The Story Of Keith Teeth
Season Three
For Everyone
Updated:
Barcelona, ES
The Set-Up
It was March and the evening was getting cold. We'd decided that our walk on the beach had come to an end. The sand was cooling and the kettle was calling. It was broo time and we were excited. But as we approached the van, we saw a ridiculous thing that, to this day, we can't make sense of. A sort-of pop-up restaurant on the sand - but full of high end catering equipment. A full stainless kitchen and so on. Worth a fortune, I imagine. And with only three walls, ripe for the picking. I'm not mad. This place exists. And to protect it, an African bloke sits on the wall all night long, just watching it, to make sure nobody tries to steal anything.
But let's rewind, just a tad...
Between the ocean and this ridiculous restaurant, lies an area of the beach that's usually covered in deck chairs. Now, of course, they were stacked up in rows because nobody wants to sit out on the beach in the freezing wind, and with only one import to look after the whole setup, the chairs needed to be tucked in close. And it's for this reason that we didn't spot our boy, Mohatou Mzakakuwu Chaba'ai L'. Keith, to you and me.
And it's because we didn't spot him that we thought the deck chairs, what with their wind-deflecting properties, would make a good substitute for a public toilet. And it was only half-way through this business, that the bastard appeared, angry and frightening, in the low light (see the artist's depiction of events, below - featuring the actual restaurant). You know when you watch the cricket with the TV contrast set to max and the brightness set to min? Oh.. Only me? Ok, nevermind.
He appeared out of nowhere. "No pissing on duh deck chairs!"
We did our best to scarper, but we weren't done pissing on duh deck chairs. We looked at each other and only the sound of pissing on duh deck chairs could be heard, between assertions from the lad.
"No pissing! Go away!"
BD and I were literally pissing ourselves, at this point, with the bizarreness of it. We'd found ourselves in yet another stupid situation and we couldn't do anything about it.
Now, he was "Keith Teeth".
Remorse → Broo
After getting caught with our bits out, Burtdad and I felt a bit guilty. Burtdad, not so much. Not at all. He was happy to sit with his broo and make like nothing happened. I, however, felt for poor old Keith, sitting out there, all night long, in the freezing wind. I decided to offer him a cup of tea, and to my surprise, he accepted and we sat on the wall for a few minutes, chatting over tea. It was actually quite nice.
When Keith Teeth finished his broo, I made my excuses and left. It was cold and I wasn't being paid to sit outside.
Back in the van, Burtdad remarked on my sensitivity to the suffering of others, then offered me a few of what he dubbed "chips". They were'nt chips. They were slices of potato that were raw in the middle and burned to a crisp on the outside. They were new kind of delicacy. What he had actually offered me on that fateful night is now known as 
Teflon Chips
I cried myself to sleep, with a rumbling tum.
And that was that.