Updated January 2001
(All bribes/tearful pleas for the photos to be taken down will be refused - probably)
Chris M indulging in his passion for Malibu.
Straight outta the bottle. What a man. Note also
the cider on the table. Used to make bizarre
freaky drinks combinations.
Paul & Steve [l-r] in Guildford, in
shopping trollies, in a very very inebriated state.
And, if campus security had caught them, in shit.
Me & Chris K, the latter looking very
confused. He appears to be trying to shoot himself
in the head whilst under the delusion he has
a gun in his left hand.
Matt & Sendu [l-r] Look closely where
Matt's hands are. Yes! That's right! They're NOT in any dodgy
place whatsoever! The Lord be praised! Have you
any
idea
how rare this photo is? [Sorry Matt..]
Paul. And R2D2. This was taken when we
were very, very drunk in Steve's bedroom in Guildford.
At the time it seemed like a great idea to put
a model of R2D2 on Paul's head. Nope, in the cold
light of day I have no idea either. Still, good
photo. Pity my cack-handed editing meant R2D2's head got chopped off.
(huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh)
[Nose/Lips of] Chris K, George, Steve, The
Godfather.
Considering this was taken on New Year's Day,
they look surprisingly well considering the
immense curry and beer intake the night before.
Apart from Steve, who looks like someone's
groping him. Believe me, no-one was.
Not even Matt.
Steve. Look at those muscles girls! Arnie's
got nothing on our Steve, as opposed to Steve who's
just got nothing on. Dirty bastard. Good thing
he's crossing his legs, believe me. This photo could've been far
worse. It could've given you nightmares for at
least 27 and a half weeks otherwise.
Chris. Attempting to perfect the Vulcan death grip on thin air.
Me (Paul). Amidst much juvenile and immature
humour, when I showed everyone this photo
they all went "huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhuh he's
got a poof on his head". And so I have.
George. By the way, his jeans weren't quite
as white as this. My scanner fucked up and I had to lighten the
image to make it visible. Oh, and just to show
how mature we all are, the reason for this photo was to
make jokes about extendible lenses...
Steve. Note the carefully crafted foam
moustache and precise angle of arm raised in salute.
The manically crazed eyes of a psychopath complete
the very realistic picture.
Steve. In the absence of anyone else to get intimate with
- after me and Paul rejected him - , Steve attempts to tongue my camera,
only to be rejected out of hand by my discerning Minolta or whatever it
is, which far prefers a nice
Canon with auto focus, GSOH and a zoomable lens.
Me (Paul) and Steve. Taking during an intensive
headbanging session at 4 in the morning after we'd just got back from a
club which probably woke the other 9 people in Steve's flat up. You should
have seen the look of envy on his face when
he realised he could no longer headbang as well
as I could. He was distraught. Truly distraught, I tell you.
Steve. Here we see a very drunk Steve modelling the latest in
the Bacofoil headwear range while also trying
- and failing - to put his tongue back in his mouth, as it appears
to have fallen out.
Wallace. Have we got any cheese, Gromit?
(Note also the true Rasta headgear worn by the no. 1 Yardie himself, Mr Stephen "Bob Marley" Taylor)
Channel 5. [Chris M, Me (Paul), Paul, Chris
K (l-r)]. No, but seriously, this was taken years ago when
very drunk which explains the uniquely dire picture
quality. It only got in here because of my accidental
Keef "I eat guinea pigs, I do" Flint impression.
George. Oooooooooh! Look at his big ...lens! What a man!
Me (Paul). Before you say anything or collapse
in peals of laughter, this only went in 'cause I was threatened with extreme
violence if it didn't. Mainly from Steve, as is obvious from the other
photos. I never noticed how much
like a goblin I actually looked till I was rudely
poked in the ribs by this photograph, which then proceeded
to laugh riotously at me and puke over me in
great quantities. It had to be tied down with bondage strength
rope before it could be scanned.
Steve. For reasons best known to himself, Steve decided to make
the ultimate fashion statement by
wrapping a pair of Doc Martens round his head. Rumours that this fad
has spread to the catwalks
of Milan are, at the moment, unconfirmed.
Steve & Chris M. As well as Steve's ground breaking Bacofoil
feat, Chris attempts to invent a new
form of headgear in the shape of a very fetching black condom. Note
the lovely fishnet tights effect this
creates. At this point I feel I should mention that the condom pictured
was...er not quite brand new. In
the interests of hygiene Chris decided to rinse it out under the tap.
Steve. He suddenly realised where, exactly, he took a leak at 3 in the morning.
Me (Paul) & Elmo. Although it isn't clear in this photo,
I did, in fact, have plaits in my hair thanks to Jo.
I let her do it without realising how stupid I looked. The Elmo thing
was incidental compared
to that.
Paul. Although I realise I risk mutilation and death by putting
this in, it had to be done. Doesn't he look
sweet?
Ahem.
Steve. I'm not saying anything about this picture. Apart
from that my window's never been used for
wan mas perv spraying
beer through before. And never again, probably.
