Athletico Mince - Ep. 36 - A Christmas Gift To You

Episode Date: December 25, 2016

Here's a collection of the very best songs from 2016's episodes. 24 hot hits - everything from Little Mouse to the Scottish dirges. Merry Christmas from Bob and Andy! Become a member at https://plus.acast.com/s/athleticomince. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Music Merry Christmas! This is the Athletic Old Minnes Christmas gift to you, isn't that right Bob? What is it? It's a compilation of all the songs that have graced the podcast in the last few months But without some of the ones that didn't really work all that well. All right. Well, I can I can add a new one to it I'm gonna do a medley for your Andy, right? I'm a medley of I think it's 70s music, right? Sitting in the back row of the movies on a Saturday night with you

of the movies on a Saturday night with you. Say you'll meet me down on the beach tonight and you and me condense the night away. Hey girl, don't bother me. Hey girl, don't bother me girl. Go away, come back another day. Don't bother me. That was lovely. Thank you. That was lovely. And welcome. That was lovely and welcome to Christmas.

I want to ask you a couple of questions before we have the first selection of songs. What first attracted you to singing Bob? Did you sing as a boy in Middlesbrough? Or was that the kind of thing generally considered for sissies? I was born into in Middlesbrough which is known as Soul Town. Soul Town. Soul Town? Oh, yeah, funny. Sorry. David Cuvadel, Chris Rhea, Paul Rogers and me,

where I promise, born within about a two, three hundred yard radius. It's a magic quadrangle, yeah. Right. Beautiful voices. So, yeah, I was destined to sing. Okay. Obviously. And it took you this long for it to become. No, I'll be perfectly honest with you. One of my elder brothers was in the band with David Coverdale called Rivers Invitational and he wanted to be tram line. Right. And David Coverdale, one anger, go and sing it really. Can I just

stop you there because I think people want to hear the songs and not want to hear about the other cover. But you asked me what I thought you'd play answered it quite briefly. All right. What did you, what was your question? I'll give you a brief answer. I think you've already answered it. What first to try to do this singing? I love singing. I hear instrumentals. I just love the spoken singing song. The human voice, yeah it is. Right, well there's a selection of some of the songs you've done on the... Hold on a minute. If this is to be worth what, you're just going to play songs.

It's what the last four, people have said, when will you do a compilation of the songs? Oh right. And then some of them are followed up with, for fuck's sake, don't do any talk and in between them. Well then I apologise. So here's some of them now. I'm just a little bird whose leg got bust by a bottle that was thrown into my favourite bush. I've got a lovely smile and a winning face.

All the other birds think I'm a fucking disgrace. Oh, just laugh at it. Right, one arm off, Andy. I thought that I would like to sing a song, and now I would like to sing a sort of tribute to the big girls, Fat Lasses, and we often mention earlier. I call them love puddles yeah right because you know there's often just like a putt if when they sit on a bed it's a bit like a head with a puddle. A puddle of sweat, puddle well yeah puddle of flesh. So I'll sing in a studio to them

and what they bring to us so here we go. Love paddles the clouds of love, the puff ball mushrooms from heaven above. Floating harbors of porcelain hue, the budwara angels will comfort you. They're waiting, flowing free, undulating constantly. Love puddles the clouds of love, the puff ball mushrooms from heaven above. from heaven above. I'm just a little mouse whose face got bent when a trap-mouse functioned and crushed a quarter of me head. I've got one bulb of a sigh and a knackered lip and all the other mice think I'm a fucking prick

On a plane with his, your drug bar He was watching Mrs. Doubtfire He laughed so hard his gloves flew off And landed in my fucking cannelloni And landed in my fucking cannelloni And landed in my fucking cannelloni No ledmunds lit my fire He turned me on and spat me out He made me his bitch with his love machine That be it, those shirts, that hair, that belt. If you

loved him forever, then you'd know how I felt. Yeah, no ledmonds, he lit my fire. I've got a song. What I was, can I just explain? What I was going to for was like more of a party, sort of late night party vibe. Yeah. Or really up. Lionel Richie dancing on the sailing can thing. Thank you Andy. Exactly that sort of vibe, okay? Yeah.

