0100 to 0200 hrs Friday 27th March 1998
Note: Blue Jam is a radio programme and is very ambient, with melancholic music and sound effects throughout the programme. The voices are also very distinct, not to mention liberal uses of Macintosh speech synthesisers. As such, this transcript can only give you a taste of the jam.
When you futesack be bootsack vam kick sharp in gob, while you wish "satsuma"...
When oo hands be warm, but only due ug raging infect of the
[spooky voices along with main] blood and the skin and the nail and the bones, and the tissue
bacterie, bacterie, ooh la la rouge...
Well so look at you screaming and shouting like an angry turnip, oo fucked-up ridiculum, most foolum to yoursephun, and I have no sympathy oop turnip...
And when all who remain in joy hides unnoticed in one shrivelled cell, at the bog-bottom of the very bum-tube of ee cess-jophy...
Then welcome. Mm, oo vudge welcome... in Blue Jam, Blue Jam, Blue Jam, Blue Jam, Blue Jam...
[fades]
GRAHAM: My name is Graham Shyve, I'm a... computer salesman.
ALISON: I'm Alison Shyve and... this is our daughter Judy.
JUDY: Hello!
G: We've always had a strong feeling with Judy, that she's really a 45 year-old man... trapped in the body of a four year-old girl.
A: So she's... had an operation, to fit her with the penis and... er, testicle glands of a 45 year-old man.
J: Mu - Mummy can I...
A: Ssshh!
[sound of rummaging clothes]
G: Look at that. You see, it's perfect.
A: We're particularly pleased with the balls.
G: Yes, I think the balls are excellent. You're a lot happier with those aren't you love?
J: Yeah.
[knock on door]
DOCTOR: Come in!
[door opens, PATIENT enters]
PATIENT: Hello.
D: Have a seat.
P: Thanks.
[sits down]
D: So what seems to be the problem?
P: Flu.
D: Mmm.
P: Erm, got quite a temperature...
D: Right...
P: And er...
[buzzer sounds]
P: ...a cough, and er, just generally feeling pretty sick aren't I.
D: Mmm...
P: I've been er, been actually sick... sick last night.
D: Right. You don't like me, do you.
[pause]
P: Uh...
D: Why is that?
P: I don't like you?
D: Yeah. I'm perfectly decent, got quite a lot of friends. You only ever see me when you want something.
P: Hhh... well...
D: How do you think that makes me feel?
P: M...
D: You never just pop by, do you?
P: Yeah but... I mean, you...
D: I've found you out, haven't I?
P: Uh... I mean I do quite...
D: You know you don't. I reckon you only come and see me to try and give me germs.
P: Oh come on!
D: Hang on a second would you?
[picks up the phone and presses some buttons]
D: Hello Sarah? Yeah, just a quick question: Why do you book these people to see me?
SARAH: [inaudible]
D: People who don't like me.
[PATIENT sighs and coughs]
D: You don't do that for Dr. Harris do you?
S: [inaudible]
D: Has he ever complained about this sort of thing?
S: [inaudible]
D: Right. Well, don't do it for me either, OK? Thank you.
[hangs up]
D: Right, I'll prescribe you something for the flu... and next time I think you'd better see Dr. Harris.
[PATIENT stands up]
P: OK.
D: Bye.
P: Bye!
[opens door]
P: Look I - I - I mean, I'm sorry...
D: It's too late now.
[closes door]
[DOCTOR fidgets about and speaks to what is presumably a mirror]
D: You don't like me, do you? You don't like me, do you? Well, I don't like you, so piss off!
[knock on door]
DOCTOR: Come in!
[door opens]
D: Ah yes, come and sit down.
[PATIENT sits down]
D: What can I do for you?
P: Got a... sprained knee.
D: Ah yes. Football?
P: Yeah. It's pretty... firm, funny way it's...
D: Painful there?
P: [intake of breath] Yeah, very.
D: Oh yes, right. Well, what I'm gonna do, is give you 200 quid.
[rustle of paper]
D: 200 pounds... and I don't want to see you again.
