SOURCE OF LEEK STILL UNKNOWN
Bob kayak boB
LODGE IN LEEK SCARE
reinstalled as the Widdington Mooses rotating reporter, after that
unfortunate tie-pin error, I arrived at the Lodge for the ElkFest Press Preview
on Friday evening. After the
ceremonial opening ceremony of the tapping of the barrel , performed with the
usual aplomb by none other than Doctor Philip Bayleaf and his trusty mullet,
I was delighted to witness the rare sight of the Lodge Porter opening his
wallet, accompanied by gasps of incredulity from the assembled thong (another
masterpiece of Doctor Phils, assembled in just two minutes using only one
hand and seven varieties of moss) and the sound of moths. Alas Lodge was merely clearing out his old
credit card receipts, so we still had to buy our own beer.
I was to discover that earlier in the day the Lodge had experienced some
problems with his plumbing. Old age
can be terrible thing, I thought, but then I learned that the blockage (not a
leek as some had presumed) was in the water tank and not the Lodges
NO LEAKS IS GOOD LEEKS
main event kicked off with the Lodge Porter laying down the usual ground
rules. Unfortunately as the Lodges diary has been choc-a-bloc with
After-Elevenses speeches for the last two weeks, it took him a few moments to
compose himself and find the relevant script. Having said that, it did
give us an insight into this mans undoubted versatility and I was not alone in
the disappointment when we discovered that an impromptu display of
footballing prowess was not to be revealed by Pucklechurch Academicals as the
opening cabaret act. Next year perhaps.
Rutting rules firmly and fairly thrust upon
us, the proceedings proceeded to proceed with our familiar MC, Pulled
Mitchell, regaling us with flights of fancy (courtesy of Easy Jet) and a
whole range of childrens book titles designed to scare the living highlights
out of anyones recent trip to the hairdresser most notably Pop goes the
hamster and other micro-wave tales. In between this hamster banter,
there were rather a lot of interesting acts.
First to tread the decking was Clive of
India. Sheer poetry in lack of motion. For someone with such a
military history it was comforting to hear that he has a human side and he
shared with us his trepidation of producing a cabaret act on time and to
No such qualms for act number two.
Hayden strutted onto the decking and delivered a blinder. I can sum up
this act in one word Terror. Lolling gracefully in a comfy chair, he
chilled the spines off all but the invertebrates among us. His
Australian Fairy Tales were fit to scare the shrimp off an Ozzie Osbourne
barbie doll. The character of Talla Gripta gripped me somewhat, but it
was the cravat which spoke volumes or at least I think it did Haydens lips
didnt seem to move at the time.
WOMEN GROW BEETROOT, MEN FIX LEEKS
it was time for the first of the Festal Virgins: Slava, an arms dealer from
the Ukranian Lodge recently promoted from dealing hands in the Casino Royale,
which I believe comes with cheese. His introduction was an old Ukranian
favourite, but satire and beetroot so rarely combine at the ElkFest the
audience didnt seem to mind the repetition. His follow up was a study
of Sherlock Holmes, leaving us with an endearing image of Doctor Watson
knowing his place as number two and the health hazards associated with
smoking. It was a triumph, although if it ever turns out hes a beetroot
seller from Riga, I will be braver in my next review.
And then there was Andy (clinically dead,
but no-one seemed to notice, least of all Andy). Another Festal Virgin
and another first for the Elk. Andy was billed to speak for three
minutes on a subject to be decided. However this was obviously a
devious ruse to confuse us, as it turned out to be the first gurning act we
have ever seen at the Fest. With panache aplenty and the elan of an
eland, Andy managed to stay on his feet long enough to finish his act,
rounding off with an exceptional mock turtle soup.
is not often that the subtle tones of the cello combine with the rasp of a
French nursery rhyme at the Elk, but on this occasion they went hand in sock
and to great effect it must be said. Enter more Festal Virgins, Veronique
and Tom and no Jemma (retired hurt). Inspired by a ruse to induce the
eating of their offspring (evidently), we were entertained by a truly Elkian
turn. I particularly appreciated the inclusion of sign language for
those of us who are Gallicly challenged and the adagio movement was quite
stunning, with Tom miming Cello player in high wind, before turning up his
volume to notch 11 for the finale. Stunning, as Spock might have
said. (Perhaps he did, but the wind direction did not favour shouting from
VIRGINS 3 BALACLAVAS 5 LEEKS 0
so, with only minutes remaining before full-time, it looked as if the Festal
Virgins were going to steal a valuable away win, but . Hang on, Im starting
to sound like Chris Dawdle Ill try that again. With only minutes
remaining, the Festal Virgins seemed to have the three points in the bag (3)
no, theres something wrong here.
