Summer of Savile – Day 12: The Magick Chair
Sometimes Jimmy’s predilection for overly archaic language transforms what was probably an only mildly wacky anecdote into a Neil Gaiman style theatre of the Gods, where forgotten myth and ancient deities skip hand in hand with the minor dignitaries of whichever town he’s finishing up his sponsored walk in that day.
‘Have a go,’ shouted this rogue Greek god.
‘No thanks,’ says I, with deep and sincere feeling.
‘Go on,’ says Adonis, mistaking my refusal for politeness, ‘these are very obedient and you can’t stall ’em ‘cos you can’t sit ’em on their arse up to 40,000 feet.’
Presumably if he ever writes a followup, there’ll be a chapter about the time Pan lured the mayor of Scarborough into the woods, never to be seen again, while Loki, the God of hijinks, put a whoopie cushion under Doc Cox’s bottom and they all had a great big laugh. If you’ve ever seen HBO’s True Blood, that’s pretty much what Jimmy’s life is like. Especially all the fucking.
That said, sometimes the situations Jim gets himself into are just some out and out sci-fi shit. I bet you had no idea the origin for the Fantastic Four was based on a true story?
To pull away from the gravity of the earth at something like 600 miles an hour is basically opposite to the human body that I was reduced to a torpor. It really was the end of the world for me.
And Jimmy’s earlier alluded to appearances over the Welsh skies are suddenly explained.
He’s also been hit by the toxic waste of a crashing truck, exposed to lethal amounts of gamma radiation, and bitten by a radioactive crow with straw for hair and a voice like a permanently ejaculating donkey.