This is Rightly Used with Adam and Karen. Once
again, we've come to the end of another chapter
of the manifest trials and tribulations of Johnny
Turnip, so it's time for another compilation.
Thank you very much to Tim Butters of the Abergavenny
Chronicle. This is Turnip Tales 3. The Once and
Future King. Abergavenny Man claims he knows
where King Arthur is buried. For centuries, historians
have been debating if King Arthur was a real
person, and if so, where the legendary British
war leader's mortal remains can be found. However,
according to semi -professional paranormal investigator
Johnny Turnip, the case is now closed. after
he and his friends had finally located the ancient
burial site and planned to dig it up in a bid
to return the once and future king to his rightful
throne. Turnip told the Chronicle, It all began
when we were rescued from our pig -hunting adventure
in the Forest of Dean by my mate Tom Cruise.
We were looking forward to having a little kip
before going on a three -day bender. However,
the devil makes light work for idle hands, and
no sooner were me, Big Tony, and Puerto Rico
Paul getting stuck into day two of our three
-day well -deserved lager festival and arguing
if David Bowie would have still been cool if
he was fat, when I got a call from Tyke. That's
my pet name for Cruz on the blower. JT, he cried,
all enthusiastic in that nauseating way some
Americans have. I've got four backstage VIP passes
for Taylor Swift's gig in Cardiff. Who's in?
Turn about it. Because Tyke was on speakerphone,
Big Tony started putting his finger down his
throat and making puking gestures. Meanwhile,
Puerto Rico Paul gets up and starts doing this
weird dance and singing Cruel Summer, with a
gruff and guttural voice like a northern bloke
who eats a lot of pies and keeps pigeons wood.
I simply replied, No offence, Tyke. I know you
mean well, but there's no Swifties here, mate.
Taylor may be talented, but she's got too much
of an over -the -hill cheerleader with emotional
issues vibe for artists. We're more Bonnie Tyler
men. Now there's a class act. A woman in white
stilettos and a leather jacket who could out
-drink us all before beating us at pool. Turnip
ended, I once bumped into Tyler in the late 80s
in Tredegar Snooker Hall. What a girl and a knight.
She's got the sort of voice that can make rocks
bleed. Turnip explained that after politely declining
Tyke's generous offer, the Hollywood heartthrob
said, Suit yourself, guys. I'll just take Clooney
and Pitt. Those who love freebies. Kind of undecided
which voice I was doing with that. Should I do
a turnip voice or not? Ah, well. 30, 50. Turnip
revealed. After Tyke had hung up, the form began
ringing again, but this time it was number withheld,
which meant it was probably Nanny and a Horror
Show Turnip, the old witch loves to make prank
calls. Hello, you old nappy -wearing, urine -soaked
hag, I barked merrily. You're going to have to
get up much earlier in the afternoon if you're
going to catch this turnip out. Excuse me? Said
an otherworldly voice, sounding not so much posh,
but ancient. There's no excuse for your sort,
I joked as an icebreaker. There's an uncomfortable
silence, and the voice goes, Am I speaking to
Sir Turnip? The gallant knight who saved the
fairy realm and attempted to slay the legendary
Grunterand? Who wants to know? I said in that
guarded way I've adopted instinctively after
a lifetime of being hounded by bureaucratic jobsworths
and debt collectors. My name is Mr. Allot. You
can call me Lance. I'm king of the realm. What?
Like Keir Starmer, Elton John and that lot? I
said playing along thinking it was Fast Eddie
who was in with Horror Show and the Prank. No,
not like those scoundrels at all. I serve the
round table that was, is... And will forever
be, he said impatiently. What, that weird men's
club that put on the fireworks in Bailey Park?
Well, if you're looking for some new members,
it's not really my cup of tea. Appreciate all
you do for the town, but thanks and no thanks.
So Endep explained. He got a bit huffy at this
point and shouted, Dampen your eyes, you impotent
root vegetable! I'm Sir Lancelot, raised in the
realm of fairy by the Lady of the Lake, orphaned
by heir of King Ben. And rivaled in swordplay
and joust, pure of heart, ungimmed of vision,
and sworn companion and liege to the once future
king. I will not tolerate your games. Turnip
said, Well, then I was twiddling my finger next
to my head and mouthing, Nutter alert! The boys,
they were cracking up. However, there could have
just been the side effects of copious amounts
of sun and stellar. Turnip added, Anyhow, I'm
not one to make sport of other people's delusions,
and I have a lot of empathy for Nutjar, but...
Before I could shout, why did you sleep with
Guinevere, you slag? He stopped me in my tracks,
and he said in a soft and soothing voice, Remember
that recurring dream you had as a youngster,
Sir Turnip? The one where you would pull the
sword from the stone, and the world and its maidens
fall at your feet? Yes, I said nervously before
turning the phone off speaker, as Big Tony and
Paul sat at eyeing me with wolfish interest,
and smirking like evil gherkins. How do you know?
I told you. I am no mere mortal. I am an eternal
knight who lives in the hearts of men everywhere.
I'm here to help you make that dream come true.
You'll make me king of the world and all -powerful,
I gasped before downing half a pint of lager
in excitement. Not quite, he sighed. But you
will have a significant part to play in the new
world order. Where do I sign up? And do I get
to hold Excalibur, I asked. as a combination
of adrenaline and excessive alcohol intake nearly
caused me to pass out. All will be revered, my
white knight, upon a fiery steed. Yet there are
secrets I can only divulge in person. Can you
meet me at Llanfoy's Cemetery? An hour? He asked.
I'm on it, I replied. Turn about it. If only
I'd known then the lies and treachery Sir Lancelot
was capable of. I would have saved us a lot of
grief. And Puerto Rico pullers still have both
his hands. Oh, God! Abergavennyman claims he's
all that stands between the world and eternal
night. And Abergavennyman has made the fanciful
claim that he is all that stands between this
world and eternal night. It's a bold statement,
I know, but ask anyone. I've always been about
the statement, explains semi -professional paranormal
investigator Johnny Turnip. It was Sir Lancelot
who awakened me to my true destiny, Turnip told
the Chronicle, between mouthfuls of Scotch egg.
For years, I'd sort of coaxed it along. No real
ambition or motivation, other than to have a
good time all the time. But deep down, I sort
of knew I was born for something special, and
my new mate Lance confirmed it. After meeting
a mysterious stranger in Llanfoy's Cemetery,
Turnip said, The scales finally fell from my
eyes. I saw things how they truly are. Infinite.
After claiming to be the reincarnation of Sir
Lancelot, the stranger explained that he'd been
sent back to Earth to convince Turnip to find
and dig up the body of King Arthur before resurrecting
the once and future king and restoring balance
to the world. At first, it sounded crazier than
a barrel of rattlesnakes at a full moon party,
explained Turnip. But then, after listening to
him ramble on like a head kiss for a few minutes,
it all made sense. Turnip added, Lance said,
that only a soul pure in thought and deed could
wield Excalibur, channel King Arthur's spirit,
and heal the world and its people. Instinctively,
I knew he was talking about me. In a giddy rush,
I quoted Shakespeare. Some are born great, some
achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust
upon them. But I take all those boxes, don't
I? Yes, Johnny, you do, he said. You're a very
special person. I thought you were going to say
very special boy. I stood up in triumph, shook
my fists at the heavens and roared, Who's laughing
now, you bastards? And then a crow landed on
the nearby gravestone and started shrieking at
me, as if mocking my finest moment, which ruined
my triumphant mood a bit. Sensing my disappointment,
Lance grabbed both my hands and urged, There
are forces of darkness gathering that seek to
cast all that is good and pure in this world
into a pit of no return. You're talking about
the general election, aren't you? I said. Lance
just sighed impatiently and replied, You alone
have been chosen to resurrect King Arthur, wield
Excalibur, and save humanity from itself. I am
old, so old, and have not the strength or courage
to do what needs doing. You are true to yourself,
Turnip, and care not what the world thinks of
you. That is power beyond words. and the reason
you have been chosen by the Knights of the Round
Table to lead this quest. Do you accept your
mission? I replied, Man, my mate Tom Cruise would
love all this Cloak and Dagger mission stuff.