With injury time Beckhaming oh what the
hell it was down to a late substitution to save the day. Doctor Philip
Bayleaf replaced Pulled Mitchell at the lectern and delivered a
masterpiece. His Elk lecture this year took the theme of Law and
Order. And what a tour de force it proved to be. We had
balaclavas, balaclavas, balaclavas, balaclavas and well, balaclavas.
Each with an assortment of orifices in unusual places and rather a neat take
on why the several hundred were slaughtered by Slavas guns in the Valley of
Deaf. Having freed the balaclava 5, Dr Bayleaf whipped the assembled
thong into a complete frenzy and had us all believing we were extras in a
Kubrik film. It was 1966 and all that all over again. Feeling
totally overwhelmed, I too declared I was Spartacus, until someone tried to
crucify me. At this point I revealed myself to be Bob kayak boB, whereupon
the mob descended and attempted to nail me to the pear tree. Just as
well I was wearing my trainers and my brown corduroys.
just left the final charity appeal. Clive of India once again took
control of Hannibal the Lectern and appealed to the thong to allay the savage
act of kayak-bating. All donations should be forwarded to the Lodge
Porter, who promises to spend it wisely on himself.
IF MUSIC BE THE FJORD OF LOBES (OR LEEKS)
has been said of Crimson Shadow over the past few moths. When theres
only three of them, it makes you wonder what the other one did Mrs. Trellis,
North Wales. Why is the cardboard one always in tune? Mrs. Trellis,
North Wales. Crimson Shadow? Who? all the other people who
replied to the questionnaire, except the Tenby Mail-Voice Quire (ex-GPO), who
said Och, dioch, cwm shdow, ech da.
to say, such diet-tribes were left eating their words after this years
performance and with the newly installed stage pointing at the Scandinavian
behind the hedge, a very warm sound
was conjured, somewhere between the frozen audience and the hot
dancers. But who was the new bass player? He looked like a late
signing from Fleetwood Anorak. Whatever, he and the rest of the band
produced a set fit for self-assembly; and the assembled thong set about the task with gusto or did
the prevailing wind have some influence here?
the usual preliminaries out of the way, such as Must ang Sally and Cant Bite
Me Lobes, we were treated to such classics as One Thyme, a herbal
remedy concocted by the original Crimson, Here with me by Dye Dough and the
old favourite Starless, bubble-wrapped especially for the occasion.
SPIDERWOMAN STEMS RADIATOR LEEK
when or why the spider arrived is a mystery to me, but it attacked the lead
vocalist somewhere mid-set, or more precisely mid-wings. Fortunately,
the Southampton Lodge came to the rescue, as the guitarist was too busy
locating a footpedal program and (if the truth be known) too busy being
petrified at the time.
Then there was the supernatural to contend
with. With only a few numbers of the set remaining, the bass player
embarked on an out-of-body experience. Quickly to be followed by being
possessed by demons taking full advantage of his
vulnerability. One can only hope he will recover in time for the next
with the spider content to depart with signed Crimson Shadow photographs and
the assembled thong in severe danger of freezing to the spot, the encore was
directed at the dancers, who strangely multiplied at an astonishing rate.
(See Page 2: Radiator leek blamed for man with two maracas). This came
after some considerable debate as to which number would have the best effect
in reducing numbness. And so, with dancers denumbed and the late
arrival of the percussion section suitably silenced, the thong decamped for
the lodge and the beckoning warmth (but sensibly avoiding leeking radiators).
