In Tepid today:

A Cheeky Tribute

Not much has been heard of the Cheeky Girls for an alarmingly long time now. Are they going solo? And if so, which of the identical twins will be most solo?

The natural conclusion is that the Cheeky Girls are about to mark the twilight of their career in the tradition of the great composers, such as Handel and Mozart. The Cheeky Girls Requiem, like other requiems, will be the choral celebration of a life. Undoubtedly in remembrance of a precocious sibling. But, the level of expectation is high for them to produce what should undoubtedly prove to be their crowning achievement.

However, the cocky auteurs will find themselves propitiously poised, as an adaptation of the Cheeky Song will prove. Thus, altering the tense will conjure:

We were the cheeky girls,
We were the cheeky girls,
You were the cheeky boys,
You were the cheeky boys etc.

In Tepid today:

The Cheeky Girl Records

'We are the cheeky girls

We are the cheeky girls

You are the cheeky boys

You are the cheeky boys

We are the cheeky girls

We are the cheeky girls

You are the cheeky boys

You are the cheeky boys'.

Many of us have paraphrased The Cheeky Song (otherwise titled 'Touch My Bum' in A Flat Major), but little until now was known of the record-breaking bibliography underpinning the number. Among 247 sources listed are the following:

1. Sereny, Gitta, Albert Speer, His Battle With Truth (Macmillan, 1995).

2. British Banking Statutes and Reports, 1832-1928 (2 vols. 1929).

3. Papke, David Ray. Myth and Meaning: Francis Ford Coppola and Popular Response to the Godfather Trilogy. Legal Reelism: Movies as Legal Texts. Ed. John Denver, Urbana and Chicago: U of Illinois P, 1996. 2-22.

Bob Crowe?

Never mind people talking about other people at some time or other. Everyone's talking about Bob Crowe. Which look will he go with next?

The smart money was with the 'La Paz, Bolivia' look. The bowler hat and skirts. But quite recently, he's gone with the flat-capped New Yorker. 'This guy's got balls. Bob T. Crowe they call him. T for trouble. Troubles' his middle name. I tell yer, he ain't happy unless he's in a major dispute.'

But there's more to the look than glitzing up for the trades union leader pull-out of Hello magazine. All the indications are that Bob Crowe is 'trading in' on a far longer association with the North American continent. The clue is in the name. Sitting Bull, Bob Crowe. Everything points to Bob Crowe being the offspring of illiterate Native American parents. The surname spelt incorrectly. There's a clue. That's like spelling sparrow, 'sparrowe'. And then there's the grammar. What was that animal doing? The bull was sitting. Presumably the crow was bobbing, like a bird that has settled in undulating water. So, what's the next look Bobbing Crow?

Editorial Comment

It was just the other day that I reflected on picking up plastic bags and how our attitude to that activity can be a blueprint for the way in which we conduct our very lives.



That day, just an ordinary day it seemed, I felt the need to pick up a bag. But in the act of swooping, failed to engage. Our natural reaction, the one I succumbed to, was to swoop again, quicker this time before recovering an upright posture. Again I failed. Panic, frustration, merriment (sometimes, although rarely): these are but three of the emotions that swarm our heads in such situations. Can we sustain this half-crouch and lift the bag? What happens? We try another desperate lunge. The fourth time I caught it. But, consider as we should in life, how things could have been so different had I chosen to regain my posture and regroup after the first swoop? I wouldn't be recounting this story had I.

Editor's Note: Has anybody been enriched by any other experiences like this?

Today in Tepid:

Howard from the Halifax

Ref: 278/4321b. Howard from the Halifax remembers the reference code for the position of Assistant Accounts Administrator like the code had been generated yesterday.

Soon to be known as a symbol, following in the footsteps of Prince, referring to himself now as 'the teller formerly known as Howard', Howard has come a long way.

His interviewer at Dudley Branch (South), Mr. Blakesop, recounts their auspicious encounter. 'Howard had quality written all over him. Not only did he have a firm grip on Excel Spreadsheet and some of its advanced settings, he had the look of a man who would one day open shopping centres, or malls as they are more commonly known now.'

Asked where he wanted to be in 5 years' time at the interview, Howard replied, 'Sincerely? You need to look at the bigger picture. I'm all for a 5.32% long-term savings account, but what we're missing here is the smallness of that number: 5.32. That's the message.'

Blakesop knew he was onto something. 'I see here', he said, rustling up Howard's CV, 'that under interests you don't mention that you can sing or dance?'

'Yes', came the reply, impressively.

'I think we can do something with you', said Blakesop in celebratory mood, buzzing through a request to his P.A. to bring through two vendor machine soups (vendor machine code number 52).

'And I see you like to holiday in California', gushed Blakesop. 'Do you know the 'Baha Men', you know the people who sung that song 'Who Let the Dogs Out?'

