Strapped for Cash

£122! That's what it cost to get Martin fixed up. I was thinking of doing it myself at one stage. But I can't stand seeing him in pain so I went down the seafront and shelled out the money. Again.

Took on another shift at Ann Summers. I'll be working on the Bondage equipment helpline for a few weeks. Like the Samaritans for perverts. One fella had wrapped his missus in pvc tape but didn't have any nails to get her out. And the tea needed cooking. All human life. By the way I suggested he get some bolt cutters or a blow torch or a set of those false nails.

I think it's going well. Me and Martin made up. With his new skull lining and the little moustache I got the taxidermist to paint on, he was quite happy and out of nowhere he placed his hand on mine. The war was over. How could I be mad at Martin?

Deaf Metal

Me and Martin Chuzzleclit are not speaking. Moody bastard. We did a gig just outside of Morecambe on Saturday night. For the deaf. Not the best environment for a ventriloquist. I'm sure the bloke signing by the side of the stage was making wanker signs.

I started shouting. Chuzzleclit started shouting. No one could hear us. Someone signed laughter at one stage. Eventually Martin flicked a finger at one of them. "It's the only language they understand" he said. It kicked off. Martin took a belt to the head from a deaf ex-wrestler from Hest Bank.

The manager gave us half the money. He said he hadn't laughed that much since they had Mike Yarwood in here doing impressions. Martin and me walked all the way home to the flat. And not a word was said.

We sat all the way through Sunday lunch and Antiques Roadshow in silence. I may as well been deaf. But the dent in Martin's head will need fixing.

Yorkshire Air Museum

Been quiet for a few weeks. Still packing giant dildos for Mrs Summers in her warehouse. The head of human resources told me last week she hadn't seen a man handle a cock as gently since her uncle came with her family on a caravan holiday up in the Lakes. I think it was a compliment. Whatever it was, it's going on the new press material.

Malcolm Powder finished his community service and to celebrate he boosted a Vauxhall Corsa from the Woolworth's car park and we headed off for the day, Martin in the back. We headed over the border to the Yorkshire Air Museum.

What a load of shite! We paid £5 each and some cocky bollocks showed us through a door and pointed at the sky. "There you go. Now fuck off" he chimed. Bloody Yorkshire. I hate them as much as I do Londoners. And Blacks...

The outdoor apparel shop never had my size of cagoule. Bastards.

Better than Quentin

Went to the chip shop this afternoon. For a large bag and sign a new 31 year contract with the agent. I don't know what made me more sick. Or had more grease on it.

He still has the picture of me and Martin Chuzzleclit on Noel's House Party on his wall. Above a photo of Chris Quentin pissing on a hen night group. But below a framed photo of Mickey Duane and The Blue Parrot performing at the Embassy. I suppose that's how he sees me. Above Brian Tilsley but beneath a manic depressive alcoholic ex squaddie with a badly made parrot puppet up to his elbow. Sometimes i hate showbusiness.

A 31 year contract seemed the best option. I figure he'll be dead by then and he won't have a chance of getting 10% when he's decaying in a casket. I'm not sure i've really figured this out. I didn't read it. It was smudged with batter. But I'm sure as ever the agent will look after my and Martin's best interests. I mean Chris Quentin wouldn't be with him. Would he?

Scratchie

Chuzzleclit is better. Mother is walking again. She's kicked out that waster boyfriend. And I won £5 off a scratchcard from the Morrisons garage. I only bought £30 worth. Things are looking up.

I am writing new material for me and Martin. First time in 21 years. The world's changed since we started out. Ipods and AIDS. That's all the kids seem to be into these days. I haven't got either. Although Malcolm Powder did have a Walkman in the late 80's. And shared needles with hookers. He was always ahead of his time.

We finished the X Factor application form and sent it off. Second class. Reused stamps from two Christmas's back. I'm buggered if Simon Cowell is getting any first class stamps off of me for his mansion.

