The Cosmic Hank Marvin Experience... IN COLOUR.  

As we all know, we owe our lives to Ben Affleck… The man who previously we have mocked for possessing the acting talents that lay somewhere between that of a root vegetable and those of the kind of down-on-their-luck hamsters that get recruited for films in which they enter the most unnatural of places… Yet, every day we learn that everything we know and love has either been saved, won, created, or impregnated by Ben Affleck… To think that for all those years they lied to us and told us it was David Niven.

 Looking carefully at the evidence we can see that not only did Ben single-handedly rescue us from those dastardly Germans, he also stopped us from having a big rock fall on our heads, prevented the odd nuclear war, and helped some stroppy maths swat bone Minnie Driver. In less public moments he has also cured lepers, converted water into wine, and changed a tyre in the pouring rain for at least 90% of Britain ’s drivers. I myself have been reluctantly saved from being gang-buggered by a horde of rampaging Mongol warriors on at least four separate occasions by Mr. Affleck’s swift intervention when he swooped down in his Spitfire and used the power of his mind to turn them to towers of salt… Yeah, thanks a bundle Ben, you saved me so I could go to Ikea… why don’t you just go crap in someone else’s custard.

 But I digress…

 May I present: My guide to understanding both women and bears. I have come to realise that the two often exhibit similar patterns of behaviour and it is easy to become confused. Here I shall carefully explain, with diagrams if I can be bothered, what each means.

 Let me set the scene for you…

 You are Hank Marvin. It is 1968. After a terrible plane crash in which Cliff Richard spilled communion wine in the aeroplane’s controls, you have found yourself alone in the woods. Cliff has temporarily ascended to Heaven on golden chariots but may return if you survive so that you can finish that all important tour of the midlands. Yet you suddenly realise you are not quite as alone as you had thought… the woods are filled with bears and women…

 You, with only your wits and “punch me so hard I cough blood and teeth” smile can see you through this nightmare…

 

Encounter One:

 You’re walking slowly through a glade playing “Apache”, pausing every other step to turn to one side and smile, swinging your guitar whittled from sticks and the innards of a doomed bassist who will not be missed as nobody remembered who the hell he was. Suddenly the branches of the trees part and from the darkness leap two fearsome apparitions… One is a giant man-eating grizzly bear and the other, after checking carefully, seems to be a woman. You are both confused and startled… yet you have the innate feeling that one of the two will kill you and the other is quite harmless…

 The bear is holding it’s arms out in front, gigantic claws bared and dripping with red goo, a thick froth lingering around it’s lips. It stands as tall as two Eskimos and nine times as wide.

 The woman also has its arms out in front, but one hand is clutching a bouquet of flowers and she seems very calm and collected.

Which is the dangerous one? Which do you beat to death with the remains of the drummer, bearing in mind that the decaying sticksman will only last for one good thrashing?

Pick your answer and accept the consequences. Did you honestly…

Attack the woman.

With one sound blow you smite her and, once the shower of drummer has cleared, the bear sits down, pulls you too him, and shares the last of his frothy raspberry crappofrapocinnothingy with you. You are brought buns by squirrels and caress in the moonlight.

 The bear’s posture is the international animal sign of sociable coffee mornings and you have chosen wisely.

Or did you….

Attack the bear

After an hour long tussle you finally bludgeon the remaining life from the bear, causing it to curl up like a dead woodlouse and explode. Wiping the gore from your eyes you turn and smile at the woman…

 “Who the hell gave you these flowers?” She seems angry.
 “Pardon?” You reply

 “They were there in plain sight… you adulterous swine.” She replies, pointing at the glade.

 “I think you misunder….” You find yourself left with a crying child that does not resemble you and a bunch of flowers inserted into your holiest of holies.

 The woman’s posture was that of paranoid floral rage. You must now limp through the forest like John Wayne after too many hours on a horse and put up with an irritating child saying “You’re not my daddy” while kicking you repeatedly in the groin and then demanding a playstation. (To recreate the detrimental effect of your failure on your decision making process please sit on a broom handle and empty your wallet directly into the bin.)

 Encounter Two.