GOVERNMENT LEEK SUGGESTS GLOBAL WARMING
TO MISS WIDDINGTON
can be a wimpy bunch sometimes. The prospect of leaving the lodge to
venture forth into the grounds at such a late hour and with such a wind-chill
factor proved too much, so the 30 Minute Moose Company were forced to abandon
their planned pyrotechnical extravaganza and the Doctor Who-Dun-It was played
down with an indoor performance, last seen at the Shower-Must-Go-On Fest, all
those Elks ago.
I wouldnt even attempt to describe the plot
of this years play, but if you thought Hamlet wasnt quite as messy at the end
as you would have liked, then you should really try to catch a performance of
Murder at the Lodge. More corpses than extras in the I am Spartacus
of the highlights was undoubtedly an exchange between Lord and Lady Gowan,
where Doctor Philip Bailey attempted the world record for turning each
sentence into a paragraph and each phrase into a sentence a life
sentence. Lady Gowan attempted some subterfuge, by pointing out the
point in the script where all but the Lord was poised, but to little
avail. The Goodness! Book of records have now ratified Doctor Philips
attempt and unless their watches were tampered with between lines, the record
Then there was the pink steering wheel,
skilfully manned by Hayden; Lady Penelopes beard, skilfully mastered by
Carol; Svens picture frame, donated by the West Midlands Fraud Squad;
the three leeks (Shabby, Droopy and Slappy); not forgetting the real star of
the show the Tardis console: a work of art, conceived by Dave and Phil and
brought to fruition by Phil and Clive what a show-stopper almost on a par with
Haydens Blobby, last years show stealer.
it was as much a triumph for the props as it was a victory for the
volunteers. They stuck to their seats with admirable stickiness.
Lodges dim determination finding himself holding the wrong-end of a pointed
stick was truly admiral Nelson, but the Hardiest of them all was Jerry.
His timing of the exploding crisp packets was second to none and the ad
libbed BOOM to accompany the silver leek laying waste to Haydens Daley was an
TASTING ABSENT FRIENDS (WITH A LEEK)
Having savoured the cabaret, slavered over
the music and shivered to the play, there was only one final act to endure:
the late film. Although Edinburgh Phil could not attend this year (for
tax reasons having attended the Winter Fest, another Elk so soon was just too
much for the poor fellow) he did send a goodwill message in the form of a
Doctor Who story. And so we were treated to The Dalelk Moose Turd Plan.
Dalelks ever been so frightening? I think not therefore I am not.
I will never see those Kaleld evolutionaries in the same light again, or from
the same angle (I hope). With subtle cutting from Technicolor to
monochrome, The Dalelk Mustard Plant laid bare the dichotomy we have all
borne witness to. Both a cutting social comment on life in the late
twentieth century and an incisive incision into the carbuncle of 21st century
architecture, this masterpiece of menace, this comedy of terrors, this (dare
I be so bald as the Lodge) this delicate insight into a sight not seen, but
merely eluded to, this illusion of unseen sights or those scenes which were
so seemly cut, this seam of coal which stands before me, this column of steam
which emanates from my kettle, this film must be seam, or scene, or screened
and indeed it was screened. Full marks to the Lodge for being so daring
in his choice of phlegm. No I will never be so moved until my next
round of antibiotics. Five stars . Miss it at your puerile.
so, with Dalelks in skirts rearranging their underwear and dawn beckoning,
the Elk came to a close. One of the finest Elks in living memory.
A LEEK IS NEARLY AN ANGRAM OF AN ELK
Having been denied a decent nights sleep by the exploits of the girls dormitory (next door), I emerged weary and exhausted to partake of the traditional surreal breakfast. (That couldve been better phrased Ed; so could your intrusion BoB). When all but the Lodges closest friends had departed to the four corners of the hearth, I settled down with a welcome mug of leek soup and quizzed the man himself on his thoughts of the ElkFest. Eloquent as ever, he summed it up in a single word: Octoblob, he said. Even the leeks nodded in approval
This report of Elkfest 2001 was reproduced in full from the Widdington Evening Moose (late edition) by cutting and pasting using scissors, flour and water