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alex-lea-holder · 2 years

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Disorder Magazine || October, 2007

Porn. A junkie fox. Gary Numan. Brain cells. The Horrors. What do all these things have in common? Absolutely F*ck all, except that they are all ingredients of the return of the Mighty Boosh. So come with us on a journey through clown psychology and French MTV presenters as we talk to Howard T.J. Moon (Jazz Maverick) and Vince Noir (Goth Fairy), otherwise known as Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. Since the second series aired in the summer of 2005, The Mighty Boosh has returned to the live arena (It began life at the Edinburgh Festival in 1998) and picked up more critical acclaim than Arctic Monkeys worshipping off The Arcade Fire. The shows acid-frazzled mix of the surreal and the mundane has seen Barratt and Fielding achieve the kind of celebrated counter-culture status that most bands would drown their drummer for and that has broadsheet papers awkwardly bandying about words like 'hip'. Quintessentially, they have become Rock 'n' Roll stars without actually being Rock 'n' Roll stars. How do you feel about that tag? Julian: "It's alright, thank you." Noel isn't feeling the need to be quite so modest about it: "We're more rock 'n' roll than most bands. A lot of bands are boring. I've been out with lots of bands, and its the same old thing. We like running around and having a bit of mischief." Julian doesn't agree: "You guys do, I go to the library." Noel concurs: "Julian goes to the British library and looks at the fossils." Julian: "When I go out I go OUT. When I go out I go large. I don't go out much, but when I do I have fights... water fights." In case it wasn't already more obvious than a Kanye West sample, it can be difficult to determine where Moon and Noir end and Barratt and Fielding begin. So what can we expect of the third outing from Dalston's most demented (rumoured to be called series four so that future generations will wonder what happened to the third series)? "A lot of porn," says Noel, "And Julian's going to put his face in a coat hanger." It is probably helpful to note at this juncture that this is possibly a misleading statement as Julian is in fact putting his face in a coat hanger as Noel is speaking. He is not doing anything pornographic however. The third series of the Mighty Boosh sees Howard and Vince working in Naboo's second hand shop situated below their flat from the last series. Julian says that the change of setting came about because: "We wanted the magic to come to us rather than going off across the universe to find it, so we thought we'd put the weirdness into the shop. We go to different places but they are always inside someone's hat or inside someone's body so we're going into weird... inner spaces." Noel begins laughing at Julian: "Inner spaces?"

Julian claims it was a challenge for them to think of ways for Howard and Vince to go on their epic adventures within the confines of the shop. "We wanted to have something a bit normal before we went weird. When you do dialogue inside an elephants trunk or something you (the audience) are thinking more about the fact that you're inside an elephants trunk rather than about what we're saying. Some stuff works better in a more mundane environment." Noel: "Elephants trunk?" He turns to Disorder, "You know what he's saying? You getting this?" Noel gives an example of how Howard and Vince will meet the successors to Old Gregg and the Bongo Brothers through the shop. One episode sees Howard go inside Vince's body. All the characters he encounters within are parts of Vince's body, such as brain cells, played by Noel. Noel confesses he'd spent so much time concentrating on other parts of the show that he was forced to come up with these characters just before the scenes were filmed: "I had about five minutes to do a French MTV presenter and a fashion character and I just had no idea, I've never done a French accent in my life!" Another episode sees Julian, who wanted to play more villains in this series, appear as a 'sort of junkie fox who lives in the rubbish'. The appearance of Razorlight and Roger Daltrey in the last series are reprised in the new one by funeral parlour pinks The Horrors and electropop pioneer Gary Numan. Noel and Julian met the Horrors at the NME awards and cast them as 'a band with really thin legs'. Or themselves essentially. "We needed a band with thin legs," says Noel, "We thought we've got to get them because their legs are so thin - they're like arms or spiders legs aren't they?" Noel originally wanted the part to go to Brighton psychobillies The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, who he describes as 'my favourite band ever', but decided their legs just weren't thin enough. Hype-mongers Towers of London also appear in the new series as a punk band, a status some may say they have yet to achieve in real life. It's easy to see how an appearance in The Mighty Boosh might appeal to a band. Like smoking Jimi Hendrix's bones, pretending to be into Sun Ra or having your photo taken with Beth Ditto, it instantly provides an impression of innovation, style and wit that many of today's middling beat combo's so obviously lack. Julian doesn't agree that there are those who would use them as bolt-on credibility. "There's a lot of bands out there who don't need our credibility. The Arcade Fire approached us, and The Shins, they don't need us." Noel says he's 'blown away' that the likes of Noel Gallagher, Paul Weller, Kasabian and Jack White are fans of the show. He excitedly recounts tales of hanging out with the Twang and Kings of Leon at the NME awards, reinforcing the Boosh's rock credentials. "We were really pleased to have won something so we were really pissed. Naboo... Naboo will take you down. The Boosh are all quite good partyers actually. Naboo, Bob Fossil... we haven't got anyone who lets the side down. It's like four Keith Moons." A decade of writing together hasn't seen a Lennon and McCartney-like competitiveness spring up between them. "It's pretty obvious whose joke is for whose character," says Julian, "His (Noel's) character is more funny in terms of being more verbally immediate. Howard is very rarely witty; he's a bit of an idiot. It's like clown psychology. Who is your clown? Does your clown fall over? Or does he get hit in the face?" The man's given this a lot of thought. Noel is obviously very protective of the Mighty Boosh. When asked if anyone else has an input into the shows content, even only in the capacity of quality controller, Noel says that it is all down to him and Julian. "Everyone's got an opinion on comedy and on humour because everyone thinks they're funny but not many people spend ten years in a room writing together. We've got strong opinions on whats we write and we know what is funny."

