Since Plod became 'emotionally' engaged in looking at various receipts in Ms Billary's Waitrose bag, it is understood that she has made some pretty shady purchases in recent months. It is clear that Mr 'Willy' Clinchton has a desire to enjoy the delicacies such as sausage rolls (you're getting too close - Ed), tartan cackleberries (do you mean Scotch eggs - Ed), and also raspberry ripples. (WHAAAT - Ed).
It is clear that her 'slots' with Waitrose have coincided with a spike in bad traffic conditions in Sodden Prickney, and that Plod are understandably miffed that as the traffic lights are out of sync for the fourth time this month, the seventeen lorries of comestibles have clogged up the system yet again!
Sid Trumpet has immediately seized on this information as evidence that Ms Billary knew about the proposed bus layby all along, and that her partner Willy was also in the ring! Mr Trumpet has now produced more evidence that Ms Billary is guilty of conniving with the Sodden Prickney Highways dept so that her constituency office has in effect, a personalised parking space right outside, and she doesn't have to wait in the rain while Mr Clinchton goes and fetches the motorcar.
PC Lumbersnatch has been patrolling the area for a number of years, and has also noticed that the Waitrose deliveries have been making deliveries on a regular basis, and he wonders why. (PC Lumbersnatch leaves all his shopping to Mrs Lumbersnatch, who is a superviser of sheets and pillowcases in Sodden Prickney's Model Steam Laundry. She is also a distant cousin of Miss Newt, and her involvement in this farrago will become clearer, when the rental deals on her 560,000 retail emporium have been completed with Mr Trumpet and his advisers, Clegg, Twillit and Twonk).
Mr Basil Kalashnikov has been seen running in every direction and yelling 'Sod everyone', for some reason only known to himself, but it is likely that he was dead keen on getting Ms Billary on his committee, (and maybe on his couch - Ed) as he rather fancies her rolling eyes, which he puts down to ecstasy. As Mr Trumpet has now taken the lead in the proposed election to the Ways and Moans Committee, Mr Kalashnikov will probably have to endure several years of hatred and despair, and most citizens of Sodden Prickney who care a monkeys, think that he deserves all that!
10 comments:
Dear Sir,
Thank you for your comments, which were interesting but highly misleading for the local village residents. I think you should leave "The Bells" a little earlier...
It has been known for several years that Ms B has a spare key to the library which enables her to make regular visits after normal opening hours to undertake, as she puts it, "some online shopping on the computer". I have no idea what that means, but the "History" box and "Recycle Bin" facilities are always emptied after her visits to prevent nosy newspaper readers and other visitors to discover what was on her personal shopping list. That is of course entirely unsurprising, but I did hear a rumour that various types of pizza are ordered on a regular basis. Each to their own of course, but I think that disclosing this activity to the village will go a long way to explaining the overload of lorries in the car park and need be no cause for undue alarm.
It is also quite possible that with her computing expertise - and her famed maintenance of the highest possible standards - she would know how to access the Council files to see what plans are brewing for the village. I consider that to be highly honourable and it is good that somebody is keeping tabs on Mr Kalashnikov and his cronies on our behalf and if an unwanted bus lane is to be foisted on the motoring community, we should know about it before the first sod (if you will excuse the expression) is turned.
After much deliberation, I shall support Mr Trumpet's bid to secure his place on the committee, but I do wish he would stop going on about his fire grates again and again and again when most of us already have perfectly effective electric central heating.
Yours etc
Polly Cottonsox (Ms) - Chief Librarian
Dear Ms Cottonsox,
(I see you have a vague relationship to 'Willy' Clinchton, who used to have a cat called Sox, but this may just be a coincidence)!
PC Lumbersnatch has just informed 'The Bugle', that he's 'lost' most of the postcards, and feels it fair to let her and Willy off for the time being! The library computer has Windows 3.1 as an operating system still, and is unlikely to have the necessary speed and efficiency to be used for emails, as I'm sure you really know. I think Ms Billary is using a laptop, possibly Mr Kalshnikov's, at convenient times, such as when they're taking a few things down.
