Oblivion

THE YEAR, dearest chums, was 1990. The beginning of a new decade, a decade away from a new millennium. It was in that year that the Genital Wart Factor reconvened after a four year hiatus, pared down to the core duo of Karl and Jon.

The first meeting was monumental. Karl was returning from a shopping expedition to Bostock's record emporium to purchase a Greek import version of The Pixie's Doolittle. Jon, who was waiting for a bus, glanced over at Karl and wondered whether he should say hello. Being Jon, he chose not to. What a knob.

Karl recovered swiftly from Jon's blanking, Jon recovered swiftly from Karl's beating and soon they were back doing what they did best; shouting offensive songs into tape recorders for the pleasure of the bedroom band community.

If the previous incarnation of the GWF was fueled by tea, biscuits and ennui, this version was powered by cider, joints of pot and break-up related bitterness. Both GWFer's had been through the relationship wringer at this point, returning to Huddersfield with stone in their hearts and dope in their tobacco tins. And they were going to abuse both.

During this period, two new cassettes of material were recorded. One of them contained a particularly billious song called "Oblivion"; a lilting ballad that told a tale of love lost and lost some more. Karl and Jon, who wrote it, proclaimed that it was the break-up song to end all break-up songs. Unfortunately the pop industry weren't listening at the time and that's why people still keep releasing new, shit songs about love gone wrong.

Fast forward 15 years. Karl is now Chairman of ICI, owner of BMW and Grand Poo Bah of the Freemasons. Jon sells his piss stained knickers to coke fiend stock brokers on the Internet.

The Genital Wart Factor got together one last time (without Jon) to re-record this seminal slice of semenal invective.

Take it away, Karl. And don't bring it back:

Oblivion

Carol Vorderman's Diary

TUESDAY

The Wide World InterWeb is not as harmless as I thought. In PC World the other day I was accosted by a young man wearing a red badge.

"It's you isn't it?"
"Why yes. Yes it is." I replied, "Would you like a consonant or a vowel?"
"Whatever," the youth said, "Where's your curly tail?".

I telephoned Gyles Brandreth in dictionary corner to find out what my appropriate response should be. After some time agreeing on the correct spelling I replied to the youth;

"I'm positively filled with indignation. What do you mean 'curly tail'?"

The spotty one took me over to the machines in the corner, next to the machines in the middle and the machines by the wall. There he showed me an InterWeb site entailed 'Celebrity Animals'. Alongside photographs of Carol Smile as a meerkat and Anne Robinson as an orangutang, I saw a picture of me. Only not me. It was a pig me.

"Oh my god". I sputtered, "You have a computer capable of performing acts of voodoo. I must campaign against this immediately."

WEDNESDAY

Groggily made my way to GMTV studio after night spent arranging mirrors to see if curly tail still present. Pleased to see that other pig features have worn off since photograph was taken. Even though I am unable to recollect the occasion am disturbed by lingering feeling that I have 12 nipples arranged in parallel along my belly. Interviewed by Lorraine Kelly, herself a victim of Internet animal voodoo (rhinoceros).

"So Carol, you say that a black magic Web site has been turning celebrities into animals and photographing them," said Lorraine, interviewing me.
"Yes. And I will not rest until every last one of those animal magicians is off the Internet and behind bars. The way to start is by rounding up everyone who owns a computer and shooting them in the extremities. Then we should ask them if they turned me into a pig and then took pictures of me. If they say no we should let them go. If not then... by gum!"
"Very good, Carol. So you were a pig. That's a very dirty animal." said Lorraine.
"No Lorraine, that's where you're wrong. Pigs are very clean animals. Unlike Rhinos."
"I see. Well it's nice to see you again and we wish you luck with your campaign. Now it's time to return to Inch Loss Island."
"Oink." I said.

*Any resemblance to Carol Vorderman off Countdown is purely coincidental. This is a different Carol Vorderman altogether. As in A fictional character who happens to be called Carol Vorderman. OK?