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Submitted by: Jason Harwood (mate and fellow 80’s fashion icon)

The famous “nest” story. One we insisted he told when ever we were drunk.

Will guess at 1995. Trading desk at Merrill with Me, Munf and Briggsy (no wonder banks are now in trouble!). Knowing Briggsy was due his morning constitutional, Munf went off to trap 2 with the paper under his arm. There he proceeded to take his best shot at his biggest shit he’d ever done, but had taken the time and laid half a roll of loo paper in the pan first and laid said shit over the paper. The “nest” as was later known.

Without wiping (don’t ask) he didn’t flush but just shut the lid and noticing other traps busy, ran back to the desk. There he found Briggsy “touching cloth” waiting for the newspaper relay. Off Briggsy went upon which Munf told the whole desk of the trap that he had quite literally just laid. We then waited for Briggsy to return hoping that he had sprung the trap. He said nothing for a few mins. Munf couldn’t wait.

“Nice dump?” Said Munf.

” Yeah” said briggsy…….. “But u never guess what some animal had done”. Bingo !!

The whole desk roared with laughter for several minutes. We were actually crying. The boss then returned (a very straight American guy). “Hey what’s so funny?” he asks. Briggsy tells him. The Boss didn’t find it nearly as funny as the rest of the desk!

This particular party trick became a favourite of Munfs which I was on the receiving end of several times over the following years when ever we roomed together. He always found it hilarious. Very odd but so did I !!!

Submitted by: Michael Corbett (Brother)

I was around 13 years old when I some how convinced my mother that it would be a good idea to let me go to Brixton Academy (on a school night as well) to see Dee-Lite play a set. I’d like to think that it was because she trusted me, as I was a sensible child but, in hindsight, she let me go with a friend who could be a bit mouthy* to Brixton, at night, so I have to assume she was testing my survival skills. Anyway, as the gig would finish late (actually, she might have been trying to get me bumped off, the more I think about this), I was to stay at Casa Corbett in Wapping, at that time inhabited by Joe “Hi, Joe Corbett here” Corbett, and the hero of the piece, Fingers.

We filtered out of the venue and somehow managed to get in to a black cab, despite my friend John’s best efforts to get us a good old fashioned shoeing from the local roughs. As the cab pulled up outside the flat in Wapping, I saw Fingers getting out of another black cab just in front of us. I also noticed that his shirt was ripped open, his knuckles looked bruise, and he had a very pleased look on his face.

It turns out that Fingers had managed to convince a bouncer at one of the nightclubs he’d been at to order a taxi for himself and the people he was out with. He was told that the taxi had arrived, and that it was parked down a side alley. Ever helpful, he bounded off to collect it and bring it back to pick the rest of the group up (I suspect he bounded in the style of a drunken monkey, a walk he did particularly well). As he arrived at the car, he heard some shouting, and a group walked up to him.

“Oii!! That’s our cab!!” Shouted one girl at funky Fingers.

“Erm, it isn’t, I’ve just ordered it from the club. It’s mine, I’m taking it”.

The girl clearly took this as a challenge.

“If you try to take that cab, I’m gonna slap you in the face”. A threat indeed.

“Bovvered” came his reply, and he went to get in to the cab.

True to her word, she slapped Andrew in the face. Realising that there wasn’t much he could do to her, his only option was to discuss it further with the lady in question’s boyfriend. And when I say discuss, I mean punch in the face. Oddly, the girl took offence to Fingers laying out her boyfriend so easily, so she slapped him again, and then ripped his shirt (Andrew, not the boyfriend, he was already having a shocker without her help). This delay gave the boyfriend just enough time to get back to his feet before Fingers, like a disco dancing Bruce Lee, “discussed” him again. The boyfriend didn’t get back up this time (erm, I’m sure he did eventually though), and Andrew jumped into the cab, happy with his evening’s work.

 (*and he didn’t let himself down on that front that night, but that’s a different story).

Submitted By: Andrew Corbett

This was an e-mail that he sent round the morning of 7th December 2010, detailing his eventful trip to work:

Cycling to the station in the dark this morning. Being extra careful on the icy/snowy roads. Get to the downhill part when I turn into Mount Ave (car sized alley-way) and as I’m half-way down the hill, the bike gets pulled from underneath me. Luckily me reflex(e)s are better than my spelling and I twisted mid-air to land on my back pack, but banged my elbow and grazed my left knee.

I picked my bike up, put the chain back on, twisted the handle bars and front wheel until they were pointing in the same direction and banged my front light so that the batteries went back into their slots.

I walked up the hill to see what had happened. It turns out that my front tyre had beeen snared by a loose wire from a small wire fence. Whether this was a booby trap or not, I’ll never know.

My back pack and coat were covered in mud and leaves where I’d slid down the hill and I was a bit shaken, but the show must go on.

But maybe it was a warning.

I got on the train (slightly lateer one, after the time wasted because of my fall), which after 15 mins stopped for a while, we were then told that it would terminate at Stratford and we’d have to get the tube the rest of the way. Great, I’m already late.

At Stratford I rushed off the train, down the stairs, under the subway, up the stairs and just as a Tube was about to leave, jumped onto it.

