(*geddit? Tort - as in legal proceedings... oh please yourself).
In case anyone needed yet further proof that Americans would rather issue a lawsuit than face up to the fact that sometimes in life, bad things just happen, (because hey, someone has to pay damages, right?), DMfM brings you the latest tale from Land Of The Fee.
Yes, it's not so much at tale of boy-meets-girl, but an everyday tale of crazy-woman-imagines-brainwashing-from-chat-show-host-via-her-TV. If you wrote this kind of story as a fiction, you could easily be mistaken for David Lynch, however, the more worrying thing is that it actually happened.
I'll not print her name here, because as much as it's good to expand the DMfM readership, I can't afford the legal costs, should Ms Nutcake decide that she's getting satanic messages from the DMfM telephone, or that my bio pic is winking at her.
The full story, courtesy of BBC News, is here. A couple of questions spring to mind about this:
1 - Why is Letterman wasting his time and money, and giving this woman the attention she craves, by actually responding to this restraining order, as if it was a concern?
2 - Given that she started it (by beaming him thoughts of love, presumably by sitting in front of her TV), and her subsequent behaviour, shouldn't this restraining order have been issued the other way round, on her?
"...if Mr Letterman or any of his representatives came near her, she would "break their legs" but denied after the hearing that she was making a threat.
Err... yeah...maybe that's just her way of saying "I love you" then? If she offers head, don't be surprised when she pulls a severed one from her refrigerator.
"...She had, she said, achieved her purpose..."
Yeah, getting the attention she was denied as a child, no doubt.
Mind you, that does give me an idea for a new reality TV show, "I'm A Celebrity Stalker Get Me Out Of This Padded Cell".
I'd like to wish all DMfM readers a Merry Christmas. Being British, I never got into that American habit of calling it The Holidays. In Britain, it doesn't matter what faith (if any) you are, the time around the 25th December, is known as Christmas, even if you don't celebrate it.
One of the big delights of Christmas, is watching kids open presents. Yes, even a miserable old git like myself (I'm quoting several ex's there), gets a kick out of watching his nieces enjoy their Christmas, with the sort of fervour and energy, that only children can muster. Looking back, a lot of my seemingly anti-children DMfM writings were really, against inadequate parents, rather than the offspring themselves.
This year, their present-gathering visit to my parents will be occurring tomorrow - 27th December. And so it was, that this afternoon, finds my father and I wrestling with one present - a model railway - or as we say in Olde Englande, a train set.
When I was a kid, I had one too. It was from that great British model railway manufacturer, Hornby, provided hours of fun, and consisted of an oval track, with a siding (and actual points). The whole thing was nailed to a large section of chipboard, and my father even constructed a tunnel (again from chipboard) covered in green felt. Had i been American, I might have referred to it as The Grassy Knoll. I had a cassette tape of steam train noises, that I'd play as I operated my railway. In addition to the two or three engines, I had carriages (Pullman class, which reminded one of Murder On The Orient Express), and freight trucks - all of which made for an efficient railway service, which frankly, makes me wonder why Great Western haven't already head-hunted me. (Insert Fat Controller joke here).
The point of all this being, it was a great toy, that got a lot of use, and never gave me a problem. I wish the same could be said of the train set we put together this afternoon. Made in China, this murderous oriental expresss had a distinct advantage over us (that unlike Dad and I, it didn't care whether or not the train got derailed), and toyed with us, letting the train get three-quarters around the track, before derailing at a random point, furthest from where we were stood.
Dad and I wrestled the damn thing for an eternity. The pieces of track were fiddly to connect together, then we had the herculian task of figuring out how to connect the power supply to it (yes, we were left, unsupervised with a power supply and some bare copper connectors). I eventually solved that riddle, only to find we now had to reconnect the track. There then followed, quite a long testing period in which we discovered:
- Those track joins weren't as smooth as we thought they were
- Empty rail trucks are easily derailed
- Heavily laden rail trucks don't derail as often
- When they do, they take the whole train with them
- Some trains are bastards, for no good reason
The Turner boys remained strong in their determination to build the railway, and overall, the body count was somewhat lower than that of The Railway Of Death. With luck, the train will make a full lap of the track, before its intended owner, aged six, gets her hands on the controller.
Oh well. Story over. I guess it's time I was making tracks....
One of the things about moving back to Britain (at least for now) that I most looked forward to, was spending time with all those good friends of many years, who I'd not seen much of, during my years living in the States.
