Another brilliant chapter Mollie. I love the way OBJ talks:)
Have also re-read the first chapter which was good to do, sooo funny 
I appreciate how much effort you are putting into getting these stories onto the forum!!
I appreciate you enjoying reading them lass, and it makes me feel very humble.
Now be honest, ya luvs Crusty, don’t ya, even though he is a pain in the backside, and you can also understand where Bel is coming from? Yes?
There are so many adventures to come yet so I hope you’ll continue to enjoy these escapades.
It’s not only the OBJ, an inanimate character, that becomes sentient in these stories. There’s Palethorpe, Bel’s little sausage dog. Remember Palethorpe’s sausages? Then there’s Fartin’ Martin Crusty’s cat, and Mister Blobbles his parrot.
So much more to come and, to be honest with you, I’ve been reading ahead and reading stuff I’d forgotten about myself, so I hope you enjoy. 
Oh yes you can’t help but love Crusty lol but wonder what Bel sees in him!! I reckon she’s secretly after the OBJ or perhaps she just likes being able to clout him one!! Looking forward to the next installment and am pleased that you are enjoying them again
Bel has a side to her as yet unknown to Crusty. She’s not after the OBJ though.
She doesn’t like clouting him one one bit, hence the visit to the psychoanalist, but she can’t help it, the reason for which will be revealed much later on, but Crusty doesn’t mind, the reason for which will also be revealed later on.
I am enjoying them again and I’ve noticed a few things in chapters where I’ve needed to edit to make more sense of the stories. Gawd, I must have edited these about 10 times since I wrote them originally, but it’s been worth it.
Bel and Crusty love each other dearly, but only as best mates and they could never be apart. He needs her, and she needs him, but for different reasons.
Anyway, if you carry on reading, it will all fall into place.
Dare I tell you? I’ve written 200 chapters about these two, and the last one will have you crying your eyes out. 
Up to date now 
Brilliant Mollie, really enjoying reading about Crusty. Poor bloke, he can’t do right for doing wrong 
We’ve got a long way to go then…that’s great :-D:-D Must have taken you an awfully long time to write them!
Yes it did, about five years I think. Once I started I couldn’t stop, except at Chapter 57 when I couldn’t think of anything else, then I was off again. 
[B][CENTER]31
Crusty Re-Unites With An Old Pal
(and Gets Into SeriArse Bother!)[/CENTER][/B]
When he finally awoke later the morning after their visit to The Taste of Bengal, he removed his poor old, now frozzen, arse from the bowl of ice-cold water and dried off with his bath towel, which he then wrapped around him in a feeble attempt to warm up. It was one extreme to the other with Crusty. Was it really only yesterday when he’d eaten that fiery Indian meal and ended up rubbing Fiery Jack on his bits? He’d dreamed all that had happened to him in just one night.
How he’d managed to sleep at all was anybody’s guess, sitting in that position all night, but when Crusty was tired you could peg him out on the washing line and he’d sleep if he were tired enough.
He was absolutely frozen stiff and his old joints groaned. The Old Blue Jumper had helped out as best he could by keeping Crusty’s shoulders and chest warm for the night, and Crusty had thrown his old moth-eaten eiderdown round him as well, but his bottom half was all blotchy and goose-pimply from the cold. His arse favvered two owd frozzen chickens! The wind had howled all night long and the bathroom was as cold as a freezer.
To add insult to injury, his mouth also felt like the inside of Giant Haystacks’ jock strap after several bouts in the wrestling ring!!
Poor old Crusty! Now come on everybody! Not even Crusty deserved that kind of treatment, no matter how daft he gets. It just wasn’t on.
By heck, Crustabel had made him pay dearly for singing in public again, but without pasting him this time. Mind you, Crusty would have preferred a good hiding to that kind of humiliation and would tell her so when he next saw her, if ever again.
Shivering, he ran the hot water and had a shave using his stick of Erasmus. True, straight up there used to be shaving soap on a stick called Erasmus during the sixties. Well, sort of. It was Erasmic really, but as Crusty always gets everything wrong, I’ll explain in a later chapter.
He started lathering up with his shaving brush.
Erasmus!! To Crusty it had always sounded like a character from the Bible.
While he was looking at himself shaving, he snickered.
“And lo! The Lord sayeth unto Erasmus… Erasmus, thou shalt removeth thy whiskers from thy choppeths each day. Thou shalt maintaineth the softness of thy skin on thy face like it was that of a babby’s arse! And so it is written. And so it will be done. Amen!”
