COLD STEEL COMEUPPANCE

VINCE CLEARED!

Oh don't you love these tales of heroism and bravado?

Two intruders bust into a house, threaten a solo bloke; wife and kid return, pater naturally leaps to their defence, prongs one of the villains as t'other scarpers.

Photo left/right: Valiant Vince ~ Tea Leaf

Even better, the pronged pratt isn't killed outright but has time to think it over while being "given first aid by paramedics and attending officers."

'Died at the scene shortly after,' has to be the money line.

^5, homeowner hero, Vincent Cooke.

"Some local residents however [sic] have voiced support for the homeowner for defending his family and property."

WTF do they mean 'however'?

Oh boy, oh boy - good cold steel. I bet they got the scare of their lives, specially the bleeder who copped it.

I notice the filth are up to their usual tricks of imagining some blame to the homebody defender. There should be a fund ever present for this sort of thing, not just to make sure the Good Guy escapes further inconvenience but to STFU PC Plod and noise the coolness abroad pour beaucoup encourager les autres.

Hot damn! Where's my bourbon, where's my Bowie?

Flowers for the Thief: Get this, it gets better and better.

The bald baddie in the right-hand pic up there was called Raymond Jacob. As thuggish a looking cove one could hope to puncture.

'On Sunday afternoon relatives of Mr Jacob, of Northern Moor, Greater Manchester, laid flowers outside Mr Cooke’s home.

One read:

“To my baby boy who will always be my baby boy. I will miss you, but never stop loving you. Mum.”

[You know what? There's a heartening sight we don't see enough of - the crumpled features of crooks' nearests and dearests as payback time sinks in. There's the money shot, fo' sho'. Someone should pin copies up wherever these types congregate.]

But I digress.

Last night friends and relatives also left tributes for Mr Jacob social networking websites.

“Still doesnt feel real, cant believe your gone we will all miss you.” [sic] '

Some baby, some boy. And shouldn't it be 'miss you and never stop loving you'? One can do both, easy.

As for not believing the thug's gorn, I bet he was talking the job up and boasting about it in the boozer beforehand.

I want them to pull in Jacob's accomplice fast so he can simper out his side of the story. Love it! Mild-looking Vince sees off two bully boys. My dear, their faces ... and can't you just hear the chatter in the pub? Mister Tough Guy sliced and his bum boy sent packing.

Natty shooting - excellent vivid Youtube clip of some punk catching lead. Good no-nonsense stuff and rare footage of villain hitting the deck slap on.

Η ομορφάσχημη

The Ugly Beauty

Stunning, gripping performance in the Art Café annexe of the Garden of the Palace by Natalía Kapodístria.

I quote from Corfu's God-send, Whats-up-Corfu:

"Theatrical adaptation, direction, costume interpretation by Natalía Kapodístria.

The Omorfaschimi (The Ugly Beauty) ... a theatrical monologue adaptation of the eponymous literary text of Νίκος Καχτίτσης, narrated in a letter to a friend, the story of Gertrude Stern, an Austrian Jew who as a child actually lived through World War II."

The audience is politely seated, it is close with the two fans uselessly placed several rows back at the rear of the room, cooling only the paintings.

Ms Kapodístria enters stage left with a glittering smile, reflected in her equally burning eyes, a warning of her remarkable armoury of expressions.

She is wearing over nothing else what I call a 'war heroine' coat that looks cruelly hot for the evening - indeed, if Natalía had stood stock still it would have been warm for the night, but the intensity of her performance wrings rivulets down her delicate bone structure.

She has a remarkable face - burning eyes, killer profile, a pointy chin that has a vocabulary of its own.

She used every prop - pillar, table, chair - with a dangerously feline grace and her voice ... oh poh poh ... tears, laughter, low confidences, but always with a perilous edge of hysteria.

This wasn't acting as mere mortals dish up; we were there. Before we took our seats I worried about the robust brass band that was entertaining a few doors down. As it was, I was deaf to everything except Ms Kapodístria's captive magic.

It sounds as if I understood most of the monologue. I did not but I had done my homework on Καχτίτσης, sufficient to have the drift and, if I needed, I had the multi-lingual assistance of a Kapodístria grand-daughter/daughter/niece at my side to translate. I was in distinguished company and it was a moving honour to see my fellow audience pay court to the respected pater familias who was with us in the front row.

Live Performance ~ Too often I'm lazy about stirring myself to attend theatre en personne. That night's gruelling gripping involvement reminded and brought home to me what I lose if I choose the lazy, losing way out and settle for the screen.

We need that kick up the derrière that only a 'live' artiste can deliver.

Recovery - no sooner had this tour de force ended than the family - then the rest of the crowd - shuffled back-stage to offer congratulations.

There she sat, in the blessing of her unlit sanctuary, recovering. What a performance.

If I was her man or her manager I'd have whisked her off to a corner and rammed a large single malt into her delicate paw as I beat off the polloi:

"Back you dogs! Give her to room to recover!"

But no, Natalía had her next trial ~ being polite to her fans.

Bravo, that heroine.

CORFU GRAPEVINE

Splendid splendid. Just what I want.

Let's hope it's juicy and scurrilous.

I'll certainly be feeding it from the hot sweaty bottom of the compost pile.

JOHN LEE FOR PREZ

"Great guitar" - Corfu Blues Man

Lord have mercy!

Have the porter's boy run like the wind to Nonesuch.

Pray God we're in time for them to fire up a reprint for when the Blues Man quote hits the street.

Also ~

"One of the best albums of a distinguished career ... the sharp gallows humour and uncanny impersonation on John Lee Hooker for President, which imagines the great old bluesman's manifesto for the White House."

"Everyone gets one bourbon, one scotch, one beer
Three times a day if they stay cool
And little chill’uns get milk, cream and alcohol
Two times a day if they stay involved in school."

POISONOUS PRATTLES

You know my devious ways ... deeve deeve deeve.

Plot, scheme - a brace of rumours here, fun fibs there.

See that distinctly dubious-looking cove stage right? Rebekah's gutter press certainly judged landlord Chris Jefferies weird enough to hound over the murder of Jo Yeates before the jury was even in.

Jefferies was cleared and it was payback time.

The beguiling Rebecca Leighton was locked up on suspicion of poisoning her patients, and I bet there's a red top out there biting their nails they got it right.

I knew she didnt do it. Too cute, too dimpled.

[She can saline my Sauvignon any day, nerdge wink].

There's too much gun-jumping going on these days and it's the pre-judged wretches who end up wishing someone would pull the trigger.

Here's my suggestion to the cheeky Ms Leighton:

You know you're innocent.

Play them along, drop some rubbery bait to have The Man overstep the mark

Be taken into custody on surface evidence.

Resign self to the bull dykes having a good time giving you a baad time.

When the time comes for the truth to come out ~ egg on face and lucre in your wallet.

See where I'm going?