The Scottish Nation', I have been watching a lot of "Living TV".
Especially the spiritualists and ghost-hunters such as Dereck Accorah, Gordon Smith, and Shirley Ghostman.
These people talk to the dead, or communicate with spirits, or whatever it is that they do.
It doesn't look that hard... although I don't have an Indian spirit guide, which seems to be the fashionable thing to have.
However, I do have an Italian friend who owns a bar... I'm not sure if that's close enough!
And, now that I think about it, Paulo is a little odd.
Last time I saw him he was trying to prop-up the Leaning Tower of Pisa with his bare hands....

Anyway.
I've been in touch with some old contacts (you forget; I did pretty much all of Deadfast's correspondance...) and I've set myself up in a small office in London.
Nothing fancy.

I've receieved a phonecall from a concerned family in Kent, claiming to be haunted by a ghost that goes by the name of "Spooky".

The adventure is afoot....

Out On My Own

2006-05-04T21:40:00.000+01:00

Sorry it's been such a long while since I "blogged", but I have branched-out on my own, as it were, and am no longer having adventures with the one we call Deadfast.

I still talk to him, but since the court case it has become difficult.

Anyway, I'll be back on here soon... stay tuned, Walter-fans!

"Have you seen that otter yet?"

2005-12-07T14:37:00.000Z

I'm writing this sitting in a beer garden of a pub by the Thames.
It's very cold but I'm not allowed inside the pub because, in the words of Deadfast, I "look like a tramp, old bean".

The reason I look like a tramp is because I am wearing the only water-proof coat that Persuasive Pete had going spare, and it is about fifty years old.

Deadfast, you see, heard of an otter living in the Thames that had gold teeth... that's what all of this is about.

I'll write more soon... Deadfast is apporaching, and he has a bag of peanuts for me.

Slippery when wet...

2005-12-06T23:18:00.000Z

I'm going to be quick with this post, because I'm writing it via mobile phone technology.

I'm sitting on in the garden of a house in Richmond, situated on the river Thames.
Deadfast is ten feet away, on the steps that lead down to the river, and he is calling me over.

We've been in Persuasive Pete's house for two days, and... I am about to get into a two-man submarine.

HELP!

It starts...

2005-12-03T13:51:00.000Z

It's raining, and Deadfast has just ran into my room to announce:

"I've found it -grab your coat, a gun, and some loose change!"

I dread to think...

So Long, Harold.

2005-12-02T13:01:00.000Z

Deadfast returned with, as usual, no explanation.

We did, however, eat lamb that night...

Yes; Chef found Harold whilst I was out shopping.
I realised this when I got a text message whilst in M&S that said "Can you get some mint sauce for dinner tonight; Deadfast is back."

Bastard.

I'm a dad!

2005-10-31T14:47:00.000Z

I have become the not-so-proud owner of a small sheep called Harold.

How, and why, you ask?

Well, somewhat naturally, Deadfast came home with it the other night and has since abandoned it with me... I'm looking after it for the moment.

Harold, a nice fellow with lovely wool, is currently living in my bed.
I am sleeping in the spare bedroom.
The chef, aware that there is a small defenseless animal somewhere in the building, has taken to wearing combat-gear and camouflaged clothing.
How he expects to blend into the crushed-velvet wallpaper in the hallway whilst dressed as shrubbery really baffles me, but there you go...

Deadfast is nowhere to be found (I have a suspicion that Persuasive Pete has something to do with his absence, but I have no evidence), so I'm left to distract the chef by leaving a trail of pork chops on the stairs.

I would write more but Harold is looking at me and it's making me rather uncomforable.

Applause please for the persuasive power of pop.

2005-10-12T13:36:00.000+01:00

Well, Persuasive Pete did his job.
As usual, he did it in song.

He, and I've CCTV footage to back this up, burst into Baseball Paul's office and dazzled him with a string of dance moves and a choreographed routine involving several dances in feather-boas.

So, all debts are cancelled and I'm free to play more... no, no, I won't be gambling again.
Not with the dodgy people either Chef or Deadfast know, anyway!

"This is a problem for Persuasive Pete!"

2005-10-06T15:06:00.000+01:00

I'd been feeling low for a while and, with nothing better to do with my time since Deadfast had been keeping himself busy, I'd been spending my time with the chef (who had found his way out of the maze) in the kitchen, learning how to cook.

All was going well until, one late night, bonding over some pastry, Chef invited me to play some poker with him and some of this friends.
Well, I thought, Deadfast is busy with whatever it is he is doing, so I may as well make some new friends. So, I took him up on the offer.

I now owe his "friend" Baseball Paul £15,000.

"Why do they call him Baseball Paul?" Deadfast asked me this morning, over breakfast.
"If you annoy him..."
"By, for example, not paying him money you owe him?" Deadfast chipped in.
"Yes, if you annoy him he will batter you to death with a baseball bat."
"I see."
"I've tried reasoning with him, I have..." I started to explain how it had all got out of hand when Chef had told me that Baseball Paul was rubbish at poker, and how he said he liked to make big-money bets and always lost, but could afford it because he was "... into everything, if you know what I mean!". I had tried to bluff him, and it had failed. Big time.
"You need to tell him that it was just a bit of a laugh, and you can't be expected to pay that much money... you don't HAVE that much money, do you?"
"No."
"Right then... this is a problem for Persuasive Pete!"
"Erm... who?"

Deadfast went on to tell me about a man he knew who could persaude anyone to do anything (he has a cousin called Convincing John, by the way!).

"He is the guy who persuaded Victoria Beckham that she could sing!"
"Bloody hell, he IS good!" I gasped.

So, this weekend Deadfast is taking me to see this man, Persuasive Pete.

Wish me well!

An Adventure stalls...

2005-09-17T14:41:00.000+01:00

I've not written much lately but there's a good reason for this... nothing AT ALL has happened.

I've not been anywhere thrilling, and I haven't done anything thrilling, and I haven't met anyone thrilling.

I've been tending to the house and the gardens, but that's about all.

For his part, Deadfast has been mainly out of the way... I don't know where he's been getting to, lately, to be honest.
I'm sure he's up to no good but, as he seems happy and hasn't pestered me or the other staff here for days, I can only presume he's found someone else to pester.

Which worries me, but what can you do, eh?

This is supposed to be an "adventure" blog, but I've not been up to anything, hence the lack of writing.
I could make somethin g up if you like?

"Deadfast and I boarded a ship, and headed for the unknown..."

I won't do that, though, because I like to keep this as real and true-to-life as possible.
It's just that I've not done much.
I'm sure you don't want to know about how high the sunflowers are, or how much our water bill is for watering the lawns.