Erasmus!!
He usually had an electric shave but this morning he wanted warm water on his chops. He’d had that stick of Erasmus since about 1963 and normally he would have had more than just a little titter to himself, but he wasn’t in the mood this morning.
After his shave he wrapped the towel around him again as it had fallen down, and went into the bedroom to get dressed. Although the OBJ was already on he reached for the old beige jumper from the back of the wardrobe and put that on over the top.
Downstairs, he lit the gas fire and warmed his backside until it was all nice and toasty. Trouble was it got that burning sensation started up again from the Fiery Jack, so he went and made a cup of tea and sat himself down.
If he hadn’t had such a bad case of ablutophobia he would have tried to shower the salve off, but that would have meant getting himself clean as well.
It was Monday morning, he was sixty-eight years old and what did he have to show for it. Frozzen arse, frozzen crusticles and a mouth like a Turk’s armpit.
He was sixty-eight for goodness sake! He shouldn’t have to go through something like this at his age. Perhaps he had deserved it after all, but he didn’t think Bel had been justified in doing that to him. Even Melonie hadn’t punished him so badly.
“One thing’s for certain sure. Am not goin’ to one o’ them Indian caffs anymore! I’m not goin’t ayte owt unless I know woritis and wot’s in it! Never again!!”
Oh yeh?
Old greedy-guts!
He’d suffered the tortures of the damned at the hands of his beloved Crustabel.
Didn’t she know how much he loved her? He really, really cared about her.
Cared about her money, more like!
He’d taken her out for a meal and, even though he hadn’t been able to eat it himself, had been in pain and suffering because of it. He’d drawn out fifty quid under sufferance and the bloody meal had cost him forty-eight ninety-five!
Bel had quaffed back three bottles of wine on her own and she’d made him leave a pound for a tip. A tip! A whole pound!! The small amount that he had eaten hadn’t stayed in his system long enough for him to enjoy the feeling of being “full”. He’d been starving when he got home but he hadn’t dared eat anything.
It was a good way of dieting though, he supposed!
He wondered whether to ring Crustabel or not. Best not though. Give her time to cool off. Give him time to cool off as well, he thought!
He decided that he really must start getting ready to go to work at the cafe. It was a nice day, despite the cold and raging wind of last night, so he thought he might take a trip over to Blackpool when he’d finished his little job. Why not? A bit of sea breeze would help his tortured bits and pieces to cool down.
Right! With the day sorted out in his mind he put on his squelchy little black vinyl boots and th’owd black jacket then checked to make sure he had his welded wallet, and put his snack-a-mac in his pocket in case it rained in Blackpool. He opened the front door and was about to go through when he came face to face with two lady
Jehovah’s Witnesses who were just about to knock on his door.
They visibly shrank back when they saw him, squealed and ran off.
“Wossup wi’ them?” thought Crusty. “Funny folk!”
Just then, he realised he’d forgotten to put his trousers on, answering the door in Good Old Stinky, his favourite knickers. No wonder he’d scared the life out of them. He trundled back upstairs and once he’d pulled his pants on he set off for the cafe.
He was very quiet today, the staff had noticed, and wondered why. They also wondered why he was walking a bit peculiar. He was a funny old devil! He hadn’t grubbed around for leftovers, nor had he farted today! Most unusual!
One o’clock came and Crusty put his jacket back on to leave. He’d hardly spoken to anyone that day and usually he moidered everybody that came in. Even the regular customers had noticed something was amiss. He hadn’t even eaten any of the cafe’s food!!
He said his goodbyes and that he’d see them tomorrow and shuffled off. Walking back to his grungy home he saw a few people he knew and normally would have made a bee line to them for a chat, whether they wanted to talk or not, but not today. He was avoiding everybody today, for which they were truly thankful.
He’d warmed up considerably by now, having been in the kitchen at the cafe where they were cooking, so he removed the old beige jumper and lobbed it to the back of the wardrobe again. The OBJ had been suffocating under the weight of Old Beigey so was pleased when Crusty took it off.
Although he was feeling really depressed, he decided that he would go ahead with his plan for Blackpool. Blackpool always cheered him up, no matter what the weather so he got into his old Larda and set off, first making sure that he had adequate petrol for the journey. He wished Bel were with him. They always had a lot of fun when they went to Blackpool together. Ah well, he’d screwed up good and proper this time he sighed.
