Top farter Mr Methane is related to the Queen of England (& possibly Scotland)

Mr Methane issued a ‘ring tone’ to celebrate Diamond Jubilee

My chum Mr Methane is the world’s only professionally performing flatulist.

He farts for a living.

And a very good living it is.

His sister recently decided to look into the family history.

“Yes,” Mr Methane told me, “Margaret decided to do our dad’s mum’s side of the family first, because we didn’t know a lot about them.”

“Our dad’s mum was a Hulley but, in olden times, they also spelled it Hooley. We had a great granddad in Sutton, near Macclesfield, called Jasper Hulley and he had 19 children.”

“Bloody hell,” I said.

“Yes,” said Mr Methane, “he really got going. He had two wives – I think because he wore the first one out. Going back through Jasper’s family, we ended up in among the Brindleys.

“Margaret said: Ooh! We’ve got Brindleys in the family!”

“You can,” I told Mr Methane, “get tablets for that.” He ignored me.

James Brindley with his Barton Aqueduct in the background (by Francis Parsons, 1770)

“She only follows the direct bloodline,” he continued. “The ones who did the deed which means we exist.

“I said to her: I wonder if we’re any relation to James Brindley. I knew he had served his apprenticeship at a place called Gurnett near Sutton. The Brindley Society say James was one of the thinkers and doers that made the Industrial Revolution kick-in.”

“Is that because of the canals?” I asked.

“Well, he was a millwright. He came from Wormhill in the Peak District. He understood water power and he also got himself abreast of steam power, so he was working on the first factories and he was big friends with Josiah Wedgwood of Stoke – the pottery man – and the Duke of Bridgewater in Manchester.”

“As in the Bridgewater Canal?” I asked.

“Exactly,” said Mr Methane. “He built the Bridgwater Canal and that changed everything, because suddenly the Duke of Bridgewater could transport lots of his coal much cheaper than he could by packhorses. It completely changed the economics of moving stuff around.

Mr Methane’s modest, mild-mannered alter ego Paul Oldfield

“And Josiah Wedgwood wanted his factories not just to be making pottery but also delivering it all over the country. He wanted his raw materials in and his goods out. So the new canals were a transport revolution. In the end, my sister found out that James Brindley is our great-great-great-great-great uncle.

“So we were quite happy in the knowledge that we were linked to this guy who helped launch the 18th century’s equivalent of the space age.

“But then my sister said: I’ll go into the Bowmans now. They were related to us and they were a noble family who had their own crest. They were very early in the Quaker movement and got locked up. Some of them stood up in church at Alstonefield, Derbyshire, and renounced the Church of England and they were put in prison, because Quakerism was a bit naughty.

Mr Methane prepares to fart a dart from his bottom in the Malcolm Hardee Comedy Awards Show at Edinburgh Fringe

“Then, through the Bowmans, we ended up in the Beresfords who are a proper noble family from Fenny Bentley in Derbyshire. They’ve go a family tomb there. One of my relations is Thomas Beresford. He was called Sir Beresford of Beresford.

“He had about 16 sons and the tomb doesn’t have his effigy, because the tomb was made much later and they didn’t know what he looked like. So the sculptor made a shroud and, on the tomb, he’s in a shroud that looks not unlike a sack tied at one end. It’s a bit like a magician’s act, I suppose. It’s a shame about Keith Harris, isn’t it?”

“Eh?” I asked, startled.

“He died, you know,” said Mr Methane.

“The ventriloquist?” I asked, surprised. “I know. Is he related?”

“No, no,” said Mr Methane. “I was just thinking about magicians’ acts and Keith Harris came into me head. Apparently Orville (his ventriloquist’s doll) has taken the death terribly. He just lies there, saying nothing…

The Beresford Bear

“Anyway… Thomas Beresford… He was a proper nobleman and it says on the Beresford family tomb that the Beresfords were from Beresford Dale. Their crest has a bear on it and there’s a Beresford Society.

“Margaret rang up the genealogist there and went through it all with him and he said: Yeah, you’re in the family.

“Sir Thomas Beresford is like my 13th granddad. As a nobleman, he had to raise an army of at least ten men and go fight with the king whenever he was asked, so he fought at Agincourt… Well, they’re not sure if it was Thomas Beresford himself or his father.

“And that was quite exciting, until we found out his mother was Lady Elizabeth Bassett and the Bassetts of Blore and the Beresfords for years just fought and nicked each other’s sheep. Blore is the next parish down from Beresford Dale and Fenny Bentley.