So here we go. Imagine synthesizers, dancers and everything, okay? Right so it goes. D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d- Bright colors, bright fucking lights. Sexy ladies in expensive tides. Coca-Cola, Bonoffy Pie. The kind of party you won't survive. For forest creatures, entry is free. But if you're human, it's 30p. Bright colors, bright fucking lights.

That's some songs. Now then Bob, you've done some songs about Steve McLaren, which we're going to hear in the next section of songs. Now the other ride and feeling I get from your McLaren work is that you harbor a lot of resentment towards him. Possibly jealousy. Would you say that's fair? I reject that accusation. I'm very, very fond of what Steve McLaren did for a middle football club. Right. But just as a character, I do find him slightly slightly insipid. I think that just like Birddry, the Jersey detective, if you were to smell this bare flesh, he would smell of biscuits. Yeah.

You know what to mean. Yeah. And I do honestly believe that in his heart of heart, he prefers carpeting to vote while right. And it's nothing to do with the fact that he's got a bit of hair island than you when you failed jealous of that. I don't have an hair and I've got a great big leg at the back of the goon. Well, you know, you'd like to have a hair island wouldn't you?

You yearn for the dears when you used to have a hair island. That's what's at the crux of all this. Is it a hair thing? I think so. Anyway, let's hear some of you Steve McClaren songs. Oh where'd you get your shirt Steve? It looks fucking incredible. The big glass ball. Me it from BHS. If you if you don't mind me say and Steve it makes you look

fucking sexy thank you Bob that's what the fat lass said how would you describe it to those who can't fucking see it it's a light blue short sleeved comfort fit the color and the detail really pick out your arm freckles, that's not freckles Bob, it's dried on pieces of fucking snake-sick. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH It actually came out of the DJ session that Rye and Steve added the house. And it goes, if you remember it, we got a brand new car and Voy. That's the tune, all right. So there's was a little bit more jazzy at all the sort of sounds, mixing and all right, but I'll just sing it like the original. Right. Or also fat last spot, me short sleeve.

It's a plain blue comfort fit. It came with two spare buttons and a voucher for some wicker shit. Fat last bought me a short sleeve, it's a plain blue comfort fit. It came with two spare buttons and a voucher for some wicker shirt. Then Roy comes in, yeah. Fat last bought him a short sleeve with sweat holes in each pit. It better be quick dry nylon cause it's covered in reptile sick. Casper, I love you, we were touch tight every night. Casper, I miss you, you were there when I bought the waffle maker. Oh Casper, there is a piece of sick that you left behind on the kitchen blind and every time I see it A tear falls on the kitchen floor where you danced like a true but all

Casper, I'll remember you for the good times, not just the spew Casper, wheel me to gain and and will be touch tight in the afterlife. Casper, I loved you. Listen as I've let you go, Minsk can get up to 60 pounds deposit match when you use the promo code Mins10. Just visit betonbrasile.com and at the promo code minstenn on your first deposit in betonbizool, we'll match your deposit up to 60 pounds. Also look out for betonbizool.com's dearly happy hour offers between 5pm and 6pm. Sign up now at betonbizool.com. Charity bet time. Right, listen to this. Manchester City. Champions League winners. I'll go for that, yeah. I think I could add one. Pep could like, sort the out. Tell me what the odds are.

At the moment, eight to one. Oh, that's all right. You should put it down on the... Oh, what about, I'll let it go Madrid. Also, eight to one. Which of those two directly is most likely? Oh, well, I thought it could be Madrid to be honest with you. You're reckon.

Yeah. Can we have a five or each on them? Yeah, five or each on the right? Oh, I've done that then. Over it is only, offer us for new customers only terms apply. But it should be fun so please gamble responsibly. We're going to have some more songs now and this next selection includes some of my songs that have done. So I'm very, very sorry about that. I'd like to sing me song. And I've got a song as

well so we could have a song off. You've got a song on my first. Let's have a sing me song. And I've got a song as well so we could have a song off. You've got a song on mine first. Let's have a little sing song. Let's hear yours first. Let's hear what you're going to introduce. Here we go. What is that? Come, fry with me. Let's fry. Yeah, fry away. Delicious, fair. All fried with hot air. I can shove it in your face.