People were always calling him a daft looking bugger, but he never thought they meant it literally. He decided that he must be as daft as he looks after all and began to imagine what life was going to be like without Bel around again.
They’d fallen out before and she’d got her own back, but she’d never done anything like this to him in the past.
“Looks like that’s it,” he concluded sadly.
The car was running well since Crustabel had overhauled and tuned the engine for him. She’d also made a few modifications at the same time. She should have been an engineer thought Crusty. She’d have been damned good at it. Car engines, boat engines, you name it.
How little he knew about her!
It was just after three when he arrived in Blackpool. He parked the car and set off on foot in search of somewhere cheap to eat. He was bluddy hungry because he hadn’t eaten anything at the cafe that morning and virtually nothing the day before.
He started to walk down the Golden Mile. He knew Blackpool pretty well and he went to a little back street cafe which people called Sweaty Betty’s in which he had eaten a meal with Bel once a fair while ago. This was the first time he’d been in here since then. It was a bit of a greasy spoon and was in dire need of a re-vamp, but the food was okay and cheap. Very cheap - Crusty cheap!! Crustabel had been disgusted with him for bringing such a fine lady to a dump like this.
He found a table that had a cracked mirror at the side and sat down. The table was still full of the last person’s debris, so he pushed it all to one side catching the sleeve of his old blue jacket in a pool of coffee.
Old blue jacket? Oh haven’t I mentioned that one? Yes, this is the fifth OBJ that Crusty has added to his collection.
He’d been ferreting about in a skip one day and had spotted it looking sorry for itself.
He’d pulled it out and tried it on, despite all the crud that it had been sat in for goodness knows how long. Lo and behold it fitted!
Well, sort of. It fitted just where it touched although the shoulders hung down on Crusty’s arms. He’d need two large bread rolls to even up this jacket he’d thought when he took it home, one on each shoulder.
Or, alternatively, a milkmaid’s yoke that went straight across but that would have given him bigger shoulders than Charles Atlas!! He’d favver Frankenstein’s monster.
Fair play to old scuzzy though, he’d put it through the Crustamatic before wearing it again.
Anyway there he was in the cafe, the brown liquid of the coffee soaking nicely into the blue jacket. Crusty was grumbling to himself that if he’d worn the old brown jacket nobody would have noticed. He was going to have to wash it again!!
Fag ash Lil, the waitress, came up to him, a cig dangling from her mouth with half an inch of ash about to drop off and, without removing it, asked him what he wanted.
“Wot d’ya want?”
What a charmer!
“Cup o’ tea please luv.”
“Wor’else?” she said, while clearing the table and giving it a derisory mop, fag ash dropping onto the table. Really, she just spread out what was already there.
Crusty was wondering which charm school she’d graduated from. The waitress in his cafe was very polite and well turned out. Sweet little thing she was. He studied the menu.
“Wor’else?” she said again impatiently. “I 'aven’t gor’all day. There’s other folk to serve besides you ya know, y’owd fart!”
Oh yes, a real charmer!
She thought he was one of the tramps who came in from time to time.
“Steak and kidney pie, mashed potatoes, peas, gravy and two slices of bread and butter please,” said Crusty quickly, in case she got mad with him.
“Ya’d best be able’t pay for it!” she said and off she went.
Crusty suddenly blushed. Did he have any money? He didn’t dare get the wallet out and start trying to prise it open so he rifled through his pockets instead and came out with just one pound eighty four, so hoped it wouldn’t cost more than that!
It arrived ten minutes later looking like something the dog had thrown up. Crusty sighed but he was hungry and started chomping.
The waitress slapped the bill on the table in front of him - one pound sixty. Phew!
He had a sip of his tea which tasted and smelled like cat pee! He pulled his face and called the waitress over again.
“Now wot d’ya want ya moidering owd sod?”
“Sorry’t bother ya luv but canna havva cup o’ coffee please?”
It was only twenty pence so he could afford it.
“Tha’ needs a bluddy servant thy does!” she said storming off for the coffee.
He suddenly caught sight of himself in the mirror at the side of him and realised he was alone. All alone! He hadn’t been on his own for a long time now. No one to talk to, no one to have a laugh with and no one to discuss the weather with.
The coffee arrived and he took a sip. This tasted and smelled like dog pee. Oh well!
Just then, through the mirror, he caught sight of a man opposite him, eating. The man looked familiar, although Crusty couldn’t quite put his finger on who he was, or
where he’d last seen him. Considering the establishment he was in, he was extremely well dressed, but very bad mannered.
