bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Ahoy there, casual lovers,

Yeah I dunno if you remember a couple of years ago, there used to be this hunchy bloke with child legs who used to play Nowhereman all day on a sort of metal harp in the cobbled yard at Camden, right next to the pizza place. The mentally insufficient warbling Beatles classics is just the sort of thing to sharpen your apetite right up, so the pizza people must have been well chuffed. Incidentally, scandal fans will be interested to learn that all the loose change he used to get from suddenly not that hungry passers by was spent on a well known local prostitute and crystal meth afficianado, in what must have been very bleak sexual congress indeed.

He was mates with another notable ladies’ man who used to wander around the East Yard, vomiting into his beard all day. I remember that he had quite a thoughtful way of doing it, like Sherlock Holmes playing his violin or Gandalf blowing smoke rings. Single girls planning a trip to Camden might want to put extra make up on and dress in revealing frocks as he has been spotted looking queazy on the Chalk Farm Road recently, and rumour has it he’s up for grabs.

Happily, however, we have retained the services of excellent Irish gag machine Tony Tiernan. I am very fond of Tony, who claims not to have been sober since 1993 – a statistic which I for one believe – and have given him fuck knows how much cash over the years. I particularly admire his technique with the general public, which is to follow them up Camden High Street telling them jokes, and then, when they give him money, refuse to go away. Martin made him up a Christmas hamper last year and I gave him my old coat as a present, and we’re thinking of giving him a permanent contract with annual leave and pension contributions if it will just make him stop.

A quick plug here, by the way, for all six of you recieving this by RSS: you might like to let any screamy and excitable adolescent girls of your acquintance know that two of the East Yard’s most motherable and non threatening characters, Killer Strawberry – aka Alan, who is a massive fan of the cock, and Sally Can’t Dance aka Chris, who isn’t, but really, really looks like he is – are back in full effect (although only on Saturdays for Chris). Alan had a few things to sort out and has binned that shop he had, and Chris was at the Backdoor Market – which, yes, does sound like a gay club night, but is actually a small trading area off Brick Lane.

And so onto this weeks’ selection of portraits from the photographic archives here at Griefjunkie Towers. Top inset is the aforementioned godfather of mirth, Tony Tiernan. Below top is Dave and Boo, an excellent ally of ours. Three seconds after this picture was taken, Dave wrestled Boo to the floor and attached a stall clip to his testicles. Below middle is, in my opinion, the saddest loss of all in the Great Fire of Camden – a stretch of corregated iron fencing that used to overlook the roof terrace of the Hawley Arms, and carried the show-stopping legend AJ gives toothy blowjobs. At the very bottom is one of the secret pictures we have been taking of some of the joyless fuckwits we have to deal with every day. This lady looks very smiley and nice, although when I showed this picture to Dave, he said ‘Look at that old cunt. I’d greet her with a hammer’. A lovely comment, from a bloke who once mugged a postman for his shoes.