Rock Lobster - Pete Scathe's Monday Nights

10/08/2020

Just a quick reminder the Deco is open tonight but I'm not DJing!

03/08/2020

Hi everyone, just a quick reminder that The Deco is open tonight (head on to their page to see details on that), but that since the DJs aren't back yet, I won't be there DJing.

29/07/2020

Here's the Womble Story I was going to post on Monday!

Well, things had been very noisy for a while as every day people kept on trying to build a luxury tower block on top of our womble burrow, but because Mr Pete had told everyone it was actually a cunningly disguised 5G mast, every night another load of people would come and burn it down. We were getting so fed up with this that when the phone rang and it was Mr Boris we didn't even pretend to be Mr Sir Starmer's office instead.
“Chaps! How's the building going?”
“Up... and down. And up again. We're getting a little bit annoyed with it.”
“Ha, thought so! Well, if you can do old Bozza here a favour I might be able to help you out!”
“Er... what favour?”
“Been getting a lot of flack about why everyone had their eye off the ball about the Russians interfering. We know why their eyes were off the ball, because we'd hidden it under our jumper, but we can't say that. So, how'd you like to head up an independent inquiry into Russian interference?”
“But we don't know anything about that sort of thing!”
“Exactly! You're perfect. Unimpeachably independent but completely clueless! Congratulations, you've got the job! I'll expect the report some time in 2050!”
And then he hung up!
Well, this was a bit confusing so we all got together in the womble burrow and wondered how we could possibly find anything out. Then one of us remembered that a few of our womble cousins lived under the Russian Embassy and they found all sorts of interesting things dropped down there. So we had a word with them and they gave us some of their recycled wallpaper, and we got cousin Omsk to help us with all the odd Russian writing. And in no time at all we had a big fat report about what Mr Putin had done and we went round to Mr Boris with it.
“Hello” we said, “we've got the report you asked us to do.”
“You have? Crikey, that was quick! Er... what does it say?”
“Well, it turns out Mr Putin was very naughty and did lots of bad things. And we've got lots of bits of paper in Russian that say how the Russians were really happy they managed to get Brexit done. Just here it says...”
But Mr Boris stuck his fingers in his ears and started shouting “Can't hear you! Can't hear you!”
So we said “Um... is that because you have your fingers in your ears?”
“Nonono, it's a rare after effect of having had coronavirus. Any time someone tries to present me with any evidence about how the Russians got Brexit over the line I get this horrible buzzing in my ears!”
“Um... well you could always read it.”
And we tried to hand him the report but he looked at it as if it was some really hot potato that he didn't want to touch. But then he pulled a marker pen out of his pocket and grabbed the report and started scribbling on it.
“No, can't read any of it. Looks like it's been really heavily redacted.”
“Er... is that the thing where all the interesting bits go missing? It wasn't deducted like that.”
“It is now!”
And then he ran off with it shouting “Find me someone who smokes, I need a lighter!”

27/07/2020

The Deco is back this Friday! With prebooking, and without DJs for the moment, so I won't be doing the Monday night for a while yet. Also I wrote a womble story, but I'll post that later in the week!

It has been a long, hard slog, we know. But fear not, because as of this very Friday (that’s the 31st, by the way)

WE’RE BACK BABY!!!

But first and foremost, we need to be keeping you guys safe from the plague. As such, we are going to be limited on space, sooooooooo, we’re having to implement a booking system for our limited table space.

All we need from you is to book a two hour slot is an email ([email protected]) with your name, a contact number, when you want to book for and for how many (max of six peeps), the email subject MUST BE ‘DECOTABLEBOOKING’. This is the only way that you can book, as other means will be ignored*.

I’m sure some of you have been in a pub recently, so you’ll be aware of all the precautions that they have set up. We’ll be following suit to keep you safe. It’s too much to state here, but we’ll go through it with you when you get here, don’t you worry.

We look forward to seeing all your beautiful, hairy, metal encrusted (delete as applicable) faces soon, as it feels like forever since we last saw you.

And don’t forget ‘Stay rockin’, drink responsibly, save The Deco’.

*We need to keep this as simple as possible, just like us! :P”

06/07/2020

Here's this week's Womble Story!