“A very odd combination,” thought Crusty to himself.
Crustabel had taught him what good manners were so he knew the difference, even though he didn’t always apply them to himself.
The man appeared to be pressed and dressed in fairly expensive clothes. They were definitely not from a charity shop. Probably from a proper shop he thought.
Crusty continued eating his meal, his memory banks going into over-drive. He knew this man from somewhere, but where? When?
The man was also slobbering through his meal and noisily slurping tea from the cracked mug he’d been given. At one point, he sat bolt upright and gave a belch and a fart they probably heard in Reykjavik. Bloody charming!
Nobody batted an eyelid. This place was frequented by the lower forms of life, so a good old belch was a sign of appreciation for the food he’d eaten in this rat-hole. Crusty was beginning to wish he’d gone somewhere a little more expensive.
It was driving him mad trying to work out who the man was, and at that very moment the man turned and saw Crusty watching him. Crusty turned around properly so they were facing each other. They stared and stared.
Slowly the man got up and started to walk over to where Crusty was sitting. Crusty quickly turned his face away, thinking he’d angered the man, and started mopping up his gravy with a bit of bread.
“Crusty?” said the man. “Crusty? It is you in’t it? Speak to me man!”
Crusty turned and looked up at him with his bleary piggy eyes.
“Yis I’m Crusty an’am sure I know you but for the life o’ me it won’t come to mind!”
“Crusty. Me old mate. I thowt I recognised yer ugly mug. Ya must remember me. Think back to National Service days.”
Crusty jumped out of his seat and threw his arms around the man, much to the consternation of the other customers, and especially the gormless waitress.
They stood there for a full ten minutes grinning at one another, playfully punching arms with each other and shaking hands then they stopped mucking about and stared at each other again.
“I still don’t know who y’are.”
Daft as ever!
“Course tha’ does, si’ thi’. We pilt praters ‘gether at Preston Barracks in’t fifties! D’ya remember that farting contest we had? You won it hands down an’ I came second!”
Memory restored Crusty started to get excited.
Paaar-rip!
“Now I know ya. It’s me old mate, The Nobbler!”
They sat down and ordered more of the sh!tty coffee and talked and talked their heads off. They hadn’t seen each other in over forty years and yapped on and on reminiscing.
Fag Ash Lil came over again picking her nose and wiping her hands on her greasy apron. Yet another cig dangled from her mouth.
“Oi, you two!” she said, fag ash dropping onto Crusty’s sleeve, “We’re locking up. Naff off will ya!”
Paaarp!
They both turned and looked at her. Why, what time was it? It had gone five and they were the only ones left in the cafe.
They got up to go but, not wanting to spoil the reunion, decided they’d go on to another cafe which opened at five thirty and stayed open till the early hours. They went and sat on a bench facing the sea for an hour and yacked on about being in the Service at the same time.
They’d both been conscripted together and had been seconded to the Catering Corps (where else?) but because they were both a bit daft and giddy, all they were given to do was peel potatoes and other vegetables at Preston Barracks.
During their initial psychological and medical evaluations the doctors had said that they couldn’t be trusted with weapons, so the Catering Corps seemed to be the best option at the time!
They remembered getting drunk one night and had pinched the sentry’s rifle so they were put on a charge and given five days’ jankers. And what did they have to do for their punishment? Peel potatoes and thirty press-ups each day. They loved it!
Crusty looked fondly at his old pal The Nobbler, and recalled why he’d been given the name. Well, apparently when he’d been nobbut a young lad he’d worked as a stable hand at one of the famous racetracks in Ireland. Some of the people he knew were very unscrupulous and regularly “nobbled” horses so they wouldn’t win. They taught The Nobbler the tricks of the trade and the rest is obvious.
The Nobbler, loving his food almost as much as Crusty does, was always to be seen nibbling away at something, every time you saw him. That’s why he and Crusty became such good mates.
After they’d had more food to eat at the much nicer cafe (which was more expensive, but The Nobbler paid this time) they decided to make a night of it and go on the town.
“Two daft old buggers together,” they laughed.
Before they left, Crusty went to the toilet and whilst there took his wallet from his back pocket. He couldn’t open it, as usual, but with the aid of a handy crowbar, he managed to separate the two welded bits again, and peeked in. There was just a measly fiver and his treasured odds and ends. Well, it would buy him a couple of pints but ale isn’t very cheap in Blackpool.
