Welcome, readers, to another installment of ‘Tales
From The Bunkerlow’!
Last time I left off with a brief intro about Bonky’s most
subjugated and yet loyal servants - or ‘followers’
as he likes to call them in his L. Ron Hubbard kinda way – the ever so fey and
yet ever so insidious ‘Br. Keith’.
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| The enigma known as 'Br' Keith Exclusive copyright Kev Chesham |
‘Br’ Keith is a
strange individual. I do not know if his vacant demeanour is the result of
brain damage, learning difficulties, his
years of drug abuse, his cult indoctrination at the hands of Bonky or just not
being very bright. Maybe it is a combination of all or some of these
explanations. Or maybe just the need to change his toothpaste to Macleans, and
choose instead of staring blindly with the eternal sunshine of the spotless
mind to adopt a much more convincing rhetoric by giving us all a dazzling smile
(when he is allowed to open his mouth that is.) One things certain tho – the
boy ain’t right.
‘Br’ Keith achieved no small degree of lack of public
recognition when he went along with one of Bonky’s publicity stunts in the
early 1970s. I say ‘went along with’ – in my opinion ‘Br’ Keith is just the
kind of ‘unfortunate’ as the Victorians would say who would actually believe
Sean if he told him that his girlfriend had been bitten by a vampire, so he
best make her some nourishing broth pronto. Or at best, believe blindly that
Sean was being flexible with the truth for some kind of noble cause, such as
reminding the secular world of the ever present temptations of Lucifer yadda
yadda yadda. Not so he could make a name
for himself and flog a few self-published books .Oh no, heaven forbid! Br Sean
is incapable of such a deceptive and self-promoting act! If Sean told ‘Br’
Keith the moon was made of green cheese, ‘Br’ Keith would bow to his learned
wisdom and ask him if he would like him to go and fetch some for his lunch.
You see, as well as being, shall we say, somewhat backward, ‘Br’
Keith is also a Jesus-Nutter ... this
leaves him very, very easy to manipulate and Sean has the right skills in this
department. For him, as he has expressed to me personally, ‘Br’ Keith is the perfect dummy. Who better to go along
with a hoax upon which Sean has built what he hilariously refers to as a
literary career (apart from Eggmanne of course but he doesn’t need brainwashing
or manipulating on account of those handcuffs which stop them both going over
the cliff of public shaming and disgrace together). Take a breath, Kev!
One might think that such a loyal subject would be treated
with respect and consideration. Not so …
after all, that is not the nature of a cultic hierachy, although
neophytes and believers might misguidedly convince themselves that they are
valued by those they serve.
For example, on one of our last visits to the Bunkerlow,
Bonky told Bev and myself that ‘Br’ Keith turned up at the Bunkerlow after travelling
over a hundred miles by train to see them,
and they pretended not to be in, desperate not to have him around the
place. ‘Br’ Keith had obviously come
well prepared for his visit, as after ringing the bell and getting no response
he slumped down on the front porch,
where he proceeded to "outwait" them
for several hours, equipped with a flask of tea (or ‘something!’) and a
brown paper bag of sandwiches. About half an hour into his vigil he walked
round to the back of the house and apparently tried the back door leading in
from the garden. It was locked! Like most doors in the Bunkerlow, most of the
time! So he begrudgingly walked back, and begrudgingly slumped down on the
porch again.
At first this was great sport for them, evincing much
giggling and whispering, until they realized that they were trapped inside
their own house and unable to leave without admitting they had been in all the
time. When Sean and Sarah did eventually open the door having conceded that ‘Br’
Keith might well spend the entire night
there, Bonky had to pretend he had flu, and that he and Sarah had been upstairs
and the bell was not working so they did not hear him etc... They were laughing
when they told us this story, Sean as usual clapping his hands with over
excitement, but they really did not like his visits which was why they
tried to pretend to be out.
Clean living Bonky (discounting the ProPlus and the wine
cellar) used the term "Spliff-on-Sea” when writing and then emailing about
‘Br’ Keith . It seems this daily aid was not used when visiting the Bunkerlow,
so ‘Br’ Keith used to try ... that is
try … to hit the wine. As ‘Br’ Keith sees it, who
needs a "spliff" when you can get "Arthur-Blissed" (no pun
intended to the Eggmanne). I
remember a time when he was drinking glass after glass at dinner, and Sean was
saying to Sarah to keep the wine away from him ... Sarah then moved the bottle
from ‘Br’ Keith and his head was down
like a school kid who had just been relieved of a bag of sweets …Bev and I were
near to falling off our chairs.
You see, Bonky has very real reasons for keeping ‘Br’ Keith
off the sauce. He did let go a few times but I had to sneak him copious amounts
of wine before the old tongue started to waggle. For instance he gave me
details once about Bonky and letters sent to him (no computer for‘Br’ Keith )
from Sean that he was to then copy and send to various parties (note ... I was
also persuaded to do this on occasion ... also others have fallen for this
tactic. I see that some copies of the letters dictated by Bonky to ‘Br’ Keith and sent to me have found their way onto
Sean’s hateblogs about me. Some which have not may well see the light of day on
this very blog in the near future including their enclosures …. Oh yes, they
make very interesting reading!) On this occasion ‘Br’ Keith had had a skin-full and was in
verbal-overdrive ... Bonky was going on to Laurie and Eggman and ‘Br’ Keith was spilling
the beans all over Bev and myself ... Sean was not amused. I would not be
surprised if Keith spent the evening after we had left sitting on the naughty
step. I am absolutely certain that he would have received at least a very L.
Ron Hubbard-esque dressing down, having witnessed Sean verbally degrade him in
front of others in such a manner on many occasions.