Vomit in a basket

Gig was a disaster. Me and Martin had a scampi supper before the meat raffle. Now, I can take tartare sauce. But poor greedy Martin's little papier mache belly can't. Was he ill? Bloody hell, it was like Cherie Blair from the Exorcist after a bad prawn bhuna.

Anyway halfway through the set and the material is going well. It's a Carnforth crowd, so they like something a bit more sophisticated. So I was doing a joke about two lesbians, a prize winning turnip and a promordial dwarf when Martin let fly with a stream of vomit like Peter North on his vinegar strokes.

We were out of there in minutes. The contortionist had to limber up and get on stage quick. All the way home on the bus Martin is voming here and chundering there. The bus was fucked.

Martin's a cranky bastard when he is ill. The language!

Picking up the Pieces.

Me and Martin got the application for the X Factor auditions. 4 bloody pages. Martin filled it out. Attached a few shots of us in action. Sent it off.

Met Malcolm Powder to thank him for setting me up like a Mr Kipper with Nicola. She had sent me a few emails. And tried to IM me (whatever the balls that is). I ignored her. I thought that was the adult thing to do. Malcolm told me that Nicola was the inspiration for PAC MAN. Or Mrs PAC MAN. And I believe him.

Malc had to cancel a gig up near Carnforth so he put me forward. The venue hadn't heard of me and Martin before so we got the job. Things are turning in my favour. Martin needs to work or he gets cranky.

Mother fell down some stairs in her bungalow. She's fine but I think it was that boyfriend of her. I didn't like him and his dialysis machine. Piss taker.

Valentine's Day Massacre

Unlimited salad bar. Never has that been put to the test. Until I met Nicola.

I heard her before I saw her. Sounded like the Titantic sinking and looked like the fucking iceberg that hit it. I'm sure three quarters of her was under the water. Martin has never climbed into his box quicker. I wished I could have followed him.

Nicola was louder than a riot and ate everything that moved. Or was fried. Or was covered in Red Devil sauce. The MD at the Harvester took me aside at one point and said he loved my business and everything but this bitch was going to bankrupt him and possibly the Harvester chain. The chef had cooked up a month's supply of garlic bread and now had to make his own. He didn't have a clue. They wanted this street cleaner moved.

Anyway I made a profit. The MD paid for my meal. Gave me a coupon for free profitorles next time. But he never ever wanted that trash compactor near the restaurant again.

It would have been an awkward kiss in the car park. Had I not driven away at great speed. Leaving Nicola knawing on old tire. Thanks Malcolm!

Dating

Well I met a lady off of that website that Malcolm mentioned. We emailed for a few days. She is into Lego ("everything fits together just right"), walking on the beach ("plenty of condoms down there") and ventriloquists ("Ker fucking ching"). 23 years old! Blonde!

She couldn't send me a picture. Her computer was out of action she said in an email. I sent her a few publicity shots of me and Martin (from the mid 80's mind) and thought about sending her a photo of my blue veiny but Martin couldn't hold the camera phone. One step at a time.

We're meeting on Valentines Night. For a slap up meal. At the Harvester up near the flyover. Unlimited salad bar! She'll be creaming in her drawers. I love the salad bar. And Martin loves their lemon pepper chicken.

Thanks Malcolm!

Open Mick

Still working at Summers. Regular as cock work. Cock in and cock out at 5pm. We've done all the jokes. I bought some lube for my hand. And the handling of Martin has become a lot smoother. And I think that ungrateful bastard Chuzzleclit appreciates it too.

Did an open mike (me!) at an army pub outside Barrow during the week. A gong show. That was the name of the girl on before me. A ping pong artiste. Tough act to follow. And the squaddies were laying her out on the pool table when I came on. Anyway we didn't get booed off. They were all too busy doing a "Jodie Foster". She was great in Bugsy Malone.

Malcolm Powder (who is still doing his community service!) told me about an internet dating site. He met some brass from Heysham who had one eye and one leg. But she had a car and could accommodate. Malcolm had spent a weekend with her. Apparently she was great at taking roundabouts. I might have a look.