Off they went laughing and chatting like a couple of school chums, calling into a pub here and a pub there. As you may well have guessed by now, The Nobbler treated Crusty to his ale but he made the mistake of buying him a glass of whisky as well! That wouldn’t have happened if Crustabel had been there.
“Ya know summat Nobbler? That clobber yer wearing is proper nice. Tha’ favvers a banker or summat posh! Ya must be doing well for yerself these days!”
“Nah! These are just me work clothes. These are nowt special!”
“Why? Wot sort of a job d’ya do so as ya have’t wear summat posh like that?”
“I’ll tell ya tomorrer. It’s a surprise,” he’d said, laughing his head off.
After he’d had the whisky and five pints Crusty’s legs started to buckle. The Nobbler kept propping him up until they got to their next port of call, another pub!
Crusty was getting very drunk and started slurring his words.
Paaarp, paaar-rip, PAAAARP!!
“Ya know shummat Nobbler? I think I’m pr’apsh a tinzy winzy bit piggled! I’ve getten nins and peedles in me feet! Shall we go for a walk on the shand or piggle, I mean paggle, in the shea just sho as I can clear me yed?”
He then looked at The Nobbler more closely. He was seeing double now.
Paaaarp!
“Oops! Excuse me! I didn’t know yer brother were here too! How do! I’m Crusty!” he said to the other man.
“Come on ya daft owd bugger, tha’ skennin’ and tha’ stinks! Yer sloshed and there’s no way ya can drive home in that state. Ya’ll ‘ave to stay over wi’ me toneet.”
“Okay! Me car’s on the par cark Nobs. Can we go ger’it?”
“No, come on wi’ ya!”
“Okay!”
Next morning Crusty’s head was throbbing. He was really torturing himself these days as just about everything on his body had throbbed within the last forty-eight hours or so.
The Nobbler was already dressed for work and brought Crusty a cooked breakfast and a cup of tea, which Crusty drank straight down thirstily. They were eating in the Nobbler’s living room which stunk of ale and beery farts from the night before.
“I were thinking Crusty. How would ya like to earn a bob or two helping me out at work today?”
“Oh yes Nobbler, anything to help out an old pal. How much?”
“Same old Crusty. How much? Ha! Well I’ll let you have ten percent of today’s takings! How does that sound?”
“Sounds fair to me. Worisit ya do?”
“Ya’ll see, but we’ll have to go and get yer car as mine’s in the repair shop just at the moment, and we do need a car. Is thar’okay?”
“No problemo!” said Crusty, with his big cheesy grin. He was thinking about the dough he was going to get from The Nobbler later on.
“One thing though Crusty. I hope ya don’t mind me saying. I cawn’t believe ya’ve still getten that bluddy sh!tty owd blue jumper. Ya never had it off yer back at one time!”
“Don’t call him that! Still going strong Nobbler. I luvs my OBJ.”
When Crusty had finished his breakfast and had had another cup of tea, they set off to pick up the car and, when they got there they got in and Crusty asked where they were going.
“Just follow my instructions Crusty and we’ll get theer in one piece!”
The Irishman had long since lost his native dialect as he’d lived in England for over fifty years!
Crusty drove for about twenty minutes around the Blackpool streets following The Nobbler’s instructions, until they came to a well-known building society in one of the nicer suburbs.
“Oh thar’explains it,” said the delighted Crusty. “Ya works for a building society. No wonder ya dress so well. Good on ya lad!”
The Nobbler didn’t reply right away.
“Park reet outside them doors Crusty.”
“I cawn’t do that Nobbler, there’s double yellow lines.”
“I’ll only be a minute, just do as yer towd.”
The Nobbler’s tone of voice had changed so Crusty pulled up.
“Now then,” said the Nobbler out of the corner of his mouth, “you stay right where y’are, keep th’engine running an’ I’ll be back in a tick.”
As usual, Crusty was puzzled but did as he was told. Nobbler took two things from a deep pocket on the inside of his jacket and put them on.
The first thing he did was pull a balaclava over his head.
“Good idea Nobs! It has gor’a bit nippy outside today. I’ve getten one o’ them an’ it really keeps me bald patch warm!”
“Shurrup Crusty. Stop rabbiting on. This is serious business!” said The Nobbler hurriedly.
The second thing he put on was a grotesque, daft looking, Ronald Reagan mask, then looked at Crusty.
Crusty tittered at him. The Nobbler plonked a blond wig on Crusty’s head and the plaits dangled down each side. He favvered Looby Loo!
