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I could have been famous.


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Yes, I could have. I could have been extremely famous but instead I chose obscurity rather than have my body mutilated by an overly ambitious theatrical agent.

Many will know that I am extremely strong and even fewer will be aware that I used to have a strong arm act. In my day people used to travel from miles around to watch my incredibly entertaining display of strength and the unique relationship I had formed with two common buzzards.

I used to stand in Capuchin Lane naked holding an iron bar that had two aggressive, mating and territorial buzzards affixed and tethered upon each end of the mighty iron bar. Many of you might say, 'goodness, what an unusual thing to do', and you'd be right. It was a highly unusual thing to do on a packed Saturday afternoon but, it was this openly lewed display of theatrical strength that nearly made me famous.

One particularly day, whilst stood in Capuchin Lane, adjacent to Hilda, the bearded lady who'd decided to have a shave, I began bending the iron bar upon my erect penis. People would shout, 'good grief ain't those raptors tame'. And they were tame. They'd spent years being tethered to the bar and instinct told them when they were going to go from a horizontal position and downward toward the ground as I began the bending process.

Anyway, after completing the bending, this theatrical agent stepped forward, introduced himself and said, 'Today I've witnessed the future of entertainment. Im going to sign you up and together, you, me and those two birds are going to make your act famous. Mind you', he said, 'we are going to change your acts name. 'Bobby, the man who bends an iron bar across his erect penis whilst two Buzzards are tethered to the bar', is far to long. I propose we shorten it to 'Bobby the bender'. Keen to go along with this invitation to grasp superstardom I quickly agreed and so began the beginning of him disclosing his action plan to take me from Capuchin Lane onto the boards of the Courtyard Theatre.

Keen to learn how determined and single minded I was to reach the top of the ladder of this somewhat narrow field of variety entertainment, he said, 'tell me, if an act emerged. We'll call him the Competitor and he had a similar act to yours but he had a clubbed foot, what would your reaction be?'

I said, 'you mean his act was identical to mine in every single way but because of his clubbed foot, his act would be more interesting than mine?'. 'Exactly', he replied, 'you'd have to react to this competitor to make your act more interesting than his. You'd have to lose a foot'.

'Yes, I can see exactly where you are coming from', I replied, 'this competitor could become an obstacle to our future success. Yes, I'd be more than happy to lose a foot. Lets do it'. 'Excellent', he replied, 'you are a determined artiste and I can see from the look in your eyes you are determined to reach the top of your chosen field of entertainment. Mind', he said, 'say this competitor, the one we both fear will emerge to challenge you in your pursuit of greatness, say he comes back at you and he gets his leg amputated. Suddenly, his act is now more interesting than yours. What then?'

'Good grief', I replied, 'this competitor is relentless'. ' isn't he', replied the agent. 'Get into a war with this competitor and visually speaking, you could look very different to how you appear now. Are you prepared to lose both your legs in pursuit of fame and wealth and if necessary have other parts of your body surgically removed to stay ahead of this competitor who clearly is an extremely determined artiste'.

In the end, I chose to hang onto what I was born with. I chose obscurity rather than fame and wealth.

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Drones, mate - that's where you went wrong (or, rather, that bloody silver-tongued agent of yours did). They're very accurate, you know: like keyhole surgery. You should've started the bar bending and buzzard business in Capuchin Lane, got the pre-Christmas crowds gathered round. Then, just when people were thinking: 'how does this man do these amazing acts? He's like David Blaine, but better looking' - got those buggers from Credenhall to send over one of their MkIII Patricias (that's the new purple and green aerodynamic model drone). Could've taken off both your legs at the knee joint. Just like that. Would've brought the house down. And most of Capuchin Lane too, probably.

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Oh those were the days Bobby!


I'd pay good money to see you perform once again, just for the trip down Memory Lane!


Tell me, are you any further forward with your second book " HT Posters - The Early Years?"

I am keen to get my hands on a copy, and am slightly disappointed that it wasn't ready in time to be at the top of my list to Santa!!

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Strange, isn't it, how the subconscious works?


There I was tonight, sat on the sofa, large glass of red wine in hand, watching Sophie and Brendon whirling around the floor in the final of Strictly Come Dancing, and all I could think about was this story.....was it the sequins? the glamour? the fame that was so nearly yours??


No. It was the music they were whirling around to....Julie Andrews, in full nun mode singing about her favourite things .Such a chirpy, happy, positive song, I instinctively associated it with you.Although, that same instinct tells me that you're not the raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens kind of guy.....so I have taken the liberty of tweaking it slightly, to better represent the man we call King. Needless to say, the tune remains the same!



                                  A Few Of King Bobby's Favourite Things!


Bobby Forty Seven,

A poster of merit,

Makes women swoon

And can tame a wild ferret,

He'll roll you in nettles,

And laugh as they sting,

This is just one of his favourite things!



Not deleted!

He's completely mad!

This is the world of our very own King,

And for that I am truuuly glad!!


Bar bending antics,

Affairs with Liz Hurley,

Dealing with posters,

Both grumpy and surly,

Digging for Studmarsh,

All over the place,

Whilst stuffing pork scratchings into his fat face!


In his Grans dress!

Couldn't care less!

He's completely mad!

This is the world of our very own King,

And for that I am truuuly glad!


                                         By D Hippy.


(Truuuuly - need to see the full jazz hands when you sing this bit!)


I did have a third verse, which rhymed the phrase " Patricia Morgan," with "Bobby's organ", but taste and common decency have prevented me from adding this one!!

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All is not lost Bobby!


I have received a stream of emails this week from the good folk at the Birds Of Prey Centre.

After reading about your quite frankly, astonishing feat, they are keen to book you for their New Years Bash. If your act is well received, they are keen to make your appearances a regular thing in an attempt to boost visitor numbers!



The WRVS have also expressed an interest!

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