Back in October, it made headlines across the world. Now the oversized slipper big enough to fit a man inside is to be auctioned for “big money” in aid of Children in Need.
The size 1,450 Monster Claw slipper – made following a clerical error between the manufacturer and its Hong Kong factory – is to be sold on eBay as part of the official BBC Children in Need online auction 2011.
The furry novelty footwear has been donated by British company Monster Slippers. Its dimensions are 210cm x 130cm x 65cm and it weighs 16-17 kilos. Measuring the same length as a grizzly bear or a family car, it is currently being assessed by the Guinness Book of World Records to ascertain whether it’s the world’s biggest slipper.
A spokesman for online slipper company Monster Slippers, based in Dunmow, Essex, said: “This is the biggest monster slipper of them all and every single penny raised by the auction will go towards making a positive difference to the lives of disadvantaged children and young people right here in the UK.”
After portraying Winston Churchill in the Oscar winning The King’s Speech
Timothy Spall has voiced the part of a Goldfish.
Finished April 2011
Last summer writer/director Peter Chipping had purchased some small sports
action HD video cameras for some re-enactment dramas he was shooting at
Pinewood studios. Capitalizing on their small size, strength and underwater
capabilities he wrote a story that played to their versatility. Something that could
go into and out of water in one shot, was small, and cost effective to shoot. The
obvious story was the life and times of a goldfish. Timothy Spall very kindly
came on board (so to speak) and his vocal talents immersed to new depths
playing a goldfish that is looking for a new home.
About Peter Chipping
Written, directed, produced and edited by Peter Chipping.
Peter started as an editor in ITV before producing and directing for ITV,
Channel 4 and BBC Worldwide. He has also directed numerous commercials and
corporate communications along with re-enactment dramas and shorts. Peter is
now actively seeking opportunities to concentrate on directing drama.
He also writes speculative drama for cinema, shorts and television.
The short will hopefully have a selected run on some festivals, but the main
thrust will be on-line marketing to garner support for the filmmakers and their
future projects.
Location
Was shot in South East England and the music composed and pictures graded at
Pinewood Studios. The fish shop where the goldfish was purchased has recently
closed down.
Funnies
The director had to sign a declaration that HE had actually bought the goldfish,
as opposed to 12-year-old Ava as depicted in the film, as technically, you have to
be 16 to purchase goldfish.
Two goldfish were purchased (one was an identical stunt double). But both fish
survived and are very happily alive today and gracefully sharing a large tank
with other goldfish.
While filming, the crew had to prepare treated water 48 hours ahead of the
shoot. All water the actual goldfish swam in was the specially treated water.
Goldfish substitutes were lovingly handcrafted by the DoP’s wife Christine from
carrots. These were used for the “stunt” shots when the goldfish was transferred
from one jug to another.
The small sports camera was flushed down the toilet, but tethered with string
which allowed the director to retrieve it from the U bend, with marigold gloves.
Watch this cute Staffy scale walls and buildings in stunts only parkour runners (and cats, squirrels etc) could previously manage. Still wagging it’s tail as he makes jump after jump, ‘TreT’ hailing from the Ukraine leaves me thinking “where does he get his energy from?!”. Do I hear the bright lights of dog food virals calling?
People-watching and eave’s dropping are things I should do more often. These border-line peeping-Tomish pastimes often yield little snippets of gold…hold on, what the fuck is a “snippet of gold”? Is that possible? Am I mixing my damn turns of phrase again… anyway; it’s a great tool for a comedy writer. I try not to look suspicious or blatant or paedophilic when engaging in this important activity. Just the other day I was inadvertently listening to a most wonderful moment.
I was busy loitering in the park, pretending to read a newspaper. I spied a gentleman speaking on his mobile phone. It was clamped so tightly to his ear hole that he must have booked a one way ticket to brain tumourville. He was deeply embroiled in a spat with his significant other. I think her name was Melanie…shit man, he said “Mel”…could’ve been Melville. That doesn’t matter.
“No. No. Look I…no, you’re twisting my words, Mel. Now you’re just lying, for Christ’s sake! Look, she doesn’t even come by anymore. She said her hours have changed and I just don’t see her. No, I do not have her number. So what if she’s pretty? Oh my god, YOU just said she was pretty! Don’t get fucked off just because I agreed you stupid idiot.”
There was a pause
“Did you come? Cool. See you after work.”
After I was done sniggering, I thought, “Hang on, he’s in a park. What is he a ranger?” As he got up to walk passed me, I saw a badge on his shirt confirming this. Shit.
I killed the most beautiful butterfly today. Wow, that sentence makes my look like a soon-to-be serial killer. I didn’t mean to. It was fluttering along, maybe trying to find a new home, maybe trying to find a mate. Probably just fluttering aimlessly. The problem was, it was fluttering 1.5 meters above the M4 motorway.
I wasn’t fluttering. I was moving at a positively super-sonic pace (late for some bollocks, again). I was also encased in my 2 tonnes of steel and fibreglass and whatever the hell they make the cup-holder from.
The colourful mass left on my windscreen really was horrific. I mean, it was like the aftermath of a clown’s suicide jump…I assume. Fragments of red and yellow wing were still visible through the dark gunk, (butterfly lung, ass and uvula).
My next action, on reflection, was quite sick when you think about it…and you have nothing else to do. I pulled a tiny lever and the corpse was washed away in an instance. The remnants of such a beautiful little creature treated as equal to fluff, stains and those bits of crap that get in the way of our otherwise squeaky clean world. I’m a killer. I’m a bastard.
I mean, I couldn’t avoid killing it. The insurance folk wouldn’t accept “I swerved into the tanker to avoid a butterfly” as a valid reason to write off my car and maybe write off a limb or two. But my reaction, or lack of, makes me a killer. And a bastard.
But that spider I Hoovered deserved it. I hope the fucker rots in spider hell…great, now I’ll dream of being in spider hell tonight.
Californian inventor Donald Scruggs has been granted a patent on the most morbid gadget you might ever not experience. As burial space in cemeteries runs thin with all the horizontal resters, Donald wants you to remain on your feet to conserve precious burial space.
One of the main problems was making a shell that could withstand the twisting forces involved. While the patent has been granted, Scruggs is still working on prototypes to overcome this. No digging is needed as the coffin displaces dirt as it is screwed into the ground. This might even be a comfort to those with a fear of being buried alive as the lid could be made with an emergency exit, this also ruins many movie plot devices.
