1
Crustabel Extracts Revenge
(Goodness Gracious - Great Balls a-Fire!)
Sorry folks. I’ve tried to submit this but I’m not allowed to post more than 10,000 characters, and my first chapter exceeds this.
I would love for you to have read them, but it’s not possible. 
Could you split it into two posts?
Yes, Maryl, that’s the only way it could be done, a sort of Part 1 and Part 2.
Will do that later as I’m off to work soon. 
OK then Mollie, something to look forward to this evening, thanks.
I shall sit here waiting patiently for the first instalment Mollie.
Split into posts sounds fine to me … it’ll be like a mini series!
Sorry I got off to a bad start in this thread. I will split the stories and, when you see © Mollie M at the end, you’ll know that chapter is finished.
Morticia, it is like a mini-series as each chapter follows on from the last. 
Fingers crossed that you enjoy them.
[B]1
Crustabel Extracts Revenge
(Goodness Gracious - Great Balls a-Fire!)[/B]
The door of the restaurant was opened for them and a little Indian waiter with a happy smile and wearing a colourful uniform greeted them.
“Good evening sir, good evening madam!”
“How do,” said Crusty, “ar’t alreet? Crusty’s here an’e wants a treat!”
He tittered at his own poetry.
“Weer’s that funny music coming from?”
Crustabel glared at the back of his head and thought to herself silently with a smirk.
“Ya will have a treat, don’t you worry sunshine!”
They were shown to an immaculately laid table with a snow-white cloth and were each given a menu.
Crusty studied his with a frown. He’d never heard of any of these dishes before and didn’t know what they tasted like. The only bits he understood were the words lamb, chicken, prawn, etc. Crustabel would have to translate yet again.
The waiter asked them if they’d like something to drink and Bel ordered them both a pint each and a bottle of wine for the meals. Well, Crusty was paying after all for once in his life!
“Bel? I don’t know wot to order. I don’t know wor’all these things mean!” he said, whingeing.
She knew he’d say that!!
She looked at him slyly. Poor Crusty was totally unaware that she’d brought him for his latest punishment. It was either this, or a good lamping! As it turned out, he told his Bel much later on that next time he’d prefer a pasting!
“I’ll tell ya wot Crusty. Why don’t ya let me order for ya. I’ve tried just about everything in an Indian restaurant an’a know wot ya likes. Trust me. I’ll make sure ya get the best meal ya deserve! Ya like a bit o’ chicken don’t ya?”
“I do indeed. Okay Bel, anything ya say, I trust ya.”
The waiter came back and Crustabel ordered eight poppadoms between them to start with and she placed the rest of the orders for herself and Crusty.
As the waiter was turning Bel stopped him.
“Oh an’a think ya’d better bring us a very large jug o’ cold water an’ a glass for my friend please! I’ve a feeling he may ger’a little bit thirsty later on!”
If ever I heard a loaded statement that was one, with knobs on, but Crusty didn’t notice the sarcasm in her voice.
The poppadoms arrived within moments, all stacked up on a plate. Crusty watched Bel to see what she’d do.
She picked the top one off and put it on her side plate. Crusty did the same. Then, breaking it into pieces she spooned on some of the relishes that came with it and started feeding her face. Crusty followed suit and started tucking in.
“Mmmm. These big crisps are good Bel. I’ve never tasted owt like this before. Is all Indian food like this? Wot’s it goin’t cost Bel?”
“Stop thinking about how much it’s goin’t cost! I take it ya remembered to de-crud yer welded wallet so that ya can open both parts! It’s usually stuck fast wi’ lack o’ use!”
“Yis Bel. I managed’t ger’it open. I used me scissor jack on it and it worked a treat!”
“Good! Anyway, trust me Crusty, ya’ll enjoy the meal. Indian food is very good. It is a bit on the spicy side but ya don’t mind that do ya?”
Crusty shook his head while he crunched and had a slurp of beer.
Slobbering and guzzling he hadn’t noticed that she’d said “trust me” twice already!
When they’d finished, the starters came. For herself Bel had ordered a prawn cocktail and for Crusty the sheik kebabs.
He studied them closely with one piggy little eye then picked up some of the garnish from the tops.
“Worra these funny lickle green things Bel?” he asked holding some between his fingers and squashing them.
“Chopped chillies. Be careful Crusty they’re a bit hot.”
