Angry rants of altered suburbia (conclusion)

Part 3: When the world hands you lemons, check that they’re fairtrade…

Read part 1 here.

Read part 2 here.

So after surviving the attack of a particularly mental member of an endangered species of wasps and causing unquantifiable damages to the façade of the Student Union, I embarked on a mad trip to the North, which sadly ended up with me being stranded in a blizzard in Leicester.

Which ain’t that bad because: a) it’s not Liverpool (liiiiiiiiiike) and b) the train station in Leicester has the best bacon butties I’ve had in my life (too bad I was skint…and demoralised).

Anyways, I was in my usual activities (perusing poetry by Walpole, eavesdropping on random strangers, chewing bacon butties with mange-touts) when I noticed a fleet of Zeppelins in the air. I guess they had no problems floating around with the cold weather and all.

Now, you’d probably expect me to say that these flying fortresses of death (aka Death From Above, Led Zep style) started attacking or affecting the flight of European non-laden swallows, but no, that was the strange thing: the zeppelins were just chillin’ out (see what I did there?).

After finishing my non-vegetarian, transfat filled to the brim meal, I proceeded to do what I do best: busking!

Aye, I have to sing (badly and poorly) in public to pay for the refurbishment of the Sheffield University Union. Do you really think they were going to let me go off the hook that easily? Nay, they are worse than that infamous characterfrom the Bard’s third best play!

So there I was, singing a delicious potpourri of relevant music (including but not restricted to I am Kloot, Failure and American Music Club) when out of nowhere came Guy Garvey, sporting a crew cut, a pair of binoculars and a bottle of Redbreast.
-Alright, matey?

I was starstruck, obviously, as here before me stood the man who gave us ’Powder blue’ (aka as the sound of a relationship disintegrating), ‘Mexican standoff’, ‘An audience with the pope’ and ‘Grace under pressure’ (a.k.a. the song that Chris Martin admitted he ripped off when making ‘Fix you’).

Fearing that I would fold like a house of cards like that time I met Natasha Khan and she nearly reached for the pepper spray, I mustered enough strength to talk with my second favourite Mancunian.
-Yes, Mr. Garvey, and might I say, it´s an honour to meet you?
-Aye, aye, cheers lad. Have you seen Jimi?
-Who?
-Jimi Goodwin. The big Dove. We were supposed to meet sum hot ornithologists but they turned out to be vegans and I can´t stand ‘em. Jimi went for a tinkle but I got distracted.
-Oh, watch out, mate, that’s grounds for divorce.

He smirked at my horrible pun/name drop. His mobile broke the uncomfortable silence and after a very speedy clickety clack, he smiled.
-He hooked up with that Tunstall girl. Figures. Anyway, I´m gonna bob off, we leased a cottage nearby and we’ve got loads of food to cook. I better drown my sorrows in food.
-Well, I k now how to cook a killer fajita, Mr. Garvey.
-With limes?
-As many as you want.
-Great, let´s go get my Landrover.
-Cool, I´ll be asleep in the back.
-Stop it!
-Sorry.

Funny thing, though, the music in the car was mostly relaxing, no big rocking numbers, no swanky break/calm chorus/break stuff, just soothing, almost siren like music. Hey, it’s Bat for Lashes, this Garvey fella has exquisite taste. I wonder if  He also met her and ended up like a blubbering fool like me?

We arrived to the remote cottage near Leicester. I noticed the food on the table. Everything was fair-trade. Even the knives! I saw that my host was doing the same motions of Jamie Oliver. Not imitating, but flat out COPYING his cooking style.

Something’s wrong.
-I really do enjoy chopping veg, don’t you? The clickety clack of the knife hitting the chopping board.
-Yes, Mr. Garvey, sounds…sounds a bit familiar, actually.
-It sure does. Tell me, what do you do for a living?
-Well, I’m doing a PhD in environmental science and during the nights I write.
-What about?
-A bit of creative writing from time to time, but mostly reviews for this website created by a pal of mine…
-Busy man. Pass me the rutabaga.

As I handed him that cold, playful brassica napobrassica, I noticed he changed the rhythm of chopping, it sounded so familiar, like a crescendo piano…
-So, what do you review, fella?
-I get some stuff sent by the editors, sometimes I just go for something that might sound right. I’m usually lucky.
-So, mostly positive reviews?
-From time to time there’s a bit of negativity. Can’t be nice all the time.
-Sure, doesn’t work like that. Anything in particular that you dislike?
-Well, for starters, The Beatles.
-Oh?
-Long story short: oversaturation. Repetition-saturation point killed them for me. People always gushed about them that I think my body just reacts badly.
-Other musicians getting your hate?
-Rolling Stones, I guess, same reason. Although I enjoy “Gimme Shelter”. I don’t generally like pop or rap, but there’s a few that get my attention.
-No mainstream?
-Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. I do like a lot of mainstream stuff. But I want to have more options too.
-I see.

Mr. Garvey started to finger drum with his other hand while still chopping veg in a way too familiar rhythm.
-So, any particular RECENT bands you don’t enjoy, Mr. Valdes?
-Well, Coldplay sort of gets on my nerves and, Mr. Garvey, no offence, but it seems you are doing a knife-and-fingerdrumming version of ‘Clocks’.
-I know, you fat cockholster, IT IS I, YOUR ARCHENEMY!

