Journal of Cannonby: To Zanar Sands

Back on track, here's a post of last weekend's script.

The script was played/read by:

Narrator: Me

Cannonby: Danielle Jenkins

Carmarthen Bevan: Me

Boris: Dafydd Evans

Stephen Teal: Dafydd Evans

Bludonna Snow: Danielle Jenkins

*****

Journal: The Remarkable Doings of Cannonby

To Zanar Sands

Cue 'Here I Go Again - Whitesnake' for Bludonna's introduction.

Narrator

Beneath the clear skies of blue, the pirate galleon Sodden Calamity is living up to its name, as it ploughs inexorably onward, bearing down unerringly on the bronzed shoreline of The Zanar Sands. As the ship nears the coast, its progress becomes stilted, and the ship begins to struggle to maintain its steady pace. Deckhands begin to clamor along the rails of the ship, casting their gaze into the breaking surf, flailing their limbs in surprise and passing hurried communication between themselves. Striding purposefully and assuredly across the boards that were his own, comes Captain Cannonby, eager to learn the nature of the delay...

CNBY: What is this hullaboo? Speak swiftly men, I am eager to learn the nature of this delay!

BORIS: There seems to be some miscellaneous detritus clogging up the sea. It is solid in nature, and the ship is having trouble passing through it.

CNBY: Confounded flotsam and jetsam! And so close to the beach! I am eager for grapes, I won't tolerate another moment's delay!

BVN: I can't seem to make out the precise nature of these floating obstacles, there're just so many of them in there, all packed in together.

TEAL:

CNBY: What's that Lassie?

TEAL:

CNBY: Little Maximilian has fallen into the latrine?

BORIS: I believe he is alerting us to the true nature of the sea-obstacles. He is in tune with the ocean, after all, having such an oceanic head on his shoulders.

BVN: I assume you are referring to his octnarwhal-disfiguration.

BORIS: Yes, he has an affinity with sea-mammals.

CNBY: Well we can all see mammals Stephen Teal, there's no need to show off, you spikey headed jerk.

BORIS: Captain, it seems our way is being blocked by a floating armada of seals.

CNBY: Heavens! Well well, when I first set to sea sea sea, my aim was to see see see all that I could see see see, and never in the wildest dreams of Francis of Assissississississi did I imagine that all that I wouldn't be able to see see see the sea sea sea for the seals seals seals.

BVN: Captain, isn't that monologue just an upgrade of a similar self-indulgent rhyme based outburst you made in the very first episode?

CNBY: Well Bevan, there is no recording of that inaugural tale, and so no-one will ever be aware that I am vaguely repeating myself, and even if they are, then you can simply put it down to my premature senility and ever-inflaming dementia.

BVN: Well it's good to know you've considered it at least.

CNBY: I may be an exponent of poor comedy and mad as a pyromaniac oil tycoon, but I understand I am accountable for the repetition of my own jokes.

BVN: Well that's very decent of you Captain, I think if more...

BORIS: (speaking over the track intro) That theme! It cannot be..!

SNOW: All my seal-clubbing Christmasses have come at once! (manic laugh)

BORIS: (surprised) Bludonna!

BVN: Well I'm not really surprised, where there's seals to be clubbed, there's Bludonna Snow.

BORIS: Well I'm not hugely surprised either, that was simply the way I was instructed to deliver the line in the script directions.

CNBY: Enough! There's nothing clever about post-modernism. And I should know. Its what it says in the script.

ADAM: CUT!

Whoever's Playing CNBY: (casually) What?

ADAM: I felt as though that take lacked direction, you know. It sort of tailed off into unfocused (postmodernism), I mean we want a tighter script and this has been the most haphazard one yet. There's all sorts of thigns meant to be happening this week. The seals were meant to fuse into a huge mega-seal and battle Bludonna, and now after all this guff there's no time for it.

DAF: Well to be fair this is community radio Gild, there's no budget for the sort of professional CG you'd need to animate that sort of fight scene.

ADAM: I suppose.

