More Farted Against Than Farting

The thrilling new autobiography by Davey B now available from Caber & Caber
With an introduction by Melvyn Bragg

The perfect Christmas Present!
Read a new short extract from this important work every week here in the Games, Quizzes and Great Literature Section.


Simon sat next to me in maths lessons and taught me at least as much as our teacher Mr Perkins. I remember on one of our earliest meetings telling Simon a tale about being chased by a pack of wild dogs or some such nonsense. His reply “Faaaaackinell I bet you was shittin bricks werncha?” fascinated and bewildered me. He was a kind hearted fellow and from that day on Simon would set aside precious mathematics time to instruct me in swearing, slang and most importantly of all pronounciation. Some of my early attempts at saying such phrases as “Yowfaaaackincant” being so inept that tears of mirth would pour down his face and even Mr Perkins sarcastic, if predictable “Perhaps you’d like to share the joke with the rest of the class Biggs” could not stop him from breaking into that bizarre “Nah-ah nah-ah-ah” sound which was Simon’s way of laughing.
Many years later during a bout of insomnia I was watching an early morning repeat of a TV quiz show. The chirpy presenter asked members of the studio audience for examples of Rhyming Slang. Various people piped up with “apples and pears*”, “rosie lee**” and so on. Then it was Simons turn (much older and with a horrible RAF style moustache but it was definitely him). “Double decker***” he said. “Double decker?” asked the presenter warily “What’s double decker?” “It’s a bus mate” replied Simon. :)

* apples and pears = stairs
** rosie lee = tea
*** double decker = pecker

Watch out for another exciting excerpt next week. :)

I do hope threepenny bits (pronounced thruppeny bits, non Cockernees) get a mention next week so I can edit them out :lol:

Clayts is the Mary Whitehouse of this forum. :lol:

Latest exciting excerpt....

I was very impressed by an article I found in a childrens encyclopedia about keeping a Nature Diary. There was an illustration of a sample page from just such a diary. It showed a beautiful line drawing of a bird in a tree with hand written notes about its distinctive chirruping, its plumage and so on. I made up my mind to create a nature diary of my own. I knew that living in the big city I would not encounter anything as exotic as the bird shown in the encyclopedia but I was determined to make a go of it. Following the instructions carefully I got hold of a small notebook which I was to carry with me at all times and into which I could quickly scrawl any observations or lightning sketches I made of the local wildlife. These could then be written up properly in the Nature Diary itself at a later date. My first big sighting was made on my way home from school the next day. “Two pigeons on a roof in Sterling Road.” I wrote excitedly and added the further observation “Mostly covered in grey feathers”. Suddenly the book was snatched violently from my hand. Two much older boys now had possession of my precious notes. I waited patiently for the books eventual return as I knew these boys were not thieves, just inquisitive. One of them held it close to his face and was scrutinising the contents carefully. “What is it Steve?” asked his friend. Steve, slightly puzzled now, looked up from my notebook and said in a small voice “It’s writing”.

More next week :)

This is excellent, Davey B. More please!

It was YOU that snatched my notebook in Sterling Road wasn't it. :angry:

Maybe. But where's the next chapter?!

I add a new excerpt every thursday. :)

If you can't hang on till then BUY THE BOOK! :) :) :)

I've ordered it on amazon.co.uk.
I'm now waiting for the Hollywood film adaptation.

:lol: :lol: :lol:

The next bestselling blockbuster I'm working on will be a biography of Martin.
WINCE as he is forced to eat 200 bananas at gunpoint!
GASP as he finds himself trapped in a very small lift with Natasha Kaplinsky!
JEEPER as he calculates the exact length of time that Mark E Smith has spent onstage over the last three decades!!!
Spielberg has already been on the phone to me about the movie rights. B)

Fart Three

I carry a diary with me wherever I go. One should always have something sensational to read on the toilet. -Oscar Bushell

11-1-01
I am hoping to lose my virginity tonight and so I’m having a good long soak in the bath. I ponder over the man who was persistently coughing as we emerged from the tube station this evening. Driven to fury by his constant noise a passing yob screamed “Stop fucking coughing!” at him. To my amazement the man did so. I walked behind him from the station up to the high street and he never coughed once! I had always thought of coughing as an involuntary action. Something you only did if you absolutely had to. This lead me on to wondering about the appeal of snuff, something else I haven’t tried yet. John begins hammering on the bathroom door and shouting “Will you be much longer Rob?”. I take immediate offence at this. Why does he assume it’s Rob in the bath? I bathe almost as often as Rob does.