Me (Paul), Steve & Paul. Taken somewhere (can't remember
where), this is a classic example of a)
dire photos taken at arm's length and b) of Steve's potential for a
part in Erazerhead.
Steve, Caroline (Chris' sister), Me (Paul). Taken down the pub
(as is obvious) - after we'd been there
for some time (equally obvious) - where I succeed once again in completely
embarrassing everyone. Though I think Steve might have collapsed onto the
table involuntarily, as he was drinking triple whiskies and cokes in pint
glasses. Fucking top man.
Chris & President Clinton's Sex Aid. Query - did President Clinton use a Cuban cigar?
Anyway, this perfectly illustrates our resident nicotine addict's favourite
smoke, although he did look a bit out of place
in the pub where everyone else was smoking MaxTarCoughSplutter Benson
& Hedges (TM).
Steve. And after those triple whiskies and cokes, Steve tried to go to sleep on the lawn. (See below)
Chris M, Steve (unconscious-ish), Caroline. Here they debate whether to leave Steve lying on the lawn in the middle of a massive housing estate in Dunstable, whether to dump him in the boot of Chris' car or whether to bring him inside. Much to everyone's disappointment, sanity prevailed and he staggered inside, leaning very heavily on us.
Before kissing us.
Steve & me (Paul). I think this was taken after we got back from a club, and decided it would be a fat, nay phat idea to take a photo of someone taking a photo.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Steve. Attempting to straddle and possibly rape the obligatory traffic cone which appeared from somewhere, as they always seem to do.
(Proto-) Jamiroquai. The less said about this the better.
See, I managed to avoid mentioning coneheads.
Me. This was taken in my front doorway, though I don't remember anything about it. I was obviously getting on down with some heavy heavy grooves and having a monster jam.
Or not, as the case may be.
Chris. Now it makes more sense. Here Chris is obviously trying the rarely seen and yet-to-be-patented elbow strumming technique while SIMULTANEOUSLY lighting a fag. Now does that take skill, or does that take skill ladies and gents?
Three yet to be identified slightly over-age juvenile delinquents. Yep, it's the old 'borrowing things' lark again. How we love it when we get drunk. They were obviously wondering what to do with the bollard and trolley. This shopping trolley came all the way from Sainsbury's, I'll have you know. Or so I heard, anyway. Not having been there. And because I would never get involved in such nefarious activities.
Cousin It. Slightly drunken attempt to make me look like the It itself.
Yep, Butch Cassidy and The Sunburn Kid rides again. This almost obscene picture of Paul (just loooooooooooook at those muscles! ohoohohohohohhoohohoh) was taken after he lay in the sun for many, many hours and was lightly fried like the chips from Tandorri Kitchen. He was in agony for days afterwards. How we laughed, being complete bastards.
Steve, demonstrating that size isn't everything.
Steve, trying to conceal himself behind a palm tree-thing but forgetting he was somewhat wider than it and his beer-belly stuck out too much.
Steve. Here he proves that evolution in the Taylor family stopped several centuries/milleniums ago.
Steve & me (Paul). Apologies for the weird angle, but whoever
took it was almost certainly drunk. Here you can see us
pissing off Paul & Sendu as we keep forgetting the betting
system in poker and still whipping Paul's arse hollow. Weird metaphor,
but it really was the case.
Steve's Hand & Steve's Log. Unfortunately this photo fails to capture the true enormity and magnificence of Steve's log, which singlehandedly blocked up the hotel's sewerage system and threatened to escape all over the bathroom.
God knows what he ate, but whatever it was it didn't have this effect on anything else.
So let us pay homage to Steve's special digestive system.
Bow down, you heathens.
Matt, me (Paul) and Steve. Modelling the latest in stupid hats, as well as me doing a Noddy Holder impression - "IT'S CHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRISTMAS!!!!!" - this was on New Year's Eve '99 outside Chris' house just before we hit Westminster Bridge and got immensely crushed.
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photos below! Blue-cocktail-tastic!
Me (Paul) amongst others, holding up the right hand side of the banner. Part of a phat protest outside McShit in Market Street, Manchester where we blocked out the window, handed out shitloads of leaflets and generally pissed McDonald's off. A successful day, all in all.
Once again, me (Paul) in Manchester being my usual motivated self (i.e. reading the paper) on an anti-consumerism action we did. Shortly after this photo was taken someone called the police and six gun toting flak-jacket wearing cops jumped out of a riot van and tried to arrest us, before realising we weren't doing anything illegal. Note also my regulation all-black 'demo' wear, although I obviously wasn't on top form as the white shirt broke the colour scheme up.
Chris 'n' Paul, just after the weed kicked in. From what I remember, the artexed ceiling held a special fascination for them as they loved the "really swirly patterns, maaaaaaaan".
Me. Asleep. I haven't yet worked out who took this but they will be in for much retribution and will BLEEEEEEEED copiously when I find out. I also put it in just to show there was no policy to leave embarrassing photos of me out. Even if I am wearing a purple shirt and white trousers. And have a very short haircut. Fnar.
