THE NOD CORNER
THE CONTINUING, POIGNANT SAGA OF THE HAPLESS DRUMMER OF FIELDS OF THE NEPHILIM
CARL LEAVES THE NEPHILIM! THE TRUE STORY.
Oh, woe an' misery an' suchlike is me! This 'as been the blackest week in my life. Carl, our lordly liege, our livin' Leviathan an' High Priest of the Darkest glades of Elizium 'as decided to leave the Nephilim! We are as sheep wivvaht a shepherd, lost souls disportin' in the void an' stumped as to wot we're gonna do next! I blame the uvvers, Pete, Paul an' Tony, the rotten bastards. They're always bin causin' grief between me an' Carl - like the uvva day when they grabbed me in my bedroom, shoved luminous skull cap over me bonce an' hung me dahn the side of the hahse by a noose ahtside His study, wiv' me screamin' an' bangin' against it! Poor Carl fought I was one of the legendary Three Deadly Elves of Lucifer, come to steal His soul. An' when the uvvers came in an' told Him it was one of my pranks, He had a strangely wistful look in His gimlet-like eye as He ordered me to do 10 pressups.
An' then today, the uvvers broke it to me. "Bad news, Nod," said Pete. "Carl, our leader and guiding light has decided to leave the group." "But - but why?" I whimpered, aghast. "He is an astral traveller, with new dimensions of inner and outer space to explore," said Paul. "He tires of mortals and their foibles. He has ascended above this mortal coil." "I - I don't believe it!" I stuttered, tearfully. "It is true. Observe the portents. See how the ravens have left the Tower of London and nestle yonder! " said Tony, pointin' to a load of birds in the garden. They looked like crows to me, I must admit but I ain't an expert on orthinolog - orithnol - ornothinol - on birds like wot Tony is. "See how the earth itself shakes with trepidation!" said Pete, an' it's true, the table did seem to rattle, an' I'm sure it wasn't Pete, Paul an' Tony shakin' the table legs surreptitiously but dark forces wot we don't comprehend. That settled it for me. "Carl's last message is that He wishes you to Iead the group, to climb down from your drumkit and take up his burden. We are unworthy - you must show us the way. He bid that we become a techno-baggy group like EMF and that we change our name to NWE - the Nod Wright Experience," announced Paul. Well, I was gobsmacked! I ain't much of a singa, 'cept in the barf, but if this is wot Carl wanted!
"We have your Nike trainers and shell-suit ready, Nod," said Pete. Shall we go next door into the home studio and lay down some rough demos? We've borrowed a sampler too."
Well, it was wiv my chest surgin' wiv pride that I led the band into the studio. My very own combo! Inspiration welled up inside me an' I composed a little somefink on the spot called the "Nod Rap" and did the little baggy dance, the uvvers providing the techo-backbeat. Trouble was, I kept gettin' interrupted by a bangin' noise from the 'allway. I ignored it at first, but, now I was band leader, I decided I wouldn't stand for no shit.
"What's that banging noise?" l demanded. peremptorily. "It seems to be coming from the hallway, sir," said Pete. "It's probably a workman. Shall I deal with it?' "No, I'll see to it," I said. "If you want somefink done rahnd 'ere you have to do it yourself." And wiv that, I strode up to the step cupboard door, shahtin', "Listen, you dogsbody jobsworth in there, shut up! There's people out here trying to do something worthwhile and creative and you're drowning us out with your menial clatter!" But the bangin' went on - so in my fury, I wrenched open the door - and in there, crouched dahn, was Carl!
"You!" he hissed. My legs turned to jelly! "How dare you address me in that abrupt tone! Why are you wearing that absurd footwear? What is the meaning of locking me in this cupboard?" "I'm afraid you have been the victim of a near coup as sickening as that which unfolded in the Soviet Union recently!" announced Pete. "You see, Nod here has always aspired to be a Phil Collins type figure, a drummer made good. He sees you as the Peter Gabriel figure standing in his way and was attempting to force you into a solo career. That's why he knocked you unconscious and bundled you into this cupboard!"
I never! But Carl drew Himself to His full height an' I quailed. "This is treason most foul!" he thundered. "I had hoped to continue for many years with the Nephilim. But your despicable back-stabbing has left me with no taste for leading ingrates like you Into The Mystic. I am leaving forthwith to set up my own painting and decorating business! In the meantime - 10 press-ups!"
An' as I hit the floor thrustin' I heard the uvvers plottin' abaht how now they'd got rid of the "mystical bullshitter" they were gonna get in a bird singer wiv big tits and go commercial! The rotten bastards!