“Ya’ll not believe this Nobbler, but I’ve getten summat similar to this at home as well!”
The Nobbler gave him a funny look!
“Reet,” said The Nobbler, “here we go. Wait here!”
“Okay Nobbler. Are ya playing a prank on yer work-mates today? Weer’s my mask?” asked Crusty, while fixing the wig more neatly on his head.
“Tha’ doesn’t need one Crusty, yer daft looking enough! Tha’s still getten a face like a pig’s arse, just like when you were younger!”
“Oh right, thanks Nobbler!”
Thanks? That’s our Crusty for you.
Nobbler got out of the car and, with surprising agility, sprinted through the doors of the building society. Thirty seconds went by and Crusty started fiddling with the car radio, trying to tune it in to some good music, his plaits getting in the way.
Another thirty seconds went by and The Nobbler sprinted back again carrying a canvas bag and leapt into the car.
“Reet Crusty. Come on, let’s go! Hit the gas!”
Crusty was puzzled again.
“Wot gas? This car runs on petrol. Can ya smell gas? There’s no gas in this car Nobs.”
Crusty was getting worried about the smell of gas.
“Drive, ya daft owd fart, drive as fast as ya can!”
But Crusty was totally laid back.
“Don’t be in such a rush Nobbler. That’s the trouble wi’ folk today. They’re always rushing about instead of taking things at a nice steady pace. Always tear-arsing about!”
Just then The Nobbler heard the sound of a Police siren in the distance, but Crusty being unaware that he’d just taken part in an armed raid, was oblivious. He was still yapping on, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead.
The Nobbler started to sob, tears welling up in his eyes and rolling down his face. What had he done? He’d chosen Crusty to help him out, that’s what he’d done, the daft old bugger!
Crusty was still droning on unaware that he’d upset his old mate.
“Remember back in’t fifties Nobbler, when we were doing our National Service? The pace was much slower then and people had time for each other. People stopped on the streets for a chat and they’d help their neighbours. There’s none of that these days. Women would chat while they were donkeying their steps every morning and dolly-tubbing with their dolly blue in their back yards. Today it’s all rush, rush, rush.”
Two Police cars pulled up in front of them blocking their escape.
“Now,” said Crusty looking at the weeping Nobbler, still totally oblivious. “Wotever’s to do Nobs? I know lad, I know. It’s very emulshional seeing you as well after all these years but we’re men of the world Nobs. Neh then! Where was it ya wanted me’t drive ya to next?”
Police surrounded Crusty’s car armed with rifles.
One fearless copper opened the driver’s door and there sat Crusty in his blond wig, plaits swinging from side to side.
“Okay Bonnie and Clyde! Get out of the car with your hands up!”
“Why? Wossup?”
From the back of the Police car, Crusty was thinking that he had started the day with a frozzen arse and he was to end it sitting frozzen in a police cell!
From the back of the other Police car, The Nobbler was thinking that of all the cafes there were in Blackpool, Crusty had had to pick the one he’d been going to for the last fifteen years before doing a job!!
Crusty wanted his Bel!
© Mollie M
28.09.01
Oh my word…no wonder Crusty wants his Bel, bless him::-(
Whatever next…he’ll not forget his trip to Blackpool in a hurry…great chapter Mollie:-D
Cant wait to see how he gets out of this mess!!
I told you, he gets in far worse messes, and they do get worse, until his Bel bales him out, yet again. ;-):-D:-D
Oh dear, how’s he going to get out of this mess then? Hmmmm, bet Bel comes up with something
Great work Mollie!
[B][CENTER]32
Crusty Gets Arrested
(and Removes His Laces and Braces!)[/CENTER][/B]
Crusty sat shivering in the cold police cell waiting to be interviewed. He was fed up of being frozen stiff and even the OBJ wasn’t helping much right now. They’d taken his tie off him and also taken the laces out of his shoes and the braces off his back! Crusty had begged them not to take his tie as it was keeping his neck warm, but they took it anyway.
“Just in case,” they’d said.
“Just in case wot?”
Crusty had never been arrested for anything serious before and he still didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
A nice uniformed lady policeman came in then and told Crusty to follow her through to the interview room. It was much warmer in there. He was told to take a seat so Crusty sat himself down.
“Other side of the table,” said a stony-faced detective who had followed him in.
The door opened again and another police officer came in, smiled at Crusty and sat down. He looked like a nice sort of chap.