So far, I've done a lot of catching up, and it's heartening to know, that after all this time away, friends are still friends, and glad to see one return.
Case in point, I've spent this weekend in the West Country, and last night went to see my old theatre group - The Argyle Players - in their latest production, "Lord Arthur Saville's Crime". It's a play, adapted from a short story by Oscar Wilde. The last time the Players did this particular play (14 years ago), it was myself in the title role, as Lord Arthur Saville.
I took time to go backstage and see everyone both during the intermission, and afterwards. If ever I needed to feel like I was "home again", my dear friends there did just that. Everyone wanted to catch up with what we'd each been doing.
It was funny watching the play (which., when I did it, was my first lead role after many years of bit-parts). Funny because, as I watched the play, I remembered each of Lord Arthur's lines, just before he said them. It's a demanding role, with Lord Arthur on stage and talking for all but about four pages of the script.
My friend Howard did a great job as Lord Arthur, and afterwards, we shared stories of how tiring a role it is, and generally caught up on things. It was like i'd never been away. I know this sounds a bit sentimental, but it's my old friends in the UK that have made this transition bearable. At least, it's those that bother to keep in touch.
For those that don't, allow me to recommend Introvertster - a service for the hermitic and anti-social. It's the opposite of Friendster. Something for those who, after years of friendship and support from me, choose not to reciprocate, now that I find myself in a large city where I know almost no-one. Thanks. Thanks a lot.
It's one thing if you fall out with a friend, and you know what went wrong, or what's changed, but when people just stop responding to communication, perhaps because you've outlived your usefulness to them, that's just plain fucking rude. Still, I'm not one to bear a grudge. I'd rather just get back with my friends and have a beer.
Obviously, I also now find myself missing friends and loved ones in the US, but short of my becoming a trans-Atlantic airline pilot, there'll always be dear friends a long way away. That, quite possibly, is why the good Lord gave us the Internet. Well, the 'net plus phones and text messaging. No really, there are things other than porn on the net. I know, I read it on the Internet, so it must be true!
Next Time, on DMfM...
Back At The 'butt - an everyday story of drunken folk, fog, kebabs and 24-hour drinking.
I trust that DMfM readers took the "0-60 In Two Bus Stops" story in the spirit within which it was written. That spirit was one of, "hey it's a shiny new Ferrari, and the make of car, combined with driving it in central London, and he failing to beat a slow moving bus. mean it he's likely an asshole who was showing off". Ahem... now with that particular bit of motoring Shaudenfraude in mind, that brings us onto today's escapade:
This afternoon I was driving back to the office (you have to be suspicious of any place with the word "Compound" in it's name, but hey, it's contracting and they keep signing the cheques), heading south on the M1. At the brow of a hill, in mist, drizzle and bad light, the car in front of me swerved out of our lane, to reveal, a red VW Golf, sideways across our lane and the next one.
Instinctively, I executed an evasive maneouvre, and quickly slowed from 70mph (no, really I actually was within the speed limit, it doesn't happen often, so it's worth mentioning here.) to a safe speed, changing lanes to simultaneously avoid the car, and not lose control of my vehicle, or hit any others.
A testament to both my driving and Ford UK engineering, is that I avoided hitting any vehicles, and soon brought my speed down to one where I could pull over and check that the people in the Golf were OK. Such well-meaning thoughts were just going through my mind, when my car was hit, at speed, from behind.
Yes, just as I thought I'd escaped collision entirely, I (or at least my car) was rear-ended.
There then followed an hour or so, in the freezing rain, waiting whilst the police arrived, took statements and cleared things up, all the while, other drivers, who'd been delayed by the accident, rubbernecked past, scowling at us for delaying their journey. I wouldn't have minded this, but none of us stood by the side of the motorway were actually the ones responsible for what happened.
No, indeed, several witnesses all saw the perpertrator - a black BMW - cut up the Golf, causing it to crash into the central barrier, and spin out of control. Needless to say, said BMW and it's driver, failed to stop, and was gone, like a weasel in the night, probably without a trace of conscience. I'm just hoping the CCTV footage helps catch him.
Talking of the law, to their credit, the policemen attending the scene were very polite and helpful. They went through the motions of quizzing each of us involved, and taking statements about what happened, and so forth. Even my insurance company were efficient and helpful when I called, and it looks like the grief will be minimalised where possible (but stay tuned to DMfM for updates) thanks to them.
It's now evening, and sure enough, the whiplash pain is starting to kick in. That's accompanied by the other pain in my neck - having to sort out the car repair. Deep joy.