You can eat it all or else I'll fucking spark you out Come fry with me, let's fry a fry away Chicken dip is many pizzas and a carrot Yeah! Yeah! I was lost in France without chicken dippas or a chance of romance feels like I'm lost in time. I've eaten so much jambundered, I've started pissing brine yet some lost in France. friends Baristas said in the scene baristas dishin our cream baristas pump another

levers and the gears the barista machines baristas dripping with sweat baristas getting me wet every fucker wants to be a sister or a mr. barista baristas got it all going on. Barista's got me singing the song, going with a lot of song and by myself, my own barista. Yeah. What it is is I've done a song to the tune of Ghostbusters

because of Ghostbusters coming out. All right. So I'll give it a go. If you do it and it's a lot of shite, I'll just cut it out. We'll pretend it didn't happen. Yeah, well, I'll leave it to your judgment and the exact thing about what we're talking about.

We'll put it in the shite, right? So it's go espusters, yeah? Yeah. When you're down in the dumps, because you snake spewed up, who you're gonna call the dirty older man, you could have done that bit with me. Well, I didn't know what you were gonna say.

Okay, so start again. When you're down in the dumps, Mae'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi'n gweithio'r ddod yn ymwch chi' Hell son, you're joking aren't you get a group this super shit and the jordies are in the championship when you're feeling shite because you Chadwick's light, who you gonna kiss? The dirty old man There you go Yay I don't know if I'll keep that in to be honest, it wasn't gross Yeah, I'd rather you didn't, thank you

wasn't great. Yeah, I'd wants to overthrow and destroy me. Ba, ba, ba, ba, I eat hot dogs, legs of frogs, but I feel nothing. Hot dogs, roasted hogs, I feel nothing. My new wife's 29 wakes me up at half past five. I feel like I want to die by tea time. My fans are all impressed. I've got them eating well for less, but my head's a fucking mess. Please help me. I eat hot dogs drink eggnog I feel nothing Hot dogs chocolate lugs I feel nothing

Nothing I feel nothing Slice the loan is all alone Slice the loan is in his home He's all alone Slice the loan he's being eating a potato. Suddenly he wakes up and stares at the potato, then turns on the TV, then looks at the potato. He changes the channel to homes under the hammer, then looks at his potato and touches the potato then mumbles of valuation one last look at potato then falls back to sleep because sliced alone is in his home sliced alone is all. He's been eating a potato.

Oh, well, you can take it out if you want, Andy. Okay, let's say we got a... Well, this is the same word Greg has discovered that he's got a varicose veins. So it's quite poignant. Interesting. Pooa Greg. He's got blue lines up and down his leg. The doctor says that they're just varicose veins, but he's in pain. Won't someone help? Greg suddenly. Greg devises a swift remedy. Reaching for a nearby carving knife

He hacks out his thigh He's gone round the fucking bend Why he amputated? I don't know, it makes no sense I blame John Tarrot He's a terrible influence. Oh, who a Greg? Lying there covered in his own blood.

It's just no good. He's cut off his fucking leg. That's it. Lovely man in our star, waiting for the chicken to be reduced. If you grab the Piri Piri drumsticks, before me I'll break your fucking neck. I will break your fucking neck. There we go. Yellow level hour.

Summed up in song. Bob, your Scottish Durgers have become inexplicably popular with listens of the podcast and that leads me to suspect that a large portion of our fans to test themselves and their own lives. Can you confirm the allegation that you've received a five-figure sum from the elders of the out-hebrides as a bung for you to record these songs. No bungs, that's actually no comment. No comment. You said no bungs and then you said no comment. No bungs, no comment. I've been told it's part... That's gonna be the title of my autobiography. No bungs, no comment. I've been told it's part of a campaign

they're running called Be a Fear of the Mainland which they're running in order to halt the dwindling population numbers. Andy it's soft propaganda, soft propaganda. What does that mean? It means propaganda that's on Twitter, it's on podcast shit like this, you know what I mean? But it sort of like, you know, pervades is that a word or a dish? Are you confirming or denying you've been paid by the elders of the out of hebrides? I know, come in. Okay, let's have some of the Scottish judges then.