Far be it for me to speculate, but Mr Trumpet has a lot of work to do now, owing to PC Lumbersnatch's gross inefficiency in losing the very postcards which would ban Ms Billary from holding any office, for life, and probably longer!
Yours sincerely,
Conrad O'Blene.
The other evening I was having quiet drink at Ms Billary’s local, the Hammered Blackberry and the stories about her circulating round the bar would make your hair stand on end. They serve an unusual ale by the way, every pint strained through the Head Brewer’s string vest to ensure the level of clarity we’ve come to expect under Ms Billary’s unsteady patronage.
Mr Clinchton popped his head round the door singing a rather bawdy song about sausage rolls but soon disappeared when some wag told him Ms Billary was under the table waiting to pounce on on Mr Basil Kalashnikov. She wasn't there of course. Apparently she was with a chap from the Sodden Prickney Highways dept showing off her collection of antique knuckle dusters.
Hah! I see that barste...bartender from the Grope and Tackle Inn has just been appointed as Chairperson of the Pickney regional darts team. That was a spurious decision made by an unauthorised and unelected bunch from the out of touch squalid Arrerchuckers Union.
That is outrageous and I am hereby resigning my position and moving to my new bungalow by the sea in Qatar. I am quite unable to perform my duties when competing against such an outlandish lowering of the normal standards I expect from ex-colleagues.
Goodbye!
P. Cottonsox (Ms) - ex-Chief Librarian
Hallo Conrad, old chap, how have you been? Haven't seen you for ages! Anyway...
There was I seated comfortably in the saloon bar of the "Safe Space Arms" up by the roundabout enjoying a swift half of my favourite tipple, when who should walk in but old Nosher Cohen! He was looking very red in the face and flustered, so I waved him over to my table. As he sat down, I raised my arm in the air and waggled a couple of fingers at Michaela behind the bar in the true and trusted old fashioned way of ordering half a lager, and pointed at Nosher's head to illustrate for whom the drink was intended. Michaela nodded and gave me a lascivious look. He/she(?) always does that, but I have yet to discover the reason for it.
Turning back to Nosher I enquired after his health."You look bit and flustered, mate, what's happened?"
He looked at me with undisguised venom in his eyes and blurted, "That bloody woman with the pale green 1961 convertible Morris Minor nearly ran me dahn. Musta bin doin' at least 40 in the 20mph zone and not lookin' where she was goin'. Nearly 'ad me 'ead off!. There was a thick cloud of bluey-black smoke comin' out the exhaust pipe, the 'ood was down and the boot lid was open bouncin' up'n'dahn like a bloody yoyo and 'anging out the back was a large trunk and two rolled up carpets. Looked like she was in a 'urry to get somewhere. Good job the local yobs nicked the camera out of that pole on the edge of the roundabout!"
"That wasn't very nice of her", I ventured as Michaela minced over with Nosh's drink.
"Gorra a baga Smiff's salt and vinegar crisps, love?" he asked. She gave him her broadest toothy grin and replied, "Comin' right up, me dahlin'".
After a few sips, Nosh continued.. "Ah! Thas betta, I needed that. Oh, er, 'ave you 'erd?"
I looked at him, "Have I heard what?"
"About that woman in the car. She's the one with the bun on 'er 'ead, always wears straight grey skirts and them nurses' flat 'eeled shoes. Used to run the librey until last Saturday. I 'erd she 'ad a punch up wiv someone and resigned on the spot. Anyway, as you know, I work in the 'igh Street bank in the back room doing the numbers. I was inputtin' some data a cuppla days ago and made a typo on the keyboard. Result was the account I was lookin' for dint come up on the screen, but hers did! When I looked at it, I saw that it had bin closed last week and all the money transferred to an account in Qarter"
"Pardon? You mean Quetta, in India or Pakistan, or somewhere out that way anyway?"
