The Goth Dectectives

Since I repaired my Ipod I’ve had a lot of listening to do from all the podcasts I’d missed. What better way than to do it on a Saturday morning when all you want to do is lie wrapped in your covers coyly smiling that you don’t have to get up early. I lay there snoozing with my earphones locked into my lug holes when Russell Brand’s radio show came on. His usual side kick Matt Morgan had scuttled off on holiday somewhere leaving Brand needing another right hand man. So he brought in none other than, Noel Fielding. It was a recipe of utter chaos, mixed with thick dollops of humour and iced with random conversations. It was all these, and was utterly hilarious but for Brand it must have been an unusual situation to find himself playing catch up to someone else.

Both comics, I think, are amazing and dabble in different ends of the comedic spectrum. One being loud, brash and a lexicon worshiper, the other being a happy-go- lucky smirking Boosh member who talks about random things. It was strange that someone as subtle as Fielding would start taking the lead on Brand’s show. He’d always have the last say with a sprinkle of absurdity, such as “I gave away one of Lenny Kravitiz’s dreadlocks.” These sorts of sayings ended up dumbfounding Russell and sending the backroom staff in raptures. Brand is a funny guy and he tried to keep up with Fielding’s inspired randomness, “…Robin are you on Facebook?” but found himself only being able to add to his comments in his high octave voice which was funny but Fielding originated it. The show rocked, featuring a pissed up Courtney Love who was going to be interviewed but was too inebriated to risk. Instead she sat in the background shouting so she could be heard. It even featured Rainbow George who ever he is…

Brand maybe the flavour of the year and Fielding may be Gary Numan’s number one fan but together they are The Goth Detectives. When the show finished I got up feeling I’d just been enriched with an armoury of witty comments and decided that now was a good time to start the day.

Listen to this show if you can but if you don't like any of them you probably shouldn't.

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“I work for an independent insurance company, Gregorsworth.” Was the reply, from his mouth. At first he could feel just how dry his mouth actually was his teeth tugging at the lips as he opened it. But when he realised what he said was actually a worthwhile answer he felt the salvia pour in just as his enthusiasm to make Peter squirm did. He felt he could carry on talking and so did.

“What insurance do you currently have on your own property, in fact where is it that you live?”

Peter’s mouth coiled into a tight little hole which reminded Charles of an anus. He couldn’t help but smirk, not because of the anus stuck on Peter’s face or the snarling of his nostrils but because he knew Peter was flummoxed. Exactly how Charles was feeling a moment ago.

“Where I live is really none of your business, is it?” Was the acidic reply of Peter who now had his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Well no, but you’re asking about property insurance and so I thought I’d see what you’ve currently got.” Replied Charles.

“Well I’ve got very good insurance, thank you.”

“Where do you live, Peter?” Said Charles trying hard not to beam a satisfying smile of victory.

“Yes, Peter where do you live? We’ve been going out for four weeks and yet we’ve never once gone back to your place. I haven’t got a clue where you live, who you live with, whether you got a pet.” Asked Semmi who had decided to reintroduce her self in the conversation, staring at him while she waited for an answer.

Peter sat still, he had already used his hair flopping trick once and doing it again would only show he had something to hide. His face turned red and tried to look calm by grabbing for his drink only to find the waiter hadn’t come round to give them any. He felt embarrassed.

“I live on Chester Street.” He said, awaiting the replies from both Charles and Semmi. Semmi curled her hands around her chin and leaned forward looking very interested.

“What end of Chester Street do you live on?” She asked him.

“I live near the garage, on that end.” He said quickly. Seeing the disapproval of the lack of depth in the answer in Semmi’s face he decides to add a bit more substance.

“I live on my own in a one bedroom maisonette, I own a cat named Baracus. It’s a quiet area allowing me to drink and read in peace.”

“I want to go there later.” Semmi demanded

“Of course you can. We’ll go after the meal.”

Charles didn’t really need to say anything, he knew Peter wanted to appease Semmi and not make her upset. Peter was lying, Charles knew that. He had lied so many times, to Marla, to his parents even himself that he knew when someone wasn’t telling the truth. Peter was lying for sure and because of that they both had something to lose should they continue trying to unmask each others fibs.

“Here are your drinks, a bottle of house white for the two ladies, a pint of Kronenbourg for you sir and a red Stripe for you. Your meal will be here shortly.” Said the joyful waiter, who shimmied over to the next table once he had placed the final pint glass down.