Before winning fame – or perhaps notoriety – as the coach of fictional athlete Bobnit Tivol, the chain-smoking miseryguts we know and love as Old Halob led a purposeless and indigent existence. The familiar image of him, in that raincoat, grim and windswept and coughing up catarrh, standing at the side of a running track spurring his fictional protégé on to ever greater sprinting triumphs, had not yet been beamed through television screens across the globe back in the days when only a cluster of hovels stood on the site that would one day become the Old Halob Stadium Of Sporting Triumph And Prowess.
In his bestselling paperback Old Halob And Petula Clark : Are They The Same Person?, Pebblehead posits the theory that the (possibly) East European coach and the English songstress are the same person. He points to the well-documented fact that both, as children, sang in the entrance hall of Bentalls Department Store in Kingston-upon-Thames in exchange for a tin of toffee and a gold wristwatch. In addition, like Petula Clark, Old Halob released a CD entitled L’essentiel – 20 Succès Inoubliables. This is where his argument fails to convince, for where the aged pop diva’s album contained songs, and was a chart hit in Belgium, Old Halob’s CD consisted of a recording of him eating his breakfast and grumbling about his moth-eaten raincoat, and was an international, rather than merely a local, success.
Pebblehead’s twaddle is thoroughly demolished, of course, if we consider that for the first fifty two years of his life, Old Halob did little except refill bird feeders in the grounds of a Home for the Deranged, a job for which he was paid with a daily bowl of gruel and slops. His parents were fabulously wealthy, and lived the life of Riley in a big forbidding castle, but their son lacked ambition, and they disowned him when, at the age of nine, he rejected their birthday gifts of a booster pack, the elixir of life, a modelling contract with L’Oreal, and a populated planet in a far distant galaxy to treat as his plaything.
No one, not even Pebblehead, knows what happened to transform the dull-witted bird feeder maintenance man into an athletics coach of legend. Perhaps a clue lies in his change of diet. Shortly after Old Halob’s fiftieth birthday, the management of the Derangement Home was restructured following a report from consultants Pricewatergatecoopersfreemanhardywillis. As part of their recommendations, Old Halob stopped eating gruel and slops and was instead fed on whelks and barnacles. The evidence is not conclusive, but future biographers would be stupid to ignore it.
And that is all I have to say about Old Halob today.
What was the date of Old Halob’s ‘L’essentiel – 20 Succès Inoubliables’? If he released it as ‘a CD’ one guesses it must have post-dated Pink Floyd’s tripartite ‘Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast’ from 1970, implying the possibility that Halob was naught but a plagiarist of breath-taking impudence.
If, however, the Halob album originally came out in the earlier days of vinyl, shellac even, then it could well turn out to constitute a hitherto-neglected influence on the tiresome Floyd offering, and further reason — if further reason were needed — to outgribe in frustrated despair at the merest mention of Old Halob (or Juvenile Halob as he would then have been) and all his works.
After reading about that great contemporary novelist Shaka Pebblhead, I was determined to pop down to my local Warderstones and buy his complete works.
Unable to find his name on the shelves of the fiction section I searched in reference, science-fiction, and criminology and finally romance – all the while growing in outrage – could it be, I thought … could it Be that Mr Key has lied about Pebblehead and he is no more real than the fictional Athlete that so frequently features in his tall tales.
I joined thee queue at the information desk, seeking the advice of the pimple-faced book-store clerk. However by the time I reached the front I was so overcome by woe that all I could do was emit a slow and mournful hooting noise and was forced to leave the store in dejected embarrassment.
One day I shall know the truth!
Have you checked Amazon?
R : What is “Pink Floyd”? I’m afraid you’ve lost me there.