DAF: I understand its a bit gutting to have to axe the big fight scene, but we'll have to make do with the script for now. We can tinker in post-production.

ADAM: Alright. ACTION!

SNOW: There's too many of them!

BORIS: Bludonna! She is being overrun by the sheer volume of seals!

CNBY: Justice in action!

TEAL:

CNBY: Hah! That's the octnarwhal pup-headed freak calling the seals Teal!... Even for me that doesn't make sense.

BORIS: I implore you comrade, save her!

CNBY: Well, I am a merciful God! Bevan, you know the drill...

BVN: (sighing) I'll go get ZX.

CNBY: Marvellous!

Narrator

And so Bevan extricated the compound frame of ZX Ilfracombe from the bowels of the ship. ZX was far and away the ship's most fearsome warrior, and with the addition of the spirit of Ivan Oleinme to his repertoir, he was nothing short of a medieval mobile death-bringing widget. Upon catching sight of the fearsome figure, the seals dispersed in horror, and offered up the unconscious body of Bludonna Snow, which was swiftly air-lifted to safety. Well, to the relative safety of the Sodden Calamity. It seems the crew's quest for grapes has been sidetracked by the unexpected seal riot. But having been previously knocked out by Bludonna, the Captain's motives for her rescue may not be as simple as basic human compassion... What truly lies behind the Captain's decision? Where do Boris' true loyalties lie? Why is Stephen Teal so disgusting? How many countries currently use the Euro? Some answers may be forthcoming, in future instalments of The Remarkable Doings of Cannonby!

*****

Shows as always every Saturday and Sunday at 12 until 3 pm.

http://www.rhonddaradio.com

Get in touch with us at acrecomedy@googlemail.com

Cheers all.

Journal of Cannonby: Boris Remembers...

I am missing posting deadlines with these Cannon-ical tales. My apologies.

The script was read/played by:

Narrator: Me

Cannonby: Shetland McAngus

Carmarthen Bevan: Me

Boris: Dafydd Evans

*****

The Remarkable Doings of Cannonby

Boris Remembers...

Narrator

Having encountered and befriended the spirit of ancient viking Ivan Oleinme, the impulsive Cannonby has ordered his crew to set sail for Vinehaven, a lush and verdant utopian citadel, world renowned for its numerous and delicious berries and other such titbit delicacies. The Sodden Calamity cleaves through the seas like a rocket-propelled butter knife through melted margarine. Cannonby, ever impatient, is champing at the bit to reach their destination, despite having next to no knowledge of Vinehaven. It therefore falls upon the more knowledgeable, or at least the less idiotic, members of his entourage to clue him in on the very real dangers of Vinehaven...

CNBY: Where's the bit? I am eager to champ upon it.

BVN: It's just a turn of phrase Captain, there's no bit on this vessel which you can champ upon.

CNBY: Nonsense, this is my ship, I'll champ upon whichever bit I please.

BVN: Oh, suit yourself.

BORIS: Are we truly headed to Vinehaven?

BVN: Yes, definitely. Once the Captain gets something into his brain, it is damn near impossible to dislodge it.

BORIS: I am apprehensive about this endeavor... Vinehaven isn't the easy, grape-filled target I assume you are assuming it to be.

BVN: Yes, I've heard only forbidding accounts of expeditions to the citadel.

BORIS: Though I've not heard them, I can tell you with 100% certainty that they are all true. Every last one of them.

BVN: What? Even the one about the 11 footed bionic cockerel?

BORIS: Especially the one about the 11 footed bionic cockerel.

BVN: Zounds! Terrors of the cockerel haunt me in every sleeping moment!

BORIS: There is worse than the cockerel in Vinehaven comrade. It is time for you all to gather around and hear of my ominous anecdote. I urge you all to listen. Captain?

BVN: Cannonby, come away from that bit this instant!

CNBY: Alackaday, Bevan! You can take the champ out for a bit, but you can't stop me champing at the bit!

BVN: Please listen Captain, it is of vital importance to the upcoming mission.

