Oct 31

Where’s The Pie?


Am enjoying being back in the saddle of the recording horse, whatever that means. The Bearcast is back with a new run of seven shows of banter, music, odd news, various, misc, guests? Something like that. If you’ve listened to it before you know what it’s about. Plenty of awesome, wild speculation and a fair bit of uneducated guessing. It’s really bloody funny too!

Quick salute to those who help us out with it all. Danny, Dave, Gillian, Blane, Nick, Marty, Ian, Jim. And of course Nape, Terry, Wellington too even! Token Female, she’s all right. We’re also haunted by the spicy salsa whiff of Tequila Terry who resides somewhere nearby.

If you don’t know who any of those buggers are then you need to update your little black book of awesome people.

Look at me blathering on, I only came on here to tell you I’m having pork pie for breakfast!

oi oi!

P.S. Look at this pic! Blane did this because he is monstrously amazing!


Oct 19

Series 4 – In your ears very soon!


We recorded episode 1 of the fourth series of The Bearcast all successful like but Terry hasn’t edited the bloody thing together yet despite my repeated attempts to point at the computer while watching Bergerac DVDs and eating bacon sandwiches. It got to a point when I was halfway through the Sharpe boxset that he said, “What’s wrong with your arm?” so I guess he’ll be on the case very soon. This weekend in fact! Or I’ll burn his comics.
We’ve even got a nice new website in preparation for it all. What do you think?

I’m off.

Jun 03

Dead Frank’s Jubilee

I want to tell you about a friend of mine. Of course I can’t actually call him a friend as such, he doesn’t get on well with anyone, but I suppose I’m the nearest thing he’s got to someone who can remain in his company and not lose an eye.

His name’s Frank and he’s a pigeon. Dead Frank, we call him. He’s called Dead Frank because of his disposition and the fact that he’s been hit by numerous buses and mauled by a rottweiller and, if you can believe him, a bear and is just too bloody stubborn to believe he couldn’t live through all that.

He’s not a handsome chap.

I’m one of the very few people he can just about trust and leave intact because we do each other favours. I let him sleep in my spare pigeon loft and get him food and beer now and then and he sometimes, when he’s feeling generous, acts as muscle when I need to put the fear up those scrotes that try to rip me off in my “business” dealings.

He looks like a chewed rock. He’s lost half his beak, all of his toes, most of his feathers and his sense of humour.

The other day, he swears blind, he discovered a lion limping and exhausted and on the verge of collapse. His instinct was to beat the living crap out of it but then he noticed that the lion had a thorn stuck painfully in his paw.

Feeling a rare burst of sympathy (if you knew him you’d know how rare that is) he refrained from the beating and instead said, “Grow up, you girl!” And left him to it.

Later that day Dead Frank was cornered by a gang of ravens (yeah, those ravens, Tower of London Posse) who “didn’t like his face” or some such bollocks excuse and started laying into him.

“Fuckers had tools!” Dead Frank shouted at my face when he told me this tale. “Fucking shivs! Bastards!”

But then the lion showed up and a couple of ravens shat themselves but the lion just sat down and made no move to intervene.

“Help us out, mate,” Dead Frank used his most friendly of manners. “I’ll get you a pie and a pint, yeah? Be a pal?”

But the lion told him in no uncertain terms to “Fuck off”.

The ravens grinned and started moving towards finishing their bloody work but they didn’t realise one very important thing. No one, but no one, tells Dead Frank to fuck off.

The lion suddenly found himself facing an enraged, half-chewed, pigeon shaped rock and was kicked halfway down The Strand and beaten bloody.

The ravens were long gone by then and have avoided Dead Frank ever since.

But Dead Frank holds a grudge, see. That boy won’t let anything go.

His first act of revenge is being carried out today. He’s going to be perched on London Bridge waiting for The Queen to pass underneath and he’s going to try and let one go, as it were.

He’s been a bit constipated of late though so I hope he doesn’t explode or anything.

So yeah, watch out for that on the news.

Apr 03

‘There are downsides to looking this awesome’: Why people hate me for being gorgeous.

On a recent fall down the stairs, completely drunk, I was delighted when a cleaning lady came over and gave me a bottle of mead. 

‘This is from the bins — I wanted to welcome you to the pavement and hope you had a great fall today,’ she explained.

You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t proper mead. At least, I don’t think it was.


‘Good looking bear’: But Jeb Bearstone says that his pleasant exterior has been a mixed blessing, with many of his own kind becoming resentful, and have closed as many doors, right in his face, as they have opened.

Throughout my adult life, I’ve regularly had bottles thrown at me by people I don’t know. Once, a well-dressed lady bought my train ticket when I was standing by her legs in the queue. Well I say “bought” but she dropped her ticket and I nabbed it and ran.


Jeb takes pride in his appearance. He works out (how much beer he can get from a tenner), he smokes to look awesome cool and his appetite for pork pies is inspiring.


There was another occasion when a charming pigeon salesman paid my fare as I stepped out of a cab in Peckham. Stole my iPad mind.

Another time, as I was walking through London’s East Street market, I was tapped on the shoulder and punched in the face. Even bar tenders frequently shoo my credit card away when I try to settle my bill. They know not to trust my credit cards unfortunately. Cash only or get out.


‘I’m 38 This year! Beat that, 37-year-olds. Mine’s a pint, ta.’

And whenever I’ve asked what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, these people have always said the same thing: my pleasing exterior and winsome grin confuse the fuck out of everyone.

It’s not easy being me.



Me having a day that’s not easy.

Mar 10

Bearcast Denied?

‘ello, you lot!


There’s trouble in the world of The Bearcast. The hosting place has decided to drop all podcasts hosted with them like a shedload of shitty bricks without any warning whatsoever. 

This almost resulted in me losing some of the shows we’ve done! But thanks to the quick thinking of Nape’s skull stuffing, and his computer having stored ’em, all the episodes are well safe. Just, sadly, not public at the moment.

Plans are being pondered though and there will be a place for ’em soon enough but in the meantime if you want to relive any of our shows then you can either wait for a bit or give me a yell, and a pint of beer, and I’ll see what I can do.

In the meantime if you ever see anyone at all who has anything to do with the running of Mevio, punch them solidly right up the bracket yeah?




Jul 18

European Podcast Awards – The Bearcast

Hello, you gorgeous blimmin’ lot!

There’s a European Podcast Awards thing and we’re in it. Every vote for us means an extra biscuit a day for Mavis, a pigeon of elderly years unable to deliver messages and small packages. Her only pleasure in this world now revolves around tea and biscuits. We’ve got some tea in but we’re out of biscuits.

Thank you very much!

Also, our podcast is bloody brilliant. It’s like milkshake. On toast!