Well, after Mr Boris threatened to send us over to America to help that naughty Mr Trump we thought we'd better do something, so we asked the nice people at the phone company to change our number and gave the new one to everyone except Mr Boris. So when the phone rang we thought it might be someone important like The Queen or Mr Pete... but it was Mr Boris!
“Ha-fwar! You don't get rid of me so easily chaps, got your number off Her Maj! Now about this Trumping trip...!”
Then we did what Mr Pete told us to do if Mr Boris phoned again and we set off a little tape recorder he'd given us, and it said:
“Hello, you've reached the office of Sir Keir Starmer MP .”
Well, that had an effect because Mr Boris shouted “Argh!” and put the phone down really quickly.
So we thought everything would be fine again.
But the very next day we were woken up by really loud noises on top of our womble burrow. And when we went to see what was going on, there were lots of workmen building a really big tower!
“What's going on?” we asked.
“New luxury tower block.” they said “By Desmond Property Developments on behalf of Jendrick, Cummings & Chums.”
“But this is a public park!” we said “And we're a protected species!”
“Ha!” said a voice from behind a bush. And out stepped Mr Cummings!
“You're living in the past! That was before we ripped up all the planning regulations! When we said 'Build, Build, Build' we meant build on parkland, build on sites of special scientific interest, build on newts! We want to create a land fit for property developers! Especially if they're Tory party donors! That'll teach you not to do what you're told! Ha! Revenge is mine!”
And then he drove off in an SUV leaving tracks all over the common!
Well, this got us all very worried so we had a discussion about what to do. And we decided to call Mr Pete, who said he'd come right away.
And when he arrived he took one look at the big pointy scaffolding tower and said
“I think I have the answer. Fetch me a paint pot.”
Then he painted “5G” on it in big red letters.
“And now,” he said “would be a good time to set up a stall selling pitchforks.”
And he did something with his phone and a few minutes later the tower was surrounded by a big crowd of angry people foaming at the mouth and carrying flaming torches and they burned the whole thing to the ground!

04/07/2020

A message from the Deco!

Get those subtitles on... you know exactly what we're hearing on the 4th of July, 4pm 2020! ;) All credit, of course, to the film. We're not trying to do any...

22/06/2020

Here's the Womble Story for this week!

Well, our phone rang again and we sort of all sat round staring at it because it's a bit of an old phone and it doesn't have one of those little televisions on it that tell you who's ringing and we were all a bit worried it might be Mr Boris. But then we thought it might be somebody else important instead, like Mr Pete or The Queen, so we thought we better answer it. And then we wished we hadn't because it was Mr Boris again.

“Hi chaps! Wonder if you could help me out? I'm in a bit of a pickle with old Trumpers. Been trying to sort out this US trade deal and we'd already offered to take all the chlorinated chicken and bonkers beef our proles could eat, but he still wasn't biting so I asked him why:
'What's the problem old chap?'
'All your British people hate me don't they? I don't want to sell all our chickens to people who hate me.'
'What? No, not at all! They love you! You don't want to believe anything you read in the press! All fake news! I know, I used to write it!'
'Do they really love me?'
'Yes of course.'
'Really bigly much love me?'
'Yes they all think you're wonderful! They're always talking about you! In fact they even fly special Trump balloons just for you!'
'Prove it. Send them over here.'
'What?!'
'I need people who love me. Lots of people who love me. Everyone's saying that my rally wasn't full. And that's not true, because it was the greatest rally ever. I know, because I just said so. But I need lots of people next time. And I will have lots of people. Because they all love me. Except the Democrats. And all those other nasty people. But just in case. Send me people. Lots of people.'
And then he rang off! So you see chaps I'm in a bit of a pickle, because the only man in Britain who actually loves Trump is old Farty Farage, and we're not on speaking terms ever since I swiped his Brexit!”
“Er, but what can we do?”
“Surely you can spare a few wombles?”
“But you need lots and lots of people. What difference will a few wombles make?”
“Ah, this is the clever bit – you're forgetting, we redefined the word 'womble' for our testing targets so it now means 'A thousand people'. Dom hacked the English Dictionary - genius move! So all we need is a dozen or so wombles and we've already got twice the number of people at his last rally!”
Well, this got us a bit concerned, but then one of us thought of something.
“Um... don't the Americans use a different dictionary?”
“Cripes, you're right! I'll get Dom onto it pronto! Toodle pip!”

To be continued...