He thrives on it. But yes, yes, I accept. Where's
my horse? Or have you got me a Harley? Turnip
explained that Sir Lancelot looked at him quizzically
before saying, This is no joke, Turnip. Long
is the way, and hard the journey that leads from
darkness to light. You will need fellow knights
to aid you in your quest. One will fall in battle,
one will betray your cause, and one will lose
their mind to the terror that lies in the darkness
between the stars. Pray tell, who will you name
as your brothers -in -arms? You can pick four,
no more. That's easy, I said. I'll take Big Tony,
Puerto Rico Paul, Fast Eddie, and if he doesn't
have to sign on this week, JFK Jones. They'll
be my knights. Very well. said Lance. It is done.
Summon your men and fill them with courage. Inspire
them with vision. Strengthen their resolve and
take the road to Llandevry in the morn. Hold
on a minute. Repeat what you just said. I cried
with a growing sense of unease. Looking all perplexed
and pained, Lance began. Summon your men. No,
no, no, no, no. I interrupted. The bit about
taking the road to Llandevry. What's wrong with
Llandevry? He asked. What's right with it? I
bellowed. Have you ever been to Mid Wales? Well,
I have. I lived in a cave just outside Bilth
Wells for four years during Covid and I nearly
lost my mind. Llandaffery's worse. I used to
be dragged there as a youngster for family camping
holidays and I don't think I've ever quite recovered.
The boredom and tedium and the endless fields
full of livestock and broken people. I can't
go back. I can't. Tony explained. Since then
I was distraught. Lance grabbed my head between
his two hands, enclosed in white satin gloves,
and said, Sir Turnip, you must slay this phobia
of Llandavery, or to become your Achilles' heel.
I implore you, gather your knights, travel to
Llandavery Castle, kneel at the statue of Llewelyn
ap Groved, and summon the spirit of the great
prince. He alone can guide you to King Arthur's
final resting place. The forces of light are
counting upon you. Now go forth. and save us
all. Turnip said, I've always had a sense of
the dramatic, and Lance's words banished all
the lingering dread I had of returning to Llandaffry.
When your job's saving the world, you've got
to put personal prejudices aside. Not everyone
is lucky enough to live in the Mardy, and as
an urban sophisticate, I knew I could probably
grow to tolerate people from Mid Wales, rather
than actively despise them. I high -fived Lance,
roared, I'll be in touch when the job's done
to discuss payment terms, and I ran like the
wind to the pub to find the boys and let them
know the plan. Turnip added, When I told Big
Tony the news, he just looked up from his game
of online roulette, shrugged his shoulders and
said he'd drive as long as I paid for all the
beer, which seemed fair. Fast Eddie was a bit
dubious at first, because his only experience
of Llandaffery had been the bad one with the
Duke of Edinburgh scheme the thick kids at school
used to do. But, when I say there's a bit of
sword fighting involved, he jumped at a chance.
He's always loved a scrap. JFK Jones was chomping
at the bit, because, as his nickname suggests,
he loves anything involving conspiracies. Puerto
Rico Paul took a bit of persuading, because he'd
had a few bookings that week for his Simon Le
Bon tribute act. But, when I offered to buy him
VIP tickets the next time Duran Duran was on
tour... He reluctantly agreed. The gang was united.
The game was on. As we took the road in Big Tony's
brand new Redfoot Rascal, singing the swords
of a thousand men, it all seemed like a bit of
a lannish caper. But as we passed a sign reading
Llandaffery, I knew instinctively that hell and
all its hordes lay in wait. Abergavenny Man claims
he can talk with the dead. After spending three
nights and three days in Llandaffery, an Abergavenny
Man remains convinced. he can converse with the
dead. I'm a man of many talents, but I didn't
think I was a natural medium, explained semi
-professional paranormal investigator Johnny
Turnip. But after my stint in Llandaffry, I'm
convinced that not only do the dead walk amongst
us, but with a little gentle persuasion, they
can be persuaded to open up and let us know what
life is like on the other side. Previously, on
the advice of a mysterious stranger, Turnip had
gathered together a potty of knights to travel
to Llandaffry in the hope that he could find
a clue. to the final resting place of the legendary
King Arthur. Turnip explained, Clandevery's not
exactly a bucket list destination, but when you're
on a mission to resurrect the once and future
king and save the world from the forces of darkness,
you can't be picky. Anyhow, as Nanny Annie Horror
Show Turnip always said when catching the bus
to Bryn Mawr, it's not about the destination,
but the journey. Having said that, the journey
is pretty boring. Me, Big Tony, Fast Eddie and
JFK Jones had to listen to Puerto Rico Paul whinge
about how the kids today just don't get his Simon
Le Bon tribute act. He moaned on about how they're
all too busy filling their face with Botox, getting
crap tattoos and watching influencers cook on
TikTok to appreciate the edginess and avant -garde
talent of a band like Duran Duran. Don't generalise,
I said to him. Generation X may have had better
music, style, attitude and social skills, but
we can't give up on the youngsters. Once I get
my hands on Excalibur... I'll build a new Nirvana.
Don't you mean Utopia? Said JFK Jones. What?
I replied. Never heard of them. Sounds like a
lame Britpop band to me. That shut the mouthy
tart up, and as Ed Sheeran came on the radio,
Poet Rico Paul puked up a little blood. However,
he soon recovered, as Big Tony shoved his Nevermind
CD in, and we were soon all singing along enthusiastically
to Smells Like Teen Spirit as we entered the
town of Llandyfri, or as I like to call it, the
Ashtray of Wales. Turnip told the Chronicle that
after parking up in the car park behind the castle,
they did what they always do when entering a
new town or city, drink themselves senseless.
He explained, You can't beat the feeling of walking
into an unfamiliar pub in the day with your mates,
lining up around and getting on a session. After
a few hours, we'd forgotten we were even in Llandaffery.
Big Tony even had a game of pool with the locals.
They looked a bit dodgy to me, though, so I refused
to speak to them, and just bleated like a sheep
every time they looked my way. They soon got
the message. I left as fast as he pulled out
his harmonica and we started singing Dirty Old
Town by the Pogues. Turnip added, After being
thrown out of the pub, we all slept in the castle
grounds that night by the statue of Llywelyn
ap Grafydd. In the morning, I woke up with a
sore head and a dry mouth, but I hadn't received
any visions of the Welsh Prince about where King
Arthur was buried. After a brief discussion with
the boys about what to do next, we hit the pub
again. I was waiting for that! Ended up sleeping
in the castle grounds again. Ended up hungover
again. Turnip explained, The horror of being
in Llandaffery was forcing us to drink ourselves
into oblivion every day, and we had to break
the cycle. It was on day three that Big Tony
suggested we take a trip to the nearby Linbrian
Dam and Reservoir to get our heads right for
the quest. Turnip explained, After a full English
and five pints each to steady our balance and
restore equilibrium, we set off in the Bedford
Rascal and spent the day looking at the water
and trying not to get on one another's nerves.