I've written something as a bit more, it's a bit depressing actually. It's a bit down, Scottish sort of song. But it's a Scottish Baker sort of song. song but it's a Scottish Baker sort of song. I miss Scottish Baker, I bake the Scottish pies. I've got problems with my drainage and problems with my wife. The two may be incontinent, incontinent, interconnected because I've bludgeonent hurt the death by repeatedly hitting her head with my welders mask. I disposed of her flesh and bones, down the back kitchen

sink, now my toilets blocked and my pie meets starting to stink. That will be 40p, Mr. McKay, and I would eat it before sunset if that was my pie. Thus as the tale of Michael Moubri, a man born and bred. Sorry, this is the tale of Michael Moubre, a man born on a bed of scouring powder, and be hit by the heart of pure stone. On his 18th birthday, he announced a bar dance. The price of admission included a free artisan hamburger and an amusing badge. Mae'n gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r gwaithio'r i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i'n i' You know those artisan hamburgers? I, we do, Michael. Well, they were near artisan, but frozen ones from all the on the main land.

The moth fragile in the audience dropped to their knees in pain, whilst those of a firm abolac twisted their faces in temper, But Michael just smiled as he left the barn, And tossed a flaming trungeon into its belly. Eighty lives were lost, Eighty lives were lost, Eighty lives were lost, And now only Michael and Mr. McKay reside on that God for a second island and what about Mr McKay's difficult card and what about Mr McKay's difficult card. It fell out exactly one year to the night of the

bandits and is now kept in a box with various other difficult items. With various other difficult items. Oh, that's it, and I'm so right. Just nippie out, I'll let it out, yeah. This is the tale of Sam McGregor, the last surviving adult male on the island. He had long harbored dreams of escaping to the mainland where he could sample the pastry at Greg's, or visit Costa Coffee where you could apply within. Even in roll at a bannatine or pure living gym and cleanse his body with their luxury

soaps. He had planned his escape for some time, but things had now turned urgent. As in the last month, 80 men had died. 80 men had died. Yes, 80 men had died. He fashioned the durable craft from firewood and discarded fencing, or as were made from that little access panel, you find on lampposts that he prized off with a large hinge from his mother's blanket box. It was past midnight when he dropped, I've, is my accent going? That was really good strong. That was past midnight when he dropped his boat into the water

and climbed down the key side ladder. Just as he placed his boot into the boat, he heard the water roll and lap, and thereby the side of the boat was a large fish swimming upon its back. As the moonlighter just to his eye, he saw that the fish had the face of Brian McDermott. The face of Brian McDermott. the face of Brian Macdarmat. What do you want with me, Honorable Fish? Just let me pass on my way to the mainland. There's no escape from the island without consequence. Just look at the fucking state of me.

You must return to your mother right away, boy," said the fish. If you're not backed by her side within an hour, "'then she will suffer a fate far worse than that which has been opposed upon me and my show. "'Some stared at the surface of the water, and everywhere he looked, "'were fish with the face of Brian McDermott, "'the face of Brian McDermott, "'the face of Brian McDermott. The face of Brian McDermott. Sam climbed up the ladder and ran at all his speed

across the barren mous. Just over the hour had elapsed when he entered his mother's bedroom. She appeared to be soon asleep. He placed his hand on her shoulder to check for warmth. When suddenly she turned and stared at him fully. The fish was no fibbon. Her face was worse than theirs. She had the face of Louis Van Gaal. The face of Louis Van Gaal. The face of Louis Van Gaal. This is the tale of Stuart McDermott, a tall, wierry boy of little conversation, but plenty

thirt. Thirt, not lonely, but always on his own. Not depressed, but reflective and gentle in his manner. Like most of the younger men on the island, he dreamt every day of leaving to start life on the island he dreamt every day of leaving to start life on the mainland. There was only himself and three other males surviving on the mull, for in the previous nine months thirteen men had died, thirteen men had died. When he imagined life on the mainland he saw himself striding into Thompson's heel bar and demanded that his shoes be reshared

on one of their complicated revolving machines, or whistling at the lassas as they gathered around the ballads preventing vehicles entering the housing estate. He even saw himself sat in caster coffee, drinking hot chocolate, and been handed the wi-fi code by the lassi with tats to spare. No, for several years Stuart had been researching the theology of the small island, unenquiring of the older generation about the infamous help at all. It was reputed to be the home of an unusual beast with whom a deal could be struck to escape the clutches of the God for sake and Isle. His research had led him to a small... ...his research had led him to a small inlets... ...confusingly absent from all maps and records... ...and fenced off with barbed wire...