CNBY: If you insist Bevan, but if this exemplum is less than exemplary I will make an example out of you all! With my fist!

BORIS: Fear not comrade, this will be the most terror-inducing tale that may ever pass your ears and beat its baneful rhythm upon your ears...

CNBY: Boris, my teeth would be chattering if I wasn't about to sink them into a bit and begin to champ.

BVN: The Captain is an admirably single-minded individual...

BORIS: Okay my intimates, strap yourself into the crazy train, we are about to chug our way to terror!

CNBY: What in the name of Solid Snake's vulgar moustache is a train?

BVN: Oh, bin bags. How easily sidetracked we are...

BORIS: Focus! Here is with to set the scene. And then I will let you know of the unknowable horrors of Vinehaven.

BORIS: The grand spire of Vinehaven stabs triumphantly into the open skies, perched atop the gargantuan botanic citadel, creeping vines and other natural growths adorn the terrific surface of the citadel, as though nature itself had hewn the structure from the heart of the planet, a foreboding testament to the might of nature...

CNBY: So it's a giant tree?

BORIS: (sharply) It is so much more than a giant tree! Foolish adventurers are tempted towards the bastion by the promise of ripe fruits and perfectly aged wine, and they are brought low by the insidious guardians of the fortress.

CNBY: But it's still only a giant tree?

BORIS: The defenses of Vinehaven are manifold: you can be trampled by a phalanx of interlocking elephant-woodlice...

BVN: Giant granny grays?

BORIS: You can be cut clean in half by a katana-sharp giganto blade of grass...

BVN: I was waiting for a pun.

BORIS: or you could even be smooshed flat by a giant centipede stampede...

BVN: and now rhyming aswell. Boris, did any of these catastrophes befall you on your trip to Vinehaven?

BORIS: Niet comrade Carmarthen, I was never with a group foolish enough to venture into Vinehaven, not until now.

BVN: No, fair play, on a foolishometer we would certainly score quite highly.

BORIS: Not even in my time with Bludonna Snow would we have ventured into Vinehaven.

BVN: Well there're no seals to be had in a heavily wooded area.

BORIS: In Vinehaven, even seals are possible.

BVN: Man alive...

CNBY: Talking of giant trees, do you know? I used to be a lumberjack!

BVN: Only you are talking about trees.

CNBY: Oh, trees! In those days I could easily bring down a giant redwood quicker than you could say "Llanfairpwllgwingyllchwindrobwyllllantysiliwchgogogoch". Quite a lengthy process, I think you'd agree. They used to call me 'The Cutter'. Peables "The Cutter" Cannonby I was. Which was strange because we used saws. Of course, after that I took up the axe. If you've got that sort of nickname, the least you can do is live up to it. But I got too good, the atmosphere in the camp changed. All the other lumberjacks were jealous of my axe-wielding abilities. It got so tense that you could cut the air with an axe. Which I did. I had to beat a hasty retreat after that fiasco, and no mistake.

BORIS: Are we still talking about Vinehaven.

CNBY: Boris, Boris, Boris. As delightful as your gums are when they are a-flapping, I am through with chitter-chatter this evening. You need to rest your crazy head and prepare for the morrow.

BORIS: What is the plan for tomorrow?

BVN: Tomorrow we are going to beach at the Zanar Sands...

CNBY: And then directly onward to Vinehaven, where we'll stomp seven kinds of stomp out of any swollen critters than grumble into our path. I hold no truck with nature Boris, do you know why?

BORIS: Why?

CNBY: Because it's always anthropormorphised as a mother. Mother Nature. And you know what I found out about mothers?

BORIS: What?

CNBY: They're awful at arm-wrestling!

BORIS: I don't see what that's got to do with----

CNBY: (interrupting) Hush up Boris! Onwaaaard!