If you've never been to Limbrian, it's worth
a visit just because it's got Europe's biggest
overflow pipe. Big Tony said he used to go kayaking
down there and it's inflatable back in the day.
But he's a bit porky for that sort of thing now.
When we were there, the overflow was dry as dust.
Fast Eddie made the outrageous claim once he
skateboarded down there in similar conditions.
Even though Eddie's very athletic and has got
low centre of gravity because technically he's
a pygmy, I still think he was lying out of boredom.
Nevertheless, the seeds of some sort of crazy
challenge had been sown. Spying some nearby shovels
discarded by some lazy council workmen, Puerto
Rico Paul suggested we could race to the bottom
of the overflow on them. Turnip added, as we
grabbed the shovels and jumped onto the concrete,
some official busybody in high -vis shouted,
Oi! Get back here! You can't do that! Puerto
Rico Paul just stuck up his two fingers and roared,
We're Gen X, baby! The party never ends! Whooping
like Apache Braves, we all did a weird little
war dance before sitting on the shovels. Turnip
told the Chronicle, Then as they set off on the
shovels, they soon picked up speed, and Luopim
came to an abrupt end. His ashen face and silent,
they clung to the hardwood sticking between their
legs for dear life, and waited for the ride to
end. Turnip explained, We all hit the pool of
water at the bottom in one piece, apart from
JFK Jones. He slammed into the concrete before
hitting the water and sort of bounced a bit before
rolling into the pool. Big Tony fished him out,
but apart from a few bruises and a messed up
ankle he couldn't put any weight on, he was okay.
Pretty lucky. Puerto Rico Paul on the other end
hadn't physically hurt himself, but he was hyperventilating
and having some millennial -style panic attack.
We made a point of ignoring it until it passed.
And then I said, well, that was a bit of fun.
But it's time to get back to Fendavry and carry
on with the quest. Knights, on me. Turnip explained.
As we walked back up the overflow in single file
with Big Tony carrying JFK Jones who was fading
in and out of consciousness with pain, the guy
in high vis was having a go but you could see
from our demeanour and the way Fast Eddie suddenly
started doing spontaneous karate moves that he
needed to leave us the hell alone. We had a world
to save and a dead prince to talk to. I know
Jobsworth was going to interfere with that. Epic
of any man claims to have a vision that will
change the world. An Abergavenny man who went
on a drinking holiday in Llandaffery has claimed
that on the third night he was blessed with a
vision that could turn the world on its head.
Oh my god. Semi -professional paranormal investigator
Johnny Turnip confessed to the Chronicle that
he and his friends' quest to find the final resting
place of King Arthur had hit a bit of a roadblock
in the Carmarthenshire market town because we
were bored out of our skulls and ended up drinking
ourselves senseless every day and night. He explained,
Our sacred mission to resurrect the once and
future king... It turned into a bit of a drinking
holiday. Things came to a head on the third day
when JFK Jones broke his ankle when we were racing
down the overflow at Lindbriand Dam and Reservoir
on shovels. In hindsight, it was a silly thing
to do, but so was visiting Llandaffrae. Anyhow,
after JFK had passed out with pain, we had to
bite the bullet and take him to the nearest hospital.
We dumped him there and said he'd done it playing
football. After five minutes of waiting for him
to regain consciousness... We began to get a
bit twitchy, so we left the hospital, jumped
in Big Tony's bed for a rascal, headed back to
Llandaffery for a pint. As you do. Turnip explained.
Time was a habit of dragging in Llandaffery,
so one pint turned into eight. And before you
knew it, no one was in a fit state to pick JFK
up when he called. We told him to get a taxi
and meet us back at the castle where we were
camping. In the meantime, we bumped into a Llandaffery
local called Cheeky Gill, who was telling us
all about the town that had trapped him and turned
him into a borderline alcoholic. When Cheeky
Gil told us his name, Big Tony, Puerto Rico Paul
and Fast Eddie were howling with laughter. Not
so much because it was a weird nickname, but
because Gil was anything but cheeky. He was a
sort of moody bloke in the pub who scowled a
lot and started fights with better looking and
cooler men. He was alright with us, though. Probably
because he could sense that under the expensive
leisure wearing gold jewellery, we were all touched
by the hand of fate. It's a GLC in Llandaffry.
Now is it. You know as I love you, because I
fucks you and buys you checks. Let me tell you
about this toilet I call a home, said Gil when
he got stuck into his six rum and shrub. A century
or two ago, there were seventy pubs in this neck
of the woods for a lost soul to drink themselves
blind. We even had a beer -drinking goat. After
saying his piece, Gil leaned back in his chair
and eyed us all in turn as the sheer magnitude
of having seventy pubs in a town where the population
was a little over two thousand began to sink
in. Puerto Rico Paul slurped his lager and said,
A thousand pubs wouldn't be able to keep me in
this crap house. Cheeky Gil eyed him furiously
like maniacs in small towns often do. Leaned
forward in his chair, slammed his fist down the
table causing our drinks to spill and roared,
All right you are sir! Every eve I fall asleep
drunk and hormonal with plans to sober up and
leave in the morn. Yet the horror of opening
your eyes ain't land of reason bearable without
booze. So I reach for the nearest bottle. It's
a vicious cycle boys. Get out while you can.
It's too late for the likes of me. Cheeky Gill
then began crying uncontrollably and shouting
for us to get out of the pub on his town. It
was at this moment some old -timer at the bar
pulled out a guitar and started singing Mr. Tamperine
Man. Oh, God. Before long, the whole pub, all
seven of them, including Gill, were singing merrily
along. And, although we like to sing along as
much as the next man, it had been a long day
and decided to return to the castle and get some
kip. Sensible. We were abandoning our quest to
find King Arthur and leave in the morning. The
cost of staying in Llandaffery was too high.
Our collective mental health had taken a proper
kicking as a breaking point. We'd seen a lot
on our travels, but nothing had quite prepared
us for the town that time forgot. Turnip explained
that as they settled down in their sleeping bags
for the last night amongst the empty beer cans
and dog ends that lay scattered amongst the castle
ruins, his last thought before sleep stole his
eyes was, now that he's probably broken his ankle,
I wonder if JFK Jones would love to wear one
of those big ski boot things. And he fell asleep
laughing. Yet before dawn, he had what he believed
was a waking dream or mystical vision. At first,
he was just like any other morning in Llandaffry,
explained Turnip. The general sense of oppression
and grey clouds was broken only by the occasional
crow that looked like he wanted to eat my eyes.