Fudge Packing

The agent got me and Martin some work. Finally. Not club work. Not parties. No. Packing dildos at the Ann Summers factory just outside Preston. Preston! What do they want dildos for?

Anyway at first I said stick it. I'm not working for that bitch Summers. And I think I speak for Martin Chuzzleclit too. But it is £5 an hour and a 50% discount on sex toys, lotions and PVC items. So I thought of Mother (it was her birthday soon) and took the job.

Well. What an eye opener. Black, big, small, yellow, white. Every kind of cock was there. Veiny, smooth, squirting, with a small rabbit on top, a dolphin...By Friday I was packing more cock than Joan Collins. At lunchtimes me and Martin did the usual schtick for the women. Went down well. But it's not a gig. This isn't entertainment.

Cold

Been a bit depressed since New Year. The phone hasn't rung. The doorbell hasn't rung. No emails. Not even a Nigerian offering me £100,000,000. And I really need that right now.

Martin's had a cold. The stuff that has come out of his nose! The flat is freezing. I had to empty the Jameson bottle to feed the meter. I told Macolm Powder it wasn't a good idea to leave the whisky in the bottle. Idiot.

I hear from Joyce that Mickey Duane applied to be on X Factor but didn't get a look in - even for the useless freaks section. Serves him right. I spoke to Martin about trying it down in Manchester but you couldn't talk to him. When he's ill he's a demon.

New Year

Happy New Year. I've a hangover banging in my head like Bobby Sands rumbling tummy. Bloody awful skinful after the New Years gig.

Due to a fire alarm at 1155 everyone had to evacuate except me and Martin (we decided on a suicide pact). Anyway someone had dropped half a Benson into the Tombola and it went up.

Noone saw the gig and Martin hopped behind the bar and liberated a bottle of Jagermister. It was like drinking piss from a dehydrated Satan. Martin started dancing with his knackers out. I chucked my ring all over the meat raffle. Best party ever.

Anyway. 2006. Must get more work. Must get a new agent (or one with two working eyes). And me and Martin Chuzzleclit should go to London. We'll see.

Christmas Cheer

Mother came down from the home for Christmas. With her boyfriend! 92 years old. Been through two world wars. And took a bit of damage in both. Set the love swings for them in the back room. Ear plugs for me, I think.

Martin Chuzzleclit cooked the turkey. I carved. Mother slurped, burped, farted and followed through. The usual Xmas dinner. Her fella had a saline drip for his dinner.

Martin got me a calender of roundabouts. We had a giggle. I hate roundabouts. Fucking hate them. I got him a copy of "Last Tango in Paris" and a block of lard. Little in joke between us.

Got a New Years gig at the club. Big money. Big crowd. Big trouble.

The Dark Ages

Medieval Banquet in Garstang. What a mess. A couple of spotty kids from Oldham Acting College dressed in chainmail made from Dr Pepper ringpulls ripping Iceland chicken wings apart whilst some pisshead played Layla on a lute.

Me and Chuzzleclit were on after the jousting between the chief exec of the recyling plant and one of the knuckledraggers from the plant. Blood everywhere. The exec might lose an eye.

So we came on. Bloody Dark Ages. Bones. Mead (Newcastle Brown Ale with Morrison's Honey). I think a glass of piss. A bit of the exec's eye. What a mess.

It took me an hour on the bus to get the chicken skin out of Martin's inner workings. Nice snack for the journey though. Roll on Christmas.

Busy Busy Busing

Been a busy few weeks. Christmas parties. It runs a little like this. A bunch of paper clip executives head up from Blackpool. Get honking pissed. Turn up at the club near the pier. Drag act. Magician (in this day and age!), meat raffle, karaoke, blue comedian, slap up meal, more booze, the fucking dance where they all sit on the ground rowing, more booze...and me and Martin. Graveyard shift. We've had more scampi thrown at us in the last week than Jayne Macdonald's comeback tour.

Anyway. Money's money. And Christmas is coming. Martin loves Christmas.