She was trying very hard to stifle a laugh. He had a terrible habit of picking his food up in his fingers.
Although moist napkins were available Bel knew that Crusty wasn’t a great one for washing his hands, and he didn’t this time either after handling the chillies.
Crusty stabbed at the kebabs with his fork to make sure they were dead, totally ignoring the salad that accompanied them. That was rabbit food, according to him. He spooned some of the mint yoghurt on them first then tried a bit of the kebab.
“Mmmm! These are most tasteyful Bel! They’re a lickle bit hotter and spicier than I thought they’d be but dee-lish all the same!”
“Good! I’m glad yer enjoying 'em lad!”
Now he’d got the poppadoms and starter over with he was beginning to get a taste for this Indian food. It was good, so he settled down, relaxed and started to enjoy.
Once they’d polished off the starters the main course was served and another pint each was delivered.
Crustabel’s meal was a T-bone steak, chips, peas and gravy.
Crusty’s was a chicken curry, naan bread and pilau rice!
“I thowt ya was ‘avin’ an Indian meal Bel. Wockle it cost, all this?” he wailed.
Ignoring his question yet again she replied.
“I am having an Indian meal. It’s been prepared and cooked by an Indian chef so it must be an Indian meal!”
“I suppose so burra thought ya was havin’ one o’ these types of meals,” he said pointing at the food on his plate.
“Now Crusty, don’t start whining. Just ger’on wi’ it but before ya start I’ll give you a little bit of advice, being as ya’ve never etten Indian food before. Once ya start ayetin’ don’t stop. Keep gooin’ an’ ya’ll be alreet.”
He didn’t know what she was talking about but he took her advice anyway. He started shovelling the highly spiced food into his mouth fork after fork after fork without actually taking a breath in between.
He stopped just for a moment to speak.
“This is Crusty’s first Indian meal Bel and it’s very good burra bit hot. Wot’s it going to cost Bel?”
Baaaar-raf, boip!
“Aye, an’ it’ll be yer bluddy last meal if I’ve owt to do wi’ it ya little sod,” she thought to herself again in silence.
After a couple of minutes and several mouthfuls of food his temperature started to soar. Bloody hell! He was hotter now than when he’d had double pneumonia a few years ago. He was pumping sweat. It must be up to a least 107 degrees by now and his blood pressure was off the scale! He couldn’t take this any longer and he had to stop, just for a rest! That’s when the fire in his mouth really, really started and he started to gasp.
Much to the alarm of the other customers he jumped to his feet, snatched the jug of water and, without bothering with the glass, started to pour the cold fluid down his throat.
Glug, glug, slurp, slurp, guzzle, guzzle.
He felt that the cold water was just making it worse so he stopped, still gasping. He couldn’t get his breath and his lips had gone numb like at the dentist! He was bright red, you know, like the cartoon characters when they start going red at the toes and it creeps up the rest of their bodies then steam comes out of their ears and then their heads burst.
That was Crusty right now.
He drank so much of the water from the jug that he had to quickly dash to the loo for a pee. Very weak bladder has our Crusty! Of course, if you remember, he’d got squashed chillies on his fingers when he’d handled the kebabs.
He shouldn’t have handled anything else until he’d washed them thoroughly first! His poor old crinkly crusticles didn’t half cop it.
He unzipped and started foraging about playing hide and seek with Mister Floppy.
Aaaah, relief, luxury, ecstasy!
“Aaaarrgh!! Wot’s 'appening? Wot’s that burning?”
On making contact he started screaming like a man possessed of a thousand demons and there was only one other person that could hear him!
The poor bugger’s eyes popped out on stalks and were streaming like mad. There was more sweat on his brow than on a furnace worker’s back! The hot chilli on his fingers had made contact and had started to burn.
Everybody knows that you don’t touch ANY sensitive part of the body when you’ve got chilli on your fingers. Eyes in particular, and most especially those parts, but Bel knew that Crusty wouldn’t have known that.
Wicked eh?
Evil personified.
What a punishment!
Of course she was right. Crusty didn’t know that.
He whipped off his coat and wrenched the old blue jumper from his shoulders. Poor OBJ was just having a kip and wondered what the hell was happening, although it had noticed that Crusty was beginning to feel a little warm. That was why it had nodded off. It joined th’owd black jacket on the floor where Crusty had lobbed it.
