It was a peaceful, star-ridden night in the whimsical Cheshire woodland. The diurnal creatures had been soothed to sleep as though the nocturnes sang nursery rhymes during breakfast. A similar, almost identical ambience presented itself not so far away, in the woody, neighbouring village of Blastam. It was on this night; in this village that 5-year-old Liam awoke to find a half-eaten curry next to his head.

As the restless boy tried to adjust his vision to the dazzling torchlight, which shone upon this mound of mixed rice and lumpy, brown chicken, he was suddenly stricken with a bludgeon. Luckily Liam was born with a dense skull and not more than a second had passed between the attack and the time Liam had pounced upon the late night visitor swearing vengeance. Just before delivering a fatal left hook to his assailant (for Liam was a champion boxer), an interruption occurred in the corpulent form of Liam’s mother. Kicking open his bedroom door she cried “Eff you!” and with a deep breath aimed a large rifle at her son’s head and effed him up.

The obese woman then turned her head swiftly towards Liam’s late night visitor, but as she cocked the rifle in his direction a cry of protest was made: “Don’t shoot me” the masked villain pleaded, “I was being really quiet! It was him who was screaming ‘Eat my dee!’ The woman paused for a moment. “Oh eff!” she exclaimed, surrendering the weapon to the surprise of the youngster “I’m sorry me laddie, I was only tryin ta help ya puny body. When ya up gainst va champion boxer round these parts ya haven’t got a chance less his mummy come in wiv rifle like. But ven I fought ‘vis effer woke me va fuck up.’ Meaning you! I didn’t know ya were bein quiet like. Aww, lets take ya doonsturs and fix ya up wiv some lovely, yellow porridge.”

The stranger stood up and followed the hefty mammal down the thickly carpeted stairs. Once at the foot he was shown into the sitting room where he settled down in a comfortable brown armchair and unmasked. Liam’s mother had disappeared into the kitchen. Meanwhile the boy had become anxious and restless and had begun to pull at the skin on his face. Presently she returned with a bowl of steaming porridge and a big, blue plastic spoon. “Aww yuv got a bonnie face ma lad. Tell me what’s ya name.” “Michael” the boy replied with trepidation, “…Michael Percival Stampford.” The woman nodded cordially and squeezed herself in-between the arms of a 3-seat sofa, which lay opposite to the armchair. “I can’t stay long,” said Michael with a trembling, apologetic smile. “I’m, um, doing some errands for my dad.” “Tis fine” replied the woman “Jus finish ya lovely porridge, I’ve got hooswork ta do anyway.”

Silence echoed throughout the room for a considerable time until Michael eventually finished his porridge. His appetite had been satisfied before he had even reached halfway, but he was too scared of the woman’s wrath to leave any signs of ingratitude. With an uneasy flicker of eye contact he stated “Well I’ll be off now.” Liam’s mother showed him to the door and bade him farewell as he set off.

He walked hurriedly away but suddenly felt a powerful urge to turn around a few paces later to admire the quaint mystery surrounding the little house, which was draped in almost total darkness, (save the single light in the sitting room). It was seconds later when his instincts told him to turn around again. Liam’s mother was stood at the door. “EFFER!” she cried abhorrently “You left your effing half-eaten curry in my effing house!” With that she unloaded 77 rounds into Michael’s fragile body using her late husband’s M-16 sub machine gun.

Now if instead of this story I had described a big steaming poo with different colours of bird-poo on top and had then weed all over my computer whilst typing it, its level of credibility would be exactly the same as that of Enuff Ballel at their 3rd Castle gig. Castle Forever.

We began by playing “A Reply To All Your Letters” very poorly. We then blasted through the rest of our songs like Robert Harrison would blast through a meat pie. Sloppily, and leaving us feeling empty inside. We played to possibly our smallest audience ever. Most of the audience was made up of Appease and our friends, so they don’t really count. It was only us and Appease playing and after setting off very late for the gig we arrived and found out that the manager guy didn’t give much of an eff. Appease rocked the house down after us. Many thanks goes out to them for getting us the gig. It’s ridiculous how much we suck!!