I strolled round to see the rest of the boys
asleep and snoring, and as I strolled out of
the castle ruins to have a slash, I had a shock
of my life. That big statue of Lweling Epigravid
that's usually perched on the rock there was
walking towards me. Beneath the helmet, I could
see nothing but these big red eyes glowing in
the darkness. As it approached, I felt compelled
to go down on one knee and said, My prince, you
honour me with your presence. Those red demonic
eyes continued to stare right through me, and
as he pointed his spear at my head, I thought
he was going to impale me. But he simply said
in a voice that sounded like twenty mouths speaking
at once, There now sits at the head of this country
a knight that has neither been tested in combat,
shaped by adversity, or proved worthy of the
seven trials. This shames the land and the generations
of blood spilled on it. What do you say to this?
Well, I didn't vote Labour if that's what you're
getting at. I replied, then again, I never vote
because the government always gets in. Turnip
explained. He seemed to like the wisecrack, and
for a moment, those red eyes of his turned blue
before he boomed. Yours are of a common clay,
Turnip, much like the great Arthur himself. Now,
more than ever, this sacred vial has need of
men such as you. Turnip revealed, When the ghost
knight finally revealed where King Arthur was
buried and where Excalibur could be found, I
felt like I have since I was a hyperactive toddler
that broke things a lot. I was a born prince
of the universe, and with the power to change
the world, and come hell or land every, I was
going to do exactly that. Abergavenny Man claims
everything we know about history is wrong. And
Abergavenny Man, on a self -appointed quest to
find the burial place of the legendary King Arthur,
claims he was blessed with a vision that allowed
him to. see things how they really are. The veil's
been lifted from my eyes, explained semi -professional
paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip. Pretty
much everything we know about history is wrong.
I can't give too much away because it could jeopardise
my ongoing quest, but needless to say, the truth
is stranger than fiction. All I can say is once
I wield Excalibur and awake the Great Bear, many
historical injustices will be put right. After
forming a war party made up of contemporary knights,
Turnip and his crew travelled to Llandewri in
the hopes of finding the once and future king's
final resting place. Apart from soul -crushing
boredom, some hangovers from hell, and in JFK
Jones' case, a busted -up ankle, Llandewri offered
us nothing, apart from a vision that changed
everything. Turnip told the Chronicle that he
was visited by the soul of Lwelyn Apgrawydd in
the early hours. He alleges that the Welsh prince
showed him where King Arthur was buried, and
the lake Excalibur had been dumped in. I've never
had a proper vision before. But it was like watching
a Netflix trailer, explained Turnip. It only
lasted about two or three minutes, but it changed
me completely. Now I see everything in a different
light. Does it start with da -dun? Turnip added,
The trouble is, although talking to a dead prince
who has just come back as a statue is extremely
trippy, I didn't have time to enjoy the mellow
afterglow of someone who's just pretty much travelled
backwards in time and seen the truth. Had to
rally the troops. We had no time to waste. The
corpse of King Arthur was in the Vale of Glamorgan.
Or, to be more precise, Dunraven Bay. The knights
of the TV dinner tray, as we jokingly refer to
ourselves, were going to the seaside to kick
down a few castles of sand and change the course
of history. Turnip explained that as they roared
out of Llandavery in Big Tony's Bedford Rascal,
they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
It was like an immense weight had been lifted
from our shoulders. Staying at Llandavery had
been trial by fire. After having survived three
days and nights in that place, nothing could
faze us. We were riders in the storm, and the
world was ours for the taking. Turnip revealed
that as they cruised along, drinking beer and
arguing if Tony Soprano could beat Vito Corleone
in the fistfight, the mood soon turned sour.
Puerto Rico Paul had one of his heads on, explained
Turnip. He started going on about how there were
hardly any fat kids in the 1980s compared with
now. He argued that back then, those who were
overweight are made up for it by being comedians
and making us all laugh instead of mourning and
having panic attacks. Turnabout it. It would
have been a fair point if Paul was making some
sort of socio -economic point. But his real target
was Big Tony. Even as a kid, Big Tony's been
big -boned, but in a sort of buff way. And although
he's always drunk and eaten enough for three
men, he's a grafter and sweats it out on sight.
However, like a lot of people, Big Tony got a
bit porky during lockdown and he hasn't really
managed to lose the timber. Comfort eating in
Disney Plus ruined him. Although he's never mentioned
it, we know his ongoing weight struggles are
a sore point. I would respect that. But not Paul.
Ignoring the strange and curiously vacant look
in Tony's eyes, he went off one of those narky
rants of his and began boasting that even though
he's got his snout permanently shoved in the
macadie's trough, it's impossible for him to
personally put on weight. And like Sam, he sneered
while looking pointedly at Big Tony. That's a
bit mean. That was the final straw. Torn slammed
on the brakes, dragged Puerto Rico Paul out of
the van, slapped him a few times and threw him
in a ditch on the side of the road. Never knowing
when to shut up, Paul just looked at him from
his prone position and lisped in a camp voice.
And all because the lady loves milk today. Roaring
like a temented bull, Big Tony thundered to the
back of the van, threw open the doors, which
woke up Fast Eddie and JFK Jones, grabbed a jerry
can of petrol, marched back to Paul, began to
pour the contents all over him while bellowing,
I'll burn you, you bastard! Puerto Rico Paul
was screaming at him defiantly. Where's your
head at, fat boy? I shouldn't be laughing at
this. I was attempting to wrestle a jerry can
out of his hand, but with his blood up, Big Tom
can be an unstoppable force of nature. As he
threw the jerry can to the floor and reached
for his lighter, I feared the worse. But at that
moment, Fast Eddie leapt on his back and started
gnawing at his ear determinedly like a ferocious
rat. Thankfully, he did the trick and brought
the big man to his senses. He roared like a wounded
elephant as he fell to his knees and started
sobbing. At the same time, Puerto Rico Paul pulled
himself up, looked at Big Tony dismissively and
went to light a fag. No, you tool, I cried. You're
covered in petrol. Paul threw the lighter and
fagged to the ground and muttered, For Christ's
sake, it was only a joke. and jumped back in
the van to sulk. Meanwhile, I approached Big
Tony cautiously. As fast as he held the big man's
hand and softly sang, don't look back in anger
to him. This is an emotional rollercoaster, this
one. What the hell's happening to me? I was going
to burn Paul alive, cried Big Tony as I came
near. Don't beat yourself up over it, son, I
said. There are sinister forces at work that
seek to divide us. You weren't in your right
mind and would probably be in control by a higher
power when you tried to commit, Paul. This seemed
to satisfy him, so he jumped back in the van,
he hugged Puerto Rico Paul, and the two of them
made up over a flagon of fortified cider. It
would take more than weight issues and demonic
possession to divide those two. As Big Tony drove,
Sir Lancelot's stark warning to me at the beginning
of the quest rang in my ears. Some will fall
in battle! Some will betray your cause and others
will lose their minds to the terror that lies
beyond worlds. I silently sat in the van and
tried hard not to blame Paul for being covered
in petrol and stopping us all from sparking up.
We all really needed a fag. To compensate, Big
Tony put on David Bowie's Life on Mars in the
car stereo. As I listened to Thin White Duke
singing about America's tortured brow. I reflected
grimly on my vision and wondered how I could
tell the boys that before this quest was over,
we'd not only have to do battle with the enemy
within, but being as from another planet as well.
Abergavenny Man claims aliens walk amongst us.