Crusty scuttled round to the less comfortable seat that faced the door, sat down and started fidgeting almost straight away.
One of the officers pushed a button on the tape cassette on the table and started the recording.
“You don’t mind if we record this interview do you, sir?” said the mild mannered nice cop.
“Ooooh! Are we goin’t havva sing-song? I’ve sung in public quite a few …”
“No we’re not having a sing-song. Now, be quiet until we ask for an answer to our questions.”
“Okay! There’s no need’t shout at me, even if I am a bit deef! Wor’ava done wrong?”
Grumpy Chops calmed down a bit.
“Right then. We’ve got Mr O’Shaughnessy’s story. Now we’d like to hear yours? I can’t wait for this,” said old stony-face to his colleague.
“Who’s Mr O’Shaughnessy? Never heard of him!”
“Can you confirm sir that the number plate of your car is CRU 5 T?”
“Yeh, that’s my lickle car!”
“You were caught red-handed with him in your car earlier today sir, outside a building society. Do you remember that sir?”
“Oh him! That’s not Mr O’Shaughnessy. That’s me old National Service mate, The Nobbler. Oh yeh, come to think of it thar’is his name. I’d forgetten.”
Mild Manners smiled at him.
“That’s right sir. Mr O’Shaughnessy is also known as The Nobbler.”
“Oh, like a secret code name?” said Crusty tittering.
“Something like that, sir. Now, will you tell us your story?”
Crusty beamed at them. He loved telling stories.
“I can’t believe ya’ve gone to all this trouble just so as I can tell ya a story! Wot sort would ya like to hear? Wot sort did The Nobbler tell ya? Were it about wot we used’t ger’up to in Preston Barracks? All’t farting competitions we had and - I’ve all kinds o’ tales I can tell you. Wor’about the one when I were a lad in’t fifties an’a …”
[SIZE=“3”]“SHUT … UP!”[/SIZE] shouted old stony-face, on his feet now and his face an inch from Crusty’s nose.
Crusty jumped back cringing.
“Wor’ava done this time?”
The other detective continued to question him in his milder manner.
“Now then! What’s your full name, sir?”
“Crustopher Grayvid Eatwell Nibbleswick,” replied Crusty, with a snicker.
The officers looked at each other, grinned and shrugged.
“Right then, Mr … er … Nibbleswick,” said the nice officer. “Firstly, have you been read your rights?”
“I dunno. After me old mate The Nobbler went into the building society to play a prank on his workmates there was so much commotion so I dunno. Wot rights? Did I do summat bad?”
Grumpy-Arse glared at Crusty.
“Oh yes, you’ve been a very, very naughty boysy woysy!”
“Why? Wot didda do? I was only in me car waiting for The Nobbler.”
“We’ve got a right one here!” said Stony-Arse.
“Well Mr Nibbleswick, if you haven’t been read your rights I will do so for you now sir.”
The nice officer read Crusty his rights and then asked him if he understood them.
“I think so.”
Grumpy-Arse glared at him again.
“You are allowed to make one phone call before we continue with this interview. Do you wish to make a phone call Mr Nibbleswick?”
“Stop calling me Mr Nibbleswick. It’s Crusty!”
“What’s crusty?”
“No ya daft sod, me name’s Crusty. Everybody calls me Crusty.”
“I daresay they do and don’t call me a daft sod,” said old Grumpy-Arse, getting positively aggravated with him.
“Do you wish to make a phone call Mr Nib… er Crusty?”
“Well I’ve nor’etten anything since me brekkie and that was hours ago. I’m starverating so I wouldn’t mind ringing through for a pizza if that’s alright! Pepperoni and cheyse and …”
[SIZE=“3”]“NO IT’S NOT BLOODY WELL ALRIGHT. ARE YOU TRYING TO WIND US UP SON?”[/SIZE]
Paaarp!
Old Grumpy-Knickers was on his feet again now and his face, turning puce, was about an inch from Crusty’s again. He snatched the daft wig off Crusty’s head. Poor Crusty! It had been keeping his head warm all this time and it suddenly went cold.
Mild-Manners calmed his colleague down.
Sniff, sniff!
“Alright, let’s all calm down now. Sir … Crusty let me try to explain something to you. You have been arrested for being involved in an armed raid on a building society. You were the getaway driver, yes?”
“Armed raid? Ger’away driver? I don’t know wot yer talking about, and it’s not Sir Crusty, it’s just Crusty.”
Realising that this suspect was a couple of tiles short of a roof the nice officer spoke to him kindly again.
