[B][CENTER]27
Sir Crusty Nibbleswick
(Night in Shining Armour!)[/CENTER][/B]
After Bel had given him the whisky, Crusty had smacked his chops noisily and had asked for another. She had no illusions at all. Crusty couldn’t take his drink and she refused to buy him any more of the fiery spirit.
“I think yourrrr rrrright Bel. Don’t let him have any morrre whisky tonight. I’ll give him a wee bottle of pop!” advised Alicks.
Crusty felt dejected but she was adamant. No more whisky she’d told him but she did allow him to have one more pint and then the pop. That cheered him up and he started grinning again.
No wonder he was so bloody daft. He was always getting bashed round the head, but she vowed she’d keep him out of trouble for the remainder of their stay.
Easier said than done though, eh? This is Crusty we’re talking about.
He knew he’d let her down yet again by pinching the kilt and bagpipes and tried to figure out why he kept making an idiot out of himself. Apart from the fact that he was drunk at the time, was it that he was also inherently daft or did he really do it just to draw attention and, if that were the case, why? He also tried to figure out why Bel kept putting up with him. One of these days he’d really cop it off her.
The kilt belonged to Alicks and Crusty had accidentally gone into his room. Alicks’ private room number was 001 and Crusty’s was 010 so it was an easy mistake for him! He’d found the kilt spread out on the bed, just back from the dry cleaner, which Alicks was to be wearing the following weekend at a special function. The bagpipes also belonged to Alicks and he’d been making sure they were in good order for the same occasion; until Crusty had got hold of them, that is.
Anyway, next day was Sunday and the people in this part of the Highlands were very devout Church goers.
The dining room had been full for breakfast and Bel had asked Crusty if he’d like to accompany her and some of the other guests to Church.
Church! Well honestly, can you see Crusty in Church? Crusty was no Church goer and told Bel in no uncertain terms and stated so loudly.
“Bel, Church is like a laundry. You only go there when y’ave got something nasty to wash away!”
The guests all turned to stare at Crusty in disbelief but Bel retorted sarcastically.
“Well in that case, it’s a wonder you don’t bloody well live in one of 'em permanently!”
The OBJ blushed with embarrassment.
The whole place had erupted with laughter and Crusty stormed off back to his room and didn’t come out again till later.
He was sat outside the hotel now alone, but perfectly happy with a bag full of butties that he’d managed to scrounge from the kitchen just before they were thrown away in the dustbin. There was nothing wrong with them. The staff had just made to many, that was all. Some of the guests were hill walkers and had asked for lunch boxes to take with them. There were cheese and onion, ham and tomato and egg mayo butties, all of which Crusty loved.
Crusty shouldn’t have been in the kitchen in the first place but about an hour after breakfast his stomach was rumbling again so he went foraging. He was reprimanded by the Head Cook but with Crusty pleading for food again, the chef had said he could take whatever he thought he could eat. With one sweep of the arm he cleared the lot from the worktop into his carrier bag then went outside to look at the view and, to keep warm, the OBJ was snuggled up around him, poor sod!
After Church, Crustabel had gone directly to the nearest town with Alicks to see some of her other relatives that she hadn’t seen in the longest time and thought it would be best if Crusty stayed where he was. She’d threatened him with ten ways to die if he got into trouble and she was going to be several hours so he promised her he’d be good!
“You’d better!” she’d said showing him her fist.
This hotel was really, really old thought Crusty as he munched, and the scenery was beautiful. What a perfect place to build an hotel. It must have seen a lot of history. If only it could talk.
The mountains still had snow on their peaks but the sun was shining strongly in a bright blue sky. The air was so clean it nearly made Crusty faint over. He’d never known such fresh air. Still with a hangover, he was feeling a bit giddy so he decided to go back in with his butties and see if he could get someone to rustle up a cup of tea for him.
He went into the TV Lounge and shortly after a pot of tea was brought to him. Everyone thought he was a bit odd as he was always eating. He never stopped and people had noticed that he was always chomping on a butty or a pie, sometimes with one in each hand. He was starting to pile the weight on again, thanks to Crustabel.
He decided to turn on the telly to see what there was to watch. They had Sky TV here so Crusty had fun just flicking through the channels.
Flick, flick, flick.
Reverse flick.
“Oops, back one! I don’t believe it. I used to watch this in the fifties! I were only about nineteen at the time as I recalls! That voice on that lady piano player! Ooh, ever so posh! I wonder why she talked to that puppet like it was a real personage!”
He used to love Muffin the Mule!!
He had learned how to work the remote properly by now and he brought up the information on this particular channel. The whole day was devoted to fifties TV which was just up Crusty’s street.
There were five minutes left of that daft puppet show and then the one that he’d especially left the telly on for. He used to go to the Ritz cinema to the Saturday morning matinee and queue up with all the kids to watch this.
When he’d seen that it was coming on later he leapt up out of his armchair and whooshed around the TV Lounge like a man possessed, with absolute joy!
“I remember this like it were only yesterday! Buster Crabbe as Flash Gordon! I loved all o’ these. Professor Zarkoff, Dale Arden, the Emperor Ming and, best of all, the Clay Men! The Clay Men were the bestest of all!”
A few people popped their heads around the TV lounge door, but on seeing Crusty made a quick exit. They didn’t want to get involved with this crazy old faggot.
When that had finished he watched Rag, Tag and Bobtail, Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men and then the Wooden Tops. He left the telly on but decided to go for a look around the place. It was quite large and he hadn’t seen very much of it. He’d seen the inside of the bear rug’s jaws the previous night though!
Since then, he’d hardly dared move in case he got in bother again.
He began wandering around and every now and then he’d pass a few people. Every time he saw someone they’d all start giggling and singing the old Andy Stewart song, “Donald Where’s Your Troosers” but for him they changed it to “Crusty Where’s Yer Troosers, Let the wind blow high, Let the wind blow low, through the streets in mah kilt I’ll go …”
Crusty just ignored them.
On turning a corner, he found a set of very heavy ornately carved old oak doors which were closed but not locked for fire safety. No one ever went in because there was a large no entry sign on the door and which also read private.
They hadn’t reckoned on a Crusty visiting though! It was like a moth to a flame him reading a sign like that.
With a snigger and a snort he opened one of them anyway and peeked in. It was dark in there and he couldn’t see a thing. He went in and immediately bashed his thigh on something hard.
“Ouch! Wossat?”
