Water Works

More Night of the Crabs gubbins. This is from the start of the musical and features the following ripe introduction:

Julie: Look, there's Shell Island.They say the bathing is super there.
Ian: The bathing is better than here? It's the same water isn't it?
Julie: Ian! You know what I mean!
Ian: Seriously! Is the water wetter? Is it heated? Soothing bubbles?
Julie: It's less exposed...more private.
Ian: Oh...I see. Yes, well, okay then. You're right...there may be "busy bodies" about here. Busy spying on our naked bodies. With field-glasses.
Julie: Race you!
Ian: Oh ho! This could be sexy. Very sexy. That's why I love the seaside. It never fails..."

And the anaemic funk of "Water Works" begins...




Water Works

The smack of sea-salt in the air,
While the sun is gently beating us,
Off come slacks like inhibitions,
Goodbye London, hello lust,
That magic place where dirt meets water,
Middle England locks up its daughters,

If you're having a dry season,
Water works, water works,
And if the sea's not freezing,
Water works, water works,
The old lady and the sea,
Water works, water works,
Erotic possibilities,
Water works, water works


Driving down in my old two-seater,
My girl beside me, shot-gun style,
Hope she's got an itchy trigger finger,
Cause I've not had it in a while,
Her bikini and her small firm breasts,
Sun and sea will do the rest,

If you're having a dry season,
Water works, water works,
And if the sea's not freezing,
Water works, water works,
The old lady and the sea,
Water works, water works,
Erotic possibilities,
Water works, water works

Crab Attack

More from the wonderful and frightening world of Night of the Crabs by The Woods. Another song from the powerful grinding mandibles of King Crab himself. This is his war anthem: he's taking on the Welsh military in no uncertain terms here.

I should point out that the actual songs are available to listen to on The Woods Myspace page. So if you've been wondering what this exotic drivel actually sounds like you can hear practically the entirety of the musical in one foul swoop: http://www.myspace.com/nightofthecrabs

As you were.



Crab Attack,

There's a nasty nip in the air,
A sense of something truly rare,
That ozone heavy ocean breeze,
Pregnant with some fresh unease,
A challenge to the natural order,
A deep-sea army on your border,
Clicking claws and walking side-ways,
And I'd advise you to do like-wise,
Step away the fight's unfair,
There's a nasty nip in the air,

There's a nasty nip in the air,
And there's an army base over there,
Let's destroy it, prove we're best,
There'll be no more convincing test,
We're angry, ugly, bullet-proof,
Lend me your shell-like, here's the truth,
Your weapons aren't fit for purpose,
Against the denseness of my epidermis,
Step away the fight's unfair,
There's a nasty nip in the air,

There's a nasty nip in the air,
And just admit that you're scared,
You've never met someone like me,
The biggest crab in history,
Though honestly there have been,
Giant crabs in pre-Cambrian seas,
But fossil-findings are all at sea,
And it's you that is history,
Step away the fights unfair,
There's a nasty nip in the air,

Crab attack, crab attack, watch my claw for the crab attack,

Go home humans,
You're just useless,
We will suck you,
Till you're juiceless,
We are hardened,
Here and ruthless,
You are squidgy,
Pink and toothless,

A King Considers...

This is my favourite of all of the songs in The Night of the Crabs
. It's King Crab's dark night of the soul, his moment of self-doubt on the eve of war. Unlike Guy N. Smith's original King Crab, ours is a diabolical, scheming genius, with a rich warm baritone not unlike my own (rather a lot of sibilance as befits an arthropod).

Dougs music is BRILLIANT: harpsichord, new-wave guitars and that superb slap-bass figure on the chorus. And, though I say it myself, the internal rhymes and misicality of the words puts this into a class of its own. This one's very good, I think.

See how you get on.

http://www.myspace.com/nightofthecrabs





A King Considers

Sitting here alone in my castle,
I parcel off all sense of doubt,
For life isn't just a rehersal,
And fortunes reversal must be stamped out,
Ruminating on the eternal,
I might start a journal, might start a blog,
Justifying my actions,
To my own satisfaction might be a slog,

But through it all that urgent whisper,
Still; quiet in my head, telling me that I'm bad,
A current ripples through the water,
A steady eddy of unease,
Bringing me to my knees,

Doubt's the King's disease,

It's lonely when you're clever,
I never get to have too much fun,
No one ever gets my jokes or laughs at all my puns,
Is that how I seek a connection?
Seend hawks when I could send doves,
In a game of tyrant top-trumps;
Fear Beats Love

But through it all that urgent whisper,
Still; quiet in my head, telling me that I'm bad,
A current ripples through the water,
A steady eddy of unease,
Bringing me to my knees,

Doubt's the King's disease,

Kill'em all, kill 'em all, kill 'em all sideways,

What can I do but fulminate,
Alone with all my thoughts,
How will history remember me? A Napoleon of sorts,
Again the voices start to sing out,
What right have you to kill,
The power of my own right arm,
The power of my will, renders the voices still.