(Very early hours of) 12-1-01
I had drunk way too much and was trying without much success to explain my musical preferences to a very beautiful girl at the party. Suddenly her look of puzzlement faded, she said “Oh you like weird stuff” and put an old Talking Heads record on the turntable. Outraged by this but too terrified of beautiful girls to do much about it I decided to compile a list of the favourite music of everybody at the party. I suppose the idea was to somehow find a record in our hosts vile collection which would dismay the least people present. I approached the fellows I had arrived with first and was very pleased with how my list was going: The Fall, The Fall, The Residents, Aphex Twin, The Fall!!! (I choose my friends very carefully). I gulped down some more wine and as the room began to spin I approached a non-scary looking older girl I’d never spoken to before. Shouting the best I could over David Byrnes caterwauling I asked her to add her favourite music to the list. She scanned the groups already listed very carefully and then asked worriedly “It doesn’t have to be weird stuff does it?” I reassured her that it didn’t have to be weird stuff and she finally added her non-weird choice, U2. I decided to change the subject quickly by asking her name. “Edith” she said. I immediately ran out of the front door into the street and was quite spectacularly sick all down the front of my jumper and trousers. Too ashamed to return to the party I walked the two miles home without my coat. :( :( :(

Next time: My first term at Hogwarts :)

This just keeps getting better. More, Davey B! More!!

An e-mail from Caber and Caber today informed me that so far my book has sold one copy. Thanks Stephen. :)

They say that sales of "I Admire Davey B" badges aren't doing quite so well though. :(

Another biographical tale included in the book about how computers affect our lives can be found halfway down this page.......

http://invisionfree.com/forums/thefall/ind...wtopic=5656&hl=

:)

Interesting reviews on the back:

"I went out to the bookstore and bought everything else by Davey B I could find." – Stephen King

"A masterful study of memory and loss." – The Guardian

"A rollicking good read." – The Sun

"Funny, unrelenting and quite unique: Davey B's Are You Are Missing Winner." – The Fall forum

"Veers between luminous and ludicrous in such a way that this can only be considered a tremendously expert piece of work." – Martin Amis in The Observer