17/06/2020

Here's the Womble Story that I didn't do on Monday! Sorry about my very bad attempt at rendering Thick Racist Football Hooligan Speech, they ended up sounding a bit like the trolls in The Hobbit, which I guess isn't too surprising. Also I had a lot of ideas I didn't use, as some subjects are probably best left alone, but it does mean that this is not one of the better ones:

Well we'd just been on the phone to a nice person at the phone company but the conversation didn't go very well:
“Hello, we keep getting nuisance calls from someone”
“OK, what number are they calling on?”
“Um, we can't really give you his number.”
“Why not?”
“Because he's the Prime Minister.”
And it all went a bit wrong after that.
So we'd just stopped trying to explain things to her when the phone rang again and we thought she was ringing us back but she wasn't.
“Hi chaps, it's Boris!”
“Oh no!” we all thought.
“How'd you like to protect some statues?”
“Statues?”
“Yes, we've got some people wound up about statues and another load of people who are wound up about the people who are wound up about statues and we need someone to stand between them and quietly defuse the situation.”
“Er... that doesn't sound very safe.”
“It'll be fine! All Dom's idea. He calls it 'The Cute Deterrent.' The idea is they see a bunch of cute furry talking animals and forget about attacking each other and start taking selfies with you lot instead.”
“But what if it goes wrong and they start attacking each other and we're stuck in the middle?”
“No problem, I did ask him about that. He said 'That's the plan – good riddance to the little furry b*stards!'. Oh cripes, don't think I was meant to say that bit!”
“Um, we really don't want to do that. It sounds a bit dangerous.”
“Ah, that's a shame. Talking to a chap at dinner yesterday who says he's happy to b**g me a few million for the rights to develop a new property on Wimbledon Common, somewhere around... sorry, where was your burrow again?”
So the next day we found ourselves standing near a statue. But the statue was in a big metal box and none of the people who were meant to be attacking it were there and instead there were lots of police and there were a lot of angry looking men standing by the box and chanting something we couldn't quite make out, but it sounded like “In Gay Land! In Gay Land!”
Well, we weren't quite sure what we we meant to be doing but then a policeman saw us and said:
“Ah, you're the Elite De-Escalation Team we've been told to expect.”
“We are?”
“Yes. The PM said you would be 'Small, furry, harmless and on Dom's hit list'. Off you go! And good luck! Just scream loudly if you need us.”
So we went over to the men by the statue and we were a bit worried because they were all the sort of people we hide from when they come onto the common and leave lots of rubbish.
“Oo the f**k are you?” said a big wobbly fat man with a bottle.
“Um, we're wombles.”
“Wombles? Wassa womble? Are you... British?”
“Er... yes!”
“You don't look British. That one's brown. And you're all furry.”
“Um, we're all native wildlife. We've been on TV too. On the BBC.”
“Ha! BBC! All full of foreigners! And they won't even let us watch nuffink proper no more!”
And then one of us had a really good idea and said:
“Um... we're really glad you're here protecting this statue from all those people who aren't here!”
Well his eyes rolled a bit as if he was trying to figure out if we were insulting him but then he said:
“Yeah! If it wan't for 'im we'd all be speaking German! Innat right, lads?! Sieg Heil!”
And then they all put their hands in the air and shouted along with him.
Well, we all looked at each other in that way where we all knew what we were thinking but we were all really really hoping no one would say it. And whilst we were all holding our breath and trying not to say anything the man started talking again.
“Yeah if it wan't for us they'd be tearing down statues and doin' riots. But we're here to stop 'em! Where the f**k are they?”
“Um... we don't think they're coming. They were all a bit sensible and said they wanted to avoid causing trouble.”
“Wa? Oo the f**k are we gonna scrap wiv now?”
“Er... aren't you here to stop riots?”
“Nah we're here for a scrap! Start bottling the pigs lads!”
And then they started throwing things at all the policemen!
Well, at this point we figured our de-escalating hadn't gone very well so it was time to run away. Unfortunately everywhere was full of angry big fat men with tattoos and red crosses, so we did the only thing we could – we all formed a Womble Ladder and got on top of the big metal box! And so we sat on top of it having a picnic whilst we watched all the big scary fat men fighting the policemen...