The only thing of note worth mentioning is that Chef got lost in the maze last week, and we haven't seen him since.

Sorry to be dull!

A movie viewed

2005-09-05T02:08:00.000+01:00

I've just got in from the "Pride & Prejudice" premier in Leicester Square.

Keira Knightley, in her infinite stalking madness, sent me two tickets to the bloody thing.
Can you believe it!

So, Deadfast and I (come on, who else was I going to ask?) spent a thrilling evening hob-nobbing with the hoi polloi in London.
Until, mid-way through the movie, Deadfast broke wind loudly, stood up and declared that:
"That Elizabeth woman deserves a punch in the hooter!" and stormed out.

The half of the movie I saw seemed quite good (better than the BBC drama version, perhaps, even with no Colin Firth!), but I had to go after him so missed the rest.

Keira, for her part, ignored me completely.
But someone did keep throwing popcorn at me, so I can only guess that it was she.

The cow.

Back In Blighty

2005-08-30T09:05:00.000+01:00

We're home.

The charming Deadfast, as is his way, fell in love with a Shanghai lady he met in a bar and boy, was she... special.

The good thing is that the Shanghai police department are lovely people and, with a little persuasion (I now owe Lt. Fi-Laan the keys to the ranch in Montana), we escaped a term in jail and were allowed home (for "allowed home" read "escorted to the airport and onto a plane by four burly men with tattoos neck-to-toe").

The Shanghai lady in question turned out to be not so much of a lady as more of a young man dressed up as a lady.
Which Deadfast discovered after a heavy night of boozing, and wasnt' too pleased.
Cue lots of shouting, throwing of things, and Deadfast running into my hotel room at 2am two nights back.

"Walter!"
"Hmm?" I was in bed, and have a habit of crying in my sleep.
"Stop snivelling and help me!"
"Wha?"
"SHE HAD A COCK IN HER HAND AND IT WASN'T MINE!"
"What?"
"She... he... oh, I've come over all queer and need a sit down!"
"Erm..."
There came a knocking at my door... for a moment, I expected a raven (don't ask; I had just woken up and wasn't quite with it yet!).
"Mister, mister... let me in!"

Deadfast went white as a sheet which, considering how red his cheeks were due to the constant boozing, was a site to behold.
"It's her... him... them!"
"How many people have you annoyed?" I wondered, as I put my dressing gown on and went to the door. "I'm letting them all in."
"No, they'll get me!"
"You'll be fine, now..." I swung open the door. "How can I help?"

In came a very attractive young man, dressed as a lady, and my brain clicked.

"I thought she was a he... no, wait... he was a she..." Deadfast wailed. "I'm confused!"
"Mister, you left your wallet in your hotel room and I thought you'd better keep it with you... the maids can sometimes get a little light-fingered in Shanghai."
"Erm..." Deadfast was hiding in my wardrobe. "Go away!"
"I'll take that," I said, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry about him."
"That's cool, friend," the young man said. "You may want to watch out for the police who are on there way, though..."
"Police?" I asked.
"Yes... if you hadn't noticed, your old friend there is naked."
"I hadn't." I was so used to seeing Deadfast in various states of conciousness and dress, it never crossed my mind that he had burst into my room naked. "Is that a problem?"
"For me? No. For the receptionist, the two maids, the old lady next door to you and the Colonel in room 203, yes."
"Ah."
"He may have startled them a little..."
"I see."
"I think you should get him dressed!"
"Ok, thank you... you speak very good English, by the way."
"I watch a lot of TV..."
"That'd be it."

With that, the young man gave me the wallet and left. He was nice, I thought, as I turned to the wardrobe and realised it hadn't shut properly. It was closed, but there was a small gap and... well, something was peeking out.

"I think," I said, hearing footsteps running towards my room. "We should get you dressed..."

As for the Golden Foot of King Dingle Dangle Dong... we never did find it.
Deadfast's contact was the one who took him to the bar where he met the Shanghai lady, so... that's that.

Seedy Dvds?

2005-08-26T23:09:00.000+01:00

I forgot to mention the rather odd conversation I had in the market.

A man approached me and said, in a thick accent, "Seedy Dvd?"
I looked around, and thought briefly "Why not?"
But I came to my senses and said a firm "NO!"

"Seedy Dvd?" he persisted.
"No."
"Seedy?"
"I'm not!"
"Dvd?"
"I'd like a dvd, perhaps, but not a seedy one."
"Seedy dvd?"
"No!"
"Seedy?"
"NO!"
"Seedy Dvd?"

By this point, we'd walked about two hundred yards or so, and people were beginning to stare.

"Seedy Dvd?"
"Have you got any wholesome family entertainment?"

He nodded, and waved his hands at me.
He had a dvd in one hand, and a cd in the other.

*sigh*

Shanghai

2005-08-25T10:53:00.000+01:00

I'm in Shanghai.

Previously, when I said that the "adventure's a-foot" I meant that the adventure IS a foot... Deadfast is in search of the lost Golden Foot of King Dingle Dangle Dong.

For some reason, the golden artificial limb of this ancient Ducth king is worth a lot of money and Deadfast knows a man who knows a man who knows a woman who heard a man who met a woman who had heard a conversation on the back of the bus about a man who had met a man who had a friend who had killed his uncle and had stolen and then sold a foot made of gold.

Or something.

Anyway, Deadfast is off talking to one of his "contacts", so I've had some time to wander around the city and see the sites.
Which is nice.

It's an excellent place, but very strange.

For a start, they don't tell you in all of the brochures that the first thing people do when they get out of the airport is start spitting.
Seriously; they have spittoons next to all of the bins so that the old people and their phlegm doesn't splatter the pavement.
So, the first sounds I heard in Shanghai were "huuuuck---pitooo".

After finding the hotel and getting a little sleep, I venutred off to explore.
As I wandered along on my way, I walked past a school.
There were about 400 kids in the playground, all listening to a tannoy, and dancing in time.
400 kids doing exactly the same thing... I thought I'd wandered into "Children Of The Corn" for a moment!
The dancing stopped, and they marched into the school.
I'm telling you now; these people will take over the world, all led by some evil headmaster with a masterplan and a loud-hailer.

Past the school, I came to what at first I thought was a Kung-Fu movie shoot... there seemed to be alot of people all performing bullet-time Kung-Fu moves.
As I got closer, I realised that I was the only person in the entire park who was under 70 years of age... and it wasn't a movie; they were doing Tai Chi.
About 150 old people, all performing various slow-mo moves.
There was also an old man sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette, which is a martial art discipline I'd never heard of before.

I moved slowly, as not be noticed, and made my way past the Tai Chi old people.
I then came across, in the same park, a even larger group of old people taking part in some ballroom dancing.
I'm sure that isn't the most efficient martial art, but what does a Westener know?