...on which locals had hung various charms and warningress. But his desire to leave was strong. And so he tuddled under the barrier... But his desire to leave was strong. And so he tuddled under the barrier using the exhaust pipe from a lambretter scooter. That had dropped out of a plane and landed on the murs, killing a man on impact. As he clambered down the he knee to the entrance of the help at whole, he felt a fear and foreboding, usually reserved, for those who dared to stroke a bull's bowels with a fistful of nettles. Entering the cave, he was immediately struck by the spits stench of boiled onions, and sure enough, he quickly sort of figured bent over

a large cooking pot, stirring onions in a rolling boil of water. The figure was naked but covered in hair, a branch snapped beneath his feet and he the figure slowly turned its head to ward him. Stuart made to run, but his feet were now stuck by a stekest substance that was leaking from the base of the onion pot. The beast was now fully turned and steward whimpered as he saw that it had the face of Benny Hill. The face of Benny Hill. The face of Benny Hill. Do you like boiled onions?" said the beast.

I fucking do. In fact, I can't get enough of the wee sweet bastards. The beast plucked an onion out of the pot and held it unscoulded in his hand as he approached you at where the onion held the front of him. As sens you want to leave the island boy. I do, said Stuart. Yalbe wanted to have his at Thompson's to have a keek at under complicated machine. Another such mere lannonsense I guess. I, that's right, said Stuart, will take a bite of the onion child. I will assure you passage through Helpert and onto a series of jambas to the mainland, but there is a price to be paid.

I'll pay that price, etched you and he grabbed the onion and buttoned through it. As he chewed the beast held up a gilded miller for steward toge his upon. And what he saw brought about his instant demise, simply from the face of Louis Swathers, the face of Louis Swathers, the face of Louis Swathers. And that's the end of the tale, Stuart. I'm going to keep this short, Bob. It's almost 2017. You need to make smart decisions. After picking up over 100,000 members, Corner cornerstone and now so confident that once men try their razor and shaving products they won't go back to their old razor. They'll chuck it in the bin. So now you can get an award-winning razor from just 4 pounds and that's with 10 pounds off. Just visit cornerstone.co.uk

slash mince or visit cornerstone.co.uk they're called mince a check out to get started 100,000 men can you imagine one of the thousand men? That's like what Wembley Steady Meester Hold 100,000 men drunk all brandish and rearsers Fair enough Andy, you know cornerstone. I'm looking at you and Jesus Christ you need a shave I don't need to see why you've been poo pooish about this? I'm not being poo pooish. It seems like you are. You can put out the middle man. There's no middle man when I buy you.

Smooth comfortable shiver. Well, if there is, if there is, six blitz. These are the last collection of songs from this Christmas compilation we've done for you. Enjoy. This is the tale of Murray Sterling. His etnth birthday was fast approaching and he knew he must escape the clutches of the island before that date or before to spend a rest of his adult life in the caves beneath the island, digging for precious stones

to adorn the lords numerous ceremonial caps and his bongos. His dream was to start a new life on the mainland, many times he imagined himself wearing the orange and blue tabard of the B&Q organisation, guiding customers towards the wallpaper paste or replacement fence paneling, halving with colleagues in the staff room as they chatted to each other through short lengths of drainpipe. Sometimes he saw himself in Caffeineiro buying a guest-been cappuccino and requesting an extra shot from a waitress with plenty of tete. And for sure he would submit the relevant forms to gain residence rights at Oak Firch Island with that poor flame man and his dozy son and enjoy the cozy wooden lifestyle

that offered. But for now he needed a boat, and that was an illegality on the island. The lured employed a giant of a man, not only as the boatman. He would search the island and every day for evidence of boatbuilding and smash what he found with his spiked iron ball and chain. The boatman's face was always covered with a Hessian hood, but it was said that underneath he had the face of 13 chickens. The face of 13 chickens. The face of 13 chickens. But fates of 13 chickens. The fates of 13 chickens." But Marie had been clever. He had assembled his craft inside the old lighthouse, a place