Two Into One Will Go

The Wedding song from Night of The Crabs. I don't want to give too much of the plot away but the story does contain a wedding. It's toward the end. Dont read too much into that though. Theres all manner of plot twists. And giant crabs.



Two Into One Will Go

Do you take this man,
To have and hold and love and cherish,
Will you take his hand,
And keep on holding till you perish,
Do you take this girl,
In sickness, health or crab invasion,
Sweep her off the shelf,
And treat her nicely on occasion,
Weathring the storm,
In the oil-skins of affection,
Use constancy and tact,
And give up using contraception,
Travel broadens bellies,
So have a happy honeymoon,
Our presentation feature,
Is now listed "Coming Soon",

Proceed with caution down the aisle,
If you are an agorophile,

For two into one will go,
It's called marriage, don't you know,
There'll be fun-times,fooling around,
But now you share one bank-account,
For two into one will go,
You're a unit, you nit, you know,
No more living separate lives,
Now you're husbands, now you're wives,
Two into one WILL go,

I once had a dream,
And you and me, yes we, were in it,
We were lost in space,
The endless cosmos, infinite,
I was bobbing up there,
Rudderless, just like a hippy,
Till you took my arm,
And sloughed off all this entropy,
Taking baby steps,
On the outset of adventure,
Hope you're still with me,
At the onset of dementia,
I hope I won't be over cautious,
Hope I haven't made you nervous,

If infidelity is your thing,
Dont go swapping wedding rings,

For two into one will go,
It's called marriage, don't you know,
There'll be fun-times,fooling around,
But now you share one bank-account,
For two into one will go,
You're a unit, you nit, you know,
No more living separate lives,
Now you're husbands, now you're wives,
Two into one WILL go,

I Know In My Heart He's Dead

Another Woods song, once again from the fabulous, never before seen, musical review and chicken dinner, "Night of the Crabs: a Musical in Three Pincer Movements". This is a song for Pat, the female lead, waiting on the return of the hero Cliff Davenport to return from a crab-culling expedition. I sing this as it was very difficult to convince any women of our aquaintance to join in the spirit of the thing. Women aren't as silly as men, worse luck.

Here's the intro to Night of the Crabs.

"An inhuman mind was formulating plans drawn against us, plans to rule the world; puddle by puddle, pool by pool. An amphibious assault on God's clean earth was under construction. What's that clicking? That lateral scuttle into the shadows? The stench of salt and vinegar? Could it be ...THE NIGHT OF THE CRABS?"

I Know In My Heart He's Dead

While the sun dawns on a new day,
Still this shadow follows me,
Like the French Lieutenant's woman,
I'm still standing staring out to sea,
One single night of passion,
Match-light snatched from the abyss,
Incandescent in the moment,
A pin-prick in the emptiness,

A single nagging thought enter my head,
And I know in my heart he's dead,
Those simple words being left unsaid,
For I know in my heart he's dead,

He was just a man,
Only corduroy and bone,
But he had a nemesis,
To face on his own,
When others went running,
He stood his ground,
He had guile and cunning,
But now he's drowned,

chorus

Our very first date,
A pub called "Davey Jones' Locker",
Seems grimly ironic,
Now he's come a cropper,
Through his submarine death,
He'll be sadly missed,
But it's what he would have wanted,
As a marine-biologist,

Coda

He drifted off to sea,
Leaving no family,
I'd have married him willingly,
If he had just asked it of me,
Late at night standing on the groin,
Soaking wet and so alone,
It's true to say you cant go home,
With a heart as cold as stone,

I'd Rather be Drinking Than Thinking

This is the breakaway pop hit from the Night of the Crabs musical. It's sung by the drunken and ineffectual Colonel Goode, who pitches up in Barmouth in the aftermath of a wave of vicious and baffling crab attacks and does sod all. It comes with the this snatch of the libretto:

Goode: "Who the hell are you?" Cliff: "I'm Cliff Davenport, marine biologist and discoverer of the giant crabs. Who might you be? Colonel, is it?"Goode: Colonel Goode, if it's any business of yours. Now I understand you have a little crustacean problem? Why don't you run along and let my boys deal with it, like a good little civilian." Cliff:"With respect Colonel Goode you don't know what you're dealing with - these are no ordinary crabs." Goode:"Yes. I understand they're bigger. So maybe I'll invite you to the barbeque. There should be plenty to go round. Now why don't you run along?" Cliff:"Colonel, I must protest! I'm an expert in this field...I tell you these crabs are different..." Goode:"And I tell you these aren't the first crabs I've routed, as many an Algerian prostitute can well attest. Then again I was VERY drunk...story of my life I'm afraid..."