Fart Four

“I’m not copper-bottoming ‘em. I’m aluminiuming ‘em” Gary said to me jocularly. I smiled politely. He was a bit overexcited about that mornings impending science test. Further down the High Street I could see four familiar figures lurking outside Mr Blakes newsagents. “Let’s cross here” I suggested gesturing hopefully to a nice safe stretch of pavement over the road. “Illogical Captain” replied Gary and marched purposefully toward the boys who were currently talking fiercely to a terrified old man presumably about whether or not he would go into the shop and buy cigarettes for them. That was the usual thing. I think the look of terror on the mans face probably gave them more pleasure than tobacco ever could though. “look!” I said “Those boys up ahead are going to make trouble. If we cross the road here we can avoid them.” “Have those boys been bullying you?” Asked Gary with concern. “No. But only because I keep right out of their way.” “They have been bullying you haven’t they” said Gary his eyes widening behind his spectacles “leave it with me.” And he marched even faster than before toward certain death. I realised that I was blushing as I hissed “Look I’m going this fucking way and if you’ve got any sense so will you!” then I ran across the road and took the “Illogical” route to school via Tate Grove. I had secretly hoped to hear Gary right behind me saying “Alright, alright we’ll go your way” but unfortunately off in the distance I could hear his clear confident voice saying “Here. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” It was his current favourite phrase I’d heard him say it to Mr Qazi the deputy headmaster only last week. I winced at the thought of what would inevitably happen next to my good friend and marvelled at his inability to see it himself.
Gary spent the bulk of his out of school time with adults, mainly his parents and their friends. I think his parents even opted to teach him at home for a couple of years and this was partly the cause of his eccentric behaviour when he mixed with children of his own age. He would pick up the little sayings grown ups used and then try them out in the school playground. By far the most irritating of these was when he’d deliberately say something slightly incorrectly and then say “No, I tell a lie!” and correct himself. Steven Pusey used to slap Gary viciously around the face each time he heard him say it and then turn to Don Gonzales (who was never far from Stevens side) and quip “It’s just a phrase he’s going through” or “Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind” or “Will Gareth* never learn” and Don would snigger his appreciation while he kicked the backs of Garys legs. Another favourite little saying was “E equals MC squared.”! Gary would go up to anyone…anyone at all…and just…say it!!! If their reply was something along the lines of “What the fuck are you talking about dickhead?” (which it usually was) he would be delighted and start explaining Einstein’s theory of relativity to them! This boy was not normal but he was still my friend and I felt very bad about what I was sure he would now be enduring. I felt even worse when he was absent from the science test. Gary loved science. It was his ambition to be a nuclear physicist.
About three in the afternoon I was ushered into the headmasters office by one of the school caretakers. Inside I was amazed to find Mr Connor, the head, lecturing two policemen. “….I’ll go over that again shall I? E represents Energy, M represents Mass and C squared is a very large number indeed, the square of the speed of light…oh, yes, come in David. Nothing to worry about. These officers would just like to ask you a few questions….”. :( :( :(

*Gareth = Highly offensive rhyming slang for Clayts to censor.

Next: I throw a lollipop at David Bowie. :)

i once immediately ran out of a front door into the street and was quite spectacularly sick all down the front of my coat. too ashamed to return to the bookstore i walked the two miles home, maybe, who knows?, without my copy of the thrilling new autobiography by Davey B :ohdear: .

cheers!
marco

I hope it wasn't my portrait on the cover that made you puke Marco. :lol:

When will this arrive in Australian bookstores??

I think Bragg in his introduction gets it dead right. The nation's Davids have at last found their laureate.

I'm looking forward to the Davey B South Bank Show special over Xmas.

Davey B, is there any chance that a future installment of this stirring memoir can explain what's going on in this hotly debated photograph you took of a panic-stricken woman? Does she, by any chance, work for Caber & Caber?

Another exciting excerpt from the bestseller they’re all talking about.

I was sitting upstairs toward the back of a bus mentally blocking the sounds of Fard-Hi out of my brain the best I could whilst I rehearsed my putdown for the preacher. What is the terrible connection between having really dull taste in music and wanting to broadcast it loudly to all and sundry. Did I mention that Simon was the one who gave me the nickname “Slim”? Have you ever been on a train or bus EVEN ONCE and thought to yourself “I’m so grateful to you dear fellow for playing that marvellous life enhancing music so loudly in a public place”. The preacher was making his way from seat to seat and teaching the word of our Lord to various passengers. “Slim Bushell.” I’ll always be grateful to Simon for calling me that. I could feel an unpleasant internal place churning violently as I prepared to give that bible basher a piece of my mind and I was wishing that I had the courage to speak to the scary Fard-Hi fan in a similar manner! Eventually it dawned on me that the preacher was only interested in saving the souls of attractive young women on the bus and that my putdown would not be needed this time. I confess that I felt slightly disappointed at this but the thought that I could save my carefully crafted insult for use on a member of the Fall Forum at some point in the future cheered me a little. Every nickname I’ve had foist upon me before or since is inferior to “Slim” in every way. As the bus crossed a bridge over the river lea the preacher noticed that the river had burst its banks. The flooding was quite extensive. He became greatly animated and shouted excitedly to all of us (not just the pretty ones) “See that! See that? The bible predicted that!!!” ^_^

Next: I am viciously murdered by a serial killer. :(

I'll try to work her into the plot somehow. I guess she was just a passer-by who was startled when I accidentally flashed at her. :rolleyes:

More exciting excerpts from this marvelous work of literature in the new year. :)

In future you should keep your trousers on, Davey B.