With mad, streaming, popping out eyes, a bright red face and his eight strands of hair standing on end he looked like one of those monsters from a fifties American “B” grade horror movie.
Throb!
Luckily, he was in a one-person toilet that had a little hand basin. Crusty hurriedly filled it to the top with cold water, then standing on the toilet, tried to lower his dangly bits in it but that didn’t work, despite jumping up and down a few times.
Instead he draped himself over the toilet bowl facing the wall behind like he was riding a horse, but the bowl wasn’t full enough.
Throb!
In desperation he started scooping the water from the toilet into his hands and splashed it down his front, his pants round his ankles. (He had actually already used the toilet remember, and in true Crusty style hadn’t bothered to flush it). He’d also cracked his shoulders on the walls a couple of times too when he’d been leaping about making an awful banging and splashing noise inside the cubicle, not to mention the screaming.
He didn’t know that someone was waiting to go to the loo after him, and was outside listening to what was happening.
[SIZE=“3”]“Me bluddy crusticles!!”[/SIZE] he screamed loudly, still red in the face, and elsewhere by now!
When he’d at last come to a standstill and remembering his manners for once, he flushed the almost empty toilet, most of which was now on the floor, popped the OBJ over his sweaty head, draped his wet jacket over his arm and opened the door.
There was a woman standing there waiting to go and when she saw him she leapt back in fright. She’d followed him into the toilet area a few moments after he’d entered so had heard pretty much everything that had happened.
They stood staring at each other for a few moments.
“Are you alright?” she asked him politely.
“Yesh, thank you. Yer very kindlyful! I wush jusht having a problem with me crushticles,” he told her and, zipping up, stalked off with his nose in the air.
She left the woman wondering what the bloody hell crusticles were and why there was so much water on the floor of the toilet. At least she hoped it was water!
Aaah! He felt just a little bit better now although there was still an angry burning sensation, you know where.
That was nearly as bad as when he’d been treating his shoulder with his Fiery Jack after Crustabel had punched him the other day and he’d forgotten to wash his hands then before going for a pee. That had been painful too and he’d walked around like Gabby Hayes for about five hours!
He scuttled back to his table like a red-arsed monkey and sort of sat down.
The waiter came over and asked if sir was enjoying his meal.
“Yesh thank you, very nishe!”
He still couldn’t speak properly. Crusty thought it probable that his tongue had swollen up because of the fiery curry. It seemed far too big for his mouth.
That wasn’t the only thing that felt swollen either but he was afraid to tell his Crustabel.
Throb!
He’d have to tell her though as he was in so much agony.
Crusty couldn’t sit upright properly in his chair and could only get comfortable somehow slumped half under the table, his legs outstretched before him. He was just thinking that he was glad he always wore baggy pants and baggy knickers.
While all this commotion had been going on Crustabel had just sat eating her meal quietly as if Crusty wasn’t even there.
Just as he returned she finished her meal and placed the knife and fork neatly side by side on her plate, dabbed at her mouth with the moist napkin and took a sip of her wine.
“Bel, Bel help me Bel, please?” pleaded Crusty in obvious pain and trying to sit up.
“Wossup wi’ ya now? Yer always bluddy moaning about summat.”
She knew exactly what would have happened in the loo but didn’t dare try to picture the scene in case she burst out laughing.
“It’s me crusticles, Bel?” he wailed loudly.
Some of the other customers heard him, including the lady from the loo, and turned to see what the problem was. The lady from the loo bent over and whispered to her companion.
“That’s him. Do you know what crusticles are?”
Her companion shook his head “no”.
Bel was having a hard time keeping her face straight.
“Yer obsessed wi’ yer bluddy crusticles. They’re nowt special.”
Crusty cringed. He was making her angry again.
“Sorry Bel, it dun’t matter.”
She had a satisfied smirk on her face.
Crusty picked up his fork to continue his meal then put it down again.
“Wot’s wrong with the food Crusty, don’t ya like it?”
“No, the food’s fine Bel, it’s just me. I’m nor’as ‘ungry as I thowt I were. I think I’ve gor’a high temperature. Pr’aps I’m coming down wi’ summat. How much will it all cost this Bel?”
Poor sod was ravenous. He was famished because knowing that he was coming out for a meal with Bel tonight, he hadn’t had an afternoon snack, giving his belly a rest for once.