And Abergavenny Man has made the bold claim that
not only do aliens walk amongst us, but they
have done since medieval times. and he also claims
he'll soon have hard evidence to back up his
sensational claims. Ooh. Semi -professional paranormal
investigator Johnny Turnip told the Abergavenny
Chronicle that he stumbled across the existence
of alien lifeforms by accident when he was on
a magical mystery tour to find the final resting
place of the legendary King Arthur. A dead knight
shared a vision with me in Llandaffry, where
the Great Bear was buried, and who put him there,
explained Turnip. He was an eye -opener, all
right. You see, Contrary to popular belief, King
Arthur wasn't just fighting the Saxons. He was
also battling visitors from under the planet.
Once he'd done putting the Germanic invaders
in their place, and he and the boys were celebrating
their final victory at Mons Bodonicus with a
gallon of wine or two, creepy little aliens from
outer space saw an opportunity to make a move.
The sneaky, bulbous -headed, big -eyed freaks
attacked when the knights were sleeping off their
victory hangovers. Turnip added, The extraterrestrial
bastards were ruthless! It was absolute carnage.
Half of Arthur's forces were decimated by ray
guns. The King's swordsmen, archers, and big
nutters with axes were no match for the tech
boys to run out of the planet, especially since
most of them were still half -cut from the night
before. All of this was revealed to me in a vision
by the possessed statue of Llewellyn Apogra Vith.
But it gets worse. Arthur and what remained of
his troops only managed to escape because Merlin
managed to turn them into bumblebees, then flew
as a collective swarm to the safety of Castle
at Dunraven Bay when they turned back into men
and prepared to make one last stand in the name
of humanity. As the UFOs circled and the aliens
unleashed their lasers, Arthur and the boys put
on the brave show, but they were no match for
the intergalactic colonists. During the last
pitched battle on the seafront, Arthur was the
last man standing, but he also fell after being
hit by a beam of pure light. Here's where it
gets weird. As the UFO hovered overhead and prepared
to vaporise the king, Merlin appeared in the
skies as a mighty dragon that roared and spat
out a terrible flame straight at Arthur. The
flame didn't burn the great king, but it surrounded
him and formed this kind of black stone which
encased Arthur like a tomb. With Arthur's body
completely hidden from view, the great rock fell
into the shallow waters of the sea, where it
still stands to this day, looking like any other
rock to the uninitiated. Turnip added, Before
the vision faded, I heard Merlin scream, The
king will rise again in this isle's darkest need.
An Excalibur will lie with the Lady of the Lake.
At that moment, an image of Tredegar Reservoir
flashed in my mind, and I realised not only did
I know where King Arthur lay, but where his sword
had been dumped too. Turnip explained that after
leading his war party to Dunraven Bay, and telling
him the true nature of his vision over a supper
of egg and chips and some sugary tea, His claims
were met with some scepticism. Do you mean King
Arthur's buried in the big rock? said Puerto
Rico Paul. Oh, do you propose we get him out?
asked Big Tony. It could be worse, said JFK Jones.
How? said Fast Eddie. Let's just wait until we
see the sort of calibre of rock we're dealing
with before we make our play, said Turnip. Turnip
told the Chronicle that after a few hours' kip,
he led them to the foot of King Arthur's rock
in dawn's unforgiving light. He later admitted,
As we grimly drank lager from our cans, looked
at the waves crashing against the big black rock
and imagined King Arthur's corpse rotting away
within, all hope of restoring the once and future
king's throne faded fast. Big Tony suggested
we could potentially use dynamite to free the
monarch, but I snapped, Think of the human cost,
Torn! Besides which, we'd blow Arthur up along
with a rock. Puerto Rico Paul suggested using
magic, and even offered to contact his mum Paulie,
or the Witch of Tudor Street as she's more commonly
known, to see if she knew any spells or enchantments
that would work. I just sighed. Is this high
magic we're dealing with here, Paul? Merlin's
perhaps the most famous magician of all time.
Even bigger than David Blaine. Little disrespect
to your mother, but she made a name telling fortunes
in a caravan. I don't think she's up for the
job. As we all just nodded our heads sagely and
gazed intensely at the rock, swigging on the
cans and getting wary looks from assorted day
trippers, I had an Eureka moment. It's the sword
in the stone, I shrieked. What is? said Big Tony.
The recurring dream I've had since a youngster
of me pulling a sword from a stone and everyone
chanting the name Turnip over and over again.
This is that stone! I said, jumping on a slippery
rock and nearly losing my footing and cracking
my head open. But there's no sword in it, said
a perplexed -looking Puerto Rico Pole. Not yet
there isn't, I wrote. The legends have it all
wrong. A sword needs to be thrust into the stone
and then pulled out to liberate the once and
future king. Excalibur works like a key. Unlucky
for the world, the location of that key was revealed
to me in a vision. Where? The boys cried in unison
like a tuneless drunken choir of middle -aged
men washed up on a beach with no past or future,
but a vague and barely conscious hope of a better
world. Tredegar, I announced solemnly. The birthplace
of Bevan and the cradle of the NHS is also home
to the Sword of Destiny. Turnip explained that
just at that moment, a raven landed on the rock
in between the waves and started crowing at them.
We took it as a sign we were on the right track,
explained Sir Rip. But a shrieking sungar gnawing
as a Puerto Rico pull threw a half -empty can
of lager at it and it cleared off. Drink up,
boys, I shouted. We're headed up to find Excalibur
and send the space boys home. You can count on
our steel, my lord, roared JFK Jones, which didn't
go down well. There was something about JFK that
had been getting to my skin of late. It wasn't
just a ridiculous ski boot thing you had to wear
because it was busted up ankle. His cheery bluster
was hiding something sinister and vile. This
isn't some sort of big joke, I snapped. We're
on a real all -or -nothing quest here, and your
Game of Thrones nonsense isn't welcome. Turnip
said that JFK looked suitably abashed, but explained,
I'll forever kick myself for not realising we
had a rat in the ranks sooner. Yet, even if we'd
sniffed out JFK's treachery before he put the
knife in our backs, the true scale of his betrayal
will always leave me breathless. claims he has
found the legendary sword Excalibur by Tim Butters
from the Abergavenny Chronicle on Monday the
5th of August 2024. He found it by Tim Butters?
Tim Butters had it all along. Much like the Holy
Grail, the legendary sword Excalibur has been
sought after for centuries by philosophers, poets,
politicians, historians, the hapless and the
lost. However... An Abergavenny man claims he
now wields what legions of adventurers and explorers
have all sought in vain, the sword of power.
It's a bit of a trip to think my hands have fondled
the same piece of steel as King Arthur, but you
can't cheat destiny, explains semi -professional
paranormal investigator Johnny Turnip. In hindsight,
I can now see that when I lost myself to a twilight
world of substance abuse and bizarre sleeping
patterns in my twenties, I was simply in denial
of my own greatness. I always knew my bones that
fated to earmark me for something historical
and earth -shattering, but I had no idea to stand
by King Arthur's side and rule the world. For
years, I tried to run from who I was and what
I was supposed to be. I got good at it as well.
Before becoming a paranormal investigator, I
was a semi -professional long -distance runner.
But the running stops here. I've finally embraced
who and what I am. Since Arthur's demise, the
extraterrestrials have secretly governed this
planet with a dark intent. Once I wake the great
bear by driving Excalibur into the great rock
where he sleeps, it'll be time for E .T. to go
home and stay there. Turnip told the Chronicle
that after having a vision that revealed Excalibur
was rusting away at the bottom of a reservoir
on Tredegar, he and the boys jumped in Big Tony's
battle bus and headed up top to find the once
-and -future king's fabled weapon. The only trouble
was, when we got there, we had no idea how to
retrieve Excalibur from the depths, explained
Turnip. None of us had any diving gear. And even
if we did, no one was willing to take the plunge.
