Doing a Gezzy!

I have been asked on many occasions by lots of different people just why I don’t have a blog. Well the truth is I have nothing to say, and what I do have to say is of no use to anyone.

I’m not the typical middle-aged bloke who knows more than everyone else and feels the need to moan about how things were better in his day. Nor do I have a passion that I need to shout out to the world about, the only thing I have an interest in saving is my bank account. So there you go, not really blog material am I? But there again neither are most of the people who feel the need to distribute their life-found knowledge to others over the internerd, tweet, etc.

But there may be just one thing that I could share with you, it’s a bit weird but it’s a lot of fun. For a long time my strange habit didn’t have a title until my wife one day asked me if I was doing a ’Gezzy’ on someone and with that, my little habit had a name.

Please let me explain, my name is Gez Walsh I’m an author and sometimes comedian and sometimes broadcaster and full-time idiot. I have the attention-span and the same interest in life as the average ten year old boy. If I’m left to my own devices for any length of time I will inadvertently get myself into trouble. When I’m around there’s no point whatsoever putting up notices warning ‘DO NOT TOUCH’; for me that’s just an invitation. I also annoy people without trying, mainly because I tend to ask questions that I’m not supposed to ask. My ankles have permanent bruises where my wife has kicked them under a table. I love the weird and odd things in life and dislike convention. That is probably why I’m currently writing a series of books called Twisted Minds (first plug!).

I would like others to join in with me and see if I can start my own ‘Doing a Gezzy’ cult. Don’t worry, there’s no God-bothering or politics or strange rituals involved or any unpleasant bending. All it involves is lying and winding people up. Let’s make it clear from the start as far as I know I don’t suffer from Munchausen's syndrome, nor do I have an urge to be a Walter Mitty type who wants to look interesting. I just get incredibly bored very quickly and if left alone I need something to amuse myself with. 

The rules of doing a Gezzy are simple, you can never use doing a Gezzy to make money from people or do it to ridicule people, it’s just an innocent pastime that keeps you amused. The person who you are Gezzing is known as the Gezee. You have to try to keep the Gezzy between you and the Gezee NO ONE ELSE is to be in on the Gezzy, you have to play it for real. It sounds so simple, but trust me, as you will see, it’s very difficult.

It all started in the late nineties when my first series of novels the Celtic Chronicles came out (second plug). The books have become a cult classic which means people liked them but no-one bought them. To promote the books I thought it would be a good idea to wear a kilt: it’s strange the attention this gets you. With my legs I looked more like a standard lamp than Braveheart. In the books, one of the lead characters, a young man called ’Burp Dawson, referred to the Celtic warrior as a man in a skirt. At this time, while hunting for CDs in a second hand shop I noticed a skirt that was quite large and had a strange tartan. It was the type of skirt you may see on an old-style librarian. I know librarians have done a lot to get rid of this image. I have lots of friends who are librarians and I would describe them all as unemployed! But none of them ever wore a skirt that finished just under their boobies! Even the women.

The sight of this skirt got me wondering that if I were to wear it to book signings and events whether anyone would notice that I wasn’t a man in a kilt but as Burp would say a man in a skirt! The more I thought about this the more it appealed to me so I purchased the said garment for the princely sum of 75p.

“Would you like a bag for that dear” the sweet-looking assistant asked. All volunteers in charity shops look sweet to me don’t know why?

“No thanks, I’ll wear it now” I replied. She smiled, then put it in a bag for me.

The next day I was appearing at a branch of a well known book store to promote the book The Man in The Skirt (third plug)

I couldn’t wait the next morning to try on my new purchase. I knew my biggest problem would be my wife Carol. She is to be known from now on as the Nemesis! If she gets so much as a slight whiff of a Gezzy she blows my cover and lets people know what I’m doing. But as this was the beginning of my new pastime and even I didn’t know where it would take me, my problem would be to get out of the house wearing the librarian's skirt without Carol seeing me.