Narrator

And so, despite warnings regarding elephant-woodlice, giant centipede stampedes, deadly grass katanas and 11 footed bionic cockerels, the Sodden Calamity ploughs resolutely onward. Directed by the wayward resolution of Captain Cannonby, the crew brace themselves for what hardships await them in the grassy knolls of Vinehaven. With the beach landing at Zanar Sands looming on the horizon, the crew's resilience will surely be tested to the limits. A lot of trouble to go to for a little spot of grape and pillage, eh? Keep abreast of the adventures of the crew, in the next haphazard instalment, of The Tales of Cannon-by!

*****

There'll be another post up before this weekend, so I'll leave all the pluggings until then.

Apart from this one!

acrecomedy@googlemail.com

For all your correspondence needs!*

*If you want to get in touch with us.

Journal of Cannonby: Sending out a ZX

I missed this Friday's slot where I usually upload a Cannonby script, so this one is now 2 weeks old. Nevermind eh.

The script was read/played by:

Narrator: Me

Cannonby: The Monk of Tweed

Carmarthen Bevan: Me

Stephen Teal: Dafydd Evans

Boris: Dafydd Evans

Rubya Bakfat: The Monk of Tweed

Kay Wye O'Thassaspot: Me

Bubba Rubbs: Dafydd Evans

ZX Ilfracombe: Me

*****

Narrator

On this day, the sea was so calm that it could pass for a sheet of stained-glass window, as long as the stained-glass window in question had etched upon it a still ocean scene. The pirate galleon Sodden Calamity, a proud and feared vessel and home of the unrenowned pirate crew under the command of Cannonby, a tall man in his late thirties, with a flustered brow and 20-20 vision. Though often the ship would bear down ferociously on hapless merchant vessels, no such aggression was currently underway. The ship floated serenely, an array of fishing rods jutted from the deck of the ship, the stringy spider-webs of timid hunting spewed forth into the sea, from which the crew hoped they'd be extricating their evening meal. But alas, the oblivious fishing pirates are about to discover that when you are afloat on the world's strangest seas, it isn't merely fish what swim in the sea...

CNBY: Ah, Bevan! How goes it with the fishing off the boat for fish? Any fish? I am eager for fish, man.

BVN: Now, patience Mister Captain, fishing is a slow process where patience really is key to the entire process.

CNBY: I don't care about keys, Bevan! I want fish, aren't you listening? Somebody else must be a better fisherman than you. You there, Stephen Teal, how goes the haul?

TEAL:

CNBY: (as though saying "Oh that's interesting") Oh, that's disgusting.

BORIS: Captain! Captain! I've caught something!

CNBY: Heaven help you, Boris, if this is not a fish.

BORIS: It is not a fish.

CNBY: I am displeased. Show me this trinket you've dislodged from the wide open sea.

BORIS: Here you go Captain.

CNBY: (exclaiming) Huffington Post! It's a nondescript, bog-standard bottle. Like the kind you'd get milk in. Except there's no milk. This bottle is filled with fog. Though common sense dictates that I shouldn't release the unknown fumes within, my innate sense of reckless curiosity insists that I do.

TEAL:

(POP, then - whooshing of smoke)

CNBY: Who in the name of Genius Gene's pre-worn jeans are you three?

RUBYA-BUBBA-KY: The genies!

KY: Drifting the ocean in our bottle-craft...

RUBYA: The genie masseurs of Clubba Rubbs who give no wishes, but instead give...

BUBBA: A massage in a bottle.

CNBY: Clubba Rubbs, usually a pun of that quality would have brought up my dinner, but since there are no fish... (accusatory) BEVAN... I will forgive you, on one condition.

BUBBA: Name yo terms.

CNBY: Massage me!

KY: Actually we insist on massaging everyone.

CNBY: SPLENDID!

Narrator

But all was not splendid. For Cannonby was not aware of the dangers a massage from the Clubba Rubbs Trio would bring. The genie-masseurs secrete a narcotic paste from their wrists, which, when mixed with the human sweat during the massage process, the individual would be put into a neverending sleep, a deeper rest than is possible even under general anaesthetic or by pricking your finger on a spindle. The entire crew were lost under the hypnotic influence of the massage, bar one man. Usually hidden away, deep within the bowels of the vessel, unaffected by the mystical massage stands the ironwrought ZX Ilfracombe, who fires a warning glance at the Clubba Rubbs Trio, and ominously presses down the Play button on the stereo system embedded in his chest.