You get the idea. Douglas does an extraordinary job with the music here with the barrel-house piano and the marching feet. He's brilliant at putting sounds together...he should get paid for it. Not by me though.


I'd Rather Be Drinking Than Thinking



When I was a young shaver,
A scraper, a fella-me-lad,
I was a boffin, a brainbox,
Just like dear old dad,
Professor Goode's oldest boy,
Nose buried in a book,
But I had an epiphany,
With the first glass of beer I took,

I'd rather be drinking than thinking,
That's what they taught me at school,
I'd rather be drinking than thinking,
Dypsomania is the rule,
Though if you asked me to spell,
I'd call you a damnable fool,
I'd ather be drinking than thinking,
Cause being drunk is cool,

When I joined the army,
In the private's public bar,
An old timer, "Taffy" Tinsley,
Bought me my very first jar,
I gave a sniff suspiciously,
It was gassy as a broken oven,
I held my nose, I took a swig,
And polished off a dozen,

Chorus

That set me of on an Odyssey,
Though I don't have much Greek,
I kid you not, I had a tot,
Seven nights a week,
It's tough on the old bladder,
So I got the doctor in,
He said to me "Now Colonel,
This drinking is a sin,"
I thought "That's quite judgemental,
You hypocratic oaf,"
He looked at me quite sadly and said,
"Colonel, use your loaf,
Your bladder's fucked from drinking muck,
Your kidneys are a quiver,
And judging by your golden tan,
You've buggered up your liver!"
The words went in like tent pegs,
The prognosis looked quite grim,
I eyed the doctor warily, I thought,
"I won't go drinking with him,"

chorus

For boozing is my first love,
And it will be my last,
The bending of your elbow,
The falling on your arse,
Put Pernod in your cider,
It adds a touch of class,
Now which way to the pub son,
I'm on a 12 hour pass,
And mine's a balloon of brandy,
Seeing as how you've asked,

Belfast and Loose

Just left Kelly at Heathrow, endlessly zig-zagging through customs, looking, in her triangular blue coat and pink hat, like a child's drawing. And about the most perfect thing in the world. I held her all the way down on the train, which went the wrong way, rather difficult for an underground train you'd think and you might be right, but our genius train-driver managed it, detouring via terminal four. But we had plenty of time and the drivers mistake was a chance to claw back some romance from the jaws of misery.

It all went very well; we were unharried and methodical, both areas where I traditionally excel (though Kelly will tell you that I'm more inclined to exhale, heavily and often, like a put upon teenager).It was almost fun except that she's gone and gone for a week. She has requested that I sort out my teeth.

Four years ago when we met it was not my snake hipped dance moves that entranced her (now sadly replacement hip moves) nor the lustrous silver crown adorning my head ( which now resembles the ghost of a hayrick ) but my dazzling smile. My teeth. The teeth that are now fenced off ny the authorities to stop druids attempting to celebrate the solstice at them. My teeth. The teeth that resemble a graveyard where actual teeth are buried. My teeth: the unlucky horse-shoe, the slashed seats in the stalls; the brown cornflakes in the packet. Not so good my teeth but, four years ago...dazzling. What happened? Two things: red wine and bruxism. Which sounds like a Club of Queer Trades song. I suffer from a medical condition called bruxism (street name: teeth-grinding). It sounds harmless enough but the constant erosion of my teeth from nocturnal gurning has left my molars looking a coastal granite shelf. At night I pop in a gum-shield like a dozy boxer. I should have a spitoon by the bed. The red wine is fairly self explanatory. Added to the fifty cups of tea I drink a day and you have a fairly sound basis for my butterscoth smile. I may as well have a plaster stretched over my mouth. I mean they're not Martin Amis bad but put me in a smock and you've got yourself a relief simpleton!

Kelly is very keen on me to get them sorted. My body has taken a bit of a pounding over the last four years and it's becoming increasingly difficult to lick me back into shape - there are no takers on that one. I'm aging in dog years, time-lapse dog years and something needs to be done. She'd like me pretty again. I'll give it a go.

* * * * * * * * * * *

On the way back from Heathrow on the train. An elderly woman gets on at South Kensington. She is dressed from head to foot in fur (she even appears to be wearing fur trousers). She looks like a cross between Joel Grey in Cabaret and Edith Head. An attractive Asian girl opposite me leaps up to offer her a seat (note that I don't). The old woman isn't having it. She insists but the old woman is adamant: she's going to stand. Neither one of them seems willing to back down. They stand either side of the empty seat in a standoff until the Asian girl gets off at Green Park and the old woman immediately sits down in the seat opposite. She smiles at me.