I left the park as soon as I could, and followed some signs to see "THE JADE BUDDHA", which is situated near the People's Park, apparently.

I was very disapointed.
The sign was wrong.
It wasn't a jade buddha. It was a jaded buddha.
A fat man, drinking Guinnesss, was sitting on the steps of the temple, moaning about how he wanted a Ferrari.

Shanghai is an odd place.
I'm back in the hotel bar, wondering when Deadfast'll turn up.

A-ha!

2005-08-23T20:02:00.000+01:00

The adventure is a-foot.

Attack of the pirates!

2005-08-20T23:44:00.000+01:00

I've just got in from the police station.

Keira Knightley has gone mental, and is stalking me!
But, worse than that, now she's got Orlando Bloomn involved!

Friday morning, I was rudely awoken by a kerfuffle happening downstairs.
Deadfast naturally was sleeping through it all, so I headed downstairs in my dressing gown (and little else, I might add, it was 5am!), and cautiously opened the door.

"A-har!" a voice shouted at me, as a cutlass was pointed at my throat. "I'll teach you the error of your ways!"
"Um, hello," I said, as casually as someone threatened with death-by-pirate could do. "Can I help at all?"
"You violated my good friend this past day, and I'm here to avenge her!"
"Oh, right."

With that, we both stood there, and nothing was said for a moment.
He looked at me, I looked at him, he looked at his shoes, and then I realised...

"You're Orlando Bloom, aren't you?"
"No! I'm... well, yes, I am Orlando Bloom but I'm in character at the moment as pirate guy, so..."
"Wait a second," I said, pushing his sword away from my neck and opening the door further. "Has this got something to do with that maniac driver the other day?"
"This has everythign to do with that, sir, and you'll mind your manners if you wish to see another dawn!"
"I don't know anyone called Dawn," I told him, and yawned (which I thought quite poetic). "And the sun has just came up."
"Erm..."
"Do you have my wallet?"
"Do I... what... huh?" The young man looked confused, and smoothed out his stick-on moustache. "Eh?"
"Look, you obviously got my address from that woman, who has my wallet, so can I have it back please?"
"Um..."
"Go on."
"Oh, ok..."

With that, he reached into his pantaloon pocket and handed me my wallet back.

"It's empty."
"Yes, well, I had to get a taxi here, and..."
"Oh, I don't really care."
"Oh." He stood there in the doorway, admiring my dressing gown for a moment. "Um... hey?"
"Yes?"
"Was I convincing?"
"As what?"
"A pirate-type?"
"Well, you're no Johnny Depp..."

He didn't listen to the rest of my comments, because he flung his cutlass to the floor and flounced off in a huff.
I closed the door, and shook my weary head.
I needed a cup of tea and some crumpets.

I had my breakfast, and then later on in the afternoonI reported the odd actress to the police.
Hopefully, that'll be the end of it.
The desk sargeant told me that there'd been alot of this lately.
I didn't hang around to ask "Alot of what?".

I'd left the grill on at home...

A not-so-smart SM@RT car incident.

2005-08-19T17:44:00.000+01:00

I had an afternoon off yesterday, so I headed to Primrose Hill (in London) and paid a visit to a little restaurant I know.

I tucked into a nice pasta salad, washed down with a delightful Spanish wine that complimented the chicken nicely (or was it Mexican? I forget...), and took a stroll around the area since the evening was warm and pleasant.

I was minding my own business, ambling across a zebra crossing, when a maniac in a tiny tiny open-top SMART car came speeding towards me.
I had no time to react and, before I knew it, I had rolled over the windshiled and had fallen into the passenger seat!

"Oh, god!" The driver squealed. "Get out of my fucking car!"
"Erm.... ouch," I muttered, as she pulled the car over. "Thanks for driving like a blind person."
"Oh, piss off you little man... do you know who I am!"
"No... I can't see at the moment due to the blood that is pouring into my eyes."
"Oh... would you like a tissue?"
"I wouldn't say no to a hospital appointment, if truth be told."
"Well, I'm in a rush, so how about I give you a tissue and leave you here by the kerb?"
"Erm..."
"Great, out you get!"

With that she reached over me, opened my door, and pushed me out onto the street. She then slammed the door and pulled into traffic (narrowly avoiding a nun on a bicycle) and drove off at high speed.

"Tissue?" I called after her, but she was long gone.

I heard footsteps and, from where I was sitting on the kerb, looked up and saw the Spanish waitress who had served me my wine earlier come rushing up to me. She had a tissue.
"Ohmigodoyouknowwhothatwas!?"
"I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish."
"I said, do you know who that was?"
"Oh," I mumbled, reaching for the tissue that she hadn't bothered to offer me. "Who? And please don't say Jude Law."
"Jude Law?"
"Yes."
"It wasn't him."
"Oh, good. I'd hate to have a celebrity stalker."
"What are you talking about?"
"Who was driving that car?"
"Keira Knightley!"
"Oh, her."
"Yes! You should have got her autograph!"

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off back to the restaurant.

I've spent most of the day in bed, resting.
My back is killing me and, worryingly, I think Keira Knightley stole my wallet.

Murder most fowl

2005-08-13T14:49:00.000+01:00

It was a nice sunday day yesterday, so we took a drive to Kingston-Upon-Thames.
It's a nice area, and it has some lovely bars and things down by the river (I prefer Richmond myself).

Anyway, I parked the car and we took a wander by the river.

Deadfast, in a jovial mood, suggested we hire a speedboat and take a ride up the river.
You can hire speedboats and even canoes all along the Thames, if you know where to look.
I thought about and, after I had made him agree to being a passneger only, we secured the loan of a nifty-looking boat and, with life jackets worn, off we went.

As we pootled along on the river at a nice pace, I relaxed my guard for a moment and actually let Deadfast control the boat.
Big mistake.

The first thing he did was open up the throttle and tear across the water like a bat out of hell.
I was standing as I tried to make him move back to the passenger seat when he suddenly yelled out "DUCK!"
Thinking we had come up to one of the low bridges, and there are a few on this area of the Thames, I dropped onto the passenger seat and ducked my head.
Only to hear a "Quack... THUD" sound that didn't sound like something I wanted to hear.

"I did tell you..." Deadfast began, but I was too busy looking over the edge of the speedboat only to see a duck floating on its side, with a chunk of its head missing. "That doesn't look good..."
"No," I muttered. "Sit here, and let me take over."

I turned the boat around, fished the poor thing out of the water, and quickly bagged it in a carrier bag that was already in the boat (so much for the previous user being tidy after themselves!). I then headed back to the jetty, and we scarpered back to the car (not before I put the duck in a near-by rubbish bin).