Unfortunately I slipped and my (already sore) left knee cracked on the tube floor as my leg fell down between the tube and the platform. Time stood still and sped up at the same time. Visions of being dragged along the platform played (in full High Definition) in my mind. Fortunately, I was aware enough to keep my right leg and hips on the train, so that the doors wouldn’t close and therefore the tube couldn’t move.

The other passengers pulled me up, the doors closed and off we went. Now I was standing on an extra packed Central line, pretending that I wasn’t hurt, my knee was throbbing and my elbow was sore, I was still covered in mud (and leaves), but to ease the (my) tension I mumbbled “huh, not my morning so far”, got no particular reaction, so became invisible again, which suited me..

I was the last one on train, I couldn’t stand up straight because of the curve in the doors. I was hot (wearing a coat and running up stairs) and cold (beacuse of the zero degrees weather) at the same time.

This is when I started feeling very queezy. Yep, here comes arguably the worst part. My vision started the tell tale signs of getting little brown dots. A bit like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I keep repeating to myself, “I am not going to faint, I am not going to faint”, with the odd “don’t be a wonker” and “man-up” thrown in for good measure.

What felt like an hour later, the train pulled in at the next stop and I wandered (very) Zomble-like down the platform at Mile End, until I found a seat.

So if anyone thought that they saw me with my head stuck between my legs and with my left trouser leg rolled up, making a low humming noise at Mile End this morning, at 07:10 it was me. And no, it wasn’t a secret Masons initiation.

Anyway, that was over an hour ago, a cup a of tea and a sausage + bacon bap later (the museli can go to hell this morning) and I’m ready for my next challenge.

BTW worse than all of this…….

Got home last night and my SKY TV was broken !

Submitted By: Liam Corbett (Brother)

For those that don’t know (I’m assuming that’s no one), Andrew’s love for West Ham was second only to that for his family, and maybe a few choice friends. He insisted that they were the best team around, despite the evidence to the contrary. So this particular event was a once in a lifetime for him.

Andrew pretending that West Ham had won something

Me, Jim and Fingers went to a West Ham vs Sunderland game at the end of a season and before hand, he wanted to put a bet on. He found what he thought was a corker, Trevor Sinclair to score first and West Ham to win 3-0. The 40-1 odds wouls have seen him pick up a cool £800 for his £20 investment.

However, there were no betting slips available and kick off was fast approaching. After being told they were trying to get some in but it could take 5 minutes, Fingers decided that he’d rather see the start of the game than hang around for a 40-1 long shot. So he took his seat for kick off – and glad he was too, as Joe Cole scored very very early on, much to Fingers’ relief. Good decision not to wait for the betting slip.

But the linesman had other ideas and wrongly (it turned out) disallowed the goal. And everyone can probably guess what happened next.

Trevor Sinclair (wearer of Andrew’s favourite number 8 shirt) scored the opening goal. He celebrated but it was a little subdued. Surely this wouldn’t happen. West Ham then made it 2-0 “I don’t believe this” and Andrew’s celebration was even more low key.

Sure enough, the Hammers then stormed into a 3-0 lead much to Fingers’ disgust, but with 15 minutes to go, there was still hope that the score line would change. It was at this point that Sunderland got clean through and me and Jim saw a sight that we never thought we’d ever see – Fingers wanting the opposition to score. “Go on, go on, GO ON” – only for the West Ham keeper David James, to make a great save. “Noooooo!!”. From the resulting corner, Sunderland then hit the crossbar – which was greeted with a swear word from Fingers. Once again, Fingers was gutted that West Ham hadn’t conceded.

In the final minute, West Ham broke clear, only for Joe Cole (again – he didn’t score that season), miss a simple chance to make it 4-0. West Ham had played really well, and won 3-0. Fingers was absolutely gutted!!

Elvis has left the building

Welcome to a site dedicated to a Father, Husband, Brother, Uncle, Son and to so many, a Friend – Andrew James Fingers Mumfy Corbett. He had to leave the party a bit earlier than anyone hoped or expected and as a result, has left the world a poorer (and less fun) place.

And because memories are often clouded and partly because there were so many funny stories and moments, we thought it’d be a good idea to try and capture some of the memories of his friends and family. It will give us all a good laugh whilst also giving Tashy and Jonny an insight into what their Daddy was like outside his “sensible” self at home (apart from at Bonfire night).

The menu bar above will give you links to Photos, Stories and a few other bits and pieces. We’re hoping that you can add your own photos and stories or even just add a comment to someone else’s.  You can do so by sending them to lpcorbett@hotmail.com or by posting them in this section.

He meant so much to so many and we all miss him terribly, but you know that he’d call us all a bunch of wallies for being sad.  So let’s remember him with laughter, and if any of you are feeling particularly down, then remember the amount of good that has come from this, and how many sick kids have had a happier time because of the efforts and generosity of you all.

It’s over to you lot now – all stories and photos are welcome – we’ve added a few to kick things off (in the Stories section above). We’re looking forward to hearing some more, and getting a bit of a laugh out of it. They can be as long or as short as you like and we welcome any comments/clarifications if any of you know slightly different sides to the stories!

Thanks for reading and hopefully contributing.

The Corbetts