Athletico Mince - The Crime Files Collection Vol. 3

Episode Date: October 24, 2023

Here's a compilation of some Crime Files stories, from episodes 105 to 117. DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR... (Released 30/7/22)Join Club Parsnips on Patreon for the complete Mince experience with exclusive bonus episodes and video content https://www.patreon.com/athleticomince Become a member at https://plus.acast.com/s/athleticomince. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Music Andy, I've got some great news. There was a celebrity vote. Have you heard of the great pottery throwdown? Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Well they did a celebrity version of the show and did a pilot for it, right? But it was never broadcast. But I got you on it. Not how about on it. It's a deal.

I got some malware, right? From Infinity Rocket Blastcase. Classics. So I managed to get all of a copy. So there was three celebrities celebrities Robert Pestin Jeremy Vardy and Roy Otsin and the judge presenter was none other than our favorite nonsense potter Neil Hunt Brilliant. Yeah, so what I've done is I've edited the highlights into an MP4 right so should we have a listen? Well, it's an MP4 you've got able to see it but this is a podcast or yeah yeah I'll quickly what do you call it I'll

quickly shrink it into an MP3 free all right thanks. Welcome to the celebrity pottery throwdown my name is Neil Hunt and I think you'll find that as a judge I'm a total nightmare. So don't even think of toding with me or giving me any of your celebrity chutzpah. Right, first off, tell me who you actually are because I haven't got an F-ing clue. You first, you with the gardening chin. I'm James Vardy, the centre-forward for Leicester City Football Club. I believe that art transcends all human endeavour and that social harmony will only ever be achieved through a spiritual realignment. Oh, I see you're a Todd Warrior.

Well I've dealt with plenty of your tribe before? Take me on and you'll regret it. What about you? Yes you. The one who looks like an ancient woodland creature. Who the actual hell are you? Look, I'm too, Christopher is from World Cup and I'm the only chairman of the South London world collective.

Excuse me, what was that word you said? Warma. Warma. Warma. Warma. What? What was that word you said? Worma! Worma! What? Worma! Worma! What? Worma! Oh, it must be some sort of woodland banter.

You're obviously a todstick, that's all I need to know. And you, scruffy hermit. Who are you? Who actually are you? Ha, ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha. I'm a robot. Oh, a pestle. I'm a robot.

Oh, for Christ's sake spit it out, man. I'm a robotittin' out man! I'm... I'm... I'm... I'll forget it! Someone needs to oil this joke as mind! Right, your challenge today, you have two hours to make a simple cereal bowl with a designer illustrates what Todd does would call your happy place.

Get on with it! Music Right, your time's up! Bring your bowls to my judges table. You first, Vardy, tell me about your bowl. I'm not actually calling it a bowl. I'm calling it an inspiration vessel. Inside the IV is a cross section of my magic chin. In the center is the pulsating orb of awakening that simulates my spatial awareness when I'm in or around the box. What on earth has that got to do with your happy place? Has your tiny mind dissolved and drip fed itself

out of your arsehole? I don't think you fully comprehend a senior potter, that channel between the two defenders to either side of the box is my happy zone, and this pulsating orb is what guides me to this joyous place. It all sounds like the witterings of a pervert to me, but hey, I'm only the greatest nonsense potter in the world, so what do I know? You now please scruffy herbert boy, tell me about your bowl. Ah, ah, ah, ah, plain but ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ahland away, he, Mr Hooty Hoot, tell me about your bowl. Bow? Bow? I don't think so, your awful sage, man. This is a replica of the drum action

crucible in which the indestructible lads of grammar, the grogst and star-bruck was fashioned by the york-earth and the thepius. Bow? I've never been in so insulted to tell I saw more with! It's only suitable for storing insect-piss. It's a thing, Piss! Bow! I've never been in so insulted since I last saw more of it! It's only suitable for storing insect piss. It's an absolute offense to the eye and the urinary tract! You take that back. Her day you insult the ethereal memory of thing, Piss! I've got to kick your fatty loads up, pal!

Ah! Get off! Buh! Buh! Oh! Go at fucking it out! Get off! Boo! Ah! Boo! Oh!

Like fucking Owl! Get off! Ah! Get off me! Get off me Owl thing! I should warn you that my brother's ex boss owns a horse shop that sells whips and he has a brass hand that can rotate it over 90 revs per minute. Oh look, give a fuck, little man.

My best friend is Christian Brick Tech, and he's completely off his tits. If I unleash him, he'll shred you up like a lettuce in a commercial. Well, Andy, I had to edit the next bit, because the sound went to shit. But basically, what happened was that Pestan pulled Roy off, and Pestan and Roy stood face in Neil Hunt, suddenly Roy picked up a clay hammer and raised it above his head as if to strike Neil,

yeah? And Neil says, why is it always little old me? I once painted a mural at a children's hospital and then Vardy's magic chin began to glow and pulsate. The orb inside had sent the gap between Pestan and Roy, and he sprinted through the gap, pushing Roy and Pestan aside, and delivered his bowl straight into Neel's hands. Thank you, Ginny. I can now see that you spoke only the truth, and what's more, I declare you Potter of the WEEK! Fuck you, no! Ah, ah, ah! That's all from Pottery Throwdown, join us next week when the guest judge will be Joe fucking Sugg!

And that was the bit of a shambles, weren't it, and they... Well, did it get picked up by Channel 4? No, it's get picked up. That's a surprise because it had quite high production values. I've got a crime file, did Andrew? All right, so I'll say those words. If that's okay.

Crime files. If that's okay. Crime Files! Thank you, Andrew. So, the small mill town of Skipton in North Yorkshire, as well known for its Norman castle, Canalside Dining, and it's a easy access to the Yorkshire Dales National Park. In 2016 and 2018 it was declared by the Sundered Times to be the best place to live in England. On the high street can be found a double fronted shop owned and run by Nonsense Potter Neal Hunt. As well as housing a small Nonsense Potry it also has shopfrontage where customers can enjoy a cup of coffee in a cake and peruse the nonsense pot and tat on sale. On the 26th of August, the caffeine shop were empty when in walk three gentlemen. It was professional football people, Calvin Phillips, Patrick Bamford

and their coach, Argentinian Marcus Bielzer. Neil was behind the counter, cleaning the steam pipe on his coffee machine when they arrived. On arrival, one of them changed the front door sign to closed. Patrick Bamford was the first to speak. Excuse me, my good man. We would like to take refreshment here, and I must insist that the shop is closed to commoners whilst we indulged. We're very important people.

I'm Patrick Bamford, don't you know. Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Lord Bamford. If I'd known you were coming, I would have spread rose petals on the floor. Pray please do, effing forgive me. K-Kalvin, a ups and-charn is that being sarcastic, if they are then I'll clap your head open for you, if young Patrick's orders. Oh, you will will you, and who are you? Who actually are you? Is fucking footman and what is that complicated god damn awful mess on your head? Is it a haircut or a fucking maze for ants? Read that, said I'm going to lump you pottery prick.

Back off Kelvin, says Patrick. We're in need of a tonics so let's keep things civil. Sorry about him Potter. Now might I order three coffee coffees please. Foffy coffees, I've never heard of them or it. Ha, you've never heard of Foffy Coffee. Oh how funny you locals are. Foffy Coffee, it's coffee where the milk is all faffy. What your own about? What are you actually saying? Do you mean toffee? No, foffie, like old bubbly and airy. Airy foffie coffee must be a London thing. I'm sorry, I've never heard of it. Help me out here. Beelzer. The Gaffon is to sit on his book at Young Patrick.

He's getting a reek-com on. As I can move this chair here, my good man, so that my colleague can sit on his bucket. He's foreign, you see, and that's his little quirk. Yes, I thought he might be foreign, either that or a scrap dealer. He looks like a scrap dealer. Is he a foreign scrap dealer? That would be some fucking stark combo. Pfff.

Pfff. No, he's our gaffer, our savior, a local, the passionate thinker. He's always thinking. I only thinker, is always thinking. I only think things occasionally, you know. Like what aircooked Java, where the tabmiar swacks, butby elves and a gaffer, he thinks things nearly most of the time. Listen, can he sit on his bucket? Oh, all right then. Oh alright then, let's just go against 800 years of Yorkshire tradition and let the bloke

from abroad sit on his fucking buckets. Now about these forthy coffees, let me try to describe them for you. As I understand it, it's a strong measure of coffee is put in the bottom of the cup and then forthy milk is made by using that steam pipe you were handling when we came in. Oh, do you mean Throffy? No, Fawfi. I'm sure it's Fawfi. Well, I don't have any Fawfi. Not pow, did not liquid, not sigh.

I've never even heard of Fawfi. And to be perfectly honest with you, you're now walking on my tits with very heavy feet. I'd like you to leave this nox and establishment. Go on, get out, just get out, you foffi runt. Well at that moment, Beelzer begins to growl and grunt. He got onto the floor on all fours, races round the back of the counter and sinks his teeth into Neil's calf. Jesus wet! Ah, that is very fucking tart! Call him off, call him off! Not until we get our foffy coffee, Mr. Nonsense. Call him off or you will regret it. Did you know that my cousin Gary

works at a factory that manufactures a seated acid and my son's friend's father owns a metal fabrication facility that makes pointy tip security fencing. Come on Calvin, let's make our own foffy coffee. I've seen how they do it. Patrick and Calvin go behind the counter and start fiddling with the sheen as Mielsa continues to know on Neil's carbs. I'll pay you, call him off. Why, why is it always little old me? I use energy saving lightbulbs throughout the shop and I only ever eat ethically sourced tuna. You need to turn up the steam to use that machine for Christa. Let me show you. Release him momentarily, Gaffa. Neil turns the steam onto full temperature and pressure. Come here, you two and I'll explain

the controls. Bamford and Phillips draw their faces close to the machine and Neil hits them with a blast of hot steam straight into their faces Beels arises up to confront Neil and Blast Neil blasts him straight between the eyes Ha ha yes, that's it ha ha ha fucking ha. That's what I call Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, He's in a lion's den! A moment later, BAMF would appear at the window. Can my gaffer have his bucket back? Bucket? Fuck it, I say! A meal left, like a thousand school children

at a tumbling competition, as he undid his trousers and pissed all over the scrap dealers daff blue bucket. I'm Neil fucking hunt, and I'm loving my life! Heh! The end. I'm Lil fucking hunt and I'm loving my life! Yeah. So that's Cram Files, Andy. Andy, it's time for Cram Files, you know.

Cram Files The small market town of Otton in Derbyshire is famous for its delicious marzipan tarts and intricately decorated cloisters that line the town square. In recent years it has become a lure for artisans and crafters anxious to escape the throb and thrum of the big city. A peaceful and law-abiding town until the 28th of January 2021, when the peace would be shattered forever. Forever. It was 730 in the morning when Nonsense Potter Mr Neil Hunt opened his nonsense pottery at the northeast corner of the square. As was his habit he popped two slices of bread into his

toaster and a bowl of baked beans into his microwave. Just as the microwave dinged its finish, a squat slightly featureless man entered the shop. It was Wade Rudy, the Derbyshire Football Manager. That's you, isn't it? Yeah. Alright, it's just a fun pottery shop for duff gifts for the misses of that other and that... Excuse me, say, like, how dare you? How dare you describe my nonsense pottery as a chamber of duffness? Get out and come back when you've learnt some manners. Ah, come on, lad, I was just being friendly.

I think you still flock some business and I've desperate for a gift for Colleen and that, that, that, that, that, that and that. Apologize then, go on, say that you're sorry and that this shop is nothing short of magnificent. Alright yeah, I'm sorry, and your shop is magnificent. Now could you recommend a pot that's fit for a friend's self and that, that, that, that, I'm sorry, I'm your shoppers magnificent. Now, could you recommend a pot that's fit for a friend's sass on that, that, that, that, that? Just at that moment, a car pulled outside the shop, driven by an old bloke, a younger man rushed out of the passenger siding into the shop. He looked dirty and unkempt.

His face suggested that he hadn't slept for many days. It was Frank Lampard, the ex-chelsie manager, and he was wielding a large knife. A knife like that, and that, and that, and that, and that. Shout out, my friend. Give me my old job back. Oh, your dad gets it. With this Frank grabbed hold of Neil Hunt, the nonsense potter and place the knife against his throat. Get off me, get off me you fucking barrow boy, do you realise who you are dealing with?

Is not me that's like that, is it's just a shop owner, leave me like that, that, that, that, Oh just the shop owner am I? I'll have you know that I once took five wickets for 11 runs in a county standard cricket match and that my ex-wife uncle knows Ron Peek the bent magistrate. Frank Grab Niels arm and pushed it high up his back. Shut up old man before kills your good and proper. Ah please please please let go. Why is it always little old Neil Hunt, the nonsense potter that gets involved in these shitstorms? Why me? I want sponsor the guide dog called Cartwright and every day, every single fucking day I carry out voluntary maintenance of the Fickers motorised lectern. Please let me go. You're going to give me my job back, Wade. But Wade Rudy is gone. He has vanished from the

shop. And Motors will just kill you anyway. My life, I've been living now, been abandoned, bombed my precious Chelsea. At that very moment the door crash is open and in walks Wade Rudy. He has the old man driver in a chokehold. It's Harry Rennapp, Frank Ladenpard's granddad. Lesson Franklar, knock off the old, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke out your granddad, your grassy sense. Goofneild, drop the blade or I'll choke and forced to his knees and tears, Wade releases Rednapp. What was I thinking? Oh, so sorry, go ahead, go ahead, Dad. I wish I was back on the East Street market, selling cockaddles and nylon knickers. Ha ha ha!

Listen to him, just fucking listen to him. We bring like a baby with a shitty nappy and tight shoes. Harry picks up Frank and they leave the shop together. Well young man, you've turned out to be something of a hero, so what is it that I can help you with? What was you recommend for actual proper princess and that and that and that? What about this bust here? This bust of Sylvester Stallone eating a corn cob. No doubt about it. It's a fucking beauty Outtakes how much is it?

430,000 pounds Deal next one. I'm Neil fucking hunt and I'm loving my life So hello nice there say there we go, crime file life. That was very unusual for me personally because Frank Lampard has a significant impact on my other podcast, Top Flight Time Machine. And he sounds completely different in that. So I was going to pretend that didn't happen. How does he sound on yours? Frankland part is like this. He's very self-imported. He always falls through rules. And we've managed to make landparding into a verb, you know, a weave life. Oh really? That's top flight time machine if you want to check it out.

if you want to check it out. Crime Files The north of town of Sherrington is a typical English seaside destination replete with beachhut, scobble streets and alleyways and its famous Victorian promenade. Crime is almost unknown in Sherrington apart from the occasional drunken disorderly in high season, but that changed on 2 July 2020, a day that the town will never forget. Local nonsense potter Neil Hunt was taking a mid-morning stroll along the grass-top cliffs that overlook the harbour when he came across two young fellas enjoying a picnic together. It was meekle Richards, ex-city of Manchester footballing and Raheem sterling footballing

of Manchester City. Neil. Excuse me, young man, but I'm afraid you're not allowed to picnic in this area. It clearly says so on the signage at every available entrance. Meeker. I'm so sorry mate, but what business is it to yours, you old crank? I'll tell you what business it is of mine. I'm a local nonsense potter who pays a fortune in taxes and rates to this community. Is that good enough for you?

Is that good enough for you, you royal highness? Raheem Sterling. We all pay our taxes, mate. That doesn't make you special. And anyway, what how how are we doing yeah yeah we're just having some Charlie Kex and Mr. Kippling hey do you know Mr. Kippling mate you look about his age I didn't say you were causing any harm I simply pointed out that picnicking here is against the regulations.

That sort of shit can soon lead to anarchy. And by the way, Mr Kipling isn't a real person. He's just made up. What? Like a Robin Hood or Sting? No, not really. No Sting and Robin Hood are myths or fables. Mr Kipling is just a marketing device. A bad Sting or Robin Hood are myths or fables. Mr. Kipling is just a marketing device. Are bats sting or Robin Hood would let us have our big nick? That's as maybe, but they don't actually exist, whereas the council regulations are very real indeed. Now on your bike before I call the police. But mate, if sting doesn't exist, then surely the police still exist. Oh right, well let's find out shall we mate. I'll phone 999. Neil took

his knock-ear out of his anorac. Christ will you have a look at that phone it's sold you probably have to put a penny in slot to activate it. As Neil begins to dial, Milka jumps up and punches the phone out of his hand so brutally that the phone flies over the edge of the cliff into oblivion. into oblivion. Oh, jeesh. Deez! Mika grabs Neil by the scruff of his anorak. Look, mate, he's 500 quid towards your taxes. A new phone. Take it and get fuck on your way. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Get off me! Take your hands off me! You fucking giggling half-wit! I'm meeting my brother-in-law here today, and a heavy-who-no! That he owns a machete restoration business that also sells hardpounds! Stop my other inmate, you sold, you bought your first car of Fred Flintstone! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Oh shit. Ah, why is it always little old me? I want spray paint in my poodle for a charity function and I'm leaving my incredible potting hands to medical science. All of a sudden Rahim lets out a scream. Rahim lets out a scream

Then Micah Bloor they're weapons Neil turned his head to see Rahim being dragged along the grass with a large harpoon bolt attached to his tracksuit On the other end of the harpoon rope is Neil's brother Gary who's wielding a huge partly restored machete Again, yeah, no wielding a huge, partly restored machete. Again? Yeah? No? No, I eat that one. How dare you, a full meal hunt, a non-thruxed potter! That's out of here, you pair of Todd Warriors!

