Life Coach

The Speakmans are two of about 700 registered life coaches practising in Britain today.  

They also happen to be a wild and eccentric couple who live in a vast 13th Century mansion in Rochdale.


Their clients, who include footballers and famous faces, swear by the couple’s unconventional therapy methods such as throwing buckets of mud at their Grade II listed walls or using a famous time machine to take their clients to the future.


We sent a reporter to find out more.


“Yeah,” said a famous face, “throwing buckets of mud at those Grade II listed walls helped cure my phobias.”

“What did you fear?”

“Walls mostly.  Also mud.”


“And what do you think makes the Speakmans so wild and eccentric?”
“Well, they both have blonde highlights in their hair and they dance around a lot and wave their arms.”

“Anything else?”

“They don’t wear shoes indoors.”

“Pretty wild then?”



Our reporter found another celebrity sitting in the 13th Century garden.


“Hello, famous face, why are you crying?  Did the life coaches break down your mental barriers thereby releasing a torrent of suppressed grief?”


“No, I’m crying because I’ve just seen their bloody invoice.” 


Next week: 
The Speakmans meet famous face “Charles” who leads an unfulfilled life dominated by his mother “Queenie” and his wife “Horsey”.  Charles discovers that it’s pretty wild and eccentric to smoke cannabis rather than talk to it.


Life saver

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Lim pics

The Olympic Games are here again and at The Open Wound we’ve been excited by the Freestyle Doubles Comedy Routine event.


First introduced by Adolf Hitler in the 1936 Olympics and won that year by Americans Abbot and Costello with ‘Who’s on First?’ this event has never been won by a British doubles team.


This year the Chinese pairing of brothers How Hi and So Hi are the favourites.

An expectant hush descends as they march into the arena.

Can the home team snatch the Gold?


The brothers start.


“Did you watch the marathon race?” asks How Hi.
“I don’t know, you better ask Yu?”


“Ask who?”

“No, don’t ask Hew.  Ask Yu.”


“Ask me what?”

“How did Mei get involved?”

“You asked me the question!”

“Yu asked Mei what question?”


The crowd applaud, acknowledging the difficulty of the opening section.


“Look I’m just interested in who won!”
“I can understand that, she’s an attractive girl.”

“Who’s an attractive girl?”
“No, Hew’s her brother.  Hu Won is an attractive girl.”

 And so it goes on into the night.  Stars fall, comets collide, and the Earth continues on the arc that will eventually plunge it into the molten lava of Red Giant Star 352.  

Don’t worry, gentle reader, it will all be over before you can blink.

Olympic sunset

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Boris Johnson, Mayor of London, has saved a woman who was being attacked by a gang of young girls, one of whom was brandishing an iron bar.  The woman called out for help to a passing cyclist, who turned out to be Mr Johnson.  He grabbed the weapon and chased off the girls.

Commentators have wondered why Mr Johnson’s advisers have not made more fuss of the incident; surely Boris is a modern Knight in Shining Armour and that would look good in the paper?

The reason is that those advisors have been unable to sleep because they have been haunted by the other possible outcomes:

“Boris ignores damsel in distress and cycles to safety”

“Boris beats twelve year old girl to death with iron bar”

“Boris badly beaten by gang of school girls.”

They were lucky this time, next time those sweaty, pale ‘yes-men’ might have to earn their large salaries.


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In my attic there is an old tiger who has been imprisoned there since the day I met my wife.  The three of us could not survive living together like Siegfried and Roy and so I keep him locked in an iron cage and I feed him treats by hand.

If that tiger ever escapes he will destroy me.



Sometimes I exchange messages with a girl in the street or a woman in a shop and far away I can hear the tiger thrashing around and gnawing at the metal bars.


I’ve built that cage well but all it needs to break it apart is a moment of weakness.


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Scientists led by Dr Ben Whalley, at the University o f Reading have used cells from the brain of a rat foetus to control a robot and help it to navigate around its enclosure.

The Open Wound sent senior journalist, Tim Flapps, to investigate.

“Hello, Dr Whalley, we’ve come to see your experiment.”
“Sorry.  You can’t.”

“Are you denying the right of the Free Press because you’re scared of being labelled ‘Frankenstein’?”
“No, you can’t see the robot because it’s escaped.  It gnawed through its cage, chewed through the skirting board and is currently living in the wall space.”

“Is this a danger to public safety?”
“Don’t worry; our emergency response measures have been instigated. “

“Which are?”
“We’ve left a piece of Edam in a trap and our maintenance man is whacking the wall with a broom to drive it out.  If I was you, I’d get up on this table with me.  And tuck your trousers into your socks.”


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In the eyes of God

Eighty four year old Nigerian, Mohammed Bello Abubakar has 86 wives.

“I don’t go looking for them, they come to me,” said Mister Abubakar, “God did not say what the punishment should be for a man who has more than four wives.”

The Open Wound asked God that question.

“The crime is also the punishment,” said an unfathomable God, “Abubakar might pretend he’s 84 but I can tell you he’s only 36, he just looks 84.  Now stop bothering me, my Tesco home shopping’s just turned up and I have to check for ridiculous substitutions.”


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