14:00 NSPCC Childrens TV Favourites VHS
Compilation of ten animated children’s adventures. The stories featured are: ‘Postman Pat: Postman Pat’s Birthday’; ‘The Shoe People: Can You Keep a Secret?’; ‘Paddington Bear: Please Look After This Bear’; ‘Fireman Sam: The Kite’; ‘James the Cat: Friends’; ‘Noddy: The Great Car Race’; ‘Wil Cwac Cwac: Honey’; ‘The Snowman: The Snowman’s Ball’; ‘SuperTed: SuperTed and the Stolen Rocket Ship’; and ‘Spot: Where’s Spot’.
15:05 Tales Of The River Bank VHS
Tales of the Riverbank, sometimes called Hammy Hamster and Once Upon a Hamster for the Canadian version, is a British children’s television show developed from a Canadian pilot. The original series was later broadcast on Canadian and U.S. television, dubbed by Canadian and American actors for the markets they were to be broadcast in.
15:40 The Story Makers And Other Stores VHS
The Story Makers is an educational children’s television programme that was broadcast on the BBC‘s pre-school digital television network, CBeebies. The Story Makers is set in a children’s library, and encourages literacy and creativity. Featuring Danny John Jules
16:50 Sooty And Co VHS
Compilation of Sooty Episodes
17:50 Battle Of the Monster Trucks VHS (1985)
18:35 Yo Yo Tricks VHS (1996)
19:10 Buck Rogers In The 25th Century – Escape From Wedded Bliss
20:00 The Critic – Pilot
20:25 World In Action – Starting On The Dole
20:50 The Paul Merton Show
21:15 Harry Endields Televison show (Files loops at the end)
22:00 The Kenny Evertt Video Show
22:25 Peeping Tom (1960)
A young man murders women, using a movie camera to film their dying expressions of terror.
Director:
Writers:
Leo Marks (original story), Leo Marks (screenplay)
Stars:
Karlheinz Böhm, Anna Massey, Moira Shearer | See full cast & crew »
Gary and Daz are having a couple of socially distanced jars ‘n’ lines at the Dog and Duck.
Daz is prattling on some old shite about how he’s giving blood next week. Gary claps all sarky.
” Oh nice one Daz you fuckin bell. I’m gonna give my jizz to your mum. And donate her fannyjuice to your grandad, the auld nonce. Give it good. To.. Wait! Who the flying dogshit is THAT babe?”
A weary Daz casts his forlorn eyes over a lass at the bar kicking off goodstyle. She’s skinny, straggly hair, sallow and screeching about the alleged infringement of her perceived rights to the sullen Spanish barman, Miguel.
“am not followin these fuckin social distance shite! Loaday fuckin crap, its a HOAX you fuckin tit,” she hollers at the barman who, Daz surmises, has lightly scolded her for ignoring the stickers on the ground.
“Am not taking ANY OF YOUR SHIT. YOU HAVE A 5G RADAR UP ON ROOF. FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF!”
Much to Daz’s creeping, cold-as-ice dread, his old consort Garold turns around in his seat to clock the mouldering bint.
“Phwoar,” croons Gary, as Daz’s stomach plummets. “She got gusto. She takes no prisoners Daz. And she will take my spunk right enough!”
Gary strides up to the wastrel, pops his tongue out, and proper #MeToos her, tongue down gullet, grinding up on her, but she’s fuckin well into it! No Twitter storm here! Gary ‘n’ the baglady skagaddict tonsil-tussle for a wee bit. She’s red, beaming, blushing, almost beautiful if her skin didn’t look like decayed A4 paper stretched over a Halloween rubber glow-in-the-dark skeleton.
“See Daz”, Gary chortles, coming back to Daz, “sometimes you have to plunder the pussay.”.
The bird rocks back and forth on her scabby heels. Tends to an itch crawling up the left arm. Neck too. Tits a bit. Daz shudders as the idea of public lice bursts into his treacherous imagination. Gary turns around, their gazes lock into union, and she shrilly squeals:
“Fackin LAV yoo babes. Ain’t nobody touched me since I got the Corona! Buy’s an arf?”
Gary turns and beams at Daz, and his smile slowly falters, like a load of scaffolding if you haul a too-fat cunt up on top of it to hurl off into a skip.
“You got the virus?” Gary demands.
“Well fink it’s gone. Can’t trust docturs like. Ad it tho. Hozzy said. Cunts.”
Daz is mortified as is the rest of the Dog and Duck, rendered all staring gaping peers unified by staggering shock goggle at the virus carrier. Gary slowly freaks out, almost in slowmo, and starts spitting her diseased spittle out his gob.
Some lands on Daz’s eye. Some lands on his cheek, feeling like it fizzes. Some lands in his open mouth. In terror, he gulps.
Daz sits there, crumples, devastated, looking at but not registering the coronabint lurching off on about 5G.
Daz starts to boak, heaving dry in his seat. Oh fuck, fucking hell, that COVID-riddled fuckin bitch, Gary how could you be so fuckin.. He bursts out,
“GARY YOU TIT YOU’VE GIVEN ME THE VIRUS!”
“Fuck off ya tit,” Gary goes. “Made up anyway. I got off. Besides, you’re giving blood next week, aye? Focus on the positives.”
“But Gary, wait – she looks a right riddled super spreader! Even if I survive, this’ll right fuck up my – “
Gary raises a a single finger to stop Daz as his left hand fumbles in his pocket for sniff.
“Daz. Shurrit. Not having me snogging a coronabint coming out. She’s a high street hotty. That’s the score, get on with your life.”
“But Gary, that’s an infamia!”
“You. Are. Going. To. Give. Blood. No ifs no buts, I will make it happen,” Gary assures with a steely glint in his eye, really meaning it. He’s no fuckin about.