Call of the Crazy Wolf Man

As myself, Layla and James (Hingley of website and Precious Little fame) got to the Victoria Line platform at Warren Street tube last night, we witnessed an extraordinary man. Slightly scruffy looking, with beard and indie style clothing, was a smallish man, swaying and howling and grunting in what appeared to be some sort of wolfish tongue. Presuming he was just drunk, and us being drunk on curry and therefore unable to have any kind of willpower, we laughed a lot. They would range from long prairie type wails to short bursts of feral shouts. Every now and then these would be interspersed with swear words and other small amounts of actual English. There was of course a chance that he had some sort of illness or problem, but instead I preferred to think that he was the ambassador of a new language. This was discussed briefly, along with the possibilities that he only spoke in Wookie, or that in a minute he would be surrounded by dogs and then once they’d arrived he’d speak in perfect English. We finally came upon the decision that he was proper nuts and we moved a good distance down the platform before laughing at him all over again. I can’t help but wonder, while it was hilarious, that perhaps he spent time living with wolves or huskies in the wild and had been chosen to bridge the gap between them and us by entering London and speaking wolvish. By merely pointing and mocking we could have been disregarding the most important moment between man and beast that has ever been. Tomorrow, as a mark of anger at turning our nose up at the message of peace they brought, wolves could suddenly storm London with fire in their eyes, aiming to eat all human children till we learn to respect them. And then as they try, they’d all get killed by bendy buses as they wouldn’t understand them. Again, like I say, its more likely he just had brain troubles. Shame really.

Not enough people do things like the wolf man. I would like to hear people speaking in gobbledigook more often. My grandad, Edmund Douieb, would always tell me that he could speak 6 languages: English, Italian, German, French, Spanish and Gibberish. He’d then proceed to speak a bit of each language before just going completely nuts for the last one which would make me laugh endlessly. Sadly this would then be followed up by tales of him killing his commander in cold blood whilst with the Foreign Legion in the desert to which I would just look scared. This would then be diffused by taking his false teeth out and singing a song called ‘Le Marrionette’ with them. Again I would laugh and then he would tell me about jumping out of planes over Dunkirk and getting shot in the leg whilst his friends died. I don’t think he ever really sussed out how to talk to children.

No more working on We Need Answers for me now, which is a shame. Last night was much fun and another good show. The audience were all really lovely, except, oddly for the front row, which was full of dicks. This included a man who wore trousers that were on one side, shorts and on the other trousers, so one of his legs was always cold. Idiot. Worse was his friend who heckled Mark as he entered the stage. You don’t heckle at a TV recording. What an utter fool. Still everyone was great and one man told us about how his hatred for broccoli led to his friends making him an action figure out of said vegetable. His friends sound amazing. More people should conquer hatred with action figures made of the hated subject matter. Although I hate spiders and I can’t help but feel I’d be pretty disgusted with the creation that would come from that. And no, I doubt it would just look like Spiderman.

At the Belgrade Theatre in Coventry tonight with the rather brilliant line-up of Phil Nichol, Nick Doody and Mitch Benn. If it goes well enough I might even do MCing in my wolf speak and see if it can raise as many laughs as yesterday. Although perhaps I shouldn’t risk it incase I do it too well and the audience get eaten by wolves.

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