Outside the Green Door #5

Twomowers is 100% bum
Outside the Green Door

Rumble in the kitchen
Yuletide saw me get a new bessy mate called George Foreman. The former heavyweight champ turned up on Xmas day in the form of a lean, mean, fat reducing grilling machine. The kids splashed out on it for me pressy. Before anyone says owt, I’d like to point out that – yes I already know they’d had their prices slashed in the run up to Christmas cos on my way into Flixton’s ground some smart fooker asked me what I’d got then tried to ruin Christmas by telling me that the pressy was a half-priced bargain. Anyway it’s the thought what counts and to be fair the lad made amends later by giving tips on the cleaning of the grill. I started using it right away. Could have done with a bigger one but it did say family size on the box, fookin one-parent family size more like, anyways I threw a load of bacon on, a few tomatoes and George started to spar with it. Someone asked for sausage – no prob, it was butty central. Next morning before the match it were butty junction. I declined a post-match drink in favour of George next thing you know I was in chicken-kebabsville. After a few messy experiments with eggs and an accident with some burgers where the fat catcher was left off allowing animal fat to piss out all over the place I could tell the missus was getting sick of Georgie but I was determined to give him the most comprehensive leathering of his entire career. It was time to try what I was asked at Flixton – does it do pies? Trouble is with a lot of these type of grills is that if you put larger pieces of food on them and they just stay wedged open with the hinge side of the lid resting on one edge of the food. But not with Judd – he’s got an articulated hinge – a piece of mechanical engineering up there with Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s bridge in Bristol (near Joyce’s house) – this skillage means the top grill plate lies evenly on the food, but as with all feats of engineering it’s got it’s limitations and it was unfair to ask George Kingdom Foreman to do a Holland’s meat and potato pie – so Cornish pasty it had to be. Now although the pasty in its frozen state would be able to sustain the weight of the lid it was envisaged that once it started to thaw it would be crushed under said weight and ooze its interior into George’s interior. So it was decided that the lid should be supported with pieces of raw carrot the same thickness as the pasty. Carrot was the choice of support as it was thought that it would not only do a decent job but also it was in keeping with the ingredients of the south western treat. Estimating the time was gonna be a problem as the instructions had no guide on pastry stuff so I decided to leave it on for 97 mins and 42 secs which gave me the exact amount of time required to watch me Wizard of Oz dvd. You know how you feel cheated when the Wizard of Oz turns out to be a weakling? It was nothing in comparison to the scene back in the kitchen – the pasty and carrot supports were in the bin and George had been switched off and the missus told me to fookin grow up and slapped a ban on my messy affair with George. Little did she know I saw George behind her back the next day at gigg lane. FC United had signed him as their new centre forward.

Formby vs. Twomowers feat. pisscan
Talking of George and FC. One of the new club’s top mainheads invited me to dj at the recent game against Winsford. I think they were trying to pacify me after I blew the lid on the whole sham. I kindly accepted the offer and brought along me choonage including me George Formby L.P.s. Imagine my horror when instead of a proper studio with a proper dj console I was faced with a titchy kids bedroom mini system with no decks, that wouldn’t even get accepted at an Age Concern charidee shop (probably all part of a ‘we’re so humble’ charade). My vinyls were rendered useless. How can one create with such poor equipment? Worse still there was nowhere to plug the grilling machine in and our kid, who I’d brought along to the gig due to his previous work on All FM and gigs with me on East Mcr. FM, just fookin abandoned me and went to drink brandy in the exec. lounge with blokes in suits and sheepskin coats which meant I’d be driving his pappadom delivery vehicle back home. Fortunately thanks to pure skillification I delivered a choonerama that clearly put Tom Tyrell and his 2-4-6-8 Motorway shenanigans clearly in the shade. To top the lot our kid returned just in time for us to put out a Formby mash-up - almost impossible considering the spec of the dj kit. Banjotastic. It’s a pity they didn’t know what they were listening to.

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