"Nope, I mean Qarter. That's what it said".
"Sorry, never heard of it. Sounds like it might be somewhere in Scotland, I suppose?"
"Dunno, anyway, that's where it's all gone to. Per'aps we should ask the barman/maid. He/she's supposed to come from Sarf Soodan ain't she? May it's somewhere near where she comes from".
"Hmm" I muttered, "Very odd".
"The uvva thing I 'erd was she got 'erself mixed up with some bloke on the council. Dint get the details, but summat to do wiv receipts from a certain "ladies' boutique" nudge nudge. Can't trust them councillors any more these days. Anyway, sounds like she's well aht of it by nah".
(end of part 1)
Part 2
"Don't mean nuffink to me anyway, but it does give me a little problem now as it means I can't get into the librey to use the computer any more. I used to pop in on Saturday lunchtimes to get a little flutter on the gee-gees wiv me online gamblin' 'ouse. Now I can't do that any more and not only that, but I don't know no-one what's got a computer now, so I spose I'll 'ave to go aht and git meself one of them new fangled eye phone thingies. Gawd knows 'ow long it'll take ter get me 'ead round 'ow it works."
"I feel better nah, mate. Thanks for the drink, see ya around".
And with that he was gone...
Reevers, it's always a shame when people come up to you for no apparent reason, and start complaining isn't it!
I always tell them to bugger off; it saves time!
Dear Ms Cottonsox,
Will you please reconsider your resignation?
I have a book which needs returning, and cannot stand talking to your replacement, who has a wart and bad breath.
Yours sincerely,
Conrad.
Hi Conrad,
I fully agree with your sentiments - especially when being kind to folk merely leaves one with an empty glass, a faint whiff of "Sexy Alapha Male" aftershave, an unopened bag of unwanted crisps ... and, of course, the bill. My fault - I should have turned to face the fire and he might not have seen me. Next time....
PS: Sounds like the library might be a good pplace to keep away from in future. You could always drop your book through the letterbox there one dark night when there is nobody around. If it is overdue, sellotape a suitale coin to the inside cover.
Dear Mr Conrad,
Thank you very much for your (unwelcome) entreaty for me to return. I have made my decision and, as I type, I am sitting in a comfortable deck chair, sipping an ice-cold G&T (Grandmother's ruin, isn't it? How apt!) under a large beach umbrella alongside my half-size Olympic swimming pool in the garden of my beautiful 4-bedroom, 5 bathroom villa on the southern outskirts of Doha. That is in Qatar (the locals call it "Gutter" for some reason; must be the transliteration from the English). But I don't suppose anybody there has the faintest idea of where that is on the map.
All that scrimping and saving over the years has paid off handsomely and, given the unfortunate events in the village, I decided it was time to, as the local uncouth youth say, "sling my 'ook", so that is what I did. My only regret was having to part with Michelle, my beautiful faithful little Morris Minor who was a true and reliable friend for the past 55 years or so (and, even if I say so myself, was still as good as the day I bought it for 480 pounds all those years ago).
I now have a gardener, permanent security guard, a driver and a handsome Indian (Goan actually) houseboy who is an excellent cook and knows his way round the DiY toolbox in the garage. What more could an ex-librarian ask for? Oh, and all in for just 100 pounds a month. There is no income tax here, so my little treasure pot will last for years.
Furthermore it is currently just on 30*C here - I think that is about 100*F where you are - and I really can't see myself giving all this up to return to rejoin the maleficent idiots on the council and all those "ladies" who frequent a certain boutique in the next town. Sigh! I suppose they have to do something to keep the attention of their hen-packed husbands.
No, Sir. My decision is made, but may I take this opportunity to wish you all a Merry Christmas, which of course is not celebrated here any more.
As ever, your friend
Polly
Oh PS: Just lob that book over the library wall. Somebody will pick it up in a day or two.
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