Harsh words have been exchanged after the ‘really extremely limited success’ of last weekend’s Ask A Drunk International Festival of Sandwich Pastes.
Organisers had predicted that as many as half a million people would flock to the event, where more than eighteen brands of sandwich paste were displayed and ‘modest opportunities for tasting’ were offered (subject to spoon availability).
But according to police the real attendance figure was just thirty-seven – including at least one family who had lost their way to the nearby Cavalcade of Sado-Erotic Vomiting.
Internet analyst Tom Ewing, whose little-known hobby is collecting unusually shaped lumps of Shippam’s Paste and arranging them in unpleasing patterns, slated the organisers.
‘I’ve been to some half-baked paste events in my time, but this literally takes the biscuit,’ he spluttered, clearly unnerved by the absence of television cameras.
‘When we allowed Ask A Drunk on to ilXor we expected parades, glamour, razzle-dazzle, Mardi Gras, an endless carnival of satirically quippy spoofing, where those of us with a weakness for foul-tasting sandwich spreads of unappealing appearance and colour could congregate openly with thousands of our own kind.
‘But what did we get? One trestle table with Lynskey crouching behind it wearing a paper chef’s hat and brandishing a balsa-wood spoon while Zen Clown and Hurley jumped up and down shouting ‘Yum yum!’ through an ear-trumpet.
‘I can tell you, Momus was so shocked that for once in his life he was looking positively healthy.’
Festival chairwoman CJ, speaking from a disused tin mine in Cornwall where she has abruptly taken up residence, told reporters:
‘Of course we were disappointed that there weren’t more people, even after we’d broadened the definition of “people” to include trees, cat litter and germs.
‘But I think you will find that everyone who did turn up found it a magical, breathtaking, unforgettable experience.’
At this point CJ was obliged to terminate her interview, due to ‘unexpected nasal lengthening’.
Were YOU one of the unlucky thirty-seven? We want to hear what YOU think. Post YOUR eye-witness account of the hellish suffering you went through as a direct consequence of Ask A Drunk’s negligence, cynicism and totally inadequate devotion to unfashionable spreading products. Please, please, we have to keep this thread going somehow, now that we’ve been fool enough to start it…
― Rex (Rex), Monday, 2 June 2003 06:12 (twenty-two years ago)
Ah.
I have a small confession to make.
As you are aware, AAD is a non-profit-making organization of high integrity but dubious merit. Preferring as we do to maintain a low profile, sponsorship was difficult to obtain for this extravaganza although I do wish to place on record my grateful thanks to those AAD regulars who campaigned so tirelessly in their fundraising efforts. The £9.86, $5, €2, ¥12 plus three shirt buttons (non-matching) which you collected were more than sufficient for me to purchase a gourmet selection of Shippam’s finest from Sainsbury’s, and although I would have preferred to have served these on Bath Oliver biscuits or some of those delicious Duchy Originals which Prince Charles (Chaz to his friends!) bakes in his spare time, funds wouldn’t quite run to that. The Ritz biscuits were nice enough though. At least they go soggy fairly quickly – a boon for our more elderly revellers, as this renders them far easier to digest despite their tendency to get cemented to dentures with more staying power than a dollop of No More Nails. The Ritz that is, not the pensioners, though I did hear some disturbing gossip regarding the recently widowed Mrs Higginbottom and her shenanagins behind the tea marquee with Mr Arbuthnot. I gather from the ambulance service Paramedics who attended the scene that if Mrs Clutterbuck had been able to take her teeth out as requested, Mr Arbuthnot wouldn’t have ended up in A&E on Saturday evening. But anyway.
So despite all the hours you spent raising money in such imaginative ways – I’m sure we shall be hearing more from you all in that regard, as many of those tales are hilarious! – and all the help you gave in moving trestle tables and decorating the marquee with bunting (not to be confused with Emma Bunton, though I think she should be congratulated for having done such a sterling job with the washing up), the truth of the matter is that I, as Festival Chairwoman, let you down.
I forgot to send out the invitations, you see. Sorry.
Bloater paste sarnie, anyone?
― C J (C J), Tuesday, 3 June 2003 09:32 (twenty-two years ago)