We'd all grown up with a bit of a phobia of the
water thanks to films like Jaws. Turnabout it.
In my heart, I had high hopes that Lady's Hand
would reach out of the reservoir holding the
sword aloft like it did in that dodgy 80s film
Excalibur. You know, the one with the fruity
-looking guy playing Merlin and the village -idiot
-looking fella playing young Arthur. Anyhow,
after sitting on the banks for hours and sharing
some flagons of cider, nothing much happened,
and you could see Big Tony was getting more and
more twitchy with each passing second. He eventually
stood up abruptly and said, Saw this for a game
of soldiers. I've wasted enough time on this
wild goose chase. I'm off. Hang on a sec, Tony,
I said. You're one of my sworn knights. You took
an oath. You can't leave without being dismissed.
He just looked at me up and down like I was some
sort of halfwit and said, Knight? Oath? Excalibur?
Listen to yourself, JT. You've lost the plot.
I only came along for the crack and the free
beer. Now all this Dungeons and Dragons nonsense
is getting embarrassing now. I know you, Paul,
and others like to live in some weird, drug -hard
little fantasy realm. But it's a luxury I can't
afford. When we're all on UC, I'm due in sight
tomorrow. I'll lose my job. Tony! I cried when
he stropped back to the van. You'll have riches
beyond labour when I'm crowned the second king
in command. This is the alien mind control talking,
not you. Stay a while and share this bolly gin
with me. You'll see things differently, I implored.
It was no good. Torn is adamant, and as I watched
him head back to the relative normality of the
metaphorical rocking chair that is Old Mother
Abba, I saw Fast Eddie jump in front of his Bedford
rascal and holler, Take me back to Abba with
you to pick up some supplies, Torn. I've got
an idea how we can retrieve Excalibur. I looked
at Fast Eddie curiously and wondered what little
pygmy he had up his sleeve. But with Torn gone,
we needed some wheels, and although it would
be a bit of a squeeze, Fast Eddie's mini was
capable of transporting us all. Turn about it.
As Big Tony wheeled spin -off, that's as much
as giving me a friendly two -fingered salute.
I felt a genuine sense of betrayal. A big oaf
would live to regret his indiscipline when asked
to do the New World Order. As I gazed round the
remaining nights of my war party, I saw Perturiga
Pole was sleeping off the effects of the cider,
and JFK Jones was limping around annoyingly in
his broken ankle boot and furiously texting someone
on his phone. When a devious little tart saw
me monitoring like a hawk, he had the good grace
to look embarrassed. I continued to stare at
him and said cryptically, Only those you trust
can betray you. I could tell by his body language
and dumb look on his face he knew what I was
getting at. He was up to something fishy, and
before this quest was over, I'd find out. Turnip
explained that when Fast Eddie returned, he shared
a plan to retrieve Excalibur that might just
prove feasible. Eddie's called Fast for a reason,
explained Turnip. He's quick on his feet and
a fast thinker. He brought with him a two -man
inflatable kayak and one of those magnetic fishing
kits. The plan was that me and him would paddle
out to the middle of the reservoir and drop the
huge magnet on the fishing line overboard and
hopefully, sooner or later, we'd find Excalibur.
It was a long shot, but it was all we had. Turnip
revealed that after being on the water for three
hours and catching nothing but beer cans, a shopping
trolley, an old scooter and an air gun, they
were just about to call it a day when a cloud
passed in front of the sun and an eerie silence
fell. Turnip explained. It's difficult to put
into words, but you could tell from the changing
atmosphere something big was about to happen.
We pulled up the magnet one last time, and on
the end of the line was a huge sword, I'd like
to say, the likes of which you'd never seen,
but it was covered in rust and in a bit of a
way, it looked like one of those samurai swords
that were big in the 1990s, but one that had
been left to rot for a couple of decades. However,
who I didn't already know in my heart of hearts
it was Excalibur, what happened next confirmed
it. An Abergavenny man has made the claim that
an alien lifeform threatened him and his friends
in a remote beauty spot in South Wales. Semi
-professional paranormal investigator Johnny
Turnip revealed how he was on a special quest
to find King Arthur's legendary sword Excalibur
when it happened. Turnip explained that as soon
as he managed to get his hands on this sword,
men in beige suits who work for a shadowy puppet
organisation attempted to steal it. It was the
same group of clowns that me, Big Tony and Puerto
Rico Paul bumped up against in the past when
we were trying to trap and tame a fairy, he said.
They wanted to use us to gain access to the fairy
realms, so they could tap into that magical power
and ruin the world. Obviously, we weren't having
that and kicked seven shades of crap out of them.
Trouble is, we had Big Tony and our crew back
then. This time they turned up mob -handed on
electric bikes. Bastards. Turnip told Chronicle
that Fast Eddie and himself had fished Excalibur
out of Tredegar Reservoir with a magnetic fishing
kit. But no sooner had they boated ashore on
their inflatable kayak, when a group of men in
beige suits, wearing sunglasses and riding electric
bikes, appeared out of the trees. As soon as
I saw the electric bikes, I knew there was going
to be a conflict, explained Turnip. Puerto Rico
Paul sneered. You dickheads can't fly a drone,
have you? I'll maybe forage some wild garlic.
But their leader, who I recognised from before
as a chump who called himself Mr Citizen, simply
chuckled and said, Bonjour, Portugal Pete! As
much as we love to pass the time indulging in
such pleasant pursuits, we're here for the sword
of destiny. Now pass it over, parsnip. Why don't
he come and get it, you slut? I roared. In hindsight,
it wasn't the coolest thing to say, but the adrenaline
was making the neurons misfire quite badly. Licking
his lips and going all pantomime on me, Mr. Citizen
just mock -whispered, Oh, baby, I like it rough.
Oh, God. Before yelling in a chirpy, posh falsetto,
At them, lads! Take no prisoners! Turnip explained
that as the men in beige advanced on their electric
bikes like a kind of really lame cavalry, he,
fast Eddie and Puerto Rico Paul, formed a defensive
circle. We're going to protect Excalibur with
our lives, he explained. There's no way these
yuppies in badly cut suits were stealing my birthright
and denying my destiny. I cried for JFK Jones
to stand fast, assuming he had a flank, but then
I saw what I'd long suspected. A soulless little
toad had defected the other side. He was sitting
at the back of one of the men in beige's bikes,
looking all embarrassed. Little bastard. You
there, bitch, now, Jonesy? I snarled. What did
they offer you to turn Judas and your mates?
Tickets to the Foo Fighters? You always had rubbish
-tasting music, you clown. As the men in beige
surrounded us, a gutless little rat just looked
at me all pathetic and whimpered. I had no choice,
JT. They said they sanctioned my benefits if
I didn't contact them as soon as you found Excalibur.
But Rigopol just said softly in a weird, brummy
accent. Like it was Thomas Shelby and Peaky Blinders.
There's always a choice, Jonesy. Let's hope you
can live with yours. Fuck it, that'll do. I'm
not doing it again. I don't watch Peaky Blinders.