Is he concerned that given it's garish costumers and sets, nonsensical storylines and absurdist humour it can be easily assumed that The Mighty Boosh is wacky in the way that those dickheads who wear jesters hats at festivals are wacky? "We've worked hard on story lines and most of that stuff (the surreal stuff) comes out for a reason. So it's not that wacky, even the stuff that's more free-form. It's really difficult to make it look effortless," says Noel, "If you just sat in a room and went 'Woh! Apple cores made of jealousy!' it wouldn't be funny. People would go 'this is shit'." Julian: "That is quite funny." This is surely the crux of The Mighty Boosh's success, that it manages to strike the delicate balance of managing to portray a world that resembles a bad acid trip through a sexually deviant Disneyland without ever stumbling into the kind of forced zaniness associated with braying undergraduates and Chris Evans that has all right thinking people wanting to shoot the latter in both eyes with a nail gun. As Noel says: "It took us 10 years to get to this spot so we're not going to suddenly start listening to people who didn't get it in the first place. A lot of people need to be told what's good and what's bad anyway." But do they fear mainstream success? That the Boosh will become so popular that it will have its soul sucked out by hordes of slack-jawed rubes desperate to bawl catchphrases for eternity, baying for Milky Joe cookie jars and Kodiak Jack back scratchers for Christmas? It is something that has clearly crossed their minds.

Noel: "A lot of my favourite bands aren't massive, massive bands and I like that because then you get 10 years of them rather than two years. At the moment everyones like 'Whats next? Whats new? Whats next?' So everything becomes really disposable. It was literally a year with Little Britain from everyone saying 'they're amazing' to 'I hate them'." The Boosh's main players both claim that they never set out to make a show that was hugely popular. They say that The Boosh is a cult show not because not too many people have caught onto it, but in its essence. It's references, such as Rick James and Frank Zappa, are not universal but inspirational to them.

"Monty Python did it," concludes Noel. "Even once they went mainstream they managed to retain their edge and that's the trick isn't it? In the end we just try and please ourselves which hopefully will be the thing that saves us."

#Noel Fielding #Julian Barratt #interview

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ancientbooshartifacts · 4 years

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Deerest Howard

Author: The_Reverend

Year: 2010

Rating: G

Pairing: Howard Moon/Old Gregg, Howince

“Howard…”

It wasn’t just the way that Vince said his name, like he does when they’re neck-deep in some serious (albeit ridiculous) trouble about to collide head-on with even more serious (and ridiculous) trouble, it was also the look on Vince’s face as Howard stepped onto the landing and found Vince standing in the middle of the flat, eyes wide and mouth slack.

Howard was pretty sure someone’s must have died. Or Jagger had gone bald. Hard to tell with Vince.

“What is it, Vince? What’s happened?” Howard dropped his jazzercise bag and rushed across the room to grab Vince by the shoulders. “Have I gotten a call? Has someone… Is it my dad? Say something Vince!”

Vince swallowed, sort of half smiled. “Funny you should mention your dad, Howard…”

“Oh, no.” Howard cried, dropped his arms to his sides and sagged.

“Here,” Vince said, turning away from Howard’s Russian Sorrow to fetch something from the coffee table. He held it up.

