A pathetic superhero dubbed ‘Super Sleeper’ by fans, has been photographed taking a nap in a Suffolk pub urinal.
Dressed in heroic red & blue, colours usually associated with proper crime fighters like Superman,.Spiderman, and Wonder Woman, ‘Super Sleeper’ ended last Saturday night prostrate in the gents’ urine-filled trough.
The caped florist
Unlike, most other genuine superheroes, whose true identities are kept a closely guarded secret,.‘Super Sleeper’ is known to be 26-year-old Kevin Williamson from Woodbridge, Suffolk. Williamson, a student studying for a diploma in Basic Wedding Flowers at Suffolk Rural College in Otley, is known for his obsession with Marvel Heroes and DC Comics.
We spoke to several members of the college campus who know Williamson, one of whom, Betty Farmskill, told us “Yeah, Kev’s a bit of a twerp but a nice lad at heart. He was brought up around agriculture, by Farmer Williamson and his wife, up on the Williamson farm in Nacton. Oi think he got a bit bored with it all: the farm, the fruit and veg, even the flowers etc. and oi thinks he does the superhero thing because of that. Oi think its escapism is all.”
Asleep faster than a speeding bullet
When we asked Betty what was behind Williamson’s choice of the ‘Super Sleeper’ alter ego, she told us “He has narcolepsy. You know, that chronic neurological disorder that affects the brain’s ability to control sleep-wake cycles? He falls asleep anywhere. I once saw him fall asleep on a springboard board at Broomhill swimming pool,.and that was after he had bounced up and down a couple of times.”
The comfort of sleeping in Pub Urinal
This reporter decided he had to talk to the pathetic hero himself to really get to the heart of the story so we arranged, through Betty, to meet in a dark alley in Ipswich at midnight. When I arrived the alley was deserted, apart from a scurrying rat that darted between the bins beside me when it sensed my presence. The siren of a cop car pierced the cold night air, sending a chill down my already frozen spine. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the sound of feet landing on the rubbish-strewn tarmac behind me caused me to turn quickly. There, stood before me, like a young Wayne Sleep, was Williamson, in his impressive blue and red lycra leotard. “Super Sleeper!” I blurted out, awestruck at his gymnastic descent from a low roof overhanging the alley in which we now stood facing one another, watchfully. “Thanks for meeting me,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket for my notebook. “Much crime out there, tonight?”
“Snore. Zzzzzzzz…” came the hero’s somnambulant reply.