Naturally, Deadfast wanted duck for dinner, but I told him to sod off.

Please not: for most cases in the above account, you may be able to insert the word "swan" for the word "duck", but that would result in us having broke a law, and possible treason, so... let's not do that.
I'm saying nothing.

A celebrity, a monkey, and a bucket of soapy frogs.

2005-08-08T20:14:00.000+01:00

We headed into shiny ol' London town.

It was early, so Deadfast had some time to go shopping.
Worryingly, the man loves to shop.
We spent a good two hours in Harrords, where he bought several lampshades and a small belgian waffle.
We went along Oxford Street, but the "common people" scared him so he soon had me back in the car and driving to Regent's Park.
It was in the park, whilst strolling around as Deadfast told me the story of how he almost became the Ethopian Queen, that we saw something we didn't expect.

Jude Law was being attacked by a small monkey!

I rushed over, whilst Deadfast fell about laughing.

Poor Jude.
He was trying to act "cool", but the monkey was a vicious little bugger. It was sitting atop his shoulders, biting his left ear.
"Argh!" he yelled, spinning around like a child's toy. "You got your picture, now get off of me!"

Hang on, I thought to myself. What was this about "got your picture"?
Then it clicked! Jude Law thought that he was being attacked by a member of the tabloid paparazi!

I ran over, and tried to bat it away with a rolled-up copy of The Times.
Unfortunatley, I'd been reading a "small size" copy rather than the "broadsheet" edition, and the monkey barley felt the blows I rained upon it.
"Blast you, tabloid scum!" Jude yelled, falling to the floor. "What more do you want from me!?"

Deadfast, who had by now hired a deckchair from a near-by vendor and was happily eating an ice cream as he watched this drama unfold, laughed heartily as Jude managed to smack me across the throat, renedring me unable to breathe.
I collapsed to the floor, sturggling for breath, and slowly began to turn blue.
It was at this point when a particularly violent backwards headbutt from Jude Law sent the monkey tumbling from his back... and it crashed onto my heaving chest!
I gulped down a desperate mouthful of air, and the monkey ran off into the bushes.

"Hey, guy, are you ok?" Jude bent down, offering me a hand up. "Sorry about that... the press are after me for... well, you know."
"Yes," Deadfast shouted out from his chair. "We know what you've been up to, you bad boy!"

Jude ignored him, and helped me to my feet.
"Thank you, Mr Law."
"Oh, call me Jude, it's fine... um, I'm going to get going, if that's ok?"
"Yeah," I coughed. "I'm ok. I think maybe we should notify the zoo that one of their monkeys is missing, though."
"Don't worry, I'll get my agent straight onto every tabloid in London... how dare he attack me like that just because I didn't want my picture taken!"
"No, that isn't what I meant..."
However, before I could explain to Jude that he'd been attacked by a real monkey from the near-by zoo, he'd promptly marched off. I could see he was already speaking on his mobile phone.

"Well, Walt," I heard Deadfast say from his chair. "That was a thrilling piece of entertainment!"
"I'm glad at least someone enjoyed it..." I muttered, aching for a glass of water or some lemon tea for my throat. "Shall we get going?"
"What a capital idea!" he yelled, leaping to his feet and sending his ice cream tumbling to the floor. "I've always wanted a monkey!"
With that, he charged into the very same bush that the monkey had escaped into.
"I didn't mean that!" I tried to yell, but to late... he was off, chasing the monkey that had been on Jude's back. "Oh, wonderful..."

As I jogged into the undergrowth, I tripped over Deadfast's prone body.
"Down here, boy!" he whispered. "Keep your mouth shut, and your eyes open!"

I hit the ground, and lay flat on my belly, and my eyes followed the finger that Deadfast was
pointing.
Up ahead, in a clearing between the bushes, I couldn't believe my eyes.

"I can't believe my eyes!" I whispered.
"I can't believe the size of his rectum!" Deadfast replied, and I had to agree.

In the clearing ahead was a site I'll never forget.
A man, wearing nothing but a gimp mask, was on all fours.
Behind him, a woman in a buisness suit was reaching into a bucket that was on the ground next to them both. She pulled out something, and promptly pushed the object into the man's bottom!

"BLOODY HELL!" I gasped out loud, and they both looked my way! "Oops."

The woman in the business suit leapt to her feet and ducked into the bushes on the far side of the clearing.
The gimp, for that was all I can think of calling him, got to his feet as quickly as he could and slowly waddled off into the bushes after her.

"Well, we may as well see what was in that bucket," Deadfast mumbled, as he too got to his feet.
"Sorry I scared them off."
"It's ok, lad, I'll see Gerald at the golf club next week. I doubt his secretary will be showing her face for a while, though!"
"You knew them!?!"
"Oh, Walter," he said with a wink. "I know everyone."
With that, he walked into the clearing and peered into the bucket.

"Hmm, I wasn't expecting that!" he exclaimed, turning away. "Cancel the meal at Pierre's tonight... I've gone off French food."
"Oh, ok... why's that?" I said, looking into the bucket. "Oh..."

So, after Deadfast had let me wash the frogs clean, I let them go in a nearby pond, and we headed home.

I never did find that monkey...

Here we go again...

2005-08-03T23:38:00.000+01:00

After checking the finances (Deadfast has alot of income; there's the family seat, then he's got two cafe's in Paris, a villa in Spain that he rents out, a ranch in Nevada that I've let out to... well, it's a nice place to relax... and these are just the tax accountable places!), I went to see how he was.

He was clean, vaguley sober, and ready to head into town.
So, into the car we climbed, and off we went...

Wagon Wheels Keep On Turning

2005-07-30T09:29:00.000+01:00

Sunday Monday Happy Days
Tuesday Wednesday Happy Days
Thursday Friday Happy Days
Saturday
What A Day... because I woke up with Deadfast in bed next to me, covered in someone else's vomit, wearing a pair of banana-shaped slippers and nothing else.

As you may have seen from the sneaky comments he left on my previous post, his Deadfast-ship is back on the alcohol (or, as he was calling it yestrday afternoon, "al-kee-hole").
He put his brief stint of being tee-total down to being left alone in a cave in the dark... he claims he'd licked some form of rock algae he'd found down there, and had subsequently lost conciousness and claims that he only came-around in the library. He has no recolection of how he got there (he seems not to remember grabbing my arm in the cave, or our journey home from Scotland).
He came-to in the library, and paniced because he thought he'd regressed to childhood and was somehow back in school.
It was only when I went to investigate the library door opening that he realised that he even HAD a library in the house.
*sigh*
There's me thinking he'd had a life-changing experience.

