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I must be an idiot. Not just the idiot I hear in the audio you'll hear by clicking on the picture to the left - though he is a very annoying idiot indeed - but also the idiot who still exists now and has decided for some reason beyond his own comprehension to upload this awful thing to the internet. I don't know - maybe it feels like a dare, like I have to do something to get over some kind of fear. But seriously, I probably think I'll get away with it because I doubt anyone will ever bother to listen to it. It's borderline incomprehensible anyway and you'll surely turn it off after a few seconds.

 

But if you DO listen to it, remember this: it's just a random thing I kept on tape by accident that I recently rediscovered, and features me just hyperactively pissing about. It happens to me now and again, though these days in different ways - suddenly, without warning, I have a "mad half hour" and become extraordinarily creative for a short while before everything cools down and returns to normal. These days I like to keep a pen and paper handy for the bollocks that pours out of my brain but they are generally positive affairs during which the flow of ideas is heightened and I can generate enough stuff from those days to keep me going for months or even years.

 

The sad thing here is that I've taped myself having such an attack in 1984 (I can tell the date from the things he says) in the attic of our house (I'll explain later but it was sort of my 'playroom'), deep in the hormonal Hell of puberty, though my voice had only semi-broken and... well, the bollocks that pours out of my mouth is really quite insane, and intensely embarrassing. From my camp announcememt of 'Prance About the Room Time' to my pervy ogling of the female companions on the back page of Doctor Who Magazine to my haughty and unfair dismissal of Peter Davison - I actually think he's brilliant - to all the terrible jokes, the odd bit of deliberate swearing meant to make me sound grown up but actually making me sound like a prize tit.

 

Then there's the indecipherable stupid voices and noises, the sudden song I improvise from nowhere (which appears to have a reggae beat, making it even more embarrassing), the manic conversation I have near the window, followed by intensely stupid noises and infantile screeching - then, for a brief moment, the rather poignant realisation that he is alone and has no friends - but this quickly turns into a melodramatic bout of annoying fake wailing. Then I slag off Doctor Who again, and finally babble meaningless sentences in an accent that won't stop changing, until mercifully the tape runs out. Friends, admirers, acquaintances beware! This is not a pretty thing to listen to. You may have a very different view of me after listening to it.

 

It really is the most terrifying thing to admit - that I was once like this, that I occasionally still am - that part of me feels like the act of uploading it is a deliberately self-destructive thing, designed to ruin my own reputation because of some buried sense of self-loathing. I ask myself again and again, why are you letting people hear this? Why don't you just burn it? Then again, there's another part of me who really doesn't remember being that person in the recording, who thinks its value as a historic record of how infuriatingly manic I could be back then - and its value as a thing which is so aesthetically awful, so much worse than bad can be, that it actually becomes entertaining.

 

And then there's another voice in my head who says that in many ways, the person you hear on this recording is the real me, the best me, at the peak of his creative powers - the guy I usually hide from public view, so it's rare anyone ever meets him - and of course I wish I could have his manic confidence and freewheeling stream-of-consciousness mentality more often - I just wish he didn't come across as such a screeching, whining, annoying little arse head.

 

So if that hasn't put you off, and you really are brave, evil or daft enough to attempt to listen to this wretched thing, please be reassured that it doesn't really last half an hour. Having edited out all the totally incomprehensible and inaudible bits of mumbling, it runs at just over six and a half minutes. But it will feel like half an hour.

The Wepherds (May 1984)
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June 7, 1984
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1971-2016
Knob Head Magazine (1984)
A nice relaxing picture of me at the age of 12 looking tired in the garden with my grandma Mary and our three cats Zenith, Domino and Karma - deliberately chosen to make you feel much calmer as you listen to the audio which pops up when you click the photo. If ever you think about punching the boy, remember he is stroking a cat
The Wepherds
Soap Opera
May 1984
Bobby Goes to Scunthorpe
My first comedy song
Spring 1984
Shane Wepherd
The Affair
1984
Knob Head Magazine
A comic for adults only
1984
The final story in the incredibly interesting Richard Forsythe quadrilogy
Shane Wepherd smashes his own daughter's teeth out with a bar of soap
Gary Le Strange relaxing in the Comedy Store
Detail from the tape cover to The Wepherds, which features my first recorded comedy song
A line I didn't expect to find in a comic strip written by a 12 year old
Knob Head - no childish stuff here, folks! Just good, hard adult fun!