CONTENTS

EDITORIAL Ken Clay

INFANTILISED – Jim Burns

THE SIXTIES SURVIVED Alexis Lykiard

POEMS – Alexis Lykiard

GETTING PUBLISHED –Aubrey Malone

DU COTE DE CHEZ EDDY

BLACK DAY AT EDDY’S

SHITEHAWKS

BENJAMIN IN MANCHESTER

CONFESSIONS OF AN OMLETTE ON A BAP EATER

FISH

STALIN FOR BEGINNERS

PUNTERS

DOSTOIEVSKY IN SOUTHPORT

PARKINSON’S OF SOUTHPORT

THE BOOKBARN

HENRY BOHN BOOKS

BLACK MOONSHINE Keith Howden

IN THE BAR Tom Kelly

NEW OIKUS Bob Wild

EDUCATION (3) Ken Champion

ON READING HEALTH & EFICIENCY Ken Champion

MISTRESS STOCKDALE –Richard Belfield

GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER – Arthur Wild

GUINEVERE (3) Andrew Hart

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BLACK DAY AT EDDY'S

Two black girls turned up at Eddy’s accompanied by a white Nordic red-haired Amazon who actually looked half-interested in the stock. One of the black girls wore tight white pants which had a zip on the thigh at the front. I thought this odd. The thigh is an erogenous zone I suppose but these two weren’t Beyoncé and Naomi Campbell and anyway even if you were hung like a black you could hardly begin an insertion from such a location. I wondered whether to enquire about this when the one with the zip picked up a volume of glamour shots and protested that this wasn’t what she wanted at all – she wanted MEN. Whereupon Eddy backed into his cubicle (the office) and reached up on his own top shelf to produce a volume of photos by some Jap pornographer named Araki. This was more up their street and they larfed immoderately. On the shelf alongside Araki was a big hardback of Tom of Finland. A big hardback of big hards-ons one might say since this famous depiction of gay lust is another prized item Eddy is not inclined to stick on the tables. They would be quickly stolen. Eddy says he has private clients who queue up for this stuff – although I can vouch for the fact that both these volumes have been there for at least six months. The Amazon is excited by a copy of Jane Eyre but the two black girls are keen to carry on to Afleck’s Palace and drag her away.

Later two black blokes arrive. They are big beefy geezers and enquire about books on mechanics. Perhaps they’re having trouble with the microchip in the engine management system of their seven series BMW. Eddy quickly pisses them off. They’d be time wasting thickos who wouldn’t know 15mm ring spanner from a donkey’s dick. The three of us are all engineers of some description. Eddy seems to know a lot about plumbing and Sean (the distinguished author of Junkyard Dog) was a machinist at AEI in Trafford Park. It reminded me of Brian Philips – one our suppliers from Shoreham on Sea when I worked for ICI. He was mad on boats, finished up on a yacht on the Florida Keys and spent time in the Navy. Brian had a degree in Engineering from no less than Trinity College Cambridge. One day he was talking to some Vice Admiral who expressed a fleeting interest in Brian’s subject “I should know more about engineering” said the old seadog “Is there a good book on it?” How we larfed. And a similar dismissive attitude prevailed amongst us, Eddy, Sean (the distinguished author of Junkyard Dog) and myself at the thought that some uppity punter could think a quick flip through a book from Eddy’s could solve his engineering problems. It takes at least 10,000 hours to get good at using a file.

I am about to shoot off when Eddy accosts both Sean (the distinguished author of Junkyard Dog) and me concerning an errand. One of us is asked to schlep down Market Street to Anne Summers and buy a vibrating dildo size AO priced £45. Sean (the distinguished author of Junkyard Dog) blenches visibly. I ask why Eddy can’t go himself since he often nips over to the Arndale for a snack – currently his favourite is Chili Con Carne. “What?” he replies “and leave you two in charge?” It seems Sean (the distinguished author of Junkyard Dog) is not up for it and I’m doubtful. I might do it for a dare. Eddy peels off five tenners and repeats the specification. “Do I keep the change?” I ask. I don’t. No, I’m not going to do it either. But on my way back I pass Anne Summers, half way down just past the Market Street entrance to the Arndale and look in. The window doesn’t have any dildoes on display – it’s just full of frilly knickers and bras. Inside there are two languid young girls looking bored. I’d have to say “of course it isn’t for me” and they’d think “that old line – dirty old git”

Next week I ask Eddy if he got his dildo. He did. He shlepped down to Anne Summers after he shut the unit. The dildoes were in a basement emporium. I could think of a few questions “How big is the OA?” “Does it go in and out as well as wiggle about?” “What colour is it?” Eddy told the assistant it wasn’t for him and when the assistant asked if he wanted batteries and lubricant he fished out his mobile and rang his mate, the ultimate recipient, who is having an affair with some randy old slut – the dildo is her idea. Yes he wanted batteries and lubricant. I guess the assistant thought – yis, that old line “It’s not for me – and then he pretends to ring his mate”.

You might think that Sean (the distinguished author of Junkyard Dog) and I were both suspicious of this subterfuge but we know Eddy well enough to know it’s not for him. Eddy’s three passions are fishing, cheroots and wine. Women are not even on the first page. Only last week he raved about a Vosne Romanee 2002 as the best Burgundy he’d ever tasted. I realised it was one I’d given him a few years ago. But do I get special consideration for this? No I don’t – I’m even asked to go and pick up dildoes.

 

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