The Brecht Street Conundrum

The Cotswold town of Upper Middleton is facing the biggest crisis in its history. Residents are divided by an issue that threatens to tear the town apart. Literally.

But can the Brecht Street conundrum ever be solved?

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Written and performed by me.
Music by Tony Hatch and Kevin McLeod

I wrote this back in January, wanting to put together something that I could make entirely by myself, dodgy acting and accents and all. I finally got around to doing so in the past couple of weeks.

The point was to see if I could manage it, with a view to making some more scripted things in the future. We’ll see.

Neil Pye Wins A Brit Award

This clip is mislabelled as The Young Ones winning a Brit, so I was expecting it to be for Living Doll, but Nigel Planer accepts the award in character. Nice to see Alexei Sayle got a nod that year too. Warning, this video contains traces of Noel Edmonds.

Here’s what he won it for, performing live on Top Of The Pop in 1984.

Anyone know why he calls out Paul Weller?

And here’s Alexei’s …

What’s The Opposite Of Burping?

This week on setisoppO, the podcast where we work out the opposite of things that don’t have a natural opposite, we discuss what might be the opposite of burping. Along the way, we also tackle potato salad, and Eggs Benedict.

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At one point, we mention this, and somehow we manage to stop from breaking out in song.

And Then Came The Flies

He batted away yet another fly.

Seconds later, it circled and landed on his coffee cup once more. Fred sighed. He watched the creature crawl around the rim for a few moments, then flicked at it.

That was the moment Fred died.

He just didn’t know it yet.

The summer had been long and hot, and everything was wilting. Even the solid stuff like wood, and stone seemed like it was going to melt under the blazing hot glare of the sun. We all lost energy, found it hard to focus, and just sat there slowly pooling into liquid. It was a metaphor then. Not any more though.

What Fred didn’t know was the flies, the endless flies, buzzing and flying and crawling and annoying, weren’t the flies of old. These weren’t the same ones he used to watch crawling around cowpats when he was a kid.

They weren’t even technically flies.

As irksome as flies, for sure.

But not flies.

We had always looked to the skies in search of huge landing craft, or massive hovering staging craft on the horizon. They didn’t come with ships and beams that blasted monuments to smithereens.

They came in tiny ship, disguised as flies.

They watched us for months. Learning about us. Probing our weaknesses.

And it turned out, our weakness was the bloody flies.

Just as the weather finally began to cool, and we thought the little buzzing menaces would start to disappear, they came in their millions. Not enough to be a plague or a swarm, but enough to kill us all.

They poisoned our drinks.

They poisoned our food.

And quickly, we began to drop. Those of us who didn’t die straight away, we lost even more energy. All we could do was sit and watch as the people around us, our loved ones, melted into pools of putrefied liquid.

Ironically, all of the corpses bought out even more of the real flies.

As the mechanical ones buzzed around, the biological ones fed on our death. They grew bigger and stronger, and self aware.

It was the real flies that fought off the invaders.

There were no humans left to do it.