08/06/2020

Here's the Womble Story for this week! I think it's one of the better ones :-)

Well we'd been enjoying a couple of weeks of wombling around by ourselves when suddenly the phone rang and it was Mr Boris again!
“Uh oh” we thought...
“Chaps! Been a while!”
“Er, sorry, we couldn't say nice but untrue things about Mr Cummings...”
“Oh, that? Completely forgotten about it and so has everyone else, I was going to ask The Donald to step in but then he stepped in something else entirely and now Dom's completely off the hook! Good thing too, as he's come up with another wizard wheeze! You're going to help us hit all our testing targets!”
“Er... we are?”
“Yes, thanks to one genius idea by Dom all our testing target troubles are toast!”
“Um... so how are we meant to be helping?”
“Simple! Dom's just redefined the word 'Womble'. It no longer means 'Small cuddly eco friendly animal fondly remembered from children's TV'. Now it means 'A Thousand People'.”
“Er... what?!”
“Don't you see? Six wombles get tested and that counts as six thousand people. Even better, if you each take the test twice that's 12 thousand people!”
“But we don't even know if the tests work on wombles!”
“Oh don't worry you don't actually have to take them! We just post them to you and that counts whether you take them or not! Genius!”
“Isn't that a bit... um... dishonest?”
“Not at all ! I can honestly state hand on heart that it's entirely in line with the way we've been presenting our testing statistics for months!”
“Um... we're really not sure about this...”
“Too late! We've just posted 100 kits to your burrow and hit our target for this week already!”
“What?”
“You should be happy to think that each of you is now worth a thousand proles! That makes you almost as valuable as a Tory MP! Oh, and don't say anything about it to Starmer or we'll have you done for overcrowding a womble burrow!”
“But there's plenty of space in our burrow!”
“Not for twelve thousand people! Bye!”
And then he rang off!

25/05/2020

Here's the Womble Story for this week!

Well once the Witches had explained they were definitely not going to help any more, we went back home to Wimbledon for breakfast, and we were really rather glad to be home because the Witches are a little bit scary! But whilst we were having breakfast the phone rang and it was Mr Boris again!
“Chaps! Wonder if you'd like to do a press conference for me?”
“Um... press conference?”
“It's the Dom Debacle! I've run out of people who are prepared to stand up and defend the indefensible! Bloody cowards! Even the Daily Mail are against us now, and things don't get any more serious than that! Trouble is we can't tell anyone the real reason he had to go there.”
“Er.. why was that?”
“Well, the Witches didn't tell me, but it turns out that they'd nabbed him from Durham Cathedral, and it's in the contract that once a year he has to go back there and do a stint of proper gargoyling! I think that's why we're getting all that Twitter flak from those bally Bishops, they know a missing gargoyle when they see one! Although maybe we should just come out with it - compared to 'My eyesight felt a bit dodgy so it was vitally necessary to drive 30 miles to go and stare at a castle, no officer the fact it was my wife's birthday had nothing to do with it', the line 'I'm actually a gargoyle and am infernally obliged to go and perch on a cathedral once a year' sounds positively reasonable!”
“So, er... what do you want us to do?”
“Well, the same as all the other chaps are refusing to do - stand up and say it was all quite legal and above board, no apology needed and will you please stop banging on about it when we've got an important crisis to mismanage. Thing is you're cute and cuddly, and it'll be a nice distraction having the first Womble spokespeople. Besides, you look honest!”
"Yes, but... we are honest!”
"Splendid! So you'll do it?”
“Er, no, that would involve lying.”
“Well, yes. Obviously. What's the problem?”
“We're honest and we don't want to stand up in front of people and lie to them.”
“Sorry?”
Well things went on like this for a while till eventually Mr Boris realised that we thought lying was actually a bit of a big problem.
“But chaps! You can't let me down like this! Dom is my brains! He's the only Brexiteer with any sort of clue! He's got a devilish ability to win votes by appealing to the ordinary working class salt of the earth whippet loving closet racist. I'd be sunk without him – I'd actually have to start thinking for myself, which is far too much hassle! Or I could try and see what Raab and Patel could come up with... oh cripes, maybe there is something worse than thinking for myself!”
And then we had an idea and we phoned Mr Pete for some advice! And he said:
“Maybe you could say that you've both caught coronavirus again and have to both self isolate somewhere until it's safe to come out again. Like some time in 2030 maybe? And someone else could just run the country whilst you're away so you don't have to worry about it. I've heard that Starmer chap is pretty good.”
“Spiffing idea! Oh, hang on... isolated with Dom for ages with no crumpets! And that blighter Starmer running things! No, scrap that one! He'd show me up something rotten! I'll just have to ask someone else to handle the press. But the only chap I haven't asked is... Rees-Mogg. Cripes! Even The Donald could do better than him! Hang on, that's a thought, I wonder if old Trumpers is available for press conferences..?”
And then he hung up!

To be continued...

18/05/2020

It's Monday, so it's the next installment in the hapless adventures of Pete's Wombles! Boris has asked the Wombles to try and reboot a reanimated Margaret Thatcher after she accidentally exploded, but when they asked the Witches of Wimbledon it turns out he owes them a favour or three...