Monday
A new classroom, a new teacher, a new desk. I guess we were all about 10 or 11 years old. Miss Thompson seemed very nice. As she smiled welcomingly at us and then wrote her name on the board I noticed that every chair and desk in the room was shiny and new. No grime had accumulated. No gum had yet been stuck underneath them. No graffiti had been scrawled. No graffiti, that is, except for my desk. Sensitive, innocent fellow that I then was I gasped in horror at the single word in the top right hand corner of the desktop which had been boldly carved there by some criminal. It suddenly dawned on me that this desk which I had chosen because it was close to the window and because no-one else seemed to want it was a very bad choice indeed. Miss Thompson was not yet aware of what a remarkable, decent, law abiding boy I was. There was a possibility that she might even think that I had written that awful word myself! I blushed at the very thought. What an appalling start to a new school year. I wished that I could run away, change my name and start afresh in a new school in Truro. Why Truro? I have no idea. It was a long time ago and Truro was the place I used to daydream about running away to.

Tuesday
“Sonia, would you like to swap places?” “No.” “You’d be closer to Kelly over here.” “I don’t want to swap.” “But Kelly’s your best friend. Aren’t you and Kelly friends anymore?” “Don’t talk to me for the next thousand years David. Could you do that for me?”

Wednesday
Hanging around in classrooms during Breaktime or Dinnertime was strictly against school rules. Normally I would be happy to spend some time away from the place but this day I was hard at work carrying my heavy desk to the other side of the room. I found that dragging the thing made a loud noise which might attract the attention of the teacher on duty or maybe a passing sneak. Carrying the desk was more discreet but it was an awkward shape and I didn’t really possess the build for heavy physical work of this nature. My heart was pounding like a Hanley bass riff by the time I’d finally got it to its destination. Now I just needed to shift the desk it was replacing back to my side of the room. I took my blazer off and rested for a few moments while I waited for my breathing to slow down a bit. My shirt was soaked with sweat and I decided that I would have to risk dragging the blasted thing if I was going to avoid doing myself an injury. The piercing screech of wood on tiled floor sent waves of terror through my body. I felt as if the entire school must be able to hear that vile sound. Amazingly I managed to get the new, beautiful, untarnished desk back to my side of the room without attracting anyones attention. My mind reeling at the thought that this was the most unlawful thing I had ever done in my life I staggered from the classroom. At last my ordeal was over and I wouldn’t have to move to Truro after all.
I was a few minutes late for afternoon school. I had spent about twenty minutes in the boys toilet. A place which I normally avoided during the dinnerbreak unpleasantnesses. Teachers always act like they’re amazed when you ask to be excused during lessons “Why didn’t you go during the break” seems to have been their traditional response for centuries now. The answers to this question are many and varied: I do not enjoy receiving a chinese burn, I do not want to spend the break with my head forced down a toilet bowl, I do not enjoy having waterpistols filled with piss squirted at me. I do not wish to be made to look at Steven Puseys penis. The list is endless. On this occasion, though, I had no choice. My insides were in turmoil and dictated that I visit that awful place as soon as possible. The cubicle in which I sat quivering was burst into on no less than five occasions. Luckily each of my would-be attackers was immediately repelled by the stench of my worry induced daihorrea. Finally, white faced and trembling, I returned to my wonderful new desk muttering my apologies for lateness to Miss Thompson. There seemed to be some commotion in class about a stolen chess set. I didn’t take much notice at first and was just concentrating on getting my breathing down to a more manageable speed. Apparently William had had one stolen during the dinnerbreak. He told us that it had been given to him by his grandfather and was a priceless family heirloom. Mr Connor our mighty headmaster was soon on the scene and in charge of the investigation. “Open your desks” he commanded and within seconds the chess set was found in my new desk!!!

