retired_hamawandi

September 2nd 2011

Chez Dawson

The phone rang, and Michael, somewhat startled, picked it up. Then he put it down again. It was still ringing.

Intriguing.

Finally, cracking the problem, he lifted the reciever up, but left the actual phone where it was on the table. This stopped the ringing sound, but produced a high speed chipmunk talking noise. He placed the reciever to his ear and the words became somewhat more coherent.

Mikey daaaaahling, Horace here...

Great, just what he needed. He grunted affirmatively in a manner which suggested that he frankly couldn't give a baboons backside Horace was on the line.

...I've had an offer Mikey. This could be big, and it could make me, er, you....er, us.... a lot of money.

Grunting in the affirmative again, Michael absent mindedly picked his nose.

Messrs Spoodge and Whilpernip of London would like you to write a biography of yourself. This could be big. They want lots of expose's on Minty Tallulah...

Michael suddenly decided to speak...

...ah, i see, and I can write a bit about me and my wonderful career too?

Horace had a mild attack of a wild hacking cough and said...

errr... yes of course, just make sure the dirt on Minty's there too.

Michael failed to see anything particularly wrong with the book offer. It was blatantly obvious to him the whole world thought he was wonderful, so he would doff his hat, pick up his quill and start writing. He would write in the style of Samuel Pepys - "Dear Diary, London caught fire today, went shopping, found a stray cow, brushed teeth, went to bed."

He was daydreaming and Horace's voice brought him back to Earth.

So Mikey, it's a £12m deal here. They want all the dirt. You have 3 months to write it. How's that? Can i seal the deal? Oh it has to be called 'Me and Minty'.

Michael replied in the positive, and hung up. 'Me and Minty' eh? He immediately decided the public would much rather know about him that Minty, after all he was a very interesting fellow.

After he had finished pondering, he went to find McHugh who had just finished painting a wall, and Michael pulled up a chair and spent a wonderful afternoon watching it dry.

retired_hamawandi

September 3rd 2011

Chez Dawson

Michael awoke to see the autumn sun streaming in through his window and a large crate being deposited in his front yard by a gigantic crane.

He hobbled downstairs, and then outside, careful not to agitate his knee and went to find out what all the fuss was.

It turned out that a consignment of hippies had been mistakenly delivered to his house instead of to the chap over the next hill.

This was too good a chance to miss, and with McHugh's help, he placed the 7 hippies on the roof with their bongo drums, and tie-dye t-shirts and straggly beards, and pushed them off the roof so that they all splatted on the floor below.

It was most probably the best morning Michael had ever spent in his life.

cityonahill25

Good, so far, but you've over-estimated Michael's intelligence...!

retired_hamawandi

September 6th 2011

Chez Dawson

After sighing pointedly at Teletext for the last two hours at Tottenhams 4-1 defeat at Cardiff, Michael turned off the T.V and winced as his knee began to pound like anything.

Gordon Lewis was a rubbish defender. He, Michael Dawson was the only reason Spurs were any good when he played. He was feeling slightly arrogant and was resenting his latest stupid injury. He'd be past it by the time he recovered. He may as well hand in a transfer request and play out the end of his playing career at Dagenham and Redbridge or something. He had been an expensive flop, but to make up for his feeling of anguish at that, his ludicrously high wages gave him something to smile about. He could no longer walk through his 4th guest bedroom as it was packed to the rafters with fresh crisp ten pound notes in bundles.

The multi million pound book deal was going to come in handy too, He could redecorate the downstairs toilet with used five pound notes, or amuse himself by throwing money into the 'big cats' wing of the house to see if McHugh would risk his life for a boost of his weekly income.

Bored, he loaded up another computer game on his laptop. This time he endeavored to play Chimp Manager 07/08, a game where he would take over as the agent of a small circus performing chimp and guide it to worldwide glory.

It started well enough. He invested a lot of capital into a unicycle, and the chimps remarkable performances soon caught the eye of the Maldivian International Circus, where a 4 year stint ws signed. After blowing his yearly budget on funny exploding cigars for the chimp, he went into administration, gave up and resigned.

Michael was bored. He needed football. He opted to go and watch Spurs take on Chelsea next week in a titanic struggle between two teams that used to be good.

retired_hamawandi

September 13th 2011

Tottenham vs Chelsea

Before the game, footballer/lunatic Michael Dawson received a standing ovation from the crowd, and a large message of support over the tannoy. The game started lively enough, with both teams hitting the post in the first half hour. It took until the 56th minute for a goal, and it went Chelsea's way. Youssef Sofiane headed on a route one clearance by the 'keeper for Moses Ashikodi to toe poke past a stranded Richard Evans. Tottenham struggled to find a way back, and almost made it when Jamie Crosby headed a Ruslan Mostovoi corner against the bar. Chelsea had a late claim for a penalty turned down, and Ben May got sent off in the last minute for diving, after receiving a second yellow card. Michael Dawson looked distraught in the crowd, and Tottenham certainly missed his presence. the question is, can they function without the big guy? Probably not.

retired_hamawandi

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by LukeatNFFC:
Good, so far, but you've over-estimated Michael's intelligence...!<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Well, i shall have to make him a little more dim!