It was a fish bowl.

“Look, Vince, I don’t have time for a game of Xooberonian Go Fish, alright. I haven’t even gotten the taste out of my mouth from last time, and besides, I’m a man in mourning!” Howard’s face crumpled. “Father!”

“Look, Howard, your dad’s not dead.”

“Oh. He isn’t? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Would you just hold your trumpets, you berk!” Vince snapped and shoved the fishbowl into Howard’s arms, then turned to fetch something else from the table. Howard looked into the bowl. It was a strange looking fish. A green fish with… pink fins? Was that a moustache? Did it just smile at him?

“Here,” Vince said, holding out a damp, crumpled, and stained sheet of paper. “This came with it.”

Howard took the letter, balancing the bowl in one hand. It was written in a wavy scrawl, in multiple colors.

Deerest Howard, my sweat man peech. You holde in your big, stronge hands the frute of our gloryus onion yunion. As soon as I squeezed him out of my gloweing mangyna, I decided he belonged with his fother, that’s you, my peech. I hope you can give him the lyfe I cant, in you’re big citty with you’re fansy lady wyfe, and rase our Younge Gregg up to live amonge the humens, like I never culd. Youll forgive the dampness of this letter, that’s just my salty teers, not teers of sadness but pane, as I’ve cut my fut on a broken bottle of Bailey’s. See, theirs some of my bludd their. You’res forevver, Olde Gregg Pee Ess: I got a mobyle now. Giv me a ringading if you neede any advice. I half to screene my calls, thou, so leave me a voycemale and I’ll get back to you. I’m Olde Gregg! Pee Ess Ess: Since you culdn’t be their for the berth, I made you a watercolour of the big event.

As if on cue, Vince handed him another, even more moist and wrinkled paper. Howard looked at it and frowned, then turned it sideways.

“I think it’s a close-up,” Vince offered.

Howard paled. “Oh God.”

“I know, it’s quite realistic!”

“No, Vince,” Howard said as he sat down heavily on the sofa, tossing the letter and painting aside, fish bowl still in his hand. “I don’t know how this could have happened.”

Vince sat next to him. “Oh, I bet you can figure it out.”

“I mean, we were…” Howard made a strange gesture with his free hand.

“Careful?” Vince suggested.

“Well I was certainly careful not to be murdered, but…”

“Maybe a bit overexcited?”

“Traumatized, more like.”

“Forgot a johnny, did you?”

“Oh God.”

“Look, it’s alright, Howard.” Vince rubbed his shoulder, “You’ll make a great dad. Well… a responsible dad, at least. He’ll be the safest, most organized kid in Shoreditch.”

Howard considered this. It would be nice to have someone to whom he could pass on his love of well organized stationery.

“And women love single fathers, Howard.”

“Yeah?”

“’Course. I mean… if that’s what you want.”

“But it’s not even a child, Vince, it’s more a pet, really.” Howard held up the bowl and looked at his son, daughter, fish. Brown eyes stared into black.

“No way, Howard, think of it like this, yeah? His mum, or whatever, was half human, you’re all human, he’s half you and, well… I ain’t really good at maths but I know that makes him a bit more human!”

Howard rubbed his chin, considering. He couldn’t do the math either.

“But I can’t raise a child on my own!”

Vince shrugged. “I could help.”

Howard made a strange face, “Yeah thanks, Vince. But you’ll get bored won’t you? You can’t take a child to a club, you know.”

“Get stuffed, I helped to raise baby animals in the jungle loads of times, plus you know I’m a gifted child. I could really get on well with the little guy. And anyway,” Vince leaned in to get a better look at Howard’s swimming offspring, “I think he’s well cute.”

Howard looked closer. It was… kind of cute… in a green, scaly, moustachioed way, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Takes after his dad,” Vince said, smiling, and Howard realized just how close their faces were, both of them peering into the bowl.

“Do you love me?”

“What?” Howard asked.

“I didn’t say anything,” Vince said.

“Do you love me? Daddy?”

“Howard, I think…”

“Oh dear.”