You do the math. The rest is history and a fair amount of accounting. Once in the job, Howard was pitching in ideas. 'Excuse me, Mr. Blakesop sir, I think we've been focusing too much on 'H' being the first letter of 'Halifax', you know the company we work for', announced Howard. 'I've got an aunt on my mother's side who said to me there's a perfectly good 'X' in Halifax - use that. 'X' is kinda more exotic. Don't you see, oh please let you see that 'X' is for Xtra. And who gives you Xtra?'

'Very good, Howard, but I see from Office Services that you have chalked up a sizeable personal call bill to a Mr Baha in California, I need to mention. Actually, some of these calls are to other Mr Baha's with different initials. They're to Baha men.'

And then the bombshell. 'I was going to mention that. At last. Let me unveil the bigger picture.
I've got this routine where I sing with a fish, a pike for a mike (pictured) you might call it - it could be a pilchard perhaps a salmon, I haven't fleshed it out yet etc.'

(Mr. Blakesop is presently scouting cashiers for the Post Office in the West Midlands region, England, for the TV cable series 'Administrator Idol'.)

Editors Comment: Do you have any stories relating to the teller formerly known as Howard?

Today in Tepid:

Extreme Badminton

Badminton is a more sensitive form of tennis where duellists hit bits of bird called a shuttlecock (often referred to as 'roadkill') instead of a ball.

But a growing number of people (think of one person then more than that, then even more) are pursuing life-denying adrenalin-fuelled sports - cue extreme badminton.

Extreme badminton is extreme in relative terms, radical by badminton's strict code of not touching anybody unless it's a tap on your partner's buttocks as a term of encouragement (a kind of racquet goosing). And badminton strongly advises those who have smashed the shuttlecock and hit their opponent's bare legs, to say sorry and look like they mean it.

So how is extreme badminton more severe... in relative terms? Well, it can be by playing on a court where the tramlines have been painted slightly further apart so the players have slightly further to run (any suggestions for other ways of making badminton more extreme - but in a relative way - gladly welcomed). Or, players can make larger loops on their laces until they droop perilously close to the ground (usually parquet flooring), threatening to nearly trip themselves up.

The trend has, though, seen some alarming developments. Pictured is a competitor who has actually jumped over the head of his opponent (while he wasn't looking properly), spun through 180 degrees and positioned himself to execute a smash on his side of the net. This has made it easier to score a point because he has done all the hard work. All he then has to do is drop the shuttlecock anywhere behind his opponent. But at what risk? Certainly altitude sickness if he's very susceptible to that kind of thing, which can only really be combatted by drinking a coca leaf infusion tea or climbing down to a lower elevation where oxygen levels are more abundant. And of course, the manoeuvre has occasioned what in badminton is termed 'mouth open-age' which can lead to the swallowing of the shuttlecock. Many people may recall how badminton players have requested a cup of tea from them after one of their more boisterous games, remarking, 'I'm spitting feathers'.

And if that is not extreme enough, badminton trials is probably too extreme (see picture, right). Isn't it trial enough for a horse to hold a badminton racquet without the added fuss of surmounting obstacles you would usually put up in order to keep things out, like fences and moats? And horses playing badminton can also lead to hoof scuffing of parquet flooring which can force school janitors to open school a day later after the summer holidays to complete the polishing of the assembly hall, which schoolkids like to smell upon their return to remind them of next term's oppression.

Perhaps for those considering a foray into extreme badminton - start off serving with a lead shuttlecock.

Tepid

Heat Magazine is all about celebrities and people who have as much right to carry that mantle because they too have had a televison camera pointed at them... when it was switched on. Every bit as the wildlife that Bill Oddie notices. We want to know how they bent over at the beach, now that they exist, and in which direction they slop their cellulite.

What we need just as importantly, is stuff about the other people... your Ofsted inspectors, your carpet underlay promoters, your badger farmers, your horse Papparazzi, your other people... And that's where a Tepid magazine scores. Tepid is a blend of blog and magazine -a 'blogzine' or 'magalog', if you will.

So, kicking off with Alistair Darling (pictured), Minister of something to do with money. What he likes to do most is mismatch the colour of his hair and eyebrows. So much so that he leaves us guessing... how does he do it? Does he dye his hair white and leave the eyebrows black, or does he just like ageing asymmetrically? Something for the Tepid photographers to reveal. Here's their assignment mission: 'Alistair Darling. Follow him around. If he looks like he's heading down the beach (telltale signs: rolled-up towel tucked under his arm, small castle construction implements etc.), cash in. We know his hair is white but he may turn out to have very youthful toes. Document! Get snaps!' But also this. 'Don't worry if you only manage to photograph his head but then he dyes his hair black overnight and his eyebrows suddenly grey - we can always publish the negatives.'

One of the good things about being Alistair Darling is that he doesn't have to use so much 'Just For Men'. He only has to touch up his eyebrows with a mascara brush (or daintily with a wallpaper brush). Sometimes he only needs to buy 'Just For Men's Eyebrows'.

He's also very lucky that his parents chose his surname. With a name like that you can never stay angry with him. You could get very upset with his policies but then find yourself shouting, 'What are you going to do about money things then Alistair (and before you can help yourself) Darling?' Every time you say his name it just softens the blow of whatever venom you had in store.