Turnip added that to make matters worse, Mr.
Citizen then said, Don't be too harsh on your
mentally challenged friend, Turnip. After all,
it was not him I tricked into embarking on the
quest to find King Arthur's final resting place
on Excalibur in the first place. Turnip told
the Chronicle that it finally dawned on him,
that the stranger in the cemetery who he thought
had been the reincarnation of Sir Lancelot, and
who had tasked him with a mission to save humanity
from itself, had been Mr. Citizen all along.
That fucking weasel! But why? I asked. Easy,
he replied. We had no hope of finding Excalibur,
because we would overthink it, and the old gods
didn't want us to succeed. In an age defined
by mob rule, cowardice, censorship, cancellation
and capitulation, you and your gang completely
disregard the opinion and mockery of others and
plough your own furrow. We needed that sort of
rare pluck. As a bonus, you have all the self
-belief of blind idiocy and you treat dumb chants
almost as if it's religion. But thanks to Mr
Turncoat here, and at this point, he patted that
treacherous little weasel JFK Jones on the head,
you monkeys did all the legwork and we'll reap
all the reward. After all, why bark when you've
got a dog? Because it's fun and winds people
up, said Fast Eddie hopefully. It's a rhetorical
question, Ed, I sighed. Enough of this brain
-cell -destroying banter, shouted Mr. Citizen.
Give me the sword. I'll take it to Dunraven Bay.
And yeah, he paused dramatically for effect.
Before plunging it into old Arthur's guts and
ridding the world forever of the once and future
king. In his place, we shall rule as an international
community council, for our name is Legion, and
we are many. He then started cackling. I swear
I saw weird green tint to his skin. Turnip added,
At this point, I realised the men in beige weren't
just badly dressed bureaucrats. They were beings
from outer space. They were centuries old. The
exact same beings who'd fought King Arthur and
his knights at the Battle of Dunraven Bay. They'd
now come for me and the boys. Realising we're
outnumbered and outgunned, I made the decision
to tell Fast Alien Puerto Rico Paul to make a
run for it, and make a last stand with Excalibur
in hand. Leave me now, brave knights, I said
solemnly. This battle is mine, and mine alone.
Expect them to say, oh, nice one, JT, before
having it away in their toes. I don't mind admitting
I felt a nice warm glow, and Puerto Rico Paul
said, forget about it, bro. Seems as nice a day
to die as any other, before cracking his knuckles
and adding, If I don't run from Swansea Jacks,
I definitely don't run from E .T. Fast Eddie
just gave the man in beige suit his death stare
and said, My chief told me to defend this run.
It was inspiring to hear Fast Eddie quote Bigwig's
classic line from Watership Down. The movie's
a firm favourite of me and the boys. One time,
after a three -day bender, we were all convinced
we'd morphed into bunny rabbits from the film
and began hopping around and quoting lines to
one another. Great days. Anyhow. Mr Citizen took
the bait and said quizzically like General Woundwort
in the film, you're chief. And that's when it
all kicked off, big time. Abergavenny Man claims
he stopped King Arthur's corpse from being dug
up by aliens. And Abergavenny Man claims he not
only stopped alien lifeforms from digging up
King Arthur's corpse and defiling it, but He
also turned his back on a golden opportunity
to rule the world, just because he didn't need
the agro. After alleging that he and his friends
discovered the final resting place of the once
-and -future king and had retrieved Excalibur
from Tredegar Reservoir, semi -professional paranormal
investigator Johnny Turnip told The Chronicle
he was accosted by men in beige suits who were
actually extraterrestrials who'd been plotting
to rule the world for centuries. Look, we're
a little like your average dickhead, explained
Turnip. But they're actually from space, and
they've one goal. To establish a global community
council and enslave us all. Turnip added, If
a manager beat me and the boys in a fair fight
and steal Excalibur, it would have been the endgame
for humanity as we know it. They plan to use
Excalibur to dig up King Arthur's corpse and
kill it. Fortunately, just before me, Puerto
Rico, Poland, Fast Eddie prepared to go down
in one last glorious stand that Eminem probably
would have written a best -selling rap ballad
about. Big Tony. Turned up on a Shire horse.
Turnip added, Earlier in the quest, Torn had
quit because he didn't trust in my vision anymore.
He can be all mortal at times, so I didn't pay
much mind. But apparently, when he got back to
Ebba, he was plagued by a bad feeling that his
mates were in trouble. So he jumped back into
his Bedford Rascal, hot -footed down to the heads
of the valleys. All the trouble is, he broke
down just outside Ebbu Vale. However, Torn's
a resourceful type, and after borrowing a Shire
horse from a field, He travelled the rest of
the way to Tredegar in his stolen steed. Imagine
that surprise when Big Tony turned up in horseback
at the last minute, brandishing a baseball bat
and yelling, BANZAI YOU BASTARDS! In his classic
red Adidas tracksuit and Wales FA bucket hat,
he looked every inch a night to the modern age.
The fact he was blasting out Beyoncé's End of
Time with a portable Bluetooth speaker he had
strapped on his back didn't even seem weird.
Tones always had a strange choice in fighting
songs and certainly rattled the aliens. They
were expecting a walkover, but they didn't count
on the mad bastard from the Mardi riding a horse,
playing queen bee and screaming blue murder.
As tone charged, the men in beige couldn't hold
their line or their nerve. They pedalled away
furiously on their electric bikes, and as the
crappy electric motors kicked in, I waved Excalibur
at their backs and yelled, This is for Arthur,
you Martian flyboys! Dramatic. That's one nil
to humanity! Screamed Puerto Rico Paul as he
high -fived Fast Eddie. Where's that treacherous
Tord JFK Jones? I asked. He's one of them now,
said Paul. They've corrupted him with their multidimensional
nonsense. He was a good man, I sighed solemnly.
Let's remember him for who he was and not the
motherless piece of crap he later became. As
we all bowed our head in silence and tried to
remember something positive about the rat who
once called himself our friend, I gazed in wonder
at Excalibur. After all my manifest trials and
tribulations, I finally had the means to resurrect
King Arthur and rule the world as his second
-in -command. Yeah, to be honest, it all seemed
like a lot of unnecessary aggro. I'd have to
return to Dunraven Bay, plunge it into a rock
and hopefully free the once -and -future king,
and looking at Excalibur, which resembled the
rusty old samurai sword from the 1990s, a little
bit too much for my liking. I wasn't sure if
it would just snap in half as soon as it hit
Solid Rock. As far as weapons go, it did look
very epic. Even if I managed to free King Arthur,
as old as the possibility, he could be a dickhead.
I mean, you've been sleeping for over a thousand
years, only to be walking up a bunch of men in
tracksuits and, you know, you've got to fight
some aliens and rule the country again. What
sort of mood would you be in? Also, if I had
to be a second -in -command, which I should imagine
it's pretty much a full -time job, something
I've always strenuously avoided. As I keep telling
my job coach, if I don't get enough Netflix and
beer time during the week, I can get a bit neurotic.
Turnabout it. Looking at Excalibur, I finally
made my decision. And, just as I went to hurl
the Sword of Destiny back into Tredegar Azua,
Puerto Rico Paul went to grab it, but as soon
as he touched it, he let out a scream and fell
to his knees. I can't move my hand! He screamed.
