成人快手 - Shropshire - Features - The Eventful Adventures of Morris Telford -

Mother called me, she seems obsessed with the garden.

I always used to mow the lawn, trim the hedge and keep the flowerbeds tidy, and now I have left home to face the myriad threats of the international jet set, she feels I have abandoned my horticultural responsibilities to her. I was under the impression that Toby helped do the garden but Mother made a real issue of it all. I was on the phone for the best part of an hour fielding recriminations and emotional blackmail, but her argument basically boiled down to "you have to come home now, the grass needs cutting".

Needless to say, I once again stressed that my one man mission to bring peace and harmony to the world via the medium of telling people about Shropshire takes precedent over any horticultural responsibilities I may have, and no matter how high the grass grows, or how overrun the path is with dandelions, I shall not be flying home from Amsterdam to just to pull up some weeds. I shall not return to my beloved Morton Say until my work is complete and every single man and women realises that the only way to universal harmony is to expand the boundaries of Shropshire until they cover the globe.

I suspect the whole garden thing was not the actual problem and the real issue upsetting her was something else entirely.

The shop owner, Helga, who bore a quite uncanny resemblance to a woman I used to work with called Theresa who bought me Jammie Dodgers every Thursday, was very receptive to my tales of Shropshire village life. She seemed particularly interested when I told her that nearly everyone in Moreton Say wears rubber, but did not hide her disappointment when I revealed the rubberware was primarily Wellington boots. Despite this, Helga agreed to meet me tonight and show me some of the Amsterdam nightlife.

I聮m in my hotel room waiting getting ready, I have to travel light and my choice of clothes is limited. I hope a pair of jeans and an "I聮ve been to Ironbridge" T-shirt are acceptable for a night on the town with Helga. I聮m very excited, I haven聮t been out clubbing since the Moreton Say CE Primary School under-11 disco in 1980.

Last night was a taste of a whole other world. Helga took me to the sort of clubs where the noble sport of Bingo has almost certainly never been played. I had no idea so many people went out at night.

She took me to somewhere called "Escape" first, which was appropriate since all I wanted to do was escape the moment I got there. All I really remember were lots of very sweaty people, constant dance music at ear-splitting levels from speakers the size of bungalows and these inflated white spheres hanging from the ceiling that reminded me of the Rovers from the Prisoner. It was impossible in this atmosphere to tell people about Shropshire so I convinced Helga to show me somewhere else.

This proved to be a mistake. What I meant when I said, "show me somewhere else" was somewhere quieter, possibly somewhere with bingo. I think she misconstrued "show me somewhere else" as a request to see the less savoury aspects of Amsterdam and so Helga took me on a nightmare trip the to the sordid underbelly of the city. A twilight world of private parties, deviants, ambiguous genders, tight clothing and rubber balaclavas, it was all a bit like Telford Town Park on a Thursday night.

Helga translated for me and protected me from any permanent damage; suffice to say I won聮t be buying instant custard again in a hurry. The night out has made me realise that there are sub-cultures out there so far removed from quiet Shropshire village life that my simple message of harmony and mutual respect may never make any sense to them.

At one party I did meet one really interesting man called Django. I聮m not sure what he looked like as his face (and indeed his entire body) was covered with post-it notes. On each of the hundreds of notes different things were written, I couldn聮t read them as they were in Dutch but I did contribute and wrote "Visit Moreton Say" on one and stuck it on his elbow.

It looked to me like he had used the yellow 38 x 51mm adhesive notes and I was able to give him the order details for the larger size 75 x 75mm ones (Made in Slovenia Order No, 180891) which, if he insisted on covering himself with post-it notes, would provide better coverage and be more cost effective. Django was disproportionately grateful for this advice. He kept saying "Dank je wel" again and again and followed me around for a couple of hours until Helga explained I had to give him a command before he would go away. I asked Helga to tell Django "Put some clothes on and go and live in Shropshire.", Django wrote this on a post-it note, stuck it to his leg and wandered off. He seemed very happy at my instruction, I hope he follows it.

Helga dropped me off at the hotel at about Eight this morning and left "To see her sick Uncle".

Helga popped in to see me at the hotel, I asked her to translate a paragraph into Dutch for me so I can overcome the language barrier more easily. I聮m going to have some leaflets made. The paragraph was 聳

"Hello. My name is Morris Telford and I come from a small village in Shropshire called Moreton Say. I am travelling the world telling people they would be much better off if they lived in Shropshire. I am in Holland at the moment so if you see me (Photo below) stop me and ask me about how I can help you reach new levels of fulfilment, pleasure and joy without resorting to misusing post-it notes, rubber or instant custard."

I took the text to a printshop along with my passport photo and they are getting several thousand made up for me. I聮m also including the URL for the 成人快手 Shropshire website so anyone who gets the leaflet but doesn聮t catch up with me personally can read my weblog and learn about Shropshire. The leaflets will be ready tomorrow.

I have five thousand leaflets in three big bags and I聮m sat in the helicopter now looking down on Amsterdam. The people down below look strange from way up here, their heads are like hundreds of little coloured cotton buds jostling between the buildings.

I聮m dropping the leaflets now, Javen the helicopter pilot is shouting something at me, but I can聮t hear him.

We聮ve landed. From what I can gather it is illegal to do a leaflet drop on Amsterdam and the pilot I hired is quite angry. It聮s strange when someone is angry at you in a foreign language, even though I only understand the odd word, it聮s really easy to understand his meaning from the tone of his voice and his hand gestures. I think Javen is calling the police so I聮m gong to go now.

I聮ve fashioned a cardboard sign with the words "hier of daar, ergens" on it. Helga told me this is the thing to write if I want to get picked up quickly. I hope it isn聮t rude.

The whole windmill was made of a melded polymer and contained an underground complex of conference rooms, canteens and cheap carpet. The tiny guru soon lost interest in me when he realised I wasn聮t one of the delegates for the Milk Products Conference and I had to leave.

Windmills should be for milling things, or showing people how things used to be milled, not for some materialistic conglomerate to warp to their own ends. I hate it when people take something old and special and try to mould it to their own needs. IGMT are trying to turn Ironbridge into a multimedia experience, all computers and projectors and interactive facilities.

The money would be much better spent keeping Ironbridge looking like it used to, a magnificent monument to the engineering, architectural and building prowess of times past. Surrounded by majestic countryside and a gateway to a period when innovation and craftsmanship were uneasy partners on a new frontier of bridge construction. Sent IGMT an Email and warn them about the Corporate Theme Windmill scenario, it will probably just confuse them but at least they will be reading that and not putting a multi-story car park next to Ironbridge.

I聮ve met up with a fellow hitchhiker called Barclay. Barclay looks like a young James K. Polk, he tells me that the only way to see Holland is by Motorcycle, so I聮m going to buy him one as soon as we find a shop that sells them. Barclay promises me I will not regret it.

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