P: You...
D: OK?
P: Right, thanks very much...
D: Not at all. Bye bye!
P: Bye!
[PATIENT leaves]
[bizarre, sinister, vaguely Pop-Reggae-like music - a better description of the style would be welcomed!]
Here she comes, being wheeled on a trolley,
Mary Anne Hobbs being wheeled on a trolley,
Every corner of her great big head,
Supported by a wooden buttress.
And when she smiles it looks like an exploding pig,
All the children run screaming from the park.
The air is full of bawling,
Please cover her up with a tarpaulin...
[rendition of "Chopsticks"]
[monologue]
When the Winter comes I spend a lot of time sitting in reception areas. It's a good way to keep warm. If you go into a large office building, and ask for Mr. Harris in Accounts, you can often wait up to an hour before anyone realises there is no Mr. Harris in Accounts.
The seats are always soft and sometimes leathery. There are papers and magazines to read. Some companies have coffee machines and fruit. I have a friend called Martin Chope at the BBC who lets me sleep in the lobby of the World Service. He works all night because people in the Pitcairn Islands have to hear the news. I haven't actually seen my friend since 1983, but we have an arrangement, whereby he calls down to Reception every hour or so, and asks them to tell me he's a bit busy, and he'll be down in a minute.
I was drowsing at the World Service one evening when a taxi driver came in and shouted, "13 Addison Gardens W12". He looked at me because I was the only one there. I didn't want to disappoint him so I followed him into the taxi. I thought there might be something to eat there.
There was a party going on at 13 Addison Gardens W12. I walked in to find a long hallway, which had been entirely decorated in Astroturf. It was like walking through a tubular field. At the end, there was a large room with lots of monitors, showing a porno version of the Teletubbies. A lot of media people were standing round rubbing their noses and talking very fast, and in the centre of this gaggle was a comedy actor I had read about in a waiting room magazine. He was called Tony. He was standing next to a huge ice sculpture of his head.
I was still hungry, so I was stuffing my pockets with crab tartlets, when Tony B'star banged into me. His eyes were bulging with drugs and self-confidence. "You!" he said. "Weren't you in show 6?"
I couldn't answer because I didn't know what he was talking about, so I carried on filling my pockets. "Yeah," said Tony. "you were fantastic, and I want to celebrate your performance with a blow-job."
"You!" he shouted to another actress. "Get over here and suck my cock." An actress approached him slowly, unsure whether this was a good career move. But Tony had produced a rubber vagina, and was waving it about shouting, "I don't need you anyway, you filthy whore."
Tony looked at me, and asked why I wasn't laughing. I still didn't know what to say so I put a crab tartlet into my mouth, and pushed in another just in case. He looked like he was going to kill me. Then suddenly he threw his arm round my shoulders, and whispered, "It's because you see, isn't it? You can see everything."
I swallowed a pulpy mass of crab. "I love this guy!" he shouted. Then he took me round the room, introducing me to television executives and producers. By the time I got back to the crab tartlets, I had an agent, a transmittable pilot, a 5-year development deal, and someone with a mobile phone said that Jarvis Cocker wanted to meet me.
Then Tony asked me in a strangely confidential way for my belt. I gave it to him and he disappeared. My pockets were full of crab, and my trousers started to slip and sag towards my knees. A man from Channel Four came up to me, and said, "If you think you're really going to get a series out of us, you've got another thing coming."
"Thank you," I said, and went to look for my belt.
The basement was full of people using the drug cocaine. One man seemed to be trying to introduce it to the end of his penis. Another was having his skull trepanned with a Black & Decker drill, in order to get the powder straight into his brain.
I went up two flights. At the top of the house I heard muffled humming and the sound of running water. I carefully pushed open a door, and found Tony standing on tiptoe on the edge of a bath. The room was lit by candles, and the Prodigy was playing on a Minidisc.
