Bella Lasagne - Pawn in the Reign of Emperor Sam

Why is Bella Lasagne’s restaurant named Rivoli’s?

And why does Fireman Sam continue to let his young niece and nephew dine in her establishment when she’s constantly setting fire to it?  Rather than take his position in the local community seriously he prefers to wait for the inevitable accident to happen and then just lecture everyone afterwards.  Seems he’s just trying to keep the people of the village of Pontypandy within the iron grasp of Emperor Sam through fear and intimidation, they all know that if a fire occurs and only incompetent Elvis is there to save them then will surely perish.

So why is Bella’s restaurant named Rivoli’s?  I have a theory.

Emperor Sam in his bid for supreme power needed proof of the savage danger of fire, an icon, a victim.  Rivoli was the name of Lasagne’s late husband.  She lost him in a tragic firework accident, he’d bought a magnificent firework that lit the sky in the shape of a loveheart with which he intended  to surprise Lasagne.  He’d bought it from a man with a handlebar moustache and a habit of twirling it whilst muttering gleefully under his breath.  It was his gift to her on their fifth wedding anniversary, a token of his undying love.

He told her to go to the upstairs back window and look to the skies.  Patiently she looked into the night sky as her husband below lit the firework.  She patiently waited a bit longer.  Suddenly the garden below her exploded in ravenous flame, it streaked between the fences like napalm.  In the throws of wildest panic she dialled the emergency services, 999.

Elvis arrived minutes later and bravely fought the nonexistant flames in the cafe itself and dashed upstairs to get Bella out.  As he rushed back downstairs with Bella over his shoulder in the well rehearsed Fireman’s Lift, she screamed at him.

“My-a husband, he’s still-a outside in the fire!”

“Oh, bloody hell mun” panicked Elvis “Where’s Sam when you need him?”

Where indeed was Sam?  Visiting a sick Aunt?  On a well deserved holiday?  It mattered not where he was, rather where he wasn’t.  And he certainly wasn’t in Pontypandy.  He needed to prove he was indispensable.

When Sam arrived back in the village we can’t be sure what happened.  We can however assume that there was a conversation with Bella that went something along these lines:

“Oh Sam, it all happened-a so fast.  And Elvis, he-a… he-a tried, but he just couldn’t save him.”

“I know Bella, I know.”

“Oh Sam, I…”

“Hush now, Sam’s here now lovely.  You now know the dangers of knock off fireworks don’t you?”

“Yes-a.”

“Don’t worry, Sam’s not going to be leaving here again, I’ll make sure that nothing like this happens ever again.”

“”Oh Sam…”

“Shush now, at least one thing’s come out of this, you can start using your maiden name again.  I always did like the sound of it, such a pretty sing-songy name, Bella Lasagne.”

“Yes-a Sam…”

Presumably he then proceeded to take advantage of her in fragile state of mourning.  He probably cackled himself to sleep at night for weeks on end, his perfect scheme bestowing him complete power over the village.  Bastard.

upcoming comic

Woo! Just got the rough sketch outlines of the first four pages of our comic from Hannah, would have more, but her scanner’s fooking up her computer. It deals with death, sex, fantasy and emoness, what more could one ask for in sequential art, eh? I won’t be posting anymore of the rough stuff, it’s just so nice to see it as something other than words in the script that I just had to share.

Take a look:

Should have the first few pages of the epic space adventure that I’m doing with Luke soon, so I’ll post those for y’all to see when I get them.

Incidentally, this is probably as good a time as any to tell you that I’m looking for an artist to collaborate on a new project with, my plate is considerably empty and I’m getting bored. So if you’re interested or know anyone who might be then gimme a bell. Otherwise I’ll have to start pestering random people again…

romance

Today I’ve listened to Tom Waits’ Asylum Years twice.

Twice.

I can’t remember the last time I listened to a record twice in the same week, let alone the same day. Blame it on the easy thievery MP3s and the libraic choice they lend to the listener, or the attention span of a hyperactive toddler that I seem to posess. Either way, it’s a rare occurence that has nurtured something I’ve not felt for a long time. It’s reawakened the romace within me.

The album is a collection of songs he wrote whilst signed to Asylum Records, his early years. The ones he spent presenting himself as a booze sipping lounge singer, wit and observation flowing from his mouth as easily as notes from the piano he pounded and caressed.

Waits himself is just as much a romanticized figure as his music. It’s easily done when you craft songs that display unique individuals in often dingy worlds of booze, sex and unmoralistic circumstances as he did on his later work, his “weird” work. But when you’re seemingly nothing more than a lounge troubador with an occaisionally gravelly voice and sparkling turn of phrase, that’s something to be admired and on repeated listening, something to be adored and deservedly mystified.

Romance is a hazy state of being that’s eluded me for years now, a ghost of an emotion I’ve been searching for using beer as my map and whiskey as my compass. Waits’ lounge songs are drenched in booze and the dramas that begin, end and drift in and out of bars, it’s an underlying theme that links these soap operas together, whether it be the beginning, the middle or the end. It’s this haze and musk, these almost indesrcibable feelings clumped together in vague terminology from which romance is born.

Sure, his later work had more musical scope, but he had just as much musical depth in these tunes. The lyrics are just poignant, if more predictable, in fact, I defy you to be a romantic young man and not imagine yourself as an onlooker in his tales without relishing it. Hell, I defy you to feel like you’re not there when the shit goes down.

So I’ve found romance again, I’ll probably cling to it for a few months. During that time I’m not only going to wallow in it, but take these feelings and use them to dare threw daily events, be it by fist, jaw or lips. With PMA restored I’m going to lounge around in smoke and search for love and fisticuffs.