My wife has a sixth sense which alerts her to the fact that I’m trying to do something I shouldn’t. It’s like being bugged by the thought police, there’s no escape from it. I had put the skirt on; it was a lot bigger than I had anticipated so I had to pull it up under my arm pits just for the hem line to come up to my knees. The previous owner of this skirt was either the world’s biggest woman or a transvestite truck driver called Derrick. You see I’m six foot two inches tall so it must have had one big previous owner. Because I wanted to pass it off as a kilt I wore builder’s boots, a waistcoat and collarless shirt. I then put a butterfly pin in the bottom of the skirt just to confuse people even more. So everything looked masculine except me and the skirt and butterfly pin.

The bedroom door burst open and in walked the Nemesis, her Gezzy radar twitching like a hamster's nose on heat! She took one look at me, stood in full regalia, and declared, “What in the name of fu… what are you wearing?!”

I brushed down my new garment with more than a hint of pride, and replied, “It’s my new kilt. Do you like it?”

“Gez, it’s not a kilt, it’s a skirt!”

“Don’t talk stupid! It’s a kilt. The man in the shop told me it’s a rare clan tartan.”

“Let me have a look at the tag at the back and I’ll prove that it’s a skirt.” Damn! The nemesis is always one step ahead of me. I knew the tag in the back of my kilt said "Marks and Spencer, size 16".

“I’m late I’m meeting Steve and Debbie (my publishers) in half an hour. I have to get off.”

“You are not going out dressed like that! You look like Miss Marple. Have you got my butterfly clip on the bottom of your skirt?”

“It’s not a skirt! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s a kilt! And the clip is there to represent the clan’s people that fluttered around the Highlands.” Remember, once you have started the Gezzy you have to see it through no matter how many porkies you have to tell, be inventive.

“You know what you look like?”

“Mel Gibson?”

“No, a twat!”

“What’s the difference?” 

With that, I made my escape with the words of the Nemesis ringing in my ears, “I’m not turning up to the book signing with you looking like that!”

I met up with Debbie and Steve, and if they did notice I was wearing a librarian's skirt, they didn’t say, but to be fair to them, they are quite immune to my antics and probably thought it best to keep quiet for a quiet life. But they did comment on how my legs resembled something Time Team would dig up, so maybe they hadn’t noticed the skirt.

It wasn’t long before people started to ask me if I was Scottish. I replied yes to all of them (I not). They then asked what the tartan was, I told each person a different tartan. First a rather rotund lady with a red face that looked like it was on a count-down to an explosion Asked if it was a MacDonald tartan. I explained that although it was a similar tartan it was from the MacPokin Clan who were a very small clan related to the MacDonalds. Other clans I belonged to that day were MacSpankin, the Rabsy Nesbits (think about it) and the Dingles: all of them I think I got away with. I even told people that my family were from a small hamlet in the Highlands called Kirk Dun. I told them that the people there like to do the opposite of everyone else.

The day went well; no one noticed that I was wearing a skirt - well, if they did, they didn’t say. I enjoyed making up the stories about my family history, each one aligned to a true event to make them sound more real.

So that was it, my first Gezzy.  No one had got hurt, everyone had gone home with a story of daring deeds by my predecessors, none of them true (either the stories or the predecessors). So where was the harm? It had amused me no end how some people said that they had heard of my clan and one bloke even told me that he regularly drives through Kirk Dun. I had done it I had turned up to an event dressed like an amateur transvestite and got away with it, well nearly.

After the book signing I had a coffee with Julie, the illustrator of the book. She’s a very quiet, gentle soul and not used to outbursts. We sat and chatted at length about things in general. I finally had to go so I said my goodbyes and gave her a hug and started to walk out of the café when Julie shouted after me, “Gez!” I stopped and turned to her, “You do know that you’re wearing a skirt don’t you?” DAMN!

The next blog is going to be about my first Gezzy abroad. If you think that doing a Gezzy is easy try this. The next time you meet someone for the first time give them your name but give them a false Christian name, just see how long you can keep up the deception without getting caught out, Have fun.