that no other, including the Bortman, would trespass for it was reputed to be the home of mainland Mary, a specter similar to the Lamnia that would devour you with pure, butterly love. Murray knew that such talk was bullwater, so it used the lighthouse as a safe heaven to build his boat. The night arrived and Murray entered the lighthouse and began to enter his hand-built boat that he had fashioned from hardened turquytards, joined together with sticky gloom. Suddenly the room was filled with a golden light and his heart was instantly filled with joy. A figure appeared in front of him, more

beautiful than the very centre of desire. She wore a blue and orange, she wore a blue and orange tabard and was seated in an oak dining chair. Besider was an occasional table, again made of oak. At a bookshelf made from imparted oak. She had tuts the spare on a bottom that stretched her full length. She slowly leaned forward to offer him a cappuccino, ready poured in a paper cup with a wi-fi code written upon it. Drink me, Marie, Marie, drink me. Drink me, Marie, Marie, drink me, she chanted. She was the mainland, and he wanted to reside within her. Then

boom, the door to the Roomba's open, and instrote the boatman, the vision of the lassie dissipated, and he was all alone and in fear. She gave you, sorry, a change my voice, she gave you a window into your life on the mainland, but that is all you will ever know of it! The boatman began to remove his Hessian mask, and what Marie-Sor killed him in an instant. The boatman had the face of sixteen owls! The face of sixteen owls! This is the tale of Mary McDougall. Mary was the youngest daughter of Thomas McDougall, a farmer held in high regard on the island as its sole producer of Thernips and Sugar

Beats. Mary had inherited from her father and asked as wide as a sheep as long, but had plenty tet upstairs to compensate for any imbalance. Her skin was ready and went well-tampered, due to a weekly soak in a tub of turnip water heated to lukewarm but no further. It was the week of our 18th birthday, the date on which she must become the bride of the island lared. Her duty to serve him both in toil and passion, her fate to never leave the layered scassal and bathe in sweet, turnip water again. It was Mary's duty to forego her freedom or suffer the pain of forced labour in the caves beneath the island.

All other losses had forbearer the same fate, but Mary was no ordinary lass. Mary dreamed of escaping to the mainland, the bustling artisan coffee shops, with bearded proprietors. Housing estates with no throughroads where a traveller's only option was to make a three-point turn if sucked into its grip. Wifey hotspots available for free on the registration of a few simple details. She saw herself rushing to the 24-hour copy shop in Stranra to obtain a large photocopy of her favourite dog to hang on the wall of her new accommodation. When asked what size she required, the laddy would blush as a request for a big one. Though it would be clear from his awkward stance that he was possessed

of a long and stout personal pipe. There was only one plan that could see her dreams fulfilled and that was to murder the lard. But the lard was guarded 24 hours a day by Petmey. A beast, part wolf hound, part pig, and part generic animal. But worst of all, reputed to have the face of Olymers. The face of Olymers, the face of Olymers. But a nust respect, Mary had immunity. For she, unlike most of her race, had no fear of mirrors.

In fact, she was rather warm to the idea of taking the weight of his knacker back. Her plan was simple. On the night of their patrol, she would hide a dagger in her girdle and plunge it into his heart as he clumbered upon her. If need be, she could dispose of the beast Petmere by the same design. The knight arrived and the layered clumbered around her endless behind to position himself aside her. She could hear the rhythmic breath of Petmere beneath the bed, and she knew that she must be swift and sultan in her attack. The layered spoke. aim about the rays up and clamber upon you. Should you refuse on impart

any negative signs towards the act, you will be fed to the beast, dear understand. I, a dew whispered Mary, the lard made a sudden move towards her girdle, and Mary found herself frozen as his hand chanced upon the dagger. He lifted it to the light and pronounced her fate. This one is for you, Petmeer, show her no mercy. Mary turned her head to address her fate, and what she saw killed her from shock in unenstant. The beast did no have the face of Olly Merce. No, it was far more dastardly. It have the face of Oli Mirrors. Know it was far more dastardly. It had the face of honey-g. The face of honey-g.