Chris M's little brother (whose name I've completely forgotten at the moment..oh yeah, Gary) and Paul. Paul demonstrates here that he can't even escape from an 8 year old...
Me, George, Steve & Paul. Notice the incredibly demented/retarded look on Steve's face.
George and Steve "Campman" Taylor. Here George is obviously worshipping the arrival of the Oh So Purple one (in the shiny silver shirt) who can mince almost as well as he can pack meat...Boy George look out, you've got competition.
George. Being a horny little devil.
Me. Playing the guitar with a piece of toast. Obviously I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing (prize to anyone who guesses what song that lyric's from) but I managed to lose my plectrum after stumming next to Paul's ear at high speed while trying to wake him up. It didn't work, so I hit him over the head repeatedly with an A4 pad. Then the nice men in white coats took me away. Goo-goo ge-joob.
George, a fridge, and IMMENSE amounts of beer. We went specially
to Kwik Save to stock up on huuuuge amounts of cheap alcohol to get amazingly
drunk while playing Worms. Agnefa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa and Bjorn-tastic! Shortly
after this photo was taken one of the shelves in the fridge collapsed.
Bummer.
Paul and his inflatable spotty...er...hammer? All I can say to this is that the base looks very very swollen and that he should go and see someone about that (and not to get it out in public in my room again, please).
George. Here he's giving damn good head to Paul's inflatable spotty thing even though he can only get a tiny bit of it in his mouth.
Steve. Yep, that vest makes yet another reappearance as do his hairy legs. Here he's molesting Phil's 'hi-fi', in the loosest sense of the word. Mental note to self: Stop taking photos like this.
Steve, that vest, and George with something on his head. I've
got no idea where/when this was taken
(just found it lying around). Looked weird though so I thought I'd
insert it in here.
Me (Paul) & Andrew. A truly tinsel-tastic photo (either that
or they need to start the cosmetic surgery ASAP) which
sums up the beautiful decor of my house with the giant knobs on the
sofa [the ones on the armrest, not anything else] as well as the strange
florescent strips Andrew seems to be wearing on his jacket. Either that
or my camera was hallucinating. Again.
Steve. It hasn't come out too clearly, but he is indeed wearing a flyer entitled "Suck Me" [the height of Mancunian sophistication]. He didn't need much persuading to wear it, the big horny dirty man. Don't know if anyone obliged him though.
Andrew, Steve and a traffic barrier type-thingy. It was indeed so luminous that it hurt and we all paid homage to it by trying to play it like a bass guitar. Here Steve is perfecting the bass line to Another One Bites The Dust by Queen. We really needed to plug it into an amp though.
George and several tons of tinsel. Despite it being late August, we decided that George would look inspired as a Christmas tree and so decorated him appropriately. Attempts to plug him into the mains were vetoed when it was pointed out it was unlikely that a) he'd light up or twinkle and b) we'd end up shorting out the entire street.
Steve & Andrew. Despite what it looks like no-one had done
anything to Steve. At least, I don't think they had.
Never have I seen such a wonderfully camp look. Andrew, meanwhile,
just looks bemused.
Me, Paul & George. In all these photos I seem to be drinking beer. This may be indicative of something. But I can't think what. Anyway, we all look very happy in this otherwise non-eventful photo.
Steve. Oh yes! Camp Attack-tastic! Not only have we got the luv-er-ly silver nail varnish but also the wonderfully limp wrists. Superb, sweetie-darling! That top is also very...er...fetching.
Steve. You can't help but feel he wasn't entering into the spirit of Christmas decorating in August.
Me, Steve & Andrew. Posing outside the God-like Ho's (where we'd worshipped earlier that night in the form of chow mein) after coming back from a very festive night down Canal Street where we sampled many of the local hostelries complete with androgynous bar-staff.
P.S - we do normally have faces, we just took them off for more atmosphere. Andrew left his eyes on to scare people.
A pole, Steve and my back (and a pint). Taken in Mutz Nutz (possibly
the smallest club in Manchester but with the most
ear-splitting sound system) where Steve proved he should have been
in Striptease, not Demi Moore, as his pole-dancing was just so
much
better.
Steve and an unidentified lifeform. This lov-er-ly purple wig was picked up at Afflecks Palace (the phattest shops in Manchester) but, like the skintight red PVC trousers he tried on, Steve decided it just wasn't for him. Pity really, it'd have looked great at that fetish night which he went to.
Steve & Andrew. Steve getting his lips around a nice big cone here and much chillin' (but not much illin') going on in this idyllic countryside setting. A photo to brighten your day and gladden your hearts. Or something.
Louise & Steve. Louise (for the..er..uninitiated) is a lov-er-ly girl who Steve & Andrew know down in Guildford & who's favourite saying is, apparently "D'you wanna see my ginger minge?" (to be said in the Bianca from EastEnders stylee). It might just be me, but Steve looks genuinely terrified here.
Steve & me (Paul) No idea where this was taken [might have been Mutz Nutz] but we both look most heinously psychotic. "I don't like the drugs (but the drugs like me)".
Filmed on location at: