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Thursday, August 19, 2004

Tubthumping 

“I’ll tell you who you never hear anything of anymore.”
Neil was standing on the roof of his car. He was wearing fluorescent yellow swimming trunks with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles written down one side.
“I give up. Who?”
He put his mobile phone to his ear, shouted “1-2-3-Now!” and dived off. He hit the ground with a mighty thwack.
“Oouwwghaa!” he exclaimed.
After a few seconds, when everything had stopped wobbling, he crawled on all fours back onto his roof. He stared at me for a second and said “Chumbawumba.”
“Oh yeah. They sort of disappeared, didn’t they?”

He shouted into his phone again. “That was pretty good. Now let’s try that with a double pike. Ready? 1-2-3-Now!”
This time he wriggled about in the air a bit before landing flat on his back.
“Aeeurghh-ouww!”
His bones made a crunching sound, as if they were made of cornflakes. I grimaced.
“I bought one of their early albums,” I said. “It was terrible. I like that Tubthumping though.”

He dragged himself back onto the car and yelled into his phone.
“Excellent. That was much better. Are you up for a double pike with full twist and cappuccino? Really? Good for you! Ready? 1-2-3-Now!”
“Uurrgh!”
To my untrained eye, it looked exactly like the previous dive. But Neil was jubilant. He punched the air in triumph as I passed him his towel. He rubbed bits of tarmac and dirt off himself, then fixed me with a steely glare. I’ve never seen him so fired up before.

“Yes, Chumbawumba.” He said it in a tone that suggested he was imparting great wisdom. “They got knocked down, and they got up again, but they never had anymore hits, did they?”

He shook me very firmly by the litter bin and clambered back onto his car.

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