“Then, when you get into the Bassett (earlier called Basset) family, it just goes mad. You just end up related to every noble person around. They went all over the place from Cambridge to Wales to Cornwall. The Queen is descended from one of the Sir William Bassetts – there were loads of them.

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother

“There’s a family strand that goes through the Cavendishes, then the Bowes-Lyons – the Queen Mother was a Bowes-Lyon – to the present Queen. She’s probably like a 1,017th cousin of mine or something but the Queen and us are definitely in there in among the Bassetts.”

“And your sister Margaret is still researching?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” said Mr Methane, “Following what the Bassett Society and The Beresford Society have done, we’ve got back to Thurston de Basset, who was Grand Falconer to William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. That’s where we’ve ended up.

“And apparently two Bassetts were among the King’s counsellors at the signing of the Magna Carta. I see a whole American market here. I think I might just give up farting or build a theme round it that includes the family history. I think I might have found my route into after-dinner speaking.

“So I think I have to go up-market now. Not just common-or-garden farting but noble farting. I mean, Thurston de Basset, Grand Falconer to William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings – They were firing arrows at King Harold in 1066 and I’m still farting darts out of my bottom at balloons on stage all these years later. It must be in the genes.”

Mr Methane, distant claimant to the throne of England, displays the bottomless pit of his patriotism

The Dirty Girls, Mr Methane, old man abuse, Keith Harris & Orvillle the duck

The Dirty Girls in Los Angeles reached out to Mr Methane…

Another day. Another not-quite-enough-time-to-write-a-blog moment. So, a follow-up to yesterday’s blog in which international farteur Mr Methane had decided not to perform at The Dirty Girls’ Funny Farty Yoga Party in Los Angeles.

Mr Methane guessed (I paraphrase) that The Dirty Girls thought he was mad and therefore must live in Los Angeles. Whereas I myself can vouch for the fact that he is mad and lives in Macclesfield in the UK.

Dirty Girl Amber Willat, who is helping to organise the Funny Farty Yoga Party on Sunday 15th March, contacted me last night to say:

“Well, Mr Methane was right, I was sort of under the Everyone cool and eccentric lives in the Hollywood Hills spell and either figured or hoped he was ripping it up in Hollywood which, by the way, is across town – not down the street – and, in LA traffic, that means it might as well take eight hours to get to us.

Mr Methane has internal propulsion…

“We think Mr Methane should blow out of town (England) and get his butt over here for our event. Just hop on a plane and live a little! It will be an adventure. We will personally put him up, feed him, and entertain him for a week. I think Howard Stern could use another visit from him and I have friends with podcasts who would love to interview him.”

I had to tell Amber: “I suspect the problem with Mr Methane is the airfare to L.A. although, one would think, with his own internal propulsion system, he would not actually need an airplane, as you Colonials quaintly call aeroplanes.”

“Yeah,” said Amber, “I never once thought Mr. Methane would be using a plane. I never even considered there would be airfare! Darn!”

Meanwhile, Mr Methane himself contacted me to say:

“Richard Simmons – that’s his name – The celebrity LA fitness instructor who looks like Leo Sayer I was trying to tell you about but couldn’t remember his name. It looks like he’s going through a bad patch at the moment which I’m sorry to hear. The Daily Mail reported that the Los Angeles Police did a welfare check on the fitness guru at his Hollywood Hills home after a friend allegedly sent an email to the LA County DA’s office saying Simmons was 66 and being abused. The LAPD said he was in good health but had a slight limp and was depressed after a knee injury.

“Anyway,” Mr Methane continued, “while looking for fitted kitchens on Ebay I came across this ad for solid granite kitchen worktops fronted by Keith Harris and Orville.

Keith Harris and Orville like solid granite kitchen worktops…

“I can’t really get to the bottom of why Keith and Orville are on this advert. There is no reference in the text to give out any clues. In the normal world which most people inhabit, I suspect a bloke who was a Saturday night TV favourite 30+ years ago just turning up at your kitchen showroom with his hand inserted into the back of a green duck puppet would be a bit unsettling.

“I can only surmise that, as they live on the Fylde where this eBay seller is located, he’s a friend of the eBay seller… or Keith and Orville own a share in a Granite Worktop Fitted Kitchen Company on the Fylde. This is not impossible as Bob Carolgees (formerly starring on Tiswas with his hand up puppet Spit The Dog) owns a candle shop near Frodsham. So why not Keith and Orville getting into kitchens?

“Remember I told you Keith Harris sold a nightclub in Poulton-Le-Fylde to a chap called Elliot? Maybe he took that money and put it into kitchens. Though, if that’s so, I’m baffled as to who is the financial brains behind the business – Keith or Orville?”