________

There isn't much to do at first. Keep his bowl clean, give him fish flakes a few times a day, keep Vince from giving him sweets (and pretend not to see at least one or two of the times when he does), and talk to him. Life's never been very simple for Howard, even if there is a simple truth to him as a man. He knows not everyone visits other planets and lives with talking apes. But it somehow doesn't make it any less strange the first time he talks to his son. Gregg's vocabulary is simple at first, consisting mostly of the phrase "do you love me" and "mmm, creamy" and various Parliament lyrics, so that the first time Howard nervously asks Gregg "hey, where you from?" Gregg offers to lick his funky soul. But he's a clever little tadpole, seeming to grow and mature so much faster than normal--that is, less special children, so that it's not long before Gregg is responding in more usual childlike babble, repeating phrases even if he doesn't understand them. Vince helps as well. And if Young Gregg says "yeah?" and "genius!" a little more than Howard would like, he's not going to complain. Vince actually spends a lot of time with Gregg, to Howard's surprise, sits at the sales counter much of the day, Gregg's bowl on the counter next to him, reading Cheekbone aloud in a slow, careful way, pressing pictures against the glass for Gregg to see while he comments on trending fashions that are well out as soon as the pages are printed.

________

Some evenings he'll sit on the sofa with Gregg in his bowl on the end table, and read Charlie books, or turn on the telly and show him music videos until Howard comes along and makes them watch a documentary on bees or Uruaguay. Vince groans at this, but stays and watches them too. They learned quite quickly, thanks to Gregg’s frantic splashing and wailing, not to watch ones about sharks or octopi. At night Gregg sleeps in his bowl on Howard's bedside table. He doesn't sleep well. It's the biggest problem they've had with him. Howard will often wake to his tiny, watery whimpering to find Gregg, visible in the glow of the night light they bought just for him, staring down at him with a reasonable facsimile of Howard’s own beady-eyed misery. "What's wrong, little man," Howard will say, and touch Gregg's bowl, and sit up and speak low and quiet to him, trying not to wake Vince across the room, until Gregg settles again. He gets most of his sleep during the day, when Howard and Vince are both up and about and bustling around. “I’m really worried about him, Vince,” Howard says one morning as he shaves, quiet so as not to wake Gregg, asleep now that it’s morning and the house is awake. Vince stands in the doorway in pants and socks and a tee, twisting his toe into the carpet. “Me, too,” he says. Howard looks at him in the mirror. There’s genuine concern on his pointy face. At any other time, any other subject, it would be comical, what with Vince’s hair all askew as he bites his lip, eyes wide and downturned.