Rich

retired_hamawandi

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by I'm Not Ruud:
Poor Michael..guess he's not having too much luck with that football career. And with the zookeeping either.

I'm very amused by the story. You should write comedy or something. This is really, really good!

Keep it up!<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Whilst Michael is committed to his football career, he has always been well into animals. Or maybe I should rephrase that.

Rich

retired_hamawandi

September 29th 2011

Chez Dawson

After weeks of putting it off, Michael finally started to write some of his biography. He had been driven to it really, by Spurs' recent dismal performances which had led to calls for the managers head and protests. They were now 16th in the table.

Michael picked up his pen, a delightful golden nibbed fountain pen and began writing.

I was born on the 18th of November, some years ago now, and little did the world know they had a future star in their midst. I was born to a Mormon and a model train enthusiast who found it difficult to cope with my birth. The main reason for their difficulties was that we lived in a dingy bedsit in Margate, with only one room. My mother, a devout Mormon left me and my father six years later, when i was a little bit older than 5, but not quite seven. Somewhere in the middle I think. It was difficult for me and my father after that. He found it difficult to accept me as his son as I was not a model train, and he couldn't find a serial number. When I was 12, I left home and got a job down t'mines. It wasn't a very productive job as the local mine had been shut for 14 years. The woman at the Job Centre had clearly been having me on. Still, I spent a lonely few months wandering about down there, eating old sandwiches and shivering with cold. Being a coal mine, It didn't have any wood for me to burn for warmth. It was only a few years ago I learnt that coal performed much the same function....

Michael stopped writing for now. It was going really well. He was sure to capture the hearts of the British public with this. To bask in the glow of his large ego even more, he went to retire to his gold plated bathroom, to bathe in Lions milk, the very height of luxury. McHugh didn't think so, but that was probably because his arm had been ripped off trying to get the milk off the lion in the first place.

retired_hamawandi

October 5th 2011

Chez Dawson

Michael's ears picked up a familiar sound over the radio at breakfast time. He recognised the melody of a song. Now, where had he heard it before?

Ah, now he knew, it was that song he'd been hearing people humming. He didn't know why they had been so secretive. He turned up the radio, and a sweet voice filled the room:

I don't wanna wait, for my bread to be toasted,
I want to know right now, what will it be?
I don't wanna wait, for my bread to be toasted,
Will it be burnt or will it be...
Soggy?

Do Do Doo Do Doobee Do
Do Do Doo Do Doobee Do (X2)

So open up your morning loaf,
Say a little prayer for toast,
You know that if we are to stay alive,
Put Marmalade on every slice.

Repeat All X3

Now Michael knew why people had been so secretive, it was the latest offering from Minty Tallulah and once again he put his bravest face on to combat the overwhelming feeling of pointlessness. Oh, how he needed her right now, in his time of injury stricken need.

He listened as the rambling DJ announced the song was called 'I Don't Wanna Wait (For My Toast)' It was a truly beautiful song, and Michael felt inspired. He would start on the next chapter of his book, Minty Tallulah's voice dancing around his mind.

retired_hamawandi

October 12th 2011

Chez Dawson

Finally, after a week of painstaking work, Michael had a completed second chapter of his story, a summary of how he had first come to be a football player. While writing, he failed to notice Spurs were bottom of the Premier League, with a sacked manager to boot. They were becoming the whipping boys of the league. Michael no-longer seemed to care, he was determined to become a giant of the literary world.

I recall playing football with my father when i was 4, for the first time. I was punting a soft little ball around the lounge when he came in with his studs high and cracked my jawbone. We were a very competitive family. My mother, being a Mormon disapproved heartily, as in her mind having fun interfered with wearing long robes and muttering. Having never been keen on that particular pursuit I took to playing outside with little Jimmy from over the street, although that ended one summers afternoon when little Jimmy developed leprosy and lost his leg trying an overhead kick. It was about this time, as a 10 year old that i began playing for the local church side, although I found the nuns to be hard tacklers and foul mouthed. At 15 when I moved to Nottingham to look for work, 3 years after running away from home, I was spotted by the late, great Zblibliboxzy Speigniwecz, the man in charge of Youth development at Nottingham Forest. He offered me a youth contract after watching me put in a towering performance for my local Sunday League team, and from that day forth, I never looked back...

He felt his literary skills were worthy of praise, and sat down to bask in his own glory.