The face of honey-g. It was Christmas Eve on the island, and young Kalim McBride was full of wonder and hope for the following day would be the biggest day of his young life. His parents on the other hand were in a spirit of trepidation and fear. For you see the lard had chosen their boy to be the centerpiece of his entertainment at his Christmas feast. And for that reason alone, they had decided to affect their sons' escape to the mainland, that very eve. If they failed, then their precious son would be fetched at dawn by the layered henchmen, and taken to await his fate in a castle.

Young columns' mind was racing. He had often dreamed of life on the mainland, the wonder of the Timpsons hillbar where that's revolving machine and its intricate leather working tools. Not to mention it's sweet smelling powerful glues that could work their magic on even the most absorbent of materials. He saw himself wearing a tight blue suit, two sizes too small for him, as was the fashion on the mainland, and striding into Costa coffee to demand their latest guest-beam cappuccino. The waitress would be fullsome of tet, and would seat him at the table where he could admire her curvature at leisure.

Many times he had imagined himself dining at the latest pop-up restaurant, a fusion of Turkish and Rastafarian peasant food served on pasta board with drill bits as cutlery. Occasionally he dared to imagine himself out on a date at Frankie and Beniz with the wetress from the coffee shop. At the bus stop following that burger meal she would turn to him and say, Would you agree, young laddie, that I have plenty to spare? I, he would reply, there is many a helping there with leftovers for the purer of the parish. She would laugh and allow him a brief tap on the side of her bounty. Ha!

Fast forward to midnight, Kalam and his parents cower on the beach as a small craft with a single lamp approaches. Get in, lad, we must make great haste, says the man in the boat, and he does get in and his parents weep as they say goodbye knowing that the lad would gullotine them for this offense. Three hours later Kalam stepped off the boat onto the shore. "'See that light there,' said the boatman. "'That's my daughter.

Go to her and she will provide you safe harbor. Go on away you go.' Calum approached the light and could not believe what he saw Nithet's glow. It was the girl from the coffee shop, exactly as he had imagined her. He smiled an anxious smile as she put down her lamp and began to unbutton her blows.

When fully undone, Kalim was first with a sight that killed him in the darkness. For her tits were not of the expected nature. They had embedded in to the faces of Ande Grey and Richard Keys. The faces of Grey and Keys. The faces of Grey and Keys. Back on the shoreline the boatman pulled back his hood and let out a cracker of a laugh. It was the laird.

Merry Christmas, Gallon. He whispered, and both he and the waitress disappeared in a puff of black smoke. The next day, a galleon's parents received the news that their son had passed away on an island beach. For you see, he had never left, and now he never would. There we are. That's our song compilation. Our Christmas gift to you. A perfect collection of tunes that will enhance any Christmas on New Year gathering. Christmas lunch. Don't put on Christmas lunch. All right, not Christmas lunch.

No, he's asking. After the Queen's speech, instead of top of the pops. I tell you what, what, did your, I don't, does your bungalow, bungalow, reaching incredible temperatures around about six o'clock on Christmas day. It might do. I'm not, I'm not, honestly, I'm not, I'm not, give a friend, I just sometimes reflect,

I've had the male watching Italian that. Yeah. And think, there's some heat being jelly. Body heat, you think. Body heat, must've, it can only be body. Mix only be bought mixed you the sprouts and the brandy are again yeah but our engines inside must be running you know our hearts yeah must be running gone bang bang a bang boom bang a bang and I'll still mix boom bang a bang boom our pipes are you doing another song now? No, I'm just so hot and it gets so tiring, don't

it? But I'm not glad to have contributed to this. I hope you can see I'm sulking, I'm just looking at me for an hour and a half to this so called Best of Songs. It's what the people want in the pub. Who wanted it? Lots of people wanted it. If you're on Twitter and you follow us at Athletical Mins, can you please tweet, I wanted the songs, and then I'll show them all, I'll show all the tweets to Bob. Yeah, I think the demand was less than six. Right, well we'll just say I would, gosh, are we? Merry Christmas everyone.

Merry Christmas everybody.