 You have reached a path that runs through the woods while whistling a Shadows hit other than Apache. It leads, as many paths do, in two directions. A small rustic sign post indicates that to the left is the house of a bear and to the right is the house of a woman. You have a quick look round each corner. The bear’s house is dark and dingy, and the bear is sitting with its arms crossed in the doorway. The woman’s house is bright and airy and she too is sitting with her arms crossed in the doorway. Which do you choose? Remember, you must be honest with yourself.

 Do you…

 Stroll up to the bear’s front door?

 The bear uncrosses its arms and offers you a small platter of bacon sandwiches that he has been warming under his armpits. He gently places his free arm around your shoulder and leads you inside. After eating he gives you a back massage and engages you in a philosophical conversation about the meaning of life. Feeling reinvigorated you thank him and walk away into the night, whistling another song that was also by the Shadows but wasn’t Apache.

 Stroll up to the woman’s front door?

 The woman uncrosses her arms and slaps you soundly on the cheek with a cold roast dinner. After complaining bitterly about how she should have listened to her sister she punches you on the shoulder so hard that your arm falls limply to the ground. Refusing to allow you inside she waits until you turn to leave and throws a cat at your back, the animal merrily flaying you while the woman pointedly stands at the window and gives you the finger. As you try to leave she starts following and trying to ignore you as loudly as humanly possible. She finally reverses over you in her car as she drives off to stay with Harold, who has always listened to her tales of fingernails. You would whistle a hit by the shadows other than Apache but your jaw is broken in four places.

Encounter Three.

 You have made it to the outskirts of the woods. Through the remaining tress you can see the lights of a city and hear the reassuring sound of Apache filtering from a thousand homes. Yet, as you break into a rousing rendition of something else by the Shadows you find your way blocked by both a bear and yet another woman. You begin to wonder: a) what bears are doing in the New Forest; and b) why they seem strangely attracted to you and yet the women seem oddly repulsed.

 The bear is making kissy faces and beckoning, undulating slowly and in what you, Hank Marvin, are alarmed to find to be an alluring fashion. The woman is doing likewise, the fabric of her thin summer dress damp with dew, clinging to every curve as she gyrates… You, Hank Marvin, find yourself thinking she has a poor taste in shoes.

 Do you…

 Go to the bear?

 The bear embraces at you and proceeds to devour you whole, enjoying particularly the moment when another song by the Shadows that isn’t Apache is cut off by a wet gurgle. He refuses on principle to eat your hands and your grin, hanging them from the tree as a warning to all those animals who wished to leave the woods in search of a better life in the city.

Go to the woman?

 She embraces you, her hands running over your cheesy grin, fingers exploring the soft curves of your stupid glasses, her bosom heaving as she plunges your head into her cleavage to silence your aggravating whistling. Dropping all pretence of restrain she hurls herself at you, taking you in her sensuous arms, beginning to play you like you played your Fender Stratocaster back before Cliff’s ascension…

Cliff…

 Your mind snaps to alertness, realising the siren has warped your mind, your desire receding like your popularity… You feel disgusted, how could you betray Cliff this way… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? You cast aside the strumpet and charge headlong back into the woods, flailing yourself with sticks, calling out his name, hoping he will answer, but knowing that the sacred bond of Shadow trust has been broken. You end your days lying in a ditch, crying at the sky, feeling the burning sense of damnation in your soul, your lips to dry to whistle Apache.

Score one point for a correct answer and zero for a wrong one.

0: Wow… even a stopped clock is right twice a day… you couldn’t manage that… You may not whistle Apache, you may not even hum it or own a bootlegged cassette of it.

1: Yeah, well done, you threw enough shit at the wall that a bit stuck. Hoo-bloody-rah. You may play Apache on the spoons but not whistle or turn to one side every so often in unison with others.

2: You’re Hankin’ with gas now baby!… yet that gas is the gas of failure. You are imperfect and thus not welcome in my world. You may whistle another song by the Shadows other than Apache, but not Apache itself.

3: You want a round of applause? You want a smack is what you want… But that smack shall be the crushing blow of success. You have done your best and your best is just good enough to allow you to be able to whistle Apache. You may turn to one side in unison once, but only once.

What does this prove? It proves that I ran out of ideas about line three… Oh, and that I really, really, want to introduce Hank Marvin to the concept of shame… and an electrified cheese-grater taped to a swarm of salted wasps.

That is all.