It still hadn’t dawned on him that this was his new punishment for once again singing in public. He’d never learn.
“Well … if ya can’t finish it …?”
“You eat it Bel, I’m fine.”
She snatched the plate over to her side and he eyed her to see what would happen when she started tucking in, polishing off the remainder of the curry in no time at all. He’d left about half of it but she wolfed it down and didn’t even get a sweat on!
“She must have a gullet made of asbestos,” thought Crusty miserably.
“Wot were it called that Bel?”
“Chicken vindaloo, why?” she said licking her fingers and smacking her chops loudly.
“Oh nowt really. It should’ve been called chicken in der loo!” he mumbled under his breath.
“That was dee-lish Crusty. I wish I’d ordered the curry now.”
“I wish I’d ordered the T-bone!” moaned Crusty.
“Ya will tomorrer morning lad, if not sooner,” replied Bel with a sly look on her face. It was a look that Crusty had never seen before and didn’t know what it meant.
“Bel! Have you any idea at all wot this meal’s gooin’t cost me?” said Crusty more stridently this time.
This was the first time he didn’t use his carrier bag to take home left-overs for later on!!
He was glad to get to bed that night. Everything had started to cool down a bit more now and he felt much better than he had in the restaurant. He wished he could flap them about in a nice cool breeze though, but he’d only get arrested like last time!
Oh, I never told you about that, did I? Another time perhaps!
It was four a.m. when he was awoken. He could feel a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach and it started quivering and quaking. He’d never experienced this feeling before and wondered what it was.
Blobble! Pluuurp!
Suddenly he knew and he shot out of bed and got sat on the toilet just in the nick of time. It was a good job he was wearing knickers with a double gusset!!
[SIZE=“3”]KRAKATOA!!! VESUVIUS!!![/SIZE]
Paaaaarip, brrrrip, plop, blobble!
His arse was on fire and his cheeks were clenching the toilet seat with a grip like a python, his toes clutching the bath mat like the suckers of an octopus! What had she done to him, he thought in absolute agony? He felt like he was crapping broken glass and it felt like there was a little man with a grappling hook up there somewhere!
“Aaaargh! Help me!”
Poor Crusty was there nearly an hour, a painful grimace on his face and eyes tight shut in concentration! Every time he thought he’d done and was about to get up he had to plonk back down and it would start all over again.
Paaaarip, brrrrip, blobble, plopple!
So this was what they call Delhi Belly! Now he was beginning to realise what it really was to be a pain in the arse, but he still didn’t know that this was another punishment for once again singing in public! He thought he was a brilliant singer!
He seemed to be there ages and when he thought it was safe, he stood up again. His belly was still doing a war dance though.
Wor’a bluddy shame!
He’d used half a roll of bog paper and about forty gallons of water through flushing the loo and the whole house stunk to high heaven. Despite the frosty night he opened the bathroom window. Brrr, that was bloody cold. The wind had got up (not in Crusty - outside) and there was a gale blowing through.
The experience in the restaurant toilet and the experience in his own bog had completely wiped him out. He was buggered!
In his rush to get to the bathroom earlier he hadn’t had time to switch on the light as he’d been so desperate and had sat down on his lavvy all that time in the dark and in tears. Tired out he opened the bathroom cabinet and reached in. His backside was still tender and ablaze and he remembered that old cowboy series in the Sixties, Rawhide. He felt as if the skin had been stripped from his bum and bits with paint stripper.
“Bluddy hell,” he grumbled. “That food were hot goin’ in an’ even hotter coming out! It’s not bluddy normal for people t’ayte stuff like that!”
From the cabinet he took out his tube of Germolene that he used when he cut himself shaving and knew it to be very soothing. This would do the trick. He spread it on thickly all over, crusticles included, flushed the loo once more for luck and returned to his bedroom.
He lay down in bed again all snuggled up.
Aaaaah, at long last, kip time!
Twenty seconds went by.
“Aaaargh! Now wot?”
He leapt out of bed again in absolute burning torture and once more rushed back to the bathroom. Leaping about, he switched on the light and grabbed hold of the tube of Germolene that he’d thrown into the washbasin.
Eyes watering again, too late, he realised that this wasn’t his Germolene. He had to spend the rest of the night in the bathroom with his arse in a bowl of cold water, the wind howling around him!
