Hello followers of The Posh, my name is George Epsom, horse trainer and supporter of all things green and recyclable, including my council speeches.
A couple of weeks ago David contacted me and asked for a couple of tips for the South Tyneside Kentucky Chicken Bumper Bucket Derby (he needs the ready cash to pay for his gin and Vimto’s), together with a request to write a guest piece for his little on line diary.
To be honest, writing is a little difficult as I have a severe injury to my shoulder which was sustained in my attempts to save the planet (more on that later) but having very large webbed feet, I am also able to hold a pen between my right toes, so I was happy to oblige and send him this foot penned script.
I first met The Posh in…now where was it…..oh yes, a pub. He was with Professor Steve Harrison-Ford, though they were both in disguise. Harrison-Ford’s facade was very easy to see through (and still is) but Posh was a bit more difficult to spot – he was disguised as a Councillor, and I had never seen him like that before. It didn’t however take me long to realize who he was – it was the smell of Vimto and sick splattered shoes that gave him away.
To make a long story even longer, we all got on like a house on fire.
We all had many common features.
Harrison-Ford could fall out with himself in an empty room; I didn’t even need the room. As for Posh, he certainly liked a room, especially at The Little Haven (he prefers the linen room, they get all the dirty sheets).
Not long after this Harrison-Ford and I became a double act performing on the Council expenses circuit and earning a reputation (and a good free wage) as supporters of the main act, The Malcovitch Brothers. Potts is a very good understudy who will probably one day join our exclusive little circus.
Perhaps a little background information about myself will wet your appetite for a series of articles I have planned for this site. I am a horse trainer with a difference. When I enter my horses in a race, I don’t expect them to win. I am paid by other trainers to put any old nag in the stalls with the sole aim of “crowding” the field, either to stop the favourite from winning, or to let some other three legged pony sneak in by the back door.
2009 was a very busy time for me, my most memorable race being the Beacon and Bents Re-Run Cup. Sadly, Councillor Pongo Khan, who romped home three days before my donkey managed to pass the finish line, won the race. I have no objections to the likes of Pongo coming into the Borough, winning races and attracting all the best jockeys, but I sometimes wish he would go back to where he came from – surely Yorkshire has its own Council?
I am expecting 2010 to be equally as busy. I have already had several requests from the Malcovitch Stable of Retired Pit Pony’s for my three legged donkey to run in a couple of ward races across the Borough in May. As I told them, the old nag can only be in one ward at a time, so they will have to decide which race is important to them.
When I’m not involved in knobbling elections (sorry, that should read races) I like to concentrate my efforts on saving the planet. I first got into all things green when I realized I could get a lot of publicity out of it. However, at the time I had no idea how dangerous being an eco warrior could be. As the summer months progressed, it became apparent that I would have to give my bush a good trim. My garden is very large, and had become over grown. Being a man of the earth, I put all my foliage into my green recyclable bin. It soon became full, so I jumped in, attempting to squash the contents to the bottom. Sadly the lid fell shut, I became trapped and four days later I was still there, covered in thorns, worms and spiders. I couldn’t get a mobile phone signal, and all my cries for help were ignored, a little bit like when I speak at council meetings.
I was only rescued when the bin man came. Even then, I was still tipped into the wagon, only being saved when the lads at Millfield saw my head sticking above the compost. I am very grateful to them, but I wish they would stop calling me “Stig of the Dump”.
I did sustain some very painful injuries. I had a dislocated tongue, my shoulder was severely bruised, and my ego had a massive dent. These injuries will heal with time, but it’s the taunts and jibes which really hurt and sting; “Here he comes, it’s George Dusty Bin Laden”, “Where have you bin for the last four days George” and “How did the lads at Millfield tell you apart from the other piles of rubbish”. People can be so cruel.
Life goes on however and hopefully after a couple of years the jokes will stop.
If not, I’ll just have to give them something else to laugh at, wont I?
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