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| 'Br' Keith trying to remember the script that Bonky told him to memorise, but clearly struggling - Exclusive copyright Kev Chesham |
By this time I do remember that Sean had purchased a Hornby
train set and was populating it with little men and trees etc which he was
buying off Ebay. He had set it up on a table in a room upstairs. ‘Br’ Keith spent many happy hours in Sean’s playroom
(they are both in their 60s!) gazing gormlessly at the trainset. Sometimes if
he had been a good boy Sean would even let him have a go, but this was rare, as
Sean was notorious for hogging the ‘choo choo’, leaving ‘Br’ Keith to watch him enviously. Maybe this was one of
the reasons he liked to visit the Bunkerlow so much, always with the
inspiration that he might get to play Thomas the Tank! All very bizarre I
suppose, but then even Sean must need to take a break sometimes from his
‘internet empire’, set up to malign and
defame his perceived enemies, by
watching his toy trains whizzing around the tracks. Personally I always
had the gut instinct that the train set idea originated in doctors’ advice that
he take up a hobby which took him away from the computer; I was not the only
one of his inner circle to draw this conclusion, as his behaviour patterns
continued to become ever worse and perturbing.
But the infantalising of ‘Br’ Keith has a serious aspect.
If I ever mentioned David Farrant to ‘Br’ Keith (who always came up in conversation with Bonky)
he would not answer but would curtly refer me to his stock responses "Sean deals with that" or “Sean is
dealing with Farrant” ..honest ...
bleedin’ weirdo reply or what? Unable to form or articulate his own opinions
whatsoever. Not normal. Unless of course, one is a brainwashed cult member who
has renounced all personal responsibility and views in deference to the cult’s
official stance on all matters.
‘Br’ Keith also advised
me that I should follow his ‘example’ and make Sean’s ‘Church’ (i.e. Sean
himself) the primary beneficiary of my Last Will and Testament, as he said he
had done. I already knew about this arrangement, as Sean had openly bragged
about it in ‘Br’ Keith ’s absence, including (whilst rubbing his hands with
glee) pointing out that ‘Br’ Keith had
received at least two inheritances and that the sacrifice of putting up with
his company was justified by the inevitable fiscal reward. Naturally getting his hands on Keith’s
inheritance became more of a goal for Sean after Sarah’s mother cut her out her
will, after finding out that Sean is not a real bishop at all, but a conman. That
was apparently all Farrant’s fault – not because he twisted Sean’s arm into
pretending to be a member of the clergy, but because he pointed out to Sean’s
mother in law that this was what he was doing. As I say, arch-manipulator Sean
is NEVER – categorically NEVER – to blame for any misfortune that befalls him
and is whiter than the driven snow. White being the operative word …
To give him SOME credit, much as he might dislike ‘Br’ Keith
and privately hold him in contempt and treat him with disdain, Sean certainly
makes sure that as far as ‘Br’ Keith is concerned he considers him a valued,
loyal friend – and ‘comrade’. At ‘Br’ Keith’s 60th birthday for
example, the gameplan was obvious – make
a big fuss of ‘Br’ Keith, while secretly laughing about how he enjoys being
babied – most likely on account of his mental age. Even his birthday cake for
example – which could be seen as a kind gesture – was intended to mock him and
how his ‘friends’ Sean and Sarah see him. And the tragedy is that Keith was the
only one there who just couldn’t see the joke.
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| 'Happy 60th Birthday 'Br' Keith'! Exclusive copyright Kev Chesham |
I was rather nauseated when at the same party Sean got ‘Br’
Keith to pose in front of a terribly executed portrait of him which he had
painted ‘in his honour’. Like all of Sean’s paintings it resembled something
which a young child would produce, but to puppy dog Keith it may as well have
been a Michaelangelo commission. Because
the Commander had seen fit to commend his underling’s image to canvas. The
unquestioning manservant’s pride is evident in the photo taken by Bev below,
whereas Sean in his third reich eagle emblazoned shirt simply looks bored as
though he is going through the motions. Which he was – he couldn’t wait for
that day to be over.
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| Sean humouring his acolyte. Cheer up Sean, it'll all be over soon and you can put him back on the train! Exclusive copyright Kev Chesham |
On the subject of puppies, some of you may have noticed a
brass plaque in ‘bishop’ Sean’s nazi shrine, which reads ‘never mind the dog,
beware of the owner’. Sean does not and has never to my knowledge owned an
actual dog. For one thing he is scared of them, and for another he would not be
able to take it for walks because he is too paranoid to leave the Bunkerlow,
and too addicted to his computer to step outside into Reality. As a guard dog, Br. Spliff-on-Sea is more of
a King Charles spaniel than a Rottweiler. But, readers, should you by now be
feeling any charity towards this rather pathetic individual, do not fall into
the trap of under-estimating him or making excuses for him. He is every bit as
poisonous and duplicitious as his dear Commander. He just doesn’t have the
brains to dream up his own schemes, deferring instead to Sean’s cunning little
brain for advice on all aspects of life – personal and political.
For one time when I had cause to meet ‘Br’ Keith he surprised me by taking me aside and giving
me a carefully memorised lecture on why I should be honoured to be selected for
potential membership of ... have you guessed yet??? .... the BNP ! of which he himself (along with his Commander) was
a fervent member It was news to me that I had been ‘carefully selected’ to join
a political party which I could have freely joined of my own volition whenever
I wanted ... not that I DID want to. “Be sensible and come on board, Sean knows
what’s best,” was the bumbling advice proffered by 'Spliff-on-Sea' on this
occasion. Which is when the ‘troubles’ began for Kev in earnest. Oh yes! Much more
on that subject to follow shortly in another thrilling installment of tales
from the Bunkerlow. Much much more.
Your faithful seller of truths not pigs in pokes,
Kev
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