Oh well.

Anyway, he went out last night.
I drove him to his Gentleman's Club in Central London, the one above the Natural History Museum, and left him to it. He said he'd call a taxi at the end of the evening, and asked me to go and buy a pot plant.
I think he meant some marijuana, but I went to the nearest late-night garden centre and bought him a very nice potted plant. I doubt he'll even notice, and will no doubt spend most of Sunday afternoon trying to smoke it.

As I mentioned, I awoke to find him in my bed, mumbling something about "dwarves; they're everywhere!" and hugging my pillow.
He was naked excpet for some novelty slippers, and upon closer inspection I saw he was covered in sick.

He's staggered into the kitchen moments ago and explained that he had helped an old homeless man find his way to a shelter last night, and that the guy had ben very drunk on Special Brew (cheap and nasty stuff, available in cans in supermarkets and off-licenses everywhere). It was, said Deadfast, the old man's vomit.
I don't believe him, or his story about how he had given the old man all of his clothes to keep warm, but I'll not bother pressing him for details.
I honestly get scared even writing the words "Gentleman's Club" so really don't want to know what goes on behind closed doors.

I'm not sure what the plans are for the week.
Deadfast only came into the kitchen on his way into the garden, where he fell asleep whilst sitting in the water feature, so I don't know when he will actually be coherent enough to make any decisions as to what we're doing.
I do know there was a letter waiting for him when we got back from bonnie Scotland.
I didn't get a chance to open it, though, because he swept it into the library with him (along with the local paper, a Su Doku book, and a battered fedora that I'm sure he stole from someone).
I'm sure, as usual, all will be revealed.

I plan to check-up on the staff, make sure the finances are ok for this month, and then I'm going to see "where the wind takes us".

Have a good weekend, people.
I'm sure I won't.

An old tale of ours...

2005-07-27T22:37:00.000+01:00

As an aside... http://sharkman.s5.com/LosChimpos/deadfaststory.html

Nessie is safe... for now!

2005-07-20T12:47:00.000+01:00

I'm writing this on my trusty laptop, sitting on my bed at home.

Deadfast has given-up with his bid to find, kill and eat the Loch Ness monster.
He said that, during his time in that under-water cave, something happened that made him realise that Nessie was "... a beautiful creature that deserves her space and privacy. Who are we, Walter lad, to infringe on the tranquility of the Loch?"

Yes. You read that correctly.
He used the word "tranquillity" without thinking, and therefore demanding, tranquilisers.
Which is a first.

I don't know what happened to him down there, but he's locked himself in the library and has asked me not to disturb him.
I'm concerned but, to be honest, at least I know he's in there and he's safe.
Which is a rare state for that old fool to be in, I can tell you!

So, I'm sitting here now with nothing else to tell.
Which is ok, I guess, but it's a bit dull for you to read!
Sorry!

I could tell you all about our past, how we met, where we've been, and so on... but most of that has been documented in various newspapers around the world (although our names aren't ever mentioned because I make sure we escape the scene of the cri... the scene before we get into any trouble!).

I'll tell you about me:
I was born in a hospital, close to my mother.
My early years were spent happily enough; frolicking in the fields of Kent, chasing butterflies and scraping my knees. Typical childhood pursuits.
It was when I went to grammar school that the trouble started, and it was there that I met Deadfast.

*shudder*

I've just heard the library door open, so I had better see if he wants some supper.
Take care, bloggers of the world... thank you all for sparing me a moment of your time; I do appreciate it.
I don't even know why I started this blog; originally it was a fore-runner of my memoirs but, as time has marched on, I quite enjoy hammering out a few words on here.
It's cathartic!

Anyway... the bank is open, so to speak, so I'd better see what he wants!

A lost adventurer is found

2005-07-15T12:30:00.000+01:00

Turns out he was in the cave... he was asleep in the corner, under a piece of old sacking, and I hadn't noticed him.
The only reason I went back was because I'd left a torch there... as I was about to ease back into the water, a dirty hand reached out and grabbed me by the unmentionables!

He was a little pale, but alive.

A good thing.
I think.

A missing drunkard

2005-07-14T15:26:00.000+01:00

I went back to the cave.

He wasn't there.

Shit.

We Don't Live In A Yellow Subrmarine... we just holiday in one.

2005-07-08T19:27:00.000+01:00

As I've made obvious from my previous post, the boat arrived (equipped with, amongst other things, a very large trawling net), and it had the small two-man submarine on tow.
It's a horrible "piss yellow/puke green" colour, and the controls are very difficlut to grasp.
Which is why I'll be doing all of the hard work, as per usual, whilst Deadfast sits in the back and drinks his Remy Martin (or whatever his beverage of choice is this week).

Now, as mentioned before, Deadfast and I have a history with submarines.
I won't explain it here (it took me a long time to get over the sheer terror I suffered at the hands of a small mexican Sailor named Jose)... suffice to say, it took a considerable increase in my pay to get in the damn thing.
But, in it I got, and off we set, into the dark cold waters of Loch Ness.

I'd been out yesterday, as you read, but that was only with a small handheld light... and it ended with me being hauled up in a fishing net.
The sub, however, has a huge lighting rig... it's something to be seen to be believed.
I don't even know how we got to use it, to be honest... I managed to remember someone in the U.S who didn't hate Deadfast and they put us in touch with a near-by research facility.
I don't think the words "eat" and "monster" were mentioned!

We spent a good four hours in the loch.
I admit it took me two hours to get used to the controls but, if I say it myself, I did rather well.

Deadfast sat in the back, having been in the Old SeaDog all afternoon (that's a pub; no need to call the R.S.P.C.A), and kept our moral high by singing a sea shanty.
For four hours.
Now, there's only so many times you can hear the rhyme "I've a whale of a tale, and a yard of ale..." before you snap.
It took me fourteen verses.

Deadfast is currently in an underwater cavern I found... I left him there, sitting with a bottle of something or other and a newspaper, whilst I went for a "scout around".
I actually took the sub straight to the surface, and had some lunch in a local hotel.
He's fine, I'm sure; it's a cavern with a high ceiling, plenty of air, and some comfortable rocks to sit on.
He's tougher than he looks.

I suppose I should go and get him....

Frogmen and fishing nets.

2005-07-07T15:33:00.000+01:00

I've been in the loch for most of the night, with a torch and a harppon gun.
I kid you not.

Deadfast, in his infinite wisdom, thought I should "...smell nice for Nessie!".
So, he sprayed me with blood that he picked-up from a local butcher.
*sigh*
I'm sure Nessie would be a vegetarian; the amount of fish in the loch wouldn't support a large mammal like the supposed beast so, like some whales, the "monster" would no doubt survive on algae and water-based plant life.
Not Walter-based!

