The failures of the committee of Sodden Prickney PC continue to fester...
Reports are coming in of Clr. Basil Kalashnikov's third day being locked in the office in the hall, which used to be used for injecting citizens for rabies, the covids and other - er - transmitted diseases. He refuses to come out, and the occasional yelps of despair, together with a profusion of Guinness fumes emanate from the room, from time to time.
The entire committee are in turmoil, with Clr. Edwina Baggage desperately being exhorted to climb in through the side window, no doubt aided by Clr. Norman Wibble, who'll do anything to get his hands anywhere near her Janet Ragers, and for that matter, anything underneath! Our intrepid lady tried to lean her much-maligned bicycle against the wall to peer in at the Chairman's hideaway, but at the last moment, the front wheel slipped sideways, and had PC Lumbersnatch not been passing at exactly the same moment, she would have ended up in disarray on the decking below! The familiarity of the way our village policeman managed to take several minutes to lower her to the ground, by grasping several sections of her body at different times, was noted by Clr. Wibble, and he wrote a few words in his fading 'Boys Book Of Bicycles', for future reference.
Meanwhile, the few councillors who were left, including Clr. D'Artagnan-Minge, Clr. Dr Norbert Iodine, and Clr. Amelia Newt, (accompanied by her erstwhile companion and bag-carrier, Clr. Ron Groat), all sat around the coke stove in the hall and wondered what to do next! A motion of 'no confidence' was proposed by Clr. Cynthia Molestrangler, and seconded by Clr. Sid Trumpet. A request to 'third' the vote was sneered at by the whole committee, as PC Lumbersnatch had caused quite enough trouble already, and there was talk of Clr. Baggage reporting him to MI5, or some sort of place where errant policemen get their comeuppance!
So, with the reporters from the Bugle, including Clr. Baggage, and also comprising Torsten Smell and his assistant, Charlenerama Grainer both from the City Desk, (and occasionally 'up against it'), taking various notes on their electronic Filofaxes, and snapping a few pictures of the locked door, there was a commotion from the door, where an enraged Kalashnikov family member - believed to be his wife, or similar, stormed in with a Tupperware box of Ryvita and Kraft cheese slices.
On being questioned by Clr. Iodine as to why she had brought along such comestibles, she explained that it was the only food she could slide under the door, to be consumed by her debilitating 'husband'! This gave Clr. Iodine an idea, and he immediately unpacked a foil wrapping on a selection of beta-blockers, some gamma-blockers and for all they all knew, the rest of the bloody Greek alphabet-blockers, which he proceeded to blow through the keyhole with a disposable ear syringe!
After several minutes, a thump was heard from within, and it was assumed that Clr. Basil Kalashnikov had at last tired himself to oblivion, and the situation would enable PC Lumbersnatch to just unlock the door, with the key he traditionally keeps upon his person, next to his whistle, in case he 'gets lucky' after any of the steamier meetings of our despondent Parish Council.