ZOUNDS, it was my mortal enemy, Chris Martin! A swift pull of his official Guy Garvey mask and lo and behold, I was looking at him and his evil thousand yard stare, wondering what would become of me and more importantly: where can I get a Guy Garvey mask?
Chicks dig Guy Garvey.
-Look, Parachutes has some good ones…
-Too late, you sorry excuse for a reviewer! I’ve had it with that “plagiarising” nonsense and I had it with your puns, your fakey positiveness and above all, I’ve had it with your shit site. DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!

If this was Doctor Who, it would be time for the sting to come around.
Then again, I would be the hapless extra that gets killed at the beginning of the show.

Fat guys never survive in cult TV.

Chris Martin swung the knife and I managed to do a panda roll and get away from him. Unfortunately, years of shit food and no exercise (besides moving me arse from the sofa to the freezer) got me a sprained leg and a few discs in me spine going all DJ hero on me.
Is this the end?
-Stay still, you ruddy frizzy haired idiot! I’ll “fix you” a world of pain so baaaaaaaaaaaaad you’ll wish you never caused me “trouble”!
Man, this pun thingy is contagious!
-Aw, c’mon, man! It was all in good fun! You’re pals with Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright! You’re okay, I guess!
-Didn’t you once said that “listening to ‘Viva la vida’ was like getting a combination root canal/colonostomy performed by Michael J. Fox and guided by Stevie Wonder”?
-Alcohol might’ve been involved…
-Too late, my transfatted, meat-eating fiend of a shit writer. Tomorrow, I’ll offer your head to My Revered Dominatrix, Gwyneth!
-Is it true she was snogging Robert Downey Jr. on the side?
-Lies! ALL LIES!
-Well, it’s the RD, can’t go wrong with him…
-Yeah, I mean, he’s nice looking and all…boy, that mustache, that suave demeanour…waitaminnit! Start praying, you roadkill muncher!

All hope seemed gone when suddenly, an white-claden Angel of Hope crashed through the window
-You better get ready to die!
It was…Andrew W.K.?
-What are you bloody American doing here?
-One of my fans is in danger! I MUST SAVE HIM! HE MUST PARTY ON!
I was flabbergasted. MOTHERCOUGHING ANDREW W.K. was in the hizzzeee!
-Mr. W.K, did you come for the sound? – I asked
-Or did you come from miles around? – asked Chris Martin.
-Well, He’s here now – I replied, looking shiftily at a copy of “Fair Use” Mr. Martin was using as kitchen towels.
-You see, Sam, I take care of all my fans, I really do. And I came for you.
-My hero!
-Waitaminnit, you yank! I’m going to merc this wanker and then I’ll do to you what we should’ve done to you ex-colonies a long time ago!
-Bore us to death with another M.O.R. Album? NO! And I know your weakness.

It was then that Andrew W.K. threw some corn nuts and cheetos in my direction. Such was his ability that he created a series of concentric circles, protecting me from the Evil Limey.
-Oh, no! It’s junk food! From PepsiCo! Heavens no!
Since our mortal, radio-friendly enemy was distracted, Andrew W.K. delivered a drop kick, smashing Chris Martin against the wall and leaving him like the latest Marilyn Manson video: plain, awful and bloody.

Maybe not in that order.

-Slam Chris against the brick wall! Slam Chris against the brick wall! – chanted Andrew while helping me stand up.
-Thanks, Mr. W.K. I thought I was done for.
-Nevermind, son, it’s all in the name of FUN and PARTY. I think there’s a lesson to learn, don’t you, my friend? Time to do a PSA.
-Of course. I shall never follow a Mancunian home, even if it has a voice as beautiful as Guy Garvey’s.
-Yes, and also, being Fair Trade doesn’t mean you aren’t a knife-wielding psycho killer…

-fa fa fa faaaa…

-Stop it, Sam.

-Sorry.

-Now, please, help eat all these nachos, cheetos and corn nuts.
-Will do, sir. By the way, has anyone told you that “Close calls with brick walls” sounds like a Jim Steinman musical?
-All the time, boy, all the time.

As we walked towards the sunset without a care in the world, we tried a few dance moves. Little did we know that back in the cottage, “Chris Martin” was removing another mask, revealing his true face…

—Sam

References, legal stuff, etc:

-This writing contains variations of lyrics from these songs: “I Came for you” (by Andrew W.K.), “Slam John against a brick wall” (by Andrew W.K.), “Bandits” (by Reverend and the Makers), “Asleep in the back” (by Elbow), “Grounds for divorce” (by Elbow) and “Fix you” (by Coldplay). All meant for the lolz, no copyright infringement intended, although a serious offence to comedy has been done in these three stupid stories.

-Although I’m all up for Fair Trade shiz, there’s some self-righteous pricks out there too…

-I am Kloot is a seriously underrated band.

-True story: I once saw Chris Martin near Greenwich observatory. I nodded and he nodded back.

-Another true story: I once met Natasha Khan…but that’s another story…

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