By mistake he’d picked up his tube of Fiery Jack!!
Poor old Crusty arse!
He started to think back in time to before he met his Bel, and how unhappy he was. Since he’d met her, it hadn’t all been a bed of roses, but that was his own fault, he knew that.
For the next few hours he decided to try to make sense of why he was always annoying her. Well, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep with his searing backside in freezing water, was he? Back he went in time to re-live certain moments and the daft things he’d done.
© Mollie M
20.09.01
You are obviously very gifted at story telling. 
I enjoyed that Mollie…looking forward to Chapter 2
Thanks for reading, Carmen. Glad you enjoyed it. That’s just the first of many things he gets up to and believe me, you can’t even dream of most of the others, so a little view of the future.
He’s asked to paint a bloke’s porch in white gloss, but he paints the man’s brand new Porsche instead
He ends up in darkest Africa with pygmy cannibals
His bum catches fire in the cafe he works in
Bel reluctantly takes him on a business trip to America, with comical consequences
Bravo Mollie, well told and very funny, poor Crusty’s backside must look a right sight, not to mention his other parts:lol:.
Many thanks for reading, and I’m pleased you understood the dialect. Chapter 2 coming soon.
[B]2
Crusty - A Lonely Old Man
(and Is It Any Wonder)?[/B]
His mind drifted off in time as he remembered things in his recent past, before he met his darling Bel.
Crusty shifted and grunted in sleep then suddenly one bleary piggy little eye flirted open in alarm.
“Wot’s’appenin’, wot’s gooin’ on?”
Then he heaved a sigh of relief. It was just a dream but one of the worst he’d ever had. He’d dreamt that there was a national bread strike! The makers of bread, pies and cakes having a strike? That wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare!
“Wor’an 'orrible dream. It dun’t bear thinking about having’t do without a butty or a pie! I mit as weelt cut me own throat! Am always having daft dreams me!”
Paaarp!
“Oops! Phew, wor’a pong! Am goin’t ‘ave’t stop aytein’ them mushy peys!”
He waited another five minutes then, unable to stand the smell any longer, shambled out from under his moth-eaten eiderdown and felt underneath the bed for his smelly socks and slippers. He put on the rest of his less than clean clothes and his old blue jumper then was ready for the day.
It didn’t occur to him to go for a wash! It never does, so he went downstairs and put on the kettle and had some toast, then he turned on his beloved Macaroni radio only to hear his favourite lady country singer, Crustle Gayle.
Crusty adores music and the next song to come up was another favourite, The Crustle Chandeliers and he sang along to it, making his own words up as he went along.
“Int’it funny how a lorra songs and singers have the word crust in 'em, just like my name? It’s proper funny thar’is!”
He finished his cup of tea and toast and headed off for the little cafe where he works part time clearing dishes and so on from ten till one. For his services he receives a mug of tea and a pie, chips and mushy peas meal for lunch, but he knew he could always have a nibble on the leftovers from the customers’ plates whilst working. There was always the odd chip and a bit of pie-crust left over, so the toast would put him on for another hour or so!
Crusty is never happy unless his belly’s full!
Walking past his local church he heard the strains of Bread of Heaven, which is one of the hymns Crusty loves to hear. It’s only a Saturday in July, but the Harvest Festival rehearsals are already in full swing and again he sang along to the hymn.
Bread of Heaven, Bread of Heaven
I could ayte another loaf …
A - no - ther loaf
I could ay - te a-another loaf!
Wor’a bluddy racket! The townsfolk clapped their hands to their ears!
“I wonder wor’it’s like back on’t Sandwich Islands where I were born all them years ago. I’d love’t go back for an 'oliday so if I wins lottery toneet pr’aps that’s worrall do, burra wouldn’t know weer’t start off from! I think it’s a long way away from worra can remember!”
Whilst at work he had to run the gauntlet of unkind people making references to the smell which always accompanies him.
“Why don’t ya ger’a bluddy good wash!” were some of the kinder remarks or “Ya stinks like a bluddy owd cowshed! Ger’a bluddy shower when ya gets wom ya nasty owd gobsh!te!”
“Sorry owd lad. I will when’a get wom! I forgot have a wash this morning!”
"Aye well, ger’it done. Ya shuddn’t be anywhere near bluddy food! We’ll end up wi’t bally warch ‘cos o’ thee!
