Content feed Comments Feed

Archive for June, 2011

A day at Macchu Picchu

Posted by Alex On June - 28 - 2011

Sophie Ellis-Bextor tried to compose herself, but it was difficult. UNESCO World Heritage Sites always made her emotional. She needed a quiet corner where she could sit down and drink in Macchu Picchu’s splendour in solitude.

She identified a spot and laid down a tartan rug so that she wouldn’t have to sit in the dirt. Its pattern reminded her of all the other times that she’d sat quietly at UNESCO World Heritage Sites and the flood of emotion tipped her over the edge.

As the tears rolled down her face, a man approached. It was Martin Rossiter from Nineties indie band, Gene.

“Are you okay?” asked Rossiter.

“I’m fine, Martin Rossiter from Gene,” answered Ellis-Bextor. “It’s just that sometimes I find myself overcome with emotion at UNESCO World Heritage Sites. They’re so breathtaking.”

“Yes, they are,” said Rossiter. “But I must say, you seem particularly affected. Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Yes, Martin Rossiter from Gene,” said Ellis-Bextor. “There are no other problems. No other problems whatsoever. Certainly no problems of a personal nature.”

Rossiter regarded her suspiciously. “I must say that’s an odd thing to say,” he said. “I don’t know why you would volunteer that information unless there actually were something wrong.”

“No, no. I’m quite all right,” said Ellis-Bextor, suddenly defensive.

“Are you sure?” said Rossiter.

Ellis-Bextor glanced from side to side furtively. “Well, there is one thing, Martin Rossiter from Gene. But I don’t really know if I should say.”

Rossiter scrutinised the popstrel’s facial expression and immediately felt concerned. “I think you should say. If you’re in some sort of trouble, I definitely think it would be best to say something.”

Ellis-Bextor’s breathing noticeably quickened. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” she stammered. “You don’t know what he’s like. You don’t know what he’ll make me do.”

“What?” said Rossiter, alarmed. “Who are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing. Oh God. I shouldn’t have said anything. Oh God.”

At that moment, a man dressed in stockings and a jerkin emerged from behind a high dry-stone wall. Running a finger inside his sheer linen collar, he looked down his nose at Rossiter and addressed him directly: “Who the fuck are you?” said the man.

Rossiter got as far as mouthing the first syllable of his name, but William Shakespeare interrupted him angrily: “Fuck off,” he screamed, raising his fist and advancing.

Martin Rossiter from Gene took the sensible option and fled.

At the Observatory, a five-star hotel in Sydney

Posted by Alex On June - 21 - 2011


“This place better be good,” said William Shakespeare.

“Oh, I think it will be,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor. “It’s quite breathtaking.”

“You know how I am with hotels though,” said Shakespeare. “If it’s not right, it puts me on edge. You’re right though, it does seem good and I believe the food’s exquisite.”

“Just look at it,” said Ellis-Bextor. “Breathtaking. Just breathtaking.”

Shakespeare visibly relaxed. “Yes, you’re right. I can feel myself easing into the place. It should be great.”

At that moment, a familiar-looking man walked from the lift to the front desk.

“Hey,” said Ellis-Bextor, tapping Shakespeare on the arm. “Is that Chris Rea?”

“So what if it is?” said Shakespeare. “What’s so great about Chris Rea?”

“Just, you know, he’s famous. That’s all.”

“Famous for what? Famous for music or is it something else?”

“Well, music,” said Ellis-Bextor looking confused.

“Oh, so it’s nothing else then?


“Chris Rea’s not famous for anything else?”

“No.” Ellis-Bextor started to feel a bit unsettled.

“You don’t think he’s got big testicles then?” asked Shakespeare.

“What?” said Ellis-Bextor, utterly confused.

“You heard,” said Shakespeare aggressively.

“I don’t know. I’ve no idea what size Chris Rea’s testicles are.”

“No, but I bet you’ve been wondering. I know you. You’ve been thinking about Chris Rea’s testicles all morning.”

“No, I haven’t. Why would I have been doing that?”

“You want to see his testicles. You think his testicles are bigger than mine.”

“I don’t really care what size Chris Rea’s testicles are,” said Ellis-Bextor.

“You think his testicles are bigger than mine and you think his scrotum is tighter. What’s the matter? Do you not think I offer big balls and a tight scrotum?”

Tears started to form in Ellis-Bextor’s eyes at the severity of the bard’s onslaught.

“Do my balls sag too much?” screamed Shakespeare. “Do my small balls hang too low? Just say it. Just fucking say it. Just say that you think Chris Rea’s balls are bigger than mine and that they don’t hang as low. I know you fucking want to. I know you’ve spent the entire morning thinking about Chris Rea’s balls.”

Ellis-Bextor dropped to her knees; huge, wracking sobs causing her shoulders to heave.

“Fuck you, Rea!” shouted Shakespeare across the lobby.

Angkor Wat and then returning to the hotel

Posted by Alex On June - 18 - 2011

“I tell you, that amok trey’s gone right through me,” said William Shakespeare, rubbing his stomach with concern.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor ignored him, lost in the beauty of Angkor Wat.

Shakespeare tried again: “I say, that amok trey’s gone right through me. I should have just had a baguette or something.”

Still nothing from Ellis-Bextor.

“Are you listening to me?” said the bard, testily.

“What, oh, yes,” said Ellis-Bextor. “It’s just that Angkor Wat is so breathtaking.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” said Shakespeare. “I can’t appreciate Khmer temple architecture properly when I feel like this.”

“It’s that sheer linen collar,” said Ellis-Bextor. “It’s always troubling you in humid climates. I don’t know why you don’t wear something else.”

“It’s not the sheer linen collar,” screamed Shakespeare, lunging towards Ellis-Bextor, flecks of spittle cascading down on her. “It’s the fucking amok trey. I knew you weren’t fucking listening to me, you pallid witch. You never fucking listen.”

“I listen. I listen,” said Ellis-Bextor, cowering.

“You don’t listen. You never listen.” Shakespeare withdrew slightly. “I’m going to have to come up with some way of teaching you to listen.”

Stonehenge with Sophie Ellis-Bextor

Posted by Alex On June - 17 - 2011

“It’s quite breathtaking,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

“Indeed,” agreed Shakespeare. “It’s sad that there are no written records that might let us know what it was for.”

“Quite, quite breathtaking,” said Ellis-Bextor, shedding a small tear.

“Then again, I suppose the mystery is half the attraction. If its true purpose were revealed, it would doubtless be far more prosaic than what we imagine in our ignorance.”

Shakespeare fluffed up his sheer linen collar and then risked a sidelong glance at Ellis-Bextor who had dropped to her knees, overcome with emotion.

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

“It’s just that it’s so… breathtaking,” said Ellis-Bextor.



There was a long silence, punctuated only by sobbing sounds emitting from the posho popster. Shakespeare regarded her forlornly before squatting down next to her and laying an arm across her heaving shoulders.

“Look at me,” he said. “Look me in the eyes.”

Ellis-Bextor looked up and Shakespeare handed her a tissue to wipe away the tears. Their eyes met, causing Ellis-Bextor’s face to subtly relax.

Shakespeare gently squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her kindly.

“Do you want to have sex?” he asked.

About Us

A man who has no interest in writing about Toadfish Rebecchi, largely because his surname is annoying to spell.