Got an Xmas do at a Medieval Banquet in Garstang in a tomorrow. How they'd know is beyond me.

Hoover Power

We're into the Christmas run up. I'm hoping that agent gets us more work. Macolm always used to say that my agent was a talent vaccuum. Which for 12 years I thought was a good thing.

I goggled it on the internet recently and now I know what it means.

Got a gig at Barrow in Furness. Or the Furnace as all entertainers call it. Last time me and Martin Chuzzleclit appeared in "The Slapped Tit" in Barrow I walked away with a broken cheek bone. Martin had a leg pulled off and lit like a cigar. By a woman. This country is falling apart.

Gastro Problems

Mother has gone. Thank fuck for that. The toilet (and the couch!) smelt of cabbage mixed with an alley opposite a nightclub. Packed the two love swings. Why she needs two I don't know.

The gig at the Gastro Pub in Lancaster was a effing disaster. Ignorant fuckers. Me and Martin were doing killer material. And did they look up from their pear tarts and puttanesca pasta. Did they buggery. I think someone laughed at a joke. It was a routine me and Martin do about Punch raping Judy. But it was one of those "ironic" laughs that Malcolm told me about.

You only get them down south and Lancaster.

She's here...

Mother is here. Wheeled here down to The Dome and the Erotic Fair. She bought two Love Swings. We watched the Joyce Warrington Players put on a stage show. It was filthy. I loved it. Martin missed out.

Liquidised 2 pork chops for mother for tea. She'll still block the toilet tomorrow.

Martin doesnt like it when mother is here. He gets jealous.

Bought George Best's autobiography - Liver and Let Die. I hope it's not as long as his "final few days".

Big gig in Lancaster tonight at one of those gastro pubs. La Di Dah!

Mum

Had some luck with a lady last night. Won two quid off a scratchcard from the corner shop. I spent 20.

My mother, 92 years old, sent me an email. An email! Last time she tried she stuck a stamp on the screen and waited for three weeks. She's coming to stay for two days. There's an erotic fair in The Dome and she has been trying to a get a love swing for the home. I suppose i'll have to get the food processor out again for her steak.

Money

Chuzzleclit needed a lot of work. I owe Barry a lot of money. I thought about burning the fucker. Chuzzleclit not Barry. But how could I? He's family.

Got to make some money. I see Lynam is doing Countdown. Fucker. Need a break.

Crash

Crashed the car on the way to Heysham. Skidded into a kebab van. My air balloon went off so i was fine but Chuzzleclit went straight through the window and under the van. Poor bastard. We found one of his fingers in the doner meat. Those animals wouldn't notice.

Couldn't face Heysham. Gathered up Chuzzleclit in my arms and got the night bus back to town. Got a free kebab though.

Back on the road

Voice back! Got to get back out there. Burnt 800 Yellow Pages down the dump. They'll never know.

Me and Martin are booked into a Social Club in Heysham. Big money and we get to run the raffle. Back on top.

Little Voice

I lost my voice shouting at the council over some shit that had been left on my door step. Not the best thing for a ventriloquist. Martin Chuzzleclit is going out of his mind. I'm sure he is wanting for something.

Obviously the work has dried up and i've taken to delivering Yellow Pages. Hard work. I just wish Martin would get off his arse and earn some money.

The Agent

Went to see my agent. The greasy bastard works above a chip shop and everything in his office stinks of batter. Martin doesn't like it. No work on horizon. 23 years with this fella and the best i had was one minute on Noel's House Party. It's not enough.

We're booked for a stag do in town. Rugby League team. I'm on after the Thai stripper and her ping pong balls so it'll be a tough act to follow. These people are taking all our jobs...

A New Man

It cost me £267 to get Martin fixed. I had to sell my dad's medals to pay for it. I suppose he'll understand.

Martin looks great though. A new man. I think we're going to have a good winter season. I'm thinking of heading back to Blackpool and hitting some of the drag clubs. People say Martin looks like George Michael now so we might get some work. I'm nit gaying up though. Not again.