Paaarp!
“Phew! Ya nasty owd bugger!”
“Sorry!”
The cafe owner had been seriously thinking about getting rid of Crusty for a while, but somehow just hadn’t got round to it, yet!
Crusty lolloped about collecting dirty dishes, dashed into the kitchen, gobbled down any leftovers, then whooshed back with a cloth to wipe the tables, always with a grin on his chops.
When he finished work at one he went straight back home, put on the radio again and scanned the TV programme guide to see what was on. There were quite a few things actually that a lonely old man with no one to talk to could watch.
Let us now enter the food-fixated mind which belongs to Crusty, and I can introduce you to his solitary brain cell!
“Neh then si’ thi’! There’s a film wi’ young Bread Pitta in it. Or is it Pitta Bread? I can never remember!”
It’s Brad Pitt, Crusty!
“Th’owd sixties sitcom Pledges Pickles with Hilda Baker and th’owd sixties cop series Highway Patrol is on an’ all wi’ Breaderick Crawford! I loves these owd programmes better than any o’ t’others! They don’t make 'em like these any more!”
Crusty scrutinised the page again.
“Hang on! Breaderick Crawford? Didn’t he make biscuits at one time? Neh then si’ thi’ look here! Th’Owd African Queen’s on again wi’ Humphrey Breadcart. There’s a lor’on’t telly toneet for a change!”
He started to get hungry again and wondered why.
The songs were pouring out from the radio, Mouldy Old Dough, Kneads Up Mother Brown then that fabulous saxophone song Baker Street.
He had another cup of tea and nibbled on some short bread whilst scanning the telly programmes. Crusty loves cookery programmes and his favourites are the Caribean cook, Crusty Lee, I mean Rusty Lee, with her enormous sense of fun and Ainsley Harricot! The TV sitcom Bread with the Boswells wasn’t really his thing, but it was quite funny. No, he would settle for the gentleness of a Disney film, Breadknobs and Breadsticks!
You see how his mind works now?
Unfortunately Crusty isn’t the best reader in the world and stays clear of Shakespeare, Dickens and the Brontes, preferring a little lighter reading, like the Dandy and Beano!
This is a typical day in the life of Crusty. Doesn’t do much, doesn’t say much and spends most of his time alone, until he meets a certain lady later on in these tales, and then he does too much, says too much and gets himself in the most incredible scrapes you couldn’t possibly imagine!
It should be borne in mind that the following tales are true and that the reader should remember at all times that Crusty’s only loves are food, money, music and TV, in that order!
The problem with Crusty at this early stage of his capers is that he is relatively quiet and gets into little mischief, only caring about when his next meal is and if he can scrounge money out of people.
The real worries begin when he meets the greatest love of his life!
And the most fun!
It was now nearing the time of the Nativity and Crusty wasn’t looking forward to it one bit. He hated all of it - the Crispmus Carols, Crispmus trees, Crispmus cards. It was a load of old codswallop! The one thing he did enjoy though was watching Charles Dickens’ Scrooge with Alastair Sim on the telly playing the lead role.
They always showed it this time of year, and his favourite character was old Bredernezer Scrooge himself. The character reminded him of someone but he couldn’t think who it was!
I can!
He was on his way to the Club tonight for a game of bingo with high hopes of winning the jackpot and when the bingo was finished he went home again to 13 Bakewell Drive. On opening his front door he realised the central heating was still on. It was red hot in there, like an oven!
“Wot the ‘ell amma doin’ at all leavin’t th’eatin’ on? Ickle cost me a fortune this!”
He rushed to turn off the heating and pulled his old beige jumper on over the top of the old blue jumper then on went the telly as usual and, flicking through the channels, he paused to see what was on tonight.
“Si’ thi’ th’Okneadin Line’s on again! It makes me shudder when I sees all that watter all in one place! It’s not normal!”
Crusty, being ablutophobic, switched over again, but he soon got fed up so turned back to the channel which had singing on.
Lou Rolls sang the lovely ballad If I Only Had Thyme, then after that there was UB40 singing that great reggae song, Bread, Bread, Wine.
Are you beginning to see the way his mind works? These first few chapters make references to his food-fixation just to give you an idea of what he’s like. Further references to food become fewer as you read on but, notwithstanding, you’ll still see them there, where you wouldn’t normally have done before reading these tales!