RUBYA: You monster, you've knocked out Kay Wye, she's allergic to Sting and the Police.

BUBBA: You freak; half man, half machine.

RUBYA: What does it mean? What does it mean?

ZX: ABSENCE OF SOUND! IT IS MY ROLE TO EJECT YOU FROM THIS VESSEL.

BUBBA: Try it Captain Aluminum.

ZX: I AM NOT THE CAPTAIN. NEITHER AM I CONSTRUCTED FROM ALUMINIUM. I FIND YOUR WITTY BADINAGE LACKING AND LABORIOUS.

RUBYA: We will not be talked down to in this way, we are the massaging genies of Clubba Rubbs, the most renowned floating massage parlor on all of the 7 Seas and also in 98 of the 141 major Scottish lochs.

BUBBA: Those Jocks can massage your bones right outta yo body.

ZX: THEY CAN INDEED.

RUBYA & BUBBA: GASP!

RUBYA: I'd heard rumours of the twisted experiments of crazy Scottish massage-scientists, but I never for a moment believed they had the massage skills and scientific knowhow to create a cyborg.

ZX: I AM NO CYBORG. I AM A PIRATE. AND I WILL BEHAVE AS ONE. ENOUGH! I WILL PARLAY NO MORE WITH YOU PARLOR-MONKEYS.

BUBBA: Then its time for battle.

RUBYA: But Bubba, we aren't warriors!

BUBBA: (remembering like the guy off 3rd Rock from the Sun) Oh yeah.

ZX: I AM DESIGNED AND CONSTRUCTED FOR BATTLE. DESTRUCTED. CONSTRIGNED. MY LEFT ARM IS AN ENFIELD RIFLE. MY RIGHT, A WINCHESTER. I AM ALSO EQUIPPED WITH A BLUNDERBUSS, BUT I AM NOT ABLE TO NOTIFY YOU OF ITS WHEREABOUTS, DUE TO TASTE AND DECENCY REGULATIONS.

RUBYA: Don't shoot!

ZX: I AM AFRAID I MUST.

BUBBA-RUBYA: AAAAARGH!

Narrator

And thus the hero of the hour was ZX Ilfracombe, who bore no grudges against his narrow-minded crew, despite being hidden away in the dank underbelly of the ship, due to his metallic nature. The Clubba Rubbs Trio were scooped up and replaced in their bottle container, which was fired into over the horizon using the mighty power of the inappropriately-located blunderbuss. With the massage-genies now miles away, the crew begin to come around.

CNBY: What in the name of Sephiroth's glorious platinum locks just happened?

BORIS: It seems we were held under the genies' massage-based powers, which is quite the embarrassment.

BVN: We haven't seen this calibre of sea-based masseuse-related catastrophy, not since that brouhaha with that old Arsenal midfielder from the 90s and early Noughties.

CNBY: Yes, the infamous Ray Parlour Parlor-Parlay Pirate Pile-up. Awful business.

ZX: BUT I HAVE SAVED THE DAY.

CNBY: (exclaiming) ILFRACOMBE! What are doing above deck? Get back in your cage you metal freak!

TEAL:

Narrator

And so it goes to show, that even if you save the day, you don't always get the respect you deserve. Especially if you are a futuristic robot man, with an embarrassingly situated blunderbuss protrusion.

*****

We aren't on FM anymore, but business will continue as usual on www.rhonddaradio.com which is good for a number of reasons: it is further reaching, the sound is cleaner, and there are no ofcom-style bodies overseeing it. We'll still have our 12-3 slot Saturday and Sunday. I am glad, as my weekends would be dull without them.

A podcast will definitely happen, I have already edited 3. Rejoice. Or if you haven't done so yet, simply joice.