Anyhoo, I was minding my own business swimming in the loch (it's quite peacful down there... very dark, mind you, but peaceful) when I felt something snag my leg.
I turned, and just saw a blur as I was yanked up towards the surface....

.... only to find myself suspended above the surface of the water, moments later, with my left leg caught in the net of a Deadfast's boat.
*sigh*

For a brief moment, I'll be honest here, I thought my time was up...

Loch Ness, vomit, and my left foot.

2005-07-06T14:27:00.000+01:00

I'm here in bonnie Scotland.
The sky is blue, a little overcast and cloudy, but it isn't as bad as I expected it to be...

I'll not bore you with details, but suffice to say we have a large motorhome all to ourselves, and we're parked-up by the loch.
It's quite nice and peaceful, actually.

Until next week, when the minature submarine that Deadfast asked for arrives.
Along with the boat, and research equipmen.
And chef.

Yes, chef.
Deadfast hasn't changed his mind, and we've been forced to ply local authorities with money and gifts so that we can explore the loch.
They don't know his plan to cook the damn beast...

A wet and wild adventure begins...

2005-07-01T19:30:00.000+01:00

Having brielfy informed me of his whereabouts over the last week or so (far too sordid for me to repeat; suffice to say, I had to go and vomit AND masturbate after he told me... though not at the same time), Deadfast has told me what his... our... next adventure is to be:

He wants to find and eat the Loch Ness monster.

Yes.
Find and EAT the Loch Ness monster.

Not "find and photograph, and make our fortune with the Loch Ness monster!"
Not "find and study the Loch Ness monster!"
Not "find, kill, and present to the Natural History Museum of London the Loch Ness monster!" (although, since he is banned from the Natural History Museum of London for falling asleep in the anal cavity of a diplodocus, I don't think they'd be happy if he killed such a remarkable beast!)

He wants to find and eat the Loch Ness monster.

Please insert a very large *sigh* somewhere around here.

Found him...

2005-06-25T14:16:00.000+01:00

Well, I found where Deadfast has been spending his time.

He's been schmoozing with a top celebrity (names cant' be revealed, I'm afraid) and has been swanning around to all the best clubs and launch parties with her.
The bastard.

He turned up late last night, smiling inanely and complaining of champagne-overdose.
The bastard.

Anyone seen an adventurer?

2005-06-07T19:35:00.000+01:00

Um... I've lost Deadfast.

That may sound odd, but it's accurate.
I don't know where he is.

After we got kicked-off the ocean liner at that port, I managed to get us onboard a cargo ship that was heading to Ramsgate, on the South Coast of England.
It wasn't very big, and we were required to do some manual work to pay our way (yes, as is his usual way of making things worse, Deadfast had lost all of our money in a game of "Slap Mother Brown" with the harbour master), but it would see us home in a day or so.
Or so I thought.

Come nightfall, however, and with Deadfast complaining that he smelt of fish, the crew seemd to take a dislike to us and tried to throw us overboard.
A scuffle broke out, and I managed to take control of the boat (there was only a crew of seven, so I wasn't a fair fight for them, really...).
I cast the crew away in a dinghy, and only then did I stop to think "Hang on; I haven't been asked to fetch a drink in at least twenty minutes!"

I turned the boat upside down, but to no avail.
I even turned it around and went back over the sea we'd just covered, but I couldn't see him floating about anywhere.
I called the coastguard but, oddly, they wouldn't come out to help. They did say something about Deadfast owing them money, however, which might explain it.
I thought about calling a friend in the Royal Navy, and then remembered the incident with the submarine (don't EVER ask about that - it took me three weeks of therapy before I could even get in a bath again).

So, with little else to do, I headed for home.

I'm sitting here now, wondering just what to do.
If anyone sees a drunk and confused-looking Englishman (possibly in a dressing gown) let me know!

-Walter

An Argument At Sea

2005-06-02T10:47:00.000+01:00

I'm not a happy bunny.

In the past five days or so of this ocean voyage, I've been:
Covered in spilt beer
Shouted at
Slapped
Punched
Kicked
Thrown into the swimming pool
Half-drowned by a football thug and his unruly children
Almost stabbed by a cocktail-umbrella wielding waiter
Actually stabbed by a coctail-stick wielding mother of three from Essex
Sent into spasms of pain as vinegar was poured on my wound (that one was Deadfast, as he offered me some of his fish and chips for tea)
and
Found "doing a Jack and Rose" at the front of the ship, naked, with a bottle of tequila in one hand and my "special purpose" in the other whilst singing Celine Dion songs to the Captain's daughter.

The Captain has politely informed Deadfast and I that our trip is effectively over, and we will be asked to leave when we next pull-in to port.
We are making an unscheduled stop sometime today, at the Captain's request, and then I've got to make arrangements for our transport home.
For his part, Deadfast (who started the whole argument that caused all of this) is asleep.

I wish I could tell you the port we'll be disembarking at but, due to the shouting and throwing of nautical equipment in my general direction, I kind of missed it.

Hey ho.
It's all an experience, I guess.

-Walter

An Unexpected Turn Of Events

2005-05-27T17:32:00.000+01:00

We met Mary on time, and we caught our plane home with no problems.

We arrived in London, sped to Lord Hellthwaites private club, he and daughter were tearfully reunited (well, we interupted an informal meeting and Lord Hellthwaites accountant was there ... he took one look at the money-grabbing Mary and promptly began to sob like a baby).

Lord Hellthwaite took Deadfast aside for a moment, and when he came back he had a big Cheshire-cat grin on his face, and was clutching what looked like a pair of tickets and, if I wasn't mistaken, a folded piece of paper. Had he recieved a letter?

"Walter, the bet is off..." he declared, putting an arm around me and steering me outside. "However, the week has been prosperous for us!"
"Would you care to elaborate?"

It turns out that Deadfast wouldn't be getting a holiday home in Hawaii after all.
He did, however, get two tickets for an around-the-world cruise.
I couldn't see why he was so happy about this, but he WAS happy and, oddly, he hadn't had a drink for at least two hours.

It didn't take us long to get home, get changed, grab clothing, and we were off ... all a bit hurried if you ask me, but a free holiday is a free holiday. One can't complain.
Well, Deadfast did a little, but only because he couldn't find his bucket and spade.

So, I'm typing this whilst sitting on the deck of the boat (ship, ocean liner, glorified dingy, whatever you wish to refer to it as), and I have a Strawberry Daquiri by my side, a straw hat on my head, a pair of bermuda shorts on, and a charming young man has just winked at me from across the pool.