Thursday
In Kennedy Street Williams older brother forced me down onto the pavement whilst William farted in my face. Next the words “fuck of” (that’s right “of”, not “off”, how embarrassing), were scrawled onto my forehead in felt tip pen and I knew that I had made a new enemy. :( :( :(

*******

Please look away now if you are easily shocked or offended. The terrible word which had been carved on my desk was……………………………”nipple”! :o

Is that what goes on in the Boy's Toilets at lunchtime? I had no idea. I thought it was much worse....

By the way.......bloody funny! Thanks.

:) :) :)

It wasn't funny really - just shamless flattery to try and get an orchid.

:( :( :(

Yes, that's what I thought too...

Astonishing stuff. Keep it up, Davey B!

:) :) :)

I remember one time being quite thrilled because I was last in the chinese whispers line. I had the privilege of announcing the sentence we finally arrived at to the rest of the class. Miss Thompson would then tell us the phrase with which she had started the game and we would all chuckle with delight at how it had changed as it travelled from mouth to ear and from ear to mouth. Just so long as it wasn’t “Arsenal, arsenal we love you” again! My contempt for the anonymous person or persons who kept changing the sentence to that was great. They were just spoiling the fun for everybody. I also looked down my nose at Anne Burns whose excited whisper could always be heard by everyone in the room. When her turn came I made a point of sticking my fingers in my ears and going “lalalalalalalalalalalalalaalalalalalala” until the danger of hearing the message too soon had passed. I was extremely pleased to see that Charlotte and Diane followed my lead in doing this. I had thought them more intelligent and discerning than many others in my class and was always happy to lend them my felt pens safe in the knowledge that they would be returned to me in good condition. At last the message reached Donald Gonzales who was standing next to me. I felt an unpleasant combination of his hot breath and some spittle upon my ear as he whispered “Miss Thompson is a lesbo”. At the age of ten I had no idea what a “lesbo” was but I knew immediately from the leer on Donalds face that it wasn’t something you said out loud in front of the whole class. I had to think quickly. I realised that everyone was watching me expectantly. How could I get myself out of this potentially embarrassing situation? “What’s the sentence David?” asked Miss Thompson kindly after an entire minute had passed in silence. “Arsenal, arsenal we love you” I replied miserably. :(

You too can play an exciting game of Chinese Whispers here.... http://invisionfree.com/forums/thefall/ind...showtopic=11178 :)

Another winner!

An e-mail from Caber & Caber informs me that sales of my book are down from one copy sold to zero copies sold! Stephen must've taken his copy back to the shop and got a refund. :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

Since it failed to get into the top 500 bestsellers list Caber & Caber are considering retitling it More Charted Against Than Charting.

Where's the next chapter, anyway? We were hoping to hear more about your early love life, brushes with the law and amusing schoolboy japes.

You Cannot Legislate Against Wrongful Encouragement

I wasn’t planning to add any more to my thrilling memoirs but then some extremely kind and encouraging comments by Bradx and Stephen made me want to write a bit more. My sincere thanks to them both. :) :)



I found that I was only able to communicate my distress by farting and drooling. My cheek was pressed hard against the keyboard and I was concerned that all this saliva would not be good for its keys. I promised myself that as soon as vision and movement were restored to me I’d give the keys a good going over with a cotton-bud. I really urgently needed to take a piss and decided that going to the toilet was the priority, then I’d clean the keyboard. Static electricity from the monitor was doing strange things with my hair. Everything was black. Somewhere in the background I could hear Adolphus proclaiming loudly “Of course, when I get a cold I just work through it”. Then came my boss’s voice which, for some reason, sounded as if he were talking through an ancient vocoder from the 1970’s. “No need to call the emergency services this time Davey Boy.” he said kindly “I’ll drive you home and Frogmella has volunteered to help me to erm escort you. Can you understand me David? I’ve phoned your wife and she promises to leave work as early as she can to autobus label impediment bleat asteroid…”

