March 31st – OK, here’s the scenario. You’re out with your
mates on a night out, you've had a couple of tonic waters (no piss-head antics
for you, you’re a serious guy/gal who has 'knowledge') and you’re feeling good about the night to
come. You reach your destination, take your place in the arena of entertainment
when, of a sudden, you are faced with the power of evil; yup, the Devil
hisself!
You suspected he might be there but kinda hoped your night-out would be demon-free.
The trouble is YOU are the only person who knows it’s him; the real one, the
gen-you-iyne horn-ed beastie, he of 636 fame, Beelzebub, Satan, X-Factor judge,
Loo-see-fur…so, what are you going to do about it?
You can’t tell your friends, they wouldn't
believe you. With the level of alcohol they've consumed they hardly know who
they are, you’d just waste time in the explanation…and time isn't something
you've got plenty of, not if you want to stop the destruction of all you hold
dear; crème brulee with a strawberry and rhubarb base, crispy pork crackling, home-made marmalade spread thickly on hot-buttered toast… No, you’re going to have to
handle this one on your own, buddy.
You search around for a weapon,
remembering all those X-Men and vampire movies you've seen where something
suitable with which to deal with the epitome of evil just happens to come to
hand in time for the rich, handsome hero/heroine to use it and save the planet…
There’s something to ponder. Why is it always some rich, titled, chinless twerp that’s preserved…? No, on second
thoughts, who’d want to ensure the continuation of a life by embracing the lifestyle of a gutter-snipe urchin reared on a diet of drudgery and strife
over the lifestyle of a rich, caviar-munching time of ease supported by a fleet of chauffeur-driven limos and lots of sweeties? No, I understand why
now…right, back to the action…
...There are no magic-bolted crossbows,
no silver bullets, let alone a gun to fire them from, and no magisterial
support from a foreign nobleman who's studied the ways of the Evil One and so
can shout encouragement from the sidelines; things like,
“Kick him in the goolies, that’ll
slow him down!”
But wait! What’s this? Suddenly you
feel empowered as you reach into your jacket pocket and discover…a penknife...
There’s something to ponder. I mean,
nowadays they scan you with detectors when you go into most places where crowds
are gathered; imagine if this search strategy was in operation in, say, Dracula (not those endless rubbish remakes from the Hammer House of Horrors film studio I mean the original Bram Stoker work, now there's a real scary story) what if this search strategy was in operation in that instance; where would we be then? I tell you where; fucked. No crème brulee with a
strawberry and rhubarb base, no crispy pork crackling, no marmalade spread
thickly on hot-buttered toast…in fact the end of civilisation as we know it,
that’s where we'd be, and all because of some overzealous security hack. So, on with the tale.
...You draw the weapon gently from your
pocket and open the blade, carefully concealing both it and your purpose so as
not to startle the Emissary of Evil. Then, with a huge leap you’re up and
alongside him! The crowd gasps as, faced with you and your three-inch
apple-peeler in your raised hand, Satan’s face registers fear, loathing and menace
all in the same expression (imagine something like a gurning gargoyle or a 100
year-old Steve Tyler; that’s what he looks like) because he knows he's
facing a worthy adversary… Satan raises his axe (Gibson 335, Cherry, gold
pick-ups) to fight back, then, all goes black…
Now, I know that there’s much to
consider here but, really, I mean, of all the things alluded to above one of
them is really, really highly unlikely; I mean, who goes out to fight and slay
the Devil with a penknife? Well, Mr. Lance Cunningham for one.
On this day in 1995, Mr. Cunningham
stormed the stage…can one person ‘storm’ anything? Journalistic licence, I
guess… so, he stormed the stage at a concert given by Jimmy Page and Robert
Plant because he knew, he alone knew that Page was, in fact, Satan. Determined
though he was, Mr. Cunningham was a bit off with the hacking and slashing, the
result being that Satan Page escaped his nemesis…but four audience members were
injured in the process.
So there you have it. Keep a watchful
eye open ye brothers and sisters of Buffy, he’s still out there waiting,
guitaring, re-defining the 12-bar blues. Just make sure you keep yourself
well-armed, a carefully concealed spatula or pastry brush may just be the thing
that saves humankind from a fate worse than Rock ‘n’ Roll…
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