There is, without any shadow of a doubt, something decidedly fishy going on here.
Oh well ... Deadfast is off somewhere trying to get us invited to the Captain's table for dinner, so I've some time to myself.
Now, where did that young man go?

-Walter

NYPD are wonderful people....

2005-05-26T18:11:00.000+01:00

Well now.
I've just got out of a jail cell, after spending three nights "chatting" with some lovely police officers from NY's finest.

My video shop friend, Big Al, let me spend some time in his store on Monday.
"That lady's always in here, sitting in one of the booths and frigging herself silly!" he told me; I didn't like to ask how he knew this... I've a vague recollection of him once offering to show me some "home movies" once. No doubt he had some elaborate video-camera set-up back there.
I made a mental note not to get myself into one of the booths, just in case.

After seven hours of serving (yes, he let me stay in his shop by making me work there) the "dirty mac" brigade, Mary wandered in.
She didn't recognise me, and flounced straight out to the back of the store, where Big Al keeps his booths. Al told me this was what she always did, and why didn't I head back there?

I called the hotel, but Deadfast didn't answer.... I'd made the mistake of letting him into the mini-bar, and now he was no doubt unconscious.
So, after a few minutes of thinking, I called Al over to mind the till, and I headed out back.

Big Al has four booths back there, and three of them were empty.
The one on the far right had its door shut, so I deduced that Mary was ensconced within.
I crept into the neighbouring booth, and quietly shut the door.... with no plan whatsoever.

I couldn't see a thing... there was no light in there.
I could barely make out a coin-slot on my left, so I fumbled for some change and put in a coin, expecting a light to come on.
Instead, a tv screen flickered on infront of me (behind a slightly-stained plastic window) and I was suddenly confronted with some very saucy material!
I averted my eyes, and saw a hole in the wall... a hole that would lead directly into Mary's booth!

As I looked, I saw a finger poke through, and make a beckoning "come hither" gesture.
I was looking at a gloryhole!
I'd been told about such things by Deadfast once or twice during a long winter night around the fire, but put that (and his tales of a "no-hands bar" in Thailand in which you would recieve oral sex by an unseen mouth whilst sitting at the bar) down to his active imagination.
This was real... ye gads!

I knew what was expected of me, but... I couldn't do such a thing!
However, here I was, in a booth next to Mary Hellthwaite, and she wanted my... special purpose.
This was unexpected!

What was I to do?

Well... I knew that I had to make some form of contact with her, and so... yes, dear reader, I did something that I regretted, and ... well ... after many minutes of self-doubt ... and I am blushing as I type ... I presented myself to her!

I undid my trousers (making sure the door was locked) and slipped my underwear down, and stepped forward... the blood was rushing, and so I poked through the hole just fine.

And that's when the lights in the booth came on, and a voice boomed out "You're under arrest, sir, please get yourself dressed and step out".

Oh, bother.

Turns out, I wasn't in a booth next to Mary at all.
That swine Big Al had seen Mary slip out the back a little while before, and had not said anything to me.
Instead, he had phoned the police and informed them that there was a sex pest in his store!
The blighter then sat back and watched as I headed back there and... well... you know the rest.

I was carted down to the station, and questioned as to what I was doing in New York, who I knew there, and so on.

Luckily, after a few days of there rather inept questioning, Deadfast had bailed me out (with, I hasten to add, my own money that he had pilfered from my bank account whislt I had been "missing in action"), and we headed back to the hotel.

"Walter," he said through the door of the bathroom as I slipped into the hot bath I'd just ran. "I know where Mary is."
"Oh," I stuttered, somewhat in shock. Surely he couldn't have done some actual work?
"I bumped into her in the bar downstairs, appologised for your behaviour on Saturday night..>"
"My behaviour?"
"Yes, of course," he said, oblivious to the real world. "I then invited her back here for a chat and, when she left in the morning, she agreed to come home with us."
"Has she ran out of money?"
"Yes."
"You two got along, didn't you..." I muttered, sinking under the bubbles.

In a few hours, we are going to be sitting on a plane, headed back to London.
We've spoke to Mary over the phone (well, Deadfast made some strange cooing noises when he had the mouthpiece, whilst it was left to me to arrange things) and she is due to meet us in the lobby in twenty minutes.

I must go and wake Deadfast now... I'll inform you of the reunion with Lord Hellthwaite and his daughter when we get back to the UK.

I'd kill for a chip buttie right now...

-Walter

Lost girl found, and then lost again.

2005-05-22T10:38:00.000+01:00

Mary, it turns out, didn't want to be found.

"Fuck off, you weirdo!" were, if memory serves, her exact words when I approached her in a bar. "I'm a lesbian."

I'd tracked her down to Greenwich Village on Saturday night, and Deadfast and I spent alot of dollars and most of our energy trawling bars until I recognised her.
Deadfast, of course, wouldn't recognise himself in a mirror unless prompted, so these things are always left to me.
I pointed her out, and he sent me over;
"Walter, lad, we don't want to spook her. She'll recognise me,of course... so you go. I'll just sit here and have a drink. Could I borrow some money?"

I had got within five feet of her, and was about to ask if I knew her (well, I wasn't stupid enough to actually tell her why we were there), when she'd spun around, made eye contact, and growled her above response. Then, with a flourish, she'd grabbed the nearest young lady to herself and proceeded to give her a long and lengthy kiss.

I was enjoying the moment, actually, but it was ruined by the crashign of a table behind me and Deadfast approaching at speed, and with a big dopey grin on his face.

"Ladies," he annoucned, but I managed to wheel him away before Mary decided to kick either of us in the unmentionables. "Don't go anywhere!" he yelled over his shoulder at them.

"I think it's best if we..."
"Oh, tish and pish, Walter... I know what to do!"
"Have a drink?"
"Exactly."
And, with that, he wandered off to the bar.

I figured it would be best if we followed her as she left, and approached her in a less-public place.

So, for the next two hours, we sat about and drank (water for me, with a slice of lemon, and alochol for Deadfast... he isn't fussy which type).
I was keeping a close eye on Mary and her friends (most of whom, as far as I could work out, were friendly with one another, if you know what I mean... they exchanged saliva an awful lot, and I'm sure that kind of thing isn't sanitary), but, as is his way, Deadfast got bored of not having my attention and so declared he was going to dance.
He then proceeded to try to start a conga-line.
This didn't work, of course, but provided enough of a distraction for me to lose sight of the young Miss Hellthwaite for a moment and, when I looked back, she and her entourage were nowhere to be seen.

The evening ended with me running out of there with Deadfast over my shoulder, and an irrate bar patron and his friends giving chase after his wife had been the unwilling victim of Deadfast and his rising libido.