Festive greetings from Farter Christmas

In yesterday’s blog about Mr Methane, I mentioned the Lancashire town of Poulton-le-Fylde and eccentrics.

Mick Cookson (extreme right) in Mr Methane’s Let It Rip

Mr M has now told me that esteemed ventriloquist Keith Harris and his best friends Orville & Chuckles live in Poulton-le-Fylde – “Or,” says Mr Methane, “at least they were still living there in 2006 when we did BBC TV show The Slammer together.

“Keith had a nightclub which he sold to a guy called Elliot. Elliot was a DJ who had made a load of money by building up a nightclub in Workington and then selling it for a tidy profit. He then came south and worked for Mick Cookson at Panama Joes/Meancat Daddies in Burnley as a DJ. Mick is the guy who interviews people in the Butt Pipe Shocker segments on my Let’s Rip DVD

“Elliot once booked me for a gig at Keith’s club which he had re-named Elliot’s – I did not go down well as it wasn’t my crowd. You could say I died on my arse.

Even Mr Methane strikes low notes amid glamour

“It was a lowpoint in my career. But then I’ve had many low points. Live entertainers tend to have more low points than high points or at least an equal amount – it’s just part of the game. If they’re not your crowd, they’re not your crowd.

“I can remember working with ‘Sir Bernard Cholmondeley’ (Matt Lucas) at Southampton Guild Hall – New Year 1996, I think it was – The crowd just threw things at him and shouted him off. All they wanted was tit-and-arse jokes with a bit of farting thrown in.

“But, as history shows, a bad gig for Sir Bernard and a good gig for Mr Methane are not a good indicator of future commercial success, so you just draw a line and move on. Good gigs happen. Bad gigs happen. And occasionally people throw dangerous objects like Brown Ale bottles and pint glasses at you. Merry Christmas.”

I have also received Christmas greetings and news from the Colonies.

Last week, this blog’s occasional Canadian correspondent Anna Smith sent me a piece which I posted about ‘Ben from Glasgow’. Last night, she found Ben at his usual workplace on the pavement. Or, depending on your use of English, on the sidewalk.

Ben from Glasgow in his Vancouver workplace. (Photograph by Anna Smith)

“As it was Christmas Eve,” Anna says, “people were lining up outside the liquor store. I told Ben:

“You’re in a blog in London. Let me show you. Your grandad is in it too.

“My grandad’s in it?

“Yes,” I told him. “You’re both in it – together on the same page.

“Ben was overjoyed to see the pictures. In the meantime, people were throwing money into his cap – loonies ($1 coins), toonies ($2 coins) and bills.

“I stood out of the way, leaning against the wall beside him, reading bits of the blog to him. A lot of the people on the sidewalk knew him by his first name and were happy to have an excuse to give him a bit more money than usual. A man darted past and dropped a toonie into Ben ‘s cap and held another toonie up for me. I grabbed it

“I can make money just by standing beside you! I told Ben and slid the toonie into his cap. We both laughed.

An LED umbrella and a painting in a Denman Street window display

“A bus driver jumped off his bus, ran towards us and handed Ben a new LED umbrella.

“A passenger gave it to me, Benny, he said breathlessly. I thought you could use it.

“Ben got a couple of young men to stop and give him a beer. Then a drunken rodeo clown came up.

“I’m on the internet! cried Ben. Look! My grandad was a world champion!

“Yeah, right, said the drunken clown.

“It’s true! I told him. Ben and his grandad look exactly the same! 

“Then the drunken clown started talking about all his own accomplishments, which were very boring. Then he tried to start a fight with Benny who grabbed his bag and disappeared down an alley.

“Merry Christmas, I said to the clown and then walked quickly away.”

This morning, Anna also sent me a photo of a lady.

“This is Janey from Alberta,” the message said.

Janey from the Alberta tar sands (Photograph by Anna Smith)

“Janey always drops by the shop when she visits Vancouver. She works cleaning trailers in the tar sands (oil patch) in Northern British Columbia and Alberta.

“They are isolated camps in the bush and she says it’s hell up there. It is dangerous and violent. She hires a taxi if she has to cross the street at night. But the cost of a house is as high as it is in Vancouver.

“The work is lucrative but, as the price of oil slumps, people can’t afford to live. Crack cocaine and methamphetamine are rampant.

“There are miles of tunnels and sludge-filled lakes, leaching into the rivers. There are gigantic mechanical bats on poles creaking away in the darkness to frighten away the birds.

“She said no-one gives a shit about anyone there. She showed me lines of scars on her stomach from being run over by a truck.”