“Really?” Howard asks. “’Course,” Vince sounds offended, “poor little guy. I remember what it was like, awake all night in the jungle when Brian was on tour and Jahooli was visiting his sister in Somerset. I couldn’t sleep, all alone in the treehouse, monkeys chattering outside the windows, the wind whistling through the bus tickets. Augh, it was a nightmare, Howard!” “Well this is hardly the jungle is it? Or a cave beneath a lake. It’s safe here. He’s completely safe.” “Yeah but he might not know that. Something’s wrong, Howard, the way he cries like that. It’s well heartbreaking.” Howard nods, rinses his face and dries it with a towel before he turns to Vince. “Wait a minute, how do you know what it sounds like? You sleep through it.” “As if I could!” Vince’s says, voice high but still soft, face full of concern, not irritation at being woken as Howard might expect. “I wake up every time, I hear you cooing and calming him. It’s quite sweet really.” He looks down. “Only, I don’t get out of bed ‘cause… I just reckon, you know, it ain’t my place.” Howard feels a swell of affection for Vince, frowning at his own socked feet, arms crossed defensively, concerned for someone besides himself. “Of course it is, Vince,” he says, putting a hand to Vince’s shoulder and squeezing when Vince looks up at him, blue eyes wide and soft, and Howard means to say something meaningful and encouraging, but then he realizes his hand is still on Vince’s shoulder, and instead he mumbles about tea and brushes past him in the doorway. ________ Gregg is awake by breakfast and swimming laps in his little bowl where it sits on the kitchen table. He and Vince seem to be in some secret confidence, Vince eyeing Howard over his shoulder when he thinks he’s not looking, and Gregg flitting from one side of his bowl to the other, alternately communicating with Vince in some wordless, child-fish way, then back to the other side to watch Howard’s back. Howard pretends not to notice, either being watched or their real goal, to feed Gregg bits of syrup-soaked pancakes. He whistles while he cooks, adding fishy puree to a small cup of batter. Bollo eyes Gregg’s bowl warily when an overexcited Gregg splashes water onto the table. “Bollo not think that sanitary,” he says. “You’re not sanitary, you grumpy monkey,” Naboo says, then flashes Vince a far-off but reassuring smile before he goes back to reading the Shaman Daily. “Bollo not see why Harold’s fish so special.” “Because he’s not my fish, Bollo,” Howard says defensively, pointing at Bollo with a rather dangerous looking spatula. “He’s my son. And I’ll thank you to refer to him that way!” “Him fishy freak.” “Oi!” “Whoa there!” “Alright, you prick!” Howard’s glad to have the rest of the house to back him up, but the combined outburst is loud and sudden, and in the silence that follows there’s a tiny noise, a sniffle, a whimper, and by the time they’ve all turned to look at the little bowl on the table, the fish-child within it, Gregg’s cries have started in earnest, loud and wobbly, bubbling up out of the water in great sobs. “You’ve frightened him!” Vince says to Bollo, screwing his face up in his best cockney snarl. “Not Bollo,” Bollo says, “you ballbags.” “I’ll have you, you... Christ I can’t even get my cockney bitch on.” Vince says, suddenly more miserable than angry. “Howard, fix him!” Howard picks up Gregg’s bowl and peers inside, his face big in the glass. “C’mon, little man, it’s okay.” “You’re just gonna scare ‘im more like that,” Naboo suggests. “I got somewhat could calm him down.” “No!” Howard and Vince shout in unison, upsetting Gregg further. “Oh, Howard… why’s he crying? I can’t stand it. Makes my heart all squeezy.” “He’s only startled, Vince. It’ll pass.” But Howard doesn’t feel as sure as he sounds. “Here, Howard, try this!” Vince says, trotting softly but quickly to the stereo and rifling through albums. “What are you doing?” Vince drops a record on the turntable. “Bowie, yeah?" Howard shakes his head. "How's that going to help? Wouldn't he prefer Parliament or Rick James, all things considered? Or maybe Coltrane?" "No way, Howard. He's got to have some awful associations with funk by now. And no one needs jazz. You want to kick him while he's down? But Bowie always mellows me out. And he loves it, we listened to it the other day, he did flips out of his bowl, it was genius!” “He can do flips?” “Yeah, you were down in the shop, it was that day I took off for personal hair reasons. We touched up my roots and listened to ‘Space Oddity’ on repeat.” “He can do flips?” “Look, just… everybody quiet, alright?” Howard looks down at the bowl in his hand, feeling helpless as Gregg looks up at him, eyes wide and pitiful, crying endlessly. The music starts, quiet and slow, and Gregg just continues to cry, gulping in little mouthfuls of water now and then. It’s difficult to watch. Howard didn’t think it was possible to feel so miserable. Suddenly there’s a ripple on the water that shouldn’t be there, and Howard is surprised to find his cheeks wet with his own tears. He quickly wipes them away and holds Gregg’s bowl out so there aren’t any more mishaps like with the koi carp. “How’s he doin’?” Vince asks, stepping closer. “Oh, well,” Howard looks and, to his surprise, Gregg’s stopped crying. He’s only frowning. But soon he’s waving his little tail and pushing himself along in time, and before the song’s over Howard gets to see him do a flip, fishy mouth grinning wide as he arcs gracefully and splashes neatly back into the bowl. Howard beams. Gregg smiles up at him. And Vince kisses his cheek. If Vince notices the salty taste of dried tears, he doesn’t mention it. _____ That night when Howard wakes once again to soft, watery cries, Vince is already padding lightly across