“Wombles! Chaps! How's it going?”
“Um, well, we're talking to the Witches of Wimbledon right now and they say you owe them a few things...”
“Oh cripes, forgot about that! Tell them they can have the speckled calves and the offshore tax haven, but the brace of virgins is a bit of an issue. Just can't help myself! You know how it is, one moment there's a brace of virgins, next thing you know it's all gone wrong and they're suing me for child support! But tell them they can have another tax haven or two if they can sort out my big problem. And I'll throw in a hotline to Pure Evil itself - they can have Priti Patel's phone number!”
Well, the witches must have had really good hearing, because they said:
“We'll stop no plagues! We'd be drummed out of the Witching Guild for that! We're not poncey White Witches!”
“Ah, no, not the plague problem, I mean my biggest problem - Keir Starmer! It's like facing the English Inquisition! He keeps on asking me bloody awkward questions as if I'm expected to know things and looks really disappointed when I don't! Makes me feel like I'm some sort of chancer who's bamboozled his way into being PM without actually having a clue! Worse still, if people run out of things to watch on Netflix and get bored enough to start watching PMQs they might start to think the same. Even the Telegraph thinks he's brighter than me! Bally traitors, where would they be if I hadn't made up all those jolly EU columns for them years ago?”
“No extra hexing till we get what you owe us! Besides, we won't have to stick pins in any Boris mannequins whilst Sir Keir is doing it so nicely instead!”
“Damn, I thought you'd be happy with what I've achieved! We've got a cabinet run by incompetent lizards, the second highest plague toll in the world and the only good thing about the economy is it's so bad people won't notice the Brexit bash after the corona crash - after all, if you've just jumped off a cliff you don't care too much about a quick burst of Brexit buckshot on the way down!”
“Yes but Beelzebub has still Trumped us! You're crap, but not in the same league as The Donald!”
“Would it help if I armed the lockdown protestors and chlorinated some chicken?”
“Hmm now you're talking. Maybe if you gave us Priti Patel's phone number too... and say that next time you're ill she can run the country.”
“Oh cripes, that's a toughie!”
“And the virgins, the speckled calves and the tax havens.”
“Fwah! OK, done, it's a deal, just hex Starmer pronto!”
“If you give your word as a gentleman we'll give ours as a coven of witches.”
“Splendid! Word given! That's done then! Ah, must go, the fiancé's about to stumble over a crumpet!”
And then he rang off!
“Um... do you think he'll do all those bad things...?” we asked.
“No of course he won't! And we're not going to hex Keir Starmer either – we're enjoying it too much!”

To be continued...

11/05/2020

The latest instalment in the Womble Saga! We pick up after Boris has just asked the Wombles to try and reboot a reanimated Margaret Thatcher after she accidentally exploded. For which they have to once more consult the Witches of Wimbledon...

Well, when we got back to Wimbledon Common the Witches were still there!
“Ah, our little Womble friends! How did it go?”
“Er... well, she sort of exploded!”
Then they started cackling.
“Yes, we thought she might!”
“And now Mr Boris wants us to ask her again.”
“Boris won't get anything more out of us! He still owes us one soul, three speckled calves, a brace of virgins and an offshore tax haven. And we still haven't forgiven him for saying he only came to us because Beelzebub had refused him! No manners, that boy!”
“Er, hang on, you mean...”
“Yes! We're responsible for the whole thing! You don't think a bumbling incompetent like him would be running the country otherwise? We only did it because we told Beelzebub that we could get a better class of bumbling incompetent than the one he's got. At least ours went to Eton! His is just embarrassing! Standards, darlings, standards! And even then we were only allowed to do it after a long debate in the Inner Council of Hell – or, as it's known to you ordinary mortals, the European Research Group.”
Well, we were a bit astonished at this!
“But... surely...?”
“Wasn't it obvious? All those unlikely events? The dread Curse of Collapsing Conferences we put on Theresa May? All those times he spent staring at his notes muttering 'Is this a No Deal Brexit I see before me?' And did we not give him a cunningly disguised familiar demon to guide his every action?”
“Crikey, you mean that cute little dog they've got is actually a familiar demon?”
“No, of course not darlings! It's Dominic Cummings! Hmm, maybe the disguise could have been a bit more cunning on that one... he's a bit too obviously in touch with his Inner Gargoyle.”
And then the phone rang and it was Mr Boris!

To be continued...