Paul's left hand had gone completely limp at
the wrist. Every time he went to move it, it
just flopped back down limplessly. What sort
of strange magic is this? growled Big Tony. The
sword is cursed, JT. Throw the thing back into
the water and be done with it. As I threw Excalibur
skywards, I'm sure I saw what suspiciously looked
like a false widow jump from it. Nanny Anna Horrorshow
Turnip used to breed them and plant them in bananas
at supermarkets, until she was caught on CCTV
one time and told to behave. Turnip told the
Chronicle, As the sword we'd spent so long searching
for finally splashed into the water, I was sure
I saw a hand call up to grab it, but for some
reason it was wearing those fingerless neon green
gloves that were big in the 80s. It freaked me
out a little, but no one else seemed to notice
anything untoward. Big Tony had got into a heated
argument with Fast Eddie about who would win
in a race between Usain Bolt and Sonic the Hedgehog.
Meanwhile, Puerto Rico Paul was sat gazing at
his limp wrist and mourning about how he'd never
be able to hold a microphone and do a Simon Le
Bon tribute act again. I said, Trust me, Paul.
It'll get better. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not
next month. Or maybe not even next year. But
one morning, you'll wake up and have the use
of both ends again. This seemed to console him
and As we softly started singing Rio by Duran
Duran, we all joined in the chorus and turned
our heads to the heavens. Singing tunelessly
together and without a care in the world, we
looked at the first stars of the evening appear
in the sky like pinpricks in the curtain of light.
And, as we stood side by side, with our arms
flung around one another's shoulders, I realised
what I'd been searching for was already there.
There was a King Arthur spirit inside every one
of us. No. It was the great king's spirit of
individualism, resistance, defiance and courage
in the face of overwhelming odds that mattered.
Let his final rest in place or some rusty old
sword. As the boys broke off Singareo and Puerto
Rico Paul began doing an enthusiastic rendition
of Hungry Like the Wolf while using his limp
wrist like a stage prop, Fast Eddie pulled out
a crate of lager from the boot of his mini and
grinned. It was going to be a great night. All
these stories and more. have been compiled by
Tim Butters in his book, The Manifest Trials
and Tribulations of Johnny Turnip. And you'll
find a link in the show blog for this episode
at lightlyused .co .uk. Thank you very much for
listening. We're going to be taking a bit of
a break and we're going to be back on September
the 27th. In the meantime, we thought we'd give
you a few pod nods for shows to listen to while
we're off. Other than our fellow shows, of course,
at the Studio Channel 84 network, there's the
variety show with Tom and Rob, the untitled sci
-fi show with Rob and Tom, Who Takes the Socks
Off? and their Minnesota series Socks On or Off
with Ross and Simon, The Land Before Prime, the
five -minute movie review series focusing on
physical media and current cinema releases, plus...
the latest addition to the Studio Channel 84
family, Super A to Z with James, gaming his way
alphabetically through all of the Super Nintendo
titles. Find us all at channel84 .co .uk. Other
than those shows, if you've still got time left,
we've got a couple of pod mods for you. That
is quite a catalogue of podcasts to just tune
into. So obviously, first and foremost, I've
got to recommend to everybody Cheap Show. If
you haven't, or I mean, if you haven't found
us via someone via, via, via Cheap Show and you
weirdly haven't heard of them, they're fantastic.
Paul and Eli are hilarious. And from my own personal
perspective. couples that listen to cheap show
together tend to stay together so if you're having
some relationship problems and you're short of
a sense of humor i highly recommend those two
chaps stick on one of the derrick episodes yeah
definitely brookside tiger was the one you introduced
me with wasn't it and i was hooked immediately
my second recommendation is shut up and answer
the question it's a very funny podcast about
a 45 minute format they usually have a guest
on where They have been given a question by a
listener that doesn't really have a simple answer
and they debate that and other random shit for
the entire time. I don't know whether they ever
actually come up with a cohesive answer to the
question. That's not the point. That was asked,
but exactly, that is not the point. It's very
funny and they're an indie pod. They've not been
going very long, so give them a shout. And then
two networked shows. I don't normally shout out
networked shows, but these are good. Dungeons
and Daddies. If you like a bit of D &D, a bit
of roleplay, a bit of humour, those guys are
genuinely hilarious. And Two Girls, One Ghost,
which is a podcast with two girls, well, two
women. They are haunted by a ghost they called
Sven. And they cover true crime, murder mysteries,
haunted stories, spooky stuff. And they do, once
a month, they do a listeners tales episode where
they read out emails from people who have sent
things in of their own personal experiences.
And I genuinely find them fantastic. They're
very funny. So give them a go. One I thought
was going to be on your list was bitches with
beards. Oh, yes, I do like a bit of bitches with
beards, but they do keep regularly thrashing
who takes the socks off in any poll that comes
up on Twitter X. So, yeah, sorry, sorry, you
lovely, beautiful boys, but you're not on my
list. People know you already. Yeah, you're way
too popular. You don't need me to recommend you
to anybody. Oh, dear, this is going to make my
three recommendations sound like they need the
help. I've got to say thank you very, very much
to Ed Parnell, the voice of Lightly Used. He
does our voiceovers. He also has many, many pod
irons in the fire from comedy, mysteries unexplained,
news and current affairs. He's got quite a few
shows on the go. Also available for hire, for
writing and for voiceovers. Well worth your money,
folks. I'll put a link to his Spreaker channel
in the show blog. Check Ed out. There's also
Gareth Nessil with I'm So Not Over It. formerly
the Xenial Dome. One of my favourites. The comedy
history podcast for the time period where we
will remember sort of 70s to now. 70s to current
-ish. Definitely check them out. It's well worth
your time listening. Yeah, they are. I agree.
I've got to say thank you as well to A Pint of
Cthulhu. They've been hugely supportive of the
show over the, I was going to say years, year
-er. Yeah, the year. We've only done the show
for a year. They have been incredible. It feels
like it. And the opportunities that have been
offered to us, Through the Pint of Cthulhu team
being part of their podcast and playing games
in the background to test things on systems.
It's been so much fun and they, yeah, they're
brilliant. They're a wonderful team. Check them
out. They are a sort of tabletop role -playing
game. Yes, TTRPG. I wasn't sure if TT was part
of it or just the RPG part. But yeah, the most
recent campaigns they've done has been Blister
Critters based on a sort of Saturday morning
cartoon rules world. Yeah. and the Fallout TTRPG
as well. They're both in excellent campaigns.
Check them all out. Links will be on the blog,
lightlyused .co .uk. Thank you, everyone. We
love you. We thank you for listening. We thank
you for everyone who has given us opportunities
to be involved in anything podcasting for the
last 12 months. You've been incredible. This
has been an awesome year and I'm ready for a
break, but I will also be excited to get back
to recording. Not a pod nod, but we do have to
say thank you very much, of course, to Tim Butters.
Yes, we do. His book, The Manifest Trials and
Tribulations of Johnny Turnip. That's available
on Amazon and there's also going to be a link
on the show blog as well. Thank you very much,
Tim, for not just shutting this down straight
away. The accidental hero of Lightly Used. Adam
and Karen have been Lightly Used. Visit lightlyused
.co .uk for more. To get in touch, email pod
at lightlyused .co .uk. And Fallout Tabletop
Group. I can't say it. TTRPG. This was a Studio
Channel 84 network show. To find more... head
over to channel84 .co .uk now.