Tony was naked except for two hairdryers taped to his thighs, blowing hot air towards his balls. And he was hanging from the shower rail with my belt round his neck. His left hand was holding onto the belt, to stop him choking completely, while the right was guiding the path of the rubber vagina. "Sorry," I said.
Tony lost his balance, and plunged into the water. The hairdryers sparked and fizzed, and the lights blew. Tony flapped and twitched around on the end of the belt, and seemed to be trying to say something. I asked if I could have my belt back, but I couldn't tell if any of the sounds he made was yes or no.
I closed the door, and left a note saying, "Please could I have my belt back when you've finished with it. C/O Martin Chope, BBC World Service, Bush House", and groped my way downstairs in the dark.
The party looked like it was over because no-one could see what they were doing, so I left and sat on a nearby bench, where I offered a tramp a crab tartlet. "I've got a transmittable pilot," I said.
"Serves you right you fucking poof," he replied.
I never got my belt back, but a week later I saw a picture of it on the cover of a magazine.
[bizarre Portishead-style spoof music]
Mary Anne Hobbs,
Now little more than a bag of lymph,
Is rolled from her studio,
And drained into a sink...
[irate monologue]
So, I got this new gun, in't I? I've been watching 'im, counting up the notes through the window, so in I goes, straight up to the counter, and then I saw the till, right? On the side of this till, there was a plastic arsehole with a duck sticking out of it! I couldn't take me fucking eyes off it could I! So I goes to him, "Gimme all your money or I'll shoot... the till." I said, "Shoot the fucking till." I mean, you see a till that has a plastic arsehole with a duck sticking out of it, I mean what the fuck would you do eh? Right, and he's just standing there staring at me, and I know what he's thinking y'know but I acted t'look like I meant it didn't I? Y'know, I was committed! So I said, "Yeah, that's right," I said, "I said I'll shoot the fucking till!" And he says- he goes, "Well I'm not giving you the money." So, fucking hell, I 'ad to shoot the fucking till! I mean what would you do? And then I just had to walk out. Woss this fucking geezer on anyway? Gawd, fucking livid right, I kicked the shit out of some old cunt down the street - that wouldn't have happened if he'd had a proper till would it? I mean, what a totally pricked-up little arse cunty PONCE! With a plastic arsehole, with a fucking DUCK sticking out of it!
[starts sobbing]
I mean... plastic fucking arsehole, fucking with my head...
[whispering speech synth] Radio. One.
[speech synth] I can see Steve Lamacq as a frail old man in wheelchair...
[sample] Uh!
[speech synth] ...trying to shake hands with an elephant.
[faint manic laughter]
MAN: Darling, I don't think we'll be able to go to dinner with the Lartons on Friday.
WOMAN: Oh. Why not?
M: Well, I shot Bob this morning.
W: Oh.
M: Bloody duel in the office.
W: Oh, I rather liked him.
M: Yeah... well that's the thing, so did I.
[phone rings]
M: Could you get that love? Probably be Louisa wanting to talk about it. Oh, oh hang on, it could be Pat Turner.
W: Why?
M: Because I shot Miriam.
W: You shot Miriam?
M: Well... I was still wired after shooting Bob and... she was walking past and... I just emptied the magazine into that ruddy great back of hers.
W: Oh, bloody hell!
[WOMAN answers phone]
W [to phone]: Hello?
M: Ohhh, what am I doing?
W [to phone]: Yes he is... [to MAN] It's the Police, love.
M: Oh, that's a relief.
W [to phone]: Yeah, he has been on a bit of a spree... [to MAN] They say you should really be in a cell for a bit.
M: W- Well I know exactly what they mean...
W [to phone]: Erm, it's a bit late tonight... hang on, I'll ask him. [to MAN] D'you think you're gonna shoot anyone tomorrow?
M: W- I dunno.
W [to phone]: Says he doesn't know.
M: How the fuck do I know? Sarah...
W [to phone]: Yeah, it tends to be people we know...
M: Sarah...
W [to phone]: I'll try... OK, bye!
[hangs up]
M: Can you smell burning?
W: Oh, bloody pan! I left the bloody pan on.