Mika, let's go of Neil and legs it. He pulls the harpoon out of Raheem's puff-a-puff-a-vest and carries him away in his neaky sports hold-all. That's right! Go on run! Go on! Run! Good lad, Gary! Come on! Let's eat those bastard's cakes! Gary and Neal sit down and devour what is left of the picnic. As Neal finishes the final bun, he gets up and stands on the cliff edge. He shouts out towards the distant waves. I'm Neil Hunt

and I'm loving my life! So that will come files I had a look though. As I thought that was good. You enjoyed that one. That was strong. I did, I enjoyed it. But not important, is it? Hahaha. Oh, Andy, I've got a crime files. Oh, I have a nice. So, here we go.

What's up, that? Crime files. The small Lancashire town of Egerton is famous for its tea shops and teak market and 12th century church with its unusual timber steeple. The pace of life is slow and relaxed. Its residents mainly elderly and retired. The only crimes and occasional drunk driver are petty damage to the public toilets by the market cross in the town square.

But all that was to change on the 11th of September 2018. Tucked behind the high street in a converted dairy, was the premises of local nonsense potter Neil Hunt. On this day he had just fired up his kiln and was about to bake some nonsense chipmunk figures and a nonsense jug with an image of a dorm house playing darts on the side. Suddenly the shop. It was meek of Richard, ex-footballing of city of Manchester. Oh mate, is this nonsense pottery? Oh God give me strength. Let me ask you young man, what does the signage say on the window? Neil Hunt nonsense pottery. Very good. And what are all these items on display on my shelving units? For example, that nonsense decorative glaze sphere there.

Looks like pottery to me made. Excellent. So where do you think you are? Err... Mr Neal Hunt's not since pottery shop. Ha ha ha ha ha ha just something I do, you know, to make people happy. Happy? Happy? Are you actually serious on what planet and in what circumstance would someone go for it for no reason cause the recipient to experience happiness? Oh look mate, I don't really know, I'm just here to find a present from him at Roy Keane. I upset him you the night by saying he was never as good a player as Pogba and that he was scared to head the ball. Roy Keane, who on earth is Roy Keane? The door to the shop opened and in strides Rye Keane.

I tried to summon Rye Keane from the other podcast now. Rye Keane, I really fucking Keane! It has never been that a God-border me all my life! He's pretty fast fast didn't he? get out of my shop right fucking game I don't like your attitude who do you think you are John fucking wick trust you're talking all by the pot no Richards tell me again what you said about my hidden skills if you actually dare of course I dare I said you can't add a ball because you scared it hurt you. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, Yeah, no problem. Mika takes the sphere of the shelf and prepares to throw it in the air for right ahead. Now, what are you doing? That's all one-off representation of the moon in its nonsense phase.

It's worth over a thousand pounds. Put it down now. Roy strides over to Neil and grabs him around the neck, creasing his loose neck skin like a shami leather. Get off me! Do you not know who you are dealing with? My brother-in-law's boss sells agricultural grade in sector size to Iran,

and my niece's husband owns a shop that sells very sharp metal rods to the pointy rod people. Why? Roy throws Neil down to the ground. Right, let's just throw the spear. No, please, no, it's a delicate piece. Why, oh, why is it always little old me? For Christ's sake, I helped dredge the village pond last week and I once ate fifty brown worth to raise money for a play bus for death kids.

But Neal's pleas are ignored and Mika tosses the ball towards Rye. As the ball reaches the apex of its trajectory, a look of pure panic crosses Roy's face. I can't do it, it's just too scary! Roy runs out of the shop at full pelt, followed by his devil dog that hasn't been previously mentioned. Its name was...it's name was John for anyone who's interested. Neil adjusts his position, reaches his arms out and manages to catch the sphere before it hits the deck. Well, hold on, man, I think I'll bar the sphere and give it to Roy to remind him of his shit houseery. Yes, well, the price just Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Yes, please boss. Oh! Ah! That's an extra 500!