Se7en

I went to Mickey Duane's gig. I wore a hat and a tache. He spotted me straight away and ripped seven types of piss out of me all the way - up until the meat raffle when i made a run for it. I hate him.

Got back and smashed Martin Chuzzleclit's face in. That's going to cost.

The Blue Parrot

I heard that Mickey Duane and The Blue Parrot are playing in the Legion in Morecambe. Fucking bastard. He's a big noise from Penrith and i've lost more than a few jobs to him and his diseased bird. All blue material. Some of it fucking disgusting.

I might go along and heckle. Put him off his stride.

Repairs

Malcolm Powder got 292 hours community service. Not bad. He'll work in a old people's home. With his temper he'll fit in nicely. Means more work for me and Martin.

I got another letter from Countdown saying "Fuck off..just to make sure". Lairy bastards.

Brought Martin Chuzzleclit to the taxidermist on the seafront. Patched up his eye. And for a special treat made his bulge down below bigger. It's all about getting bums on seats.

Pendle

malcolm got arrested for the car. I said nothing as did Martin Chuzzleclit. Serves him right. I'll visit him in Lancaster prison. Bring him a cake with one tit on it.

British Legion in Pendle. Tough crowd. They took a stab at Bernard Manning here once. He wasn't racist enough.

Someone shouted at Martin and questioned his ethnicity. After they threw a pound of steak from the meat trolley at me i confessed he was made in China.

Two broken ribs. Chuzzleclit lost an eye.

Birthday

September 11th. Terrible day. My fucking birthday. Malcolm Powder, a blue comedian from Scarsdale way, came along. Bought me a cake with one tit on it. He ate the other sitting in traffic.

My agent sent a card with the Two Towers collapsing. Ha bloody ha.

Got stupidly drunk with Malcolm and Martin. Stole a car for a bit.

Hen Night

I did a hen night last night and the bitches pulled Martin's head off leaving my hand exposed. Before i could get off the bride had my cock out and was applying Gillette Shaving foam. Things have got to get better for me and Martin Chuzzleclit. Oh well it'll give me a month of wanking images.

Charity

I've been asked to do a benefit for some spastic kids who need a bus. I hate doing charity gigs. No fucking money in it. But i suppose if they get a bus they'll fuck off on day trips and not get in my way in Morrison's.

The trouble with the Police has moved on. Apparently they were looking for a kiddie fiddler with the same name and street but it looked like someone had volunteered the information. Fucking agent.

Countdown

Got the letter back from Yorkshire. "Fuck off" it said. At least they were straight with me. Chuzzleclit was very depressed. Drank a bottle of absinthe before going on stage at the Cleethorphes British Legion Club. Bloody hell. Martin pissed himself on stage and I had to cover for the bastard. I really wanted Countdown. I bet that shit Gyles Brandeth gets it.

back in blighty

Back in England. Heard Richard Whiteley was dead. Boo fucking hoo. Any bastard can press a button and wear a funny tie. I want that job bad. I sent a letter to Yorkshire Television today. Me and Chuzzleclit can present. No need for that bitch Vorderman. She's too big for her boots now. Fucking Sudoku.

Spanish Flyers

Haven't been posting recently cos I've had trouble with the Police. I'm in Mallorca working the club scene. Fucking Spanish. Tighter than an Ethopians arsehole and no respect for Martin Chuzzleclit. Bastards.

In a club in Magaluf they threw fucking paella at me. At me. I've shared the bill with fucking Jim Bowen. I packed Martin away and left an horrendous crap in the lav. Me and Martin drank a whole bottle of Sambuca.

Keith Curtis and Martin

Hello my name is Keith Curtis and I'm an entertainer from Morecambe. Alan, from the internet cafe on the quay, said i should start a blog. I said I'll pay my way like every other customer. He explained. So here it is. I've been an entertainer and ventriloquist in the North of England for 23 years and my colleague is Martin Chuzzleclit.