On the next channel he turned to, there was a holiday programme with bargains to Tuna-isia, Sardines-ia and Turkey. He was amazed that nearly every channel he watched reminded him somehow of food and he was getting “bluddy” hungry yet again, so he left the telly for a moment and went into the kitchen to see what there was. There was lots to eat here so he made a start on a snack.
He found some finger rolls and sandwich spread and made himself a butty, then returned to his telly. He flicked over to another music programme again and was glad he did. Eddy Calvert was on this time with his Golden Trumpet.
“Neh, this is worra calls music. I loves the Crumpet Voluntary. It’s a bluddy belter this!”
As the “Crumpet” Voluntary ended he endeavoured to find something else worth watching. On one of the BBC programmes he heard there was a programme about the extinct bird, the dough-dough.
There was a fascinating insight into the recently discovered Bread Sea Rolls and other Biblical offerings explaining the manna from Heaven and how the forty thousand were fed on five loaves and two fishes. There would have been only just enough for him there. He marvelled at the thought.
He reflected on his younger days. As a child back on the Sandwich Islands his grandparents had bought him a little pedal car made out of bamboo for Crispmus. He’d loved his naan and grandbappy.
When he got a little older, not being particularly well educated but good at sport, he
joined a cricket team and he still had his old cricket bap. He treasured that bap as it had been signed by all the team. He enjoyed playing and wasn’t brilliant, but he would always rise to the occasion.
He was introduced to horse racing in his teens, but Crusty would only back thorough-breads because they had the word “bread” in it.
Crusty didn’t actually own anything except for what people gave him. His son decided to buy him a mobile phone so they could keep in touch, but Crusty misunderstood what it was for. All he saw on it was Orange so he ate it. It was a bit crunchy, but it wasn’t bad with a bit of salt and pepper.
He stopped flicking through the channels.
“Oh before I forgets. I’ve got to write out a shoppin’ list for tomorrer!”
He picked up his biro and some paper and started to write in a childish fashion.
Kitchen rolls, toilet rolls, oh and he kneaded a roll of bacon foil as well, and a bag of flour. He couldn’t cook, but a woman said that if he ever wanted a pie making she’d bake one for him. In exchange he would mow her garden. There was no end to his talents and would do anything for a crust!
He can very often be found scuttling around moidering and mythering people to deeth! Moidering or mythering - it depends which part of Lancashire you’re from - driving people bonkers. He thought he was so popular but the opposite was true.
He wondered how he was doing for money and checked his account. Yep, still in the red as he expected, but he’d manage somehow. He always did.
He put down his paper and biro and went back to the telly. One more channel to look at. Great! He didn’t know this was on. He sighed loudly and settled back to watch the film, which was just starting. He knew all about this sort of thing and was thrilled when a so-called friend told him he looked remarkably like the actors.
“Tha’ knows Crusty owd lad. Next time it comes on tha’ wants’t watch that film. Tha’ just favvers one o’t main characters!”
“Oh, ta very muchly. I’ll watch it next time it comes on then!”
The credits rolled up the screen and on came the title:
“The Night of the Living Dead!”
Now which of the actors/zombies did he look like?
Well, pretty much all of them really. It’s the way he dresses!
Wor’a bluddy shame!
Crusty watched the film trying to find the good looking, handsome man he had been likened to then, with sad old eyes, realised he’d been made the butt of yet another joke!
It wouldn’t be the first.
Paaarp, paaarp!!
It wouldn’t be the last!
Paaar - rip!
© Mollie M
31.05.01
Well Mollie what can I say,except that was a brilliant read, and so funny
Thank you, Kitty. Did you read both chapters? I’ll be putting Chapter 3 on very soon.
Oh lol! Enjoyed that Mollie
Will have to wait 'til tomorrow to read Chapter 3 - have to be up early in morning, going for some retail therapy
So I’ll be off to me bread…I mean bed
Thanks, Carmen. Chapter 3 tomorrow night.
Yes i did read them both Mollie, however due to the time and the fact i am flagging, i will be giving both chapters another read tomorrow when i feel fresher:mrgreen:
I noticed you had posted earlier this evening but i was unable to get back until late on.
Bless ya lass, and once again, many thanks for reading me humble writings. I truly do appreciate any kind of feed-back, be it constructive or critical. Chapter 3 tomorrow night, if you’re up for it.
