Oh Yes, He’s the Great Zucchini


Wha — ?




I shook myself awake. What the – ?

Had I been dreaming? No. It was Philip, my electric sheep-butler. It opened its jaw parts, revealing an old Mark Seven voice synthesiser, which was all I could afford when I bought it.

How’s it goin, Boss? I knew that voice, though I could barely hear it above the din of the Bullet’s manic guitar-playing.

Bullet! Turn down that fuckin amp, I screamed lovingly. Zucchini? That you?

Yeah. Who’d you think it was – Mother Teresa?

All right. All right. Sorry – I was asleep, and the Bullet was playing Pantera covers very loud.

Listen, he said. I have a bit of news for ya.

If it’s about the Paisley – Adams thing, I know. It was all over the telly.

Never mind that shite, he dismissed me.

Well, I continued, if it’s about the guy with the magnet up his arse –

No, said Zucchini, though I heard he wasn’t charged.

Not even assault and battery?

No, said Zucchini. Anyway, that isn’t why I called you.

Then why – ?

Rugby, he announced.

Ah fuck it, Zucchini, I protested. That was two weeks ago.

Not that fuckin rugby, I could distantly hear Zucchini pounding his fist on the table. I’m talkin about the real rugby!

You mean – ?

Exactly, he said. Munster versus Llanelli. I have news for you.

I knew it, I sighed. It was too good to be true. The trip’s off, right?

Eh, no, actually.

Well what then?

We have a place for the Bullet.

You what?

The Bullet. We have a ticket for him, and a seat in the bus.

Excellent, I said. Bullet, come down you fucker.

What’s up? Zucchini sounded worried

Nothing, I said. It’s just Bullet stuck to the ceiling. I’ll have to scrape him off.


Related : Off Again

3 thoughts on “Oh Yes, He’s the Great Zucchini

  1. And upon hearing the prayers of his friend the aged thief, The Great Zucchini raised his golden eyes to the heavens, perusing the constellations and the stars and lost worlds spinning upon their axes (ist that the correct plural?) and slowly closed his eyelids… And it didst come to him….

    His white haired brow wrinkling, he imagineth that the “Aged Herders” horse should become distressed, she being laden heavy with foal, and LO it became so, and the Aged Herder didst have to cancel (he being Blessed/Cursed with the gift of animal husbandry). Thence Zucchini didst cast his mind towards the aged thief and said, “There’s a space for the young fellah Bock……”

  2. I can’t help but hear Bill Malaren’s voice when I think of this coming Llanelli match. I haven’t a clue where it is relative to Pontypool or Pontypridd, but I know that the place reeks of working man’s rugby, and is a big part of the reason I sometimes love this game. It’s one of those old places I associate with that magical Welsh 70’s team of Gareth Edwards, Barry John, Mervin Davis, Gareth Williams , JPR , and the Pontypool front row. ( Charlie Windsor and there was also a Graham and Bobby but their sur-names escape me now ). Before Thomand Park ever became fashionable, fellas were worshipping at Welsh alters, in a time when there wasn’t much else by way of diversion.Of course I have nothing to back this up, but I can hear beautiful choirs and in my mind’s eye see coal-slag heaps and a ruined countryside, heavy coats, caps and cheap pints of bitter. An uncle of mine unable to gain legal entry at Lansdowne Road to see Ireland play them, tells the story of a wall, a ladder and a long jump to another defeat. We could never beat this shower before Charlotte Church and Slick Gavin came along. I remember too my sister coming back so upset from her school tour, having visited Aberfan where 144 people, mostly school children, died in a land-slide from one these awful slag heaps. Or the awful depressed arrival at Holyhead and the mid-night cross-country drag to London.

    Hey Bock , enjoy the day and hopefully we’ll get a result ( and against Cardiff too )

  3. Zucchini: Eh, quite.

    Mikell: Thanks for the comment. It strikes me that you have material for a good blog there. Why don’t you post it instead of hiding it away here?

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