No problem, I'm very keen, very keen to see it. Still not funny. Mika paid and left the shop with his sphere, and Neil Hunt went back to his kiln, whispering under his breath. I'm Neil Hunt, and I'm loving my life. And that's it, and it's it. Crime Files. The small Cheshire Hamlet of Waitling is an old Saxon settlement famous for its mullion windowed high street and 14th century coaching in once reputedly a favored destination for

Henry VIII. Life is slow paced and sleepy. Crime something that the residents only see on their TV's. That was until the 24th of September 2021 when everything was to change. Shit, where's it gone? Fuck, sorry. In a small converted Sunday school at the end of the High Street, it could be found the nonsense pottery of Mr. Neal Hunt. A confirmed bachelor he resided alone in the flat above his workshop. It was 7.30 in the morning and Neal Hunt was still in his pyjamas enjoying a mug of coffee and a nice hot pudding standing beside his kiln. Ah, this is absolutely perfect! Nice and cos, and no customers for at least an hour.

Suddenly the door to the workshop burst open, and in strolled, Jordan Henderson and Jordan pickford. Neil didn't turn around, but simply shouted. I'm not open yet. The opening times are clearly displayed on the front door. Please return when you're in compliance with the aforementioned opening times are clearly displayed on the front door. Please return when you're in compliance with the aforementioned opening times. Goodbye." Neil could sense that his unexpected customers had not left the shoppers instructed. He

turned to address them. Jesus Christ! Are you a couple of squaddies still drunk from last night's shenanigans or something? Jordan Henderson responded. Nah, Jordan drink the disease too much ballast and your sug what's not the leg if you keep your country side? Oh, I'm red, aren't they? What is the matter with you, man? You aren't making any sense whatsoever.

Do you need help? Some sort because you can't phone from here. I don't have a phone. Go out and get out and go back to your barracks. Jordan Pickford. Do you want to do Jordan Pickford? I got to script you just do it. It's very sun-learned, any sun-learned, I do amilae you admit, we just wanted to buy some nicknacks and tight figures for our wives in our cars, we didn't get back home last night in our cars with what being out on the lash and that.

Look, I told you the shop isn't open yet and especially so for a couple of Todd warriors like you now go on get out out Well, you've got a helpers shit might hit various fans and grudges fold and Imagined might envelop us misery regretting wallet What me mate is trying to say cause is that you know we could like in right bother if we don't go home because without an apology gift like you know you're the only shop with a light on and to be honest our only hope one can only be a very good young you seem to be acting under the misappresentation that I actually give a fuck about your domestic situations.

How much are, uh, on a big red heart with the arousal through them on the dog dirt on top? Dog dirt? You think that's a dog dirt, that's a currently in scroll with curved indents. Can you not see I'm eating a hot pudding? Now fuck off, you pair of squirty herbots before it gets cold. Right, that's it? Oh, man enough, insult-thru-one received. Our now comes the Reaper.

Release the pickford. With this instruction, Jordan Pickford, ran at Neil Hunt and slide tackled him at knee height sending him hurtling to the floor. Oh! Sorry! Henderson picked up Neil Hunt's pudding and started spooning it into his mouth. Oh yeah, nice one! Pudding! Flipside is you're on the deck and another pickford release is on the cards that you get to smoke or dealt with.

Crust that hurt, this pickford is a fucking nightmare or is brains made of compost. You're better get out now, I don't think you know how you're dealing with. My brother's business partner owns a magnesium ribbon factory and that shit is highly fucking flammable. Releasing the pick-foot cross punch in 5, 4, 3, no please please no no why is it always little old me? I once donated 4 tins of rhubarb to the Harvest Festival and I've got a Jesus saves magnet on my step ladder So cars how much are the big red hearts with the scrolls on top then? Five thousand pounds each but you can have both for nine thousand just leave me alone That's better be better you want Mr. Hunt for red October. He's the cash. Keep it

country style. Don't you want me baby? Goodbye. The footballers left the shop with their dog dirt hearts and Neil slowly raised himself up off the pottery floor. Ha, ha, fucking heart. Those giant hearts were marked up at 500 quid and for the life of me the scrolls are indistinguishable from Doctod. Haha I'm Neil Hunt and I'm loving my life. And Andrew that is something that really happened. you