M: Oh.
[hurries out to kitchen]
[faint sound of burning]
W [faint]: Wow!
M: What?
W: The fire's all over the place!
M: Really?
W: Everything's going up... I didn't know paint could burn!
M: Mmyeah, the gloss stuff's made of oil.
W: The whole room's going up!
M: Well, you'd better come back here love, the smoke's really acrid.
[WOMAN returns]
[burning gets louder]
W: The kitchen looks quite nice on fire.
M: Mmm...
[pause]
M: I wonder if it's got up to the boys' room?
W: Oh yeah...
M: I'll give Mike a call.
[picks up phone]
M [to phone]: Yeah, Mike? Sorry to call during the Match... yeah. Er, listen, you couldn't just crane your neck out of the window and see if we've got a fire upstairs? The boys' room.
[burning gets louder]
M [to phone]: Yeah? Wow! I thought I heard banging. No, well we've got locks on all the windows... yeah... OK. Oh hey Mike, sorry about Lucy. I just saw her at the garage and smoked the bitch. Yeah I know, I'll try. Cheers.
[hangs up]
M: Boys've had it love.
W: [sigh] Oh that's a shame. They were really looking forward to Christmas.
M: Mmm. We won't see them in the school play now.
W: D'you think we should try and get them out?
M: Nah, they'd be too far gone by the sound of it.
W: Yeah, and the kids at school'd be pretty foul to them, those burns.
M: Mmm.
[burning gets even louder]
M: We're just gonna have to get used to it being just the two of us again.
W: Mmmmmmm!
[snuggling sounds]
W: Unless we want some more...
[MAN makes appreciative noises]
[the burning drowns out their laughter]
[four Welsh men] [?]
MAN 1: Always lived here. Never moved, have we?
MAN 2: No.
[pause]
1: Never much to do, is there?
2: Ach, sit here, y'know.
[pause]
1: Just hang around in the afternoon.
LES: Hanging about aye...
[pause]
1: Sometimes we go up to the generator.
2: Yeah.
1: Over there see, up the street.
2: We er, we go and... hang around the generator.
1: One day, he- he says "where you going", I- I just said "up the generator", so we all went up there and... uh, now we do it quite a lot.
LES: Generators...
2: See that er, doorway, over there, there's a lot of er, unemployment there, just to the left.
LES: Which one's the Moon?
1: Shut up, Les.
[pause]
1: Sometimes we go up to the monument...
2: Yeah, the monument, yeah tha- thass err, good.
1: Good for hanging around, that.
2: Yeah it's er, it's good that.
1: One time we were really bored, so I started tugging at the monument-
[others laugh]
1: -y'know, for a laugh.
LES: It was really funny weren't it?
1: And suddenly it- it swung down and, a- all this beer came out of the house across the road.
2: All the people were, like, washed out in erm, in like a big wave of beer.
1: It was on the telly weren't it? And there was this baby's cot... no baby in it but he came out afterwards with a hat on.
2: Yeah, they all got like erm, washed... down the hill.
1: It was beer but you couldn't drink it. Came back the next day with a tankard but it didn't work again.
[pause]
1: Just this little old man came walking out from behind the monument and... and laughed.
2: Said he lived in a pram!
[pause]
2: Yeah, see that er, road, down there, that's where they did all the black and white photos.
[pause]
1: Load of Spanish stuff came out of the generator once.
[pause]
2: There's the social club there.
1: One day a- a big gang of blokes, about thirty of them came out of the social club, innit and... Mike says for a laugh, "Let's round them up with a torch!"
MIKE: "...torch, yeah!"
[they laugh]
MIKE: That was good weren't it?
2: That was good, yeah.
[pause]
LES: Which one's the Moon?
1: I'm going up the monument.
2: No, come on up to the generator you little bollock.
[very indistinct, whispering speech synthesizer]
Cuntess Jo Whiley is slowly chopped into pieces... it is Mark Goodier, rubbing his genitals... in the warm, goopy, mess.
