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Mick Talbot's Story
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From an early age the young Mick Talbot had a habit of developing obsessions which stayed with him for life. After receiving a postcard from a distant relative who had emigrated to the wilds of Canada, he became fixated with the idea of becoming a lumberjack when he grew up.
By the time he reached adulthood his obsessions were numerous. Every room in his house was piled high with his collections. These included a room devoted to high heeled shoes (his obsession was with red soled Loboutins but he made do with shoes from Primark and laboriously coloured in the soles with a felt tip pen), he owned every issue ever published of Bunty, and had a cupboard filled to capacity with toupees as he was particularly sensitive about his baldness. He completed an on-line correspondence course and qualified with the Balls Falls, Ontario, School of Lumberjacking and Owl Husbandry. He dressed the part, complete with checked shirts and a variety of ludicrous hats with ear flaps. Unfortunately, the village of Answerbank under the Wold was nestled snugly in a vale which was singularly devoid of trees. Mick set himself up in business but was reduced to trimming the bushes of several elderly ladies in the village. To supplement his income he took on the position of handyman at the Body & Soul Holistic Centre and Owl Sanctuary on the outskirts of the village. He hated the job with a passion. His duties included cleaning the colonic irrigation treatment room and being responsible for the owls who took every opportunity they could to swoop off with his toupees. His social life revolved around the village pub where he was proud to be the quizmaster. His fall from grace came when it dawned on the villagers that they had answered the same quiz questions for four weeks in a row and he was sacked. To add insult to injury, the village fete committee refused to let him run the coconut shie at the village fete when it was discovered that for years he has superglued the coconuts down, so the kiddies never stood a chance. When his role as quizmaster was taken over by a newcomer called Excelsior, he focused all his anger on the poor man, and in his mind he blamed him for everything that was wrong with his life. Sitting at home in the nude, fondling a favourite pair of stilletto shoes with one hand and a chain saw with the other, he plotted revenge. His normally moribund features lit up with a smile as he came up with a scheme to exact retribution from those that had wronged him.
By the time he reached adulthood his obsessions were numerous. Every room in his house was piled high with his collections. These included a room devoted to high heeled shoes (his obsession was with red soled Loboutins but he made do with shoes from Primark and laboriously coloured in the soles with a felt tip pen), he owned every issue ever published of Bunty, and had a cupboard filled to capacity with toupees as he was particularly sensitive about his baldness. He completed an on-line correspondence course and qualified with the Balls Falls, Ontario, School of Lumberjacking and Owl Husbandry. He dressed the part, complete with checked shirts and a variety of ludicrous hats with ear flaps. Unfortunately, the village of Answerbank under the Wold was nestled snugly in a vale which was singularly devoid of trees. Mick set himself up in business but was reduced to trimming the bushes of several elderly ladies in the village. To supplement his income he took on the position of handyman at the Body & Soul Holistic Centre and Owl Sanctuary on the outskirts of the village. He hated the job with a passion. His duties included cleaning the colonic irrigation treatment room and being responsible for the owls who took every opportunity they could to swoop off with his toupees. His social life revolved around the village pub where he was proud to be the quizmaster. His fall from grace came when it dawned on the villagers that they had answered the same quiz questions for four weeks in a row and he was sacked. To add insult to injury, the village fete committee refused to let him run the coconut shie at the village fete when it was discovered that for years he has superglued the coconuts down, so the kiddies never stood a chance. When his role as quizmaster was taken over by a newcomer called Excelsior, he focused all his anger on the poor man, and in his mind he blamed him for everything that was wrong with his life. Sitting at home in the nude, fondling a favourite pair of stilletto shoes with one hand and a chain saw with the other, he plotted revenge. His normally moribund features lit up with a smile as he came up with a scheme to exact retribution from those that had wronged him.
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Mrs O - you are brilliant - in honour I had to.......it poured out so easily!
Talbot is the baldy man,
Made of Mrs O's myth and Alba legend.
With tools of Rae axe, Johnny saw and feminine brawn,
He works the reverse of dusk to dawn.
Without a Vivanron complaint, the morning he wakes,
And in manly(?) silence eats his heap of Eccles cakes.
Trees are his AB livelihood, and this his paradox.
None in Answerbank that must be felled or lost.
His world is bound by shoes, shyte and lumber,
And yet the AB world does not stop to wonder
From whence all his crap arrives.
And so he toils on, holistically unrecognized.
He is not the embodiment of a female's man,
Far supreme are his height and strength.
More than mere female mortal, his wardrobe is best:
Louboutins, stockings, jeans, and red flannel are better than the rest.
He snacks upon beef jerky and bacon,
And bellows with a deep soprano voice.
Never discouraged and never to be stop,
The work at the Owl Sanctuary, his workshop.
He works alone in the forest, only rockyraccoon nearby
He thinks he is the last of his kind, the Village says "bye bye"
Caught fixing the quizz contest, Excelsior put him to the test
Now he's thinking sweet revenge, sitting there in his Hanro vest
His moribund Tonyesque features are lit as if on fire
His five inch stilettoes, he's ready to attire
A pint of colonic irrigation his drink of choice
His plot cooked up, Mrs O ready to voice.
Talbot is the baldy man,
Made of Mrs O's myth and Alba legend.
With tools of Rae axe, Johnny saw and feminine brawn,
He works the reverse of dusk to dawn.
Without a Vivanron complaint, the morning he wakes,
And in manly(?) silence eats his heap of Eccles cakes.
Trees are his AB livelihood, and this his paradox.
None in Answerbank that must be felled or lost.
His world is bound by shoes, shyte and lumber,
And yet the AB world does not stop to wonder
From whence all his crap arrives.
And so he toils on, holistically unrecognized.
He is not the embodiment of a female's man,
Far supreme are his height and strength.
More than mere female mortal, his wardrobe is best:
Louboutins, stockings, jeans, and red flannel are better than the rest.
He snacks upon beef jerky and bacon,
And bellows with a deep soprano voice.
Never discouraged and never to be stop,
The work at the Owl Sanctuary, his workshop.
He works alone in the forest, only rockyraccoon nearby
He thinks he is the last of his kind, the Village says "bye bye"
Caught fixing the quizz contest, Excelsior put him to the test
Now he's thinking sweet revenge, sitting there in his Hanro vest
His moribund Tonyesque features are lit as if on fire
His five inch stilettoes, he's ready to attire
A pint of colonic irrigation his drink of choice
His plot cooked up, Mrs O ready to voice.