the room. “He alright?” Vince asks, face drawn and sleepy in the dim glow of the night light. He sits on the edge of Howard’s bed and rubs at his eyes. Howard pushes himself up onto an elbow to check on Gregg who’s still sniffling but no longer whimpering. Vince leans in and smiles at him and Gregg presses his face against the glass and smiles back, then goes about his business of lazy night-swimming. Howard watches the affectionate exchange. “It’s you,” he says when Vince turns to him, smiling still, although it slips when Vince asks what he means. “You’re why he cries. I mean, because he wants you.” He pushes himself up in bed. “That’s not true, Howard, he just—“ Vince tries to argue but Howard knows there’s isn’t any denying it. “Howard…” He says softly. “It’s alright, Vince. Everyone loves you, don’t apologize for it.” “What, everyone?” Vince asks with a suggestive smirk but Howard ignores it, watching his hands, dark against the pale sheets. “I don’t think I’m right for this, Vince. Maybe I’m not meant to be a father. I didn’t even know he could do flips! Maybe… maybe he’d have been better off with his moth—with Gregg.” Vince scoffs. “I know that ain’t true.” “Look,” Howard says, breathing heavily, “you take him alright, let him sleep with you.” Vince draws back a bit, as if Howard has suggested he take tuba lessons. “No way, I won’t do that! He belongs with you, Howard, you’re a great dad. He’s just, you know, well I spend a lot of time with him, yeah? I’m more like a mate. Maybe—“ “Just take him, Vince.” Howard reaches out and picks up Gregg’s bowl, pushes it into Vince’s chest so that he has no choice but to take it. “Howard…” Vince looks miserable. Looking at him, brows drawn in concern, holding the familiar bowl, Howard feels almost like he did that morning. “Please,” he says, and waits for Vince to argue. When he doesn’t, Howard slides back down beneath the sheets, and turns over onto his side, his back to Vince and his son. After a moment he feels the bed shift, feels Vince stand and hears him walk across the room. The gentle sound of the Gregg’s bowl being sat on Vince’s bedside table is as loud as a shot in his heart. He’d been wrong. It is possible to feel more miserable. He tries to sleep. He can’t of course. So he’s awake when the sniffling begins again. “Howard,” Vince says as he taps Howard’s shoulder, standing beside his bed, Gregg’s bowl in hand. “What’s wrong Vince?” But he already knows. “It ain’t me, Howard. I think…” Vince places the bowl back where it belongs, next to Howard’s bed, and Howard turns to watch even as Vince sits again. As before, Gregg quickly quiets and settles, watching them through the glass. Howard looks up at Vince, astonished. Vince smiles softly. “I think it’s both of us, Howard.” Before Howard knows he’s doing it, he hears himself laughing quietly. “Shift a bit?” Vince asks and Howard does, allowing Vince to crawl in bed beside him. “Just…” Howard says. “I know!” Vince whispers with his hands raised in the universal gesture of ‘I won’t touch you!’ They’re almost asleep when something occurs to Howard. “Maybe you’re not so much a mate,” he says, “more like… a step dad?” “Step mum?” Vince suggests in a sleepy slur and Howard agrees with an amused hum. _________ In the morning Howard wakes beneath a pile of Vince, and Gregg’s so hard and fast asleep he’s practically floating. Howard has to tap the bowl to stop himself panicking, watches as Gregg twitches and swims a bit, still asleep. Howard sighs in relief, then settles back down against the bed and, in defiance of all his own rules of timeliness and efficiency, tucks in for a bit more sleep. At breakfast Vince whispers into the bowl, breath rippling the water as Gregg nods with childish glee. Howard watches. He’s not sure it’s possible to be more happy. Bollo lumbers in, shoulders drooping, clearly feeling the glares of the others as he sits at the table. "Morning, Bollo," Howard says as he sips his tea, hoping to dispel the tension. Bollo hangs his head when Naboo glares at him. "Bollo sorry he insult Howard's fish-- er, son," he corrects when Naboo kicks his hairy shin with a curly shoe. "Him not fishy freak. Well, maybe him fishy freak, but Bollo talking ape. Live in stone house. Throw glass." "Thanks, Bollo," Howard says. "Go on, then," Vince is whispering to Gregg who shyly swims to face Bollo's end of the table. He opens his little red lips as if to speak, but only bubbles come out. He looks at Vince for approval. "S'alright, he deserves it." "Vince, what--" but Howard is interrupted by Gregg's excited, watery voice. "Uncle Bollo is a monkey idiot!" "Vince! Gregg!" Howard cries. Vince only laughs and Gregg joins him, swimming circles around his bowl. Naboo grins, although it's not really any different from the expression he's been wearing all morning. "Sorry, Bollo," Howard says, but Bollo's too busy watching Gregg's antics with surprised affection. "Bollo always wanted to be uncle. Not in creepy way. Bollo teach him ways of the jungle. And DJ skills." "I was thinking I might share a few Shaman secrets with him, bit of basic magic. Potions, yeah? He could be my apprentice." "No way, he's going to be the first hybrid merman popstar! My glam rock protégé! Right, Howard? Howard?" But Howard's too busy smiling his unsettling smile at the group gathered around the breakfast table, heart fit to burst like a trumpet blast, surrounded by this unlikely group that is apparently, illogically, his family.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #Howard Moon #old gregg #Vince Noir #howince #old gregg/howard moon #howard moon/old gregg #vince/howard #Howard Moon/Vince Noir #Vince Noir/Howard Moon #Naboo #naboo the enigma #bollo

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