DEREK: Derek Hargreaves. I'm the landlord of the Fox and Feathers in Steeple Shelpsley. I must admit, when I took it over 15 years ago I d- I never expected to end up... doing this.
LINDA: My name's... Linda Matthews, I won two and a half million in the Lottery in March of this year. At first, I was quite stuck about what to do with it.
D: And then one day, she was in here having a beer, and she... just asked me how much it would cost to open a bar just for her.
L: I pay £500,000 a year, and the pub is open for me. I've paid the other regulars £10,000 each to stay away... they seem quite happy with it.
D: And she comes in on her own... sometimes she has er, one or two beers, has a go an' a dance by herself...
L: I go through phases with er, Derek of just... y'know if I decide to be friendly on a particular day I will... exchange a few niceties, other times I'll ignore him, just order my drink and er, turn my back on him.
SUE: Sue Hargreaves, I do the cooking in the pub. And... also, Linda likes us to make sure the men's lavatories smell of urine so... I have to slosh some over the floor every couple of days. We use our own... we funnel it into a can.
L: Sometimes I like to complain about the food, erm, the young girl knows to say, "Nobody else has complained!" at which point I will say, "Don't be ridiculous, there's nobody else here". And... usually then I... will stand up, eh, throw the food around, push her around a little bit, and then storm out of the pub swearing and that is how I like to leave the pub every three weeks or so.
S: Sometimes, on a Saturday, I have to make myself sick into the corner. That's not so bad but, once she wanted me to do it seven times in one evening and... I actually pulled all the muscles in my throat.
D: The only thing I don't like, is- is when she's erm, feeling a bit cut up. You can tell when she's had a bad day. Uh, she was giving out a... bit of cash to the local youths...
L: I just... like to watch a really destructive fight. I know some lads who'll do anything.
D: They wreck the place, they smash up the bar, erm, they glass each other... one guy had his ear ripped off the other week...
S: Mmm...
D: ...there was a bloke that got knocked out by a flying telly. I'm still finding teeth in the carpet.
S: Teeth... Heh!
D: I wouldn't be surprised if one of them gets killed one of these days.
S [as if under sedation]: Yeah, killed, yeheheh...
L: I think... this is only the start. I've got some much bigger ideas for next year. I can't begin to tell you how much I despise people who'll do things for money. And how fascinated I am by... what I can get them to do.
[knock on door]
DOCTOR: Come in!
[door opens, PATIENT enters]
D: Have a seat.
PATIENT: Thanks.
[sits down]
D: Right, what's the trouble?
P: Well, I keep getting these nosebleeds.
D: Mmm-hm. Had this trouble before?
P: Well, I used to at school but... I haven't for ages, really.
D: Mmm-hm. I see. Right, well... [rustle of paper] here's a tenner, pop back if it doesn't clear up.
P: Oh right. Right, thanks!
D: If that doesn't work, just shove some soap up your arse.
[pause]
P: Soap?
D: See if you can keep it there for a couple of days.
[pause]
P: Rrright... Er, yeah, OK. Er, thanks.
D: Righto then. Bye bye.
[PATIENT walks over to door]
P: Um, soap?
D: Mmm. Biggest bar you can manage.
P: Right. OK, thank you.
[closes door]
When you futesack be bootsack vam kick sharp in gob, while you wish "satsuma"...
When oo hands be warm, but only due ug raging infect of the
[spooky voices along with main] blood and the skin and the nail and the bones, and the tissue
bacterie, bacterie, ooh la la rouge...
Well so look at you screaming and shouting like an angry turnip, oo fucked-up ridiculum, most foolum to yoursephun, and I have no sympathy oop turnip...
And when all who remain in joy hides unnoticed in one shrivelled cell, at the bog-bottom of the very bum-tube of ee cess-jophy...
[faint singing] Dream about a lever five feet long...
Then welcome. Mm, oo vudge welcome... in Blue Jam, Blue Jam, Blue Jam, Blue Jam, Blue Jam...
[singer fades in] Dream about a lever five feet long [x8]
