This is an often asked (if not to say a 'good') question. Many rumours abound about him being a foundling, an alien, the horrible result of Cold War genetic experiments gone wrong, a throwback, or just a completely sad twat, but at last the truth has to be told. It's time to put the one called Thewlis under the microscope and scratch the surface apiece . . . Are you sitting comfortably ? Then I'll begin. (It gets there eventually.)

A long time ago, in a far off land called Peace in Bradford, there came into being a Country Rock band who went by the name of "The Howling Whippets", and nearly famous they were. They got their name on account of the way a wag of their acquaintance described one of their number, allegedly the artist formerly known as (sounds like) "Shawnee Boy". And it came to pass that said artist was going on furlough, all the way to the USofA in old Amereekay, so the band needed a replacement bass player. Enter the old git, stage left, under false pretences.

He had lied about being a bass player in order to get the audition, cos he liked the band. Sure, he was a guitarist, of sorts, and he'd absorbed music with his beer since he was a lad and could play 'Shadoogie', even been in a 'Beat Group' during the Boom years as a 'lead catarrhist', tha' knaws ! He'd listened a while to Jet Harris, Macca, Old Bill, Boris The Spanner, Jack and The Duck, aye, and Hillman & Lesh, which seems to be not a bad place to start from. And, as anybody'll tell ya, bass is a piece o'piss, innit ? Only four strings !

He had no gear of his own to speak of, relying on borrowing a bass from a mate and using the stack that his predecessor had also been borrowing from The Whippets' pedal steel and keyboard player. This multi-talented geezer was the one and only "Dougie Two-Lanes", at least to those who've had the pleasure of riding with him at the wheel.

Dougie was a STAR. We miss him.

Together we have known the all night garages where a man behind a bullet-proof window goes to the microwave at the far side of the room to warm you up something masquerading as a pie and pisses into a plastic cup, then does it six more times for the rest of the band instead of all at the same time. . . . . We have known the days and the nights, aye, AND the not so early mornings, especially the one where Doug got his new nickname, but I dye grass (as we all nearly did when that artic' missed us by a gnat's) !

Anyway, the old git decided that he needed his own stack, (sod the maid, A Man Needs A Rig !) so he designed a one-off, Eff-Off sealed enclosure cab after studying magick formulae in "Enclosure-U-Like Monthly" or somesuch. He worked out the ideal cabinet volume and even read all about 'The Golden Ratio' - guaranteed to eliminate flatulence, predict earthquakes and avoid resonance peaks, piles and bad breath. Hmm !

(The things some people write, eh ? Like those daft lass magazines where they have articles like "The Ten Point Test to discover whether he REALLY wants to shag you, or whether it's your Pokemon Cards he's interested in." And they actually READ the stuff ! ! !)

Back to the story: He gave the plans and the full spec sheet to his mate, Doodit the Gruff, for this mate knew how to cut materials without drawing blood, something alien to our designer's repertoire of handyman skills. (Why, even as you read this he has a black nail half hanging off - and it's not the first, or second . . trapped it in a car door . . and a 'Girly Car' at that !)

Some days later, a grunting Doodit hoyed* a great box onto his doorstep and muttered under his breath +/or through his teeth/letterbox something to the effect that it was rather heavy. Couldn't stick to the original spec, could he, as he could only lay his hands on some extra dense 1" mdf instead of the somewhat thinner and thus lighter variety needed for the job. The result was that after the speaker went in and the handles & the knobs and the corner protectors etc went on, not to mention several coats of blackboard paint, the thing was a veritable ball-breaker to shift. (Sounded 'ckin great though, but !)

* To hoy (i) to lift, hoist, heave, toss or throw an object from one place or person to another;

(There can be few who are capable of delivering such a short line and yet imbuing it with so much emotion as said Doodit the Gruff. Service he has indeed seen ! He once pelted me with a whole battery of projectiles when I was having an alfresco bab. That tells you what kind of a mate he is. We been tergether nah these umpteen years and more . . we've kicked the shit all over this land. We still occasionally talk to each other, too.)

Now, if you re-arrange the letters in "Howling Whippets", (which very thing had been fortuitously done around this exact same time, though I'm buggered if I can remember why), one of the many possibilities is "Whopping Thewlis". I think you will agree it has a certain ring to it, and this sturdy piece of backline furniture came to be so dubbed, and that's how the old git came to be synonymous with a lump of wood that's more bother than it's worth. Self-inflicted as ever, just like the hang-nail.

Why do I mention this at this time ? Well, of late, the considerable, nay, voluminous unpopularity of negotiating dodgy get-ins and clear-off-outs with the beast has finally led to plans for a body swap, (either way would do) to achieve something that spine, wrists, shoulders, shins and heels (not to mention lungs) will be thankful for. So, a quick delve into the original notes suggested that the power to weight ratio could be much improved by going the vented cab route instead. So, more new plans were drawn up and it's off to that obliging woodworkers supply shop for some off-cuts.

(Always fancied his-self as a keen scrimper; nearly scrimped for Yorkshire Under 14s once but got fogged off, or something very similar.) Two minutes of rummaging later and it's . .

"Er, 'scuse me, but do you have the facilities to cut a 14 inch hole in that piece o' chip ?"

"Uhh !" (Picture Mister Overall Senior - in a Neanderthal voice).

"We 'ave, (pregnant p-a-u-s-e-). Burrittasterbibya point ment, do you see ?" (sic)

"Yeah, uh-ha-ha-eyuaeha (impending ball-drop noise), 'Point ment" echoed 'The Lad' (two, sometimes three octaves higher, in more of a Bluebottle voice, equally sic).

Both pronouncements were delivered with that all too common 'We'd really like to help you but we have our rules, and it would be more than our jobs are worth . . etc. etc' lying git face. The sniggerometer was nudging MAX, as is usual with the deliverers of such Good News.

QUESTION. Can anyone say approximately how long it should take one and a half men to drill one and a half pilot holes and put one jigsaw into one piece of bloody chipboard and cut one, just one bleedin' hole out ? .... It wasn't as if it was a worktop, just a bit o' chip.

(No, it wasn't EM-DEE-BLOODY-EFF this time, it was five-eighths chipboard. - I need the rush of unbridled formaldehyde.)

There was no bugger else in the place, THEY were propping up the counter, or vice-versa more like, but THEY couldn't do it as THEY were clearly too busy ! They did offer to do it the next day, Saturday, which is always slack, innit ? ! ! " BASTARDS ! "

So, Thewlis Minor will have to wait. Got two gigs this Saturday, but nil by Bones. Phew ! - I had to get that off me chest. . . . . . . . . . . . . Oops, time for another Rip-Rap !

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Whopping Thewlis has now left the Thee - Ay - Turr !

Whopping Thewlis is Dead.

Long Live "DIET THEWLIS" - made in Yorkshire, from off-cuts !

Now, let's see if the bastard sounds like a good bottom shed should . . .

Oh fuck . . . where's me slide rule ?