From there I remember nothing until………

I woke up in my own bed. Somewhere outside the house I could hear someone repeatedly shouting what sounded to me like “Whey! Wankah! Whey! Wankah!” Movement was still very difficult but I was thinking a lot more clearly. Also I could see again which was reassuring. My bedside alarm clock said 14.12 which I estimated left about three hours unaccounted for. Under the bedclothes I seemed to be wearing just my workshirt and boxer shorts. I could no longer feel the urgent pressure on my bladder that had been bothering me previously and as I wasn’t lying in a pool of my own urine I realised that there was a chance that Frogmella might have glimpsed Wee Davey. :ohdear:
The last time this happened to me at work someone had dialled 999 and I’d regained consciousness when I fell out of a wooden chair in a deserted hospital corridor. I was very grateful that Frogmella and my boss (let’s call him “Kirk”) had spared me from the clutches of the national health service this time around. They’d very kindly pulled closed the bedroom curtains for me but had switched on a couple of soft lights to create an environment that they must have thought beneficial to a recovering invalid. “Whooeyyyy! Wankaarrrr! You farking wankarrr!” persisted the voice outside. I drifted into a half-sleep and daydreamed about a TV show where fish could win big money prizes at the throw of a dart. The show was presented by Jamie Theakston who I felt was a bit patronising in the way he spoke to some of the halibut. All of this to a background of “Whooeyyy! Wankaarrr! You farking wankarrr!” from the clangers in the studio audience. As I returned to consciousness again I could hear the old man from number 27 open his front door and call out “Could you please go somewhere else with your dirty mouth. Thank you.” He closed the door again and immediately the shouting continued. “You farkin’ wankarrrrr!” Suddenly I realised what was going on! I gasped with horror. The fellow with the dirty mouth must be shouting at my window!!!!!!!!! :o :o :o
I thought back to my schooldays. I remembered what would happen if a room were discovered with its curtains drawn during daylight hours and especially if there was a light on inside that room! Though I had never taken part in the uncouth shouting side of things (I was a polite well brought up boy) I can well remember sniggering to myself as I scuttled past the nasty rough boys who shouted “Whoooeyyyyy! Wankarrrr!” over and over and over and over and over and over again! (Is this just a london thing or does it happen all over the world? Would it be as effective shouted by someone without a cockney accent?) Thinking about it as I lay there I realised that there are all kinds of other valid reasons why a room might have it’s curtains closed and a light on within during daylight hours. A sick or elderly person could be inside who is too weak to switch the light off and open the curtains. There might be a funeral occurring that day and the curtains drawn as a mark of respect. The person inside might be developing photographic prints. Maybe there’s a couple in there making love. When the magnificent D. Bowie wrote “Pale blinds drawn all day. Nothing to read nothing to say” was he writing about a solitary masturbator? I think not! Maybe the curtains are drawn for a séance. Picture the scene: “Is there anybody there? Do you have a message for us?” “Waaankah!” One thing that puzzled me slightly about the person outside was the fact that he didn’t sound like a schoolboy. He definitely sounded like an adult male to me. Most children would be in school at this time anyway. It’s really not much of a hobby for a grown man in my opinion. I continued to ponder these points in the gaps between my strange feverish dreams all the time to a background of “Waaaaanker! Whoooeyyyyy Wanker!”
Soon my wife would be home. She would kiss me gently on my sweaty forehead and make everything alright again.”Wankaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Perhaps she would liquidise a scotch egg for me and lovingly feed it to my quivering lips with a pipette. Maybe she would set up the portable TV so that I could watch the next episode of Undersea Darts from my bed. Perhaps she would throw a housebrick at that idiot shouting in the street. Yes, Edith would be home soon. Edith, my lovely sweet Edith. She would make everything alright again. :wub: :wub: :wub:

Fantastic! More please. And then some more.

great stuff, as always and worth the wait :applaud:

My lovely wife is encouraging me to get these literary gems printed by one of those internet vanity publishing organisations. I'm not sure about that. I think it would work better as a photocopied fanzine type of thing. Whatever happens I'm definitely going to do some drawings for it. Any advice on such matters gratefully received. :)