He is still asleep, now, and I'm trying to figure out what to do next.

I've a friend who works in a video store down the road who says Mary is a frequent customer.
I'm thinking of sitting in one of the booths there all day on the off-chance that she comes in.

It's going to be a long, hard day...

-Walter

A Bet Is Made

2005-05-19T21:57:00.000+01:00

"Walter, pack your things, we are going to the Americas!"

This was the phrase that Deadfast greeted me with yesterday morning as he stumbled into the kitchen.
I handed him his dressing gown (even though we were an "open" house, I didn't want the maid seeing him in all his morning glory...) and a bowl of cereal, and sat him down at the table.

"Why is this?"

"A-ha, lad!" he exclaimed, toppling backwards off of his chair and flinging cornflakes everywhere. "Lord Hellthwaite has set us a challenge!"

"A challenge?"

"Yes, in the shape of a bet!"

"Wonderful." The last bet that these two had made had ended with Hellthwaite riding upon one of the stone lions at Trafalgar Square, naked except for a bowler hat. "I'll get the bribe money out now, shall I?"

"Oh no," he grinned, plonking himself on a chair. "This is a good one... we're on a search to find his daughter!"

"Oh, no!"

"Oh yes!"

"Oh, great."
Lord Hellthwaite was a man born into money, but he had doubled his family fortunes with a shrewd property deal in the early 60s. His daughter, Mary, was born at the end of the 70s (for a while, Lord and Lady Hellthwaite had dabbled with punk fashion... a disaster that ended up with safety-pin sin their condom drawer. Don't ask!), and had, for want of a better word, wasted her life.
She was, I guess, what you'd call an "IT" girl... you know the type; always attending parties, getting drunk and doing very little else except spending the family fortune.
Well, I'd heard recently that she'd hooked-up with some musician wannabe, and this hadn't gone down too well with her father.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing, woman?!" was, I think, the phrase he most used when the two conversed.
Anyway, after one-too-many arguments, young Mary had stuck two-fingers up at her father and the establishment, and had fled the family home.
This was, of course, an embarrassment to the Hellthwaite name, and so... we were roped in to find her thanks to Deadfast and a bottle of Tequilla.

"Get your things, lad, we've work to do!" he yelled, and leapt out of his seat and ran off to his room. I heard him shout over his shoulder; "Get on the phone and find her for me!"

So, I spent the most part of yesterday making frantic phonecalls to the few contacts I have.
It turns out, according to the editor of a top-shelf magazine, that she was seen boarding a plane to New York.
A few minutes later, I had booked us a flight and a hotel.

That's why I'm sitting here in NYC typing this in my hotel room.
Deadfast, for his part, is downstairs in the hotel bar, playing the piano and trying to get some rich socialite to buy him a drink. I don't think it's working; I've recieved two text messages already, both of which said "Walter, it's your round".
For the record, I've never seen him buy a drink, and I've known him for ten years.

I'm off downstairs now; I've arranged a meeting with a friend of Mary. Hopefully, he'll push us in the right direction.
I'll fill you all in later on.

-Walter

PS.
"How is this a bet?" you ask?
Well, it turns out that Deadfast somehow managed to persuade Lord Hellthwaite to buy him holiday home in Hawaii if we find his daughter.
The Lord has more property than he knows what to do with, so I don't think he'll miss one.
And, for his part, if he loses, Deadfast must walk naked down New Oxford Street in nothing but a bow tie.
I think it's a private school thing.
I find it best not to ask.

Adieu.

Unexpected Events...

2005-05-18T22:25:00.000+01:00

Well, that was a surprise.

As I mentioned earlier, Deadfast was indeed coming up the drive way.
I wish he wouldn't do that... it's hell on the paving out there. The amount of scrubbing I've had to do of late is UNBELIEVABLE.

Anyway.
I digress.

When he got into the mansion, I met him in the hallway and he had a grin on his face.

"Walter," he slurred. "I've made a bet."

This, trust me, was not going to lead to good things.
The last bet he made involved a male dance troupe from Berlin, an ostrich, and a small frozen turkey.
It wasn't pretty, and I didn't sit down for a week...

"I've made a bet."
"What kind of bet?" I asked, guiding him to his favourite chair.
"One that I am sure we can win!" he laughed gleefully, wriggling out of my grasp and doing a little jig on the carpet. "Whoo-hoo!"
"Ok, is there any chance you can describe this bet in a little more detail?"
"No."
"Oh."

He then collapsed, and is still asleep there on the floor.

I should, really carry him up to his bedroom and put him into his bedtime clothes.
To be honest, though, I can smell his faeces from here and the maid is in at 7am.
I'll leave it to her to find him.

I wonder what this bet could be?
I've only just settled back into being in England.
I was hoping to catch the football this weekend. Oh well.

-Walter

So, where am I today?

2005-05-18T14:47:00.000+01:00

Today, I'm writing to you from a small room in Deadfast's family mansion somewhere in the north of London.

I can't reveal the exact location... last time I gave someone our address, she passed it on to one of our many enemies and... well, let's just say it didn't go well for the rose bushes.
It wasn't my fault... she had been allowing me to buy her drinks all night, and she seemed willing enough to come home with me for the night (purely for conversation, you understand).

I went to the cloakroom before leaving, and when I returned she was nowhere to be seen.
Another mystery in my life.
Oh well.

Deadfast wasn't pleased... it was our first night home to the U.K in three months, and he had expected me to polish his shoes.
I had slipped out in the morning to fetch some boot polish, and had somehow (ahem) wandered into a bar.
These things happen.

Anyhoo... here I am typing to you, and just as I'm about to tell you about our LAST adventure, I can hear Deadfast marching up the driveway, so I have to go!

Be back soon, I hope!

-Walter

Welcome To My Online Diary

2005-05-18T14:38:00.000+01:00

Hello, world.

My name is Walter, and for the past few years I've been the "mate" of a somewhat mad adventurer whom, for legal reasons, I shall refer to as Deadfast.

He plucked me out of an orphanage in London, and whisked me away on a wild thrill-ride of adventure, feats of derring-do, and moments of sheer terror.

I hope I can tell you about some of them in this "blog"; although I am still in his service, so I may not be able to post daily or even weekly, depending on where in the world we are at any given time.

So, as this is the very first post here, I'll say a little about myself.

I'm British, and have never known my parents.
I'm male, caucasian, six foot tall, with brown hair and brown eyes, and have what you'd call an "average" build, in that I'm not fat and I'm not skinny.
Infact, I'm just right (as Goldilocks would say!).

This blog will be filled with many things that may seem false, but I promise you that they are all true.

I'll reveal more in time with each post... so keep reading!

Yours,
Walter