“Please don’t say anymore for now Crusty. Is there anyone you’d like to phone? A solicitor, or friend, a relative perhaps? Someone who could be here for you?”
“There’s only Crustabel, burra don’t think she’d come as we had a falling out.”
“Is she your wife?”
“No, a lady friend but she’s the only real friend I have in the whole wide world!”
He started to sob and both officers rolled up their eyes.
The nice officer moved round and patted Crusty on the shoulder, flattening his tongue and pickle barm cake.
“There, there old boy.”
Grumpy-Arse took over, playing bad cop again.
“Right Crusty, let’s phone this Crustabel shall we and have a word with her? Would you like me to call her?”
“Oh no! Ya mustn’t call her owt! Her’ll gi’ thi’ a pile driver if ya starts calling my Bel names!”
“I meant do you want me to ring her, sir?”
“Oh! Yis please,” said Crusty, wiping his nose on his sleeve so Grumpy-Arse passed him a Kleenex.
“Right Crusty, I’ll need her full name and telephone number.”
Mild-Manners picked up a pen.
“Okay!”
Crusty blew his nose and made a big hole in the Kleenex, then wiped his hands on his sleeves.
“Her name’s Crustabel Leekey and her phone number is 01942 …! The rest is a secret 'cos she’s ex-directory.”
The officer put the pen down. Even Mild-Manners was beginning to get a little impatient with him by now.
“I need to know it so I can phone her!”
“Well, I’ll tell you 'cos I like you burrall have’t whisper it so owd Frozzen Chops here dun’t hear it, okay?”
Owd Frozzen Chops started to turn red with anger, but said nothing.
Crusty whispered the phone number into the detective’s ear who then got up to leave the room.
Grumpy-Arse’s face suddenly went white.
“Hang on a minute! Did you say her name is Crustabel Leekey?”
“Yis, why?”
Without answering he got out of his seat and both officers left the interview room but told Crusty to stay where he was.
Well where would he go, they still had his tie? It was the only one he had so he might need it for a special do. They also had his laces and his shoes were flopping about on his feet, not to mention the fact that if he stood up his pants would fall down, having been relieved of his braces as well.
Crusty asked the nice lady policeman who had joined him in the room what had happened to The Nobbler. She told him that she couldn’t discuss anything about the case with him except to say that the Police were now satisfied, and The Nobbler had been carrying out a series of raids in the Blackpool area for the last fifteen years!
Crusty was astonished. His old mate a thief!
She told him that the Police had been baffled for years and could never manage to catch the perpetrator until today, thanks to Crusty.
Five minutes later the two detectives returned and Mild-Manners spoke to him.
“Right Crusty! We’ve been in touch with Miss Leekey and she said she’ll come straight away, but it’ll take her about an hour or so to get here so you’ll just have to cool your heels till then.”
They told the nice lady policeman to take him back to his cell to wait for Miss Leekey, who was on her way.
“Would you like a nice cup of tea and some sandwiches Mister Nibbleswick?”
Does Desperate Dan like cow pie?
Crusty’s eyes lit up for the first time since his arrest and nodded.
“Yes please Missus Policeman lady. Ta!”
Crustabel finally arrived and was shown into the same interview room that Crusty had recently vacated. She was asked various questions, which she answered to their utmost satisfaction.
She told the officers her name and what her relationship with Crusty had been over the last couple of years. She explained to them how daft he was and how gullible he could be, but there wasn’t a bad bone in his body. Unbelievably she gave him a very good character reference!
She was waiting in the foyer of the Police Station when they brought Crusty out and he ran to her sobbing his heart out.
“Bel, Bel! Am so glad yer here! I still don’t know wor’ave done wrong and they handcuffed me and everything and wouldn’t let me order a pizza. I was so miserable Bel burram glad yer here now. Bel?”
“Wot now?”
“The Nobbler said I’ve getten a face like a pig’s arse. Is it true Bel?”
“Well tha’s getten eyes like a pig, tha’ aytes like a pig, tha’st manners of a pig so aye, I’d say it was a pretty accurate description.”
“Am bluddy hungry, Bel!”
“Yer allers bluddy hungry. Alright, alright Crusty, come on now. I’ll take you home. Your car’s in the pound again burrall arrange for one of these nice policemen to bring it back to Wigan for you, okay?”
Mild-Manners and Grumpy-Arse looked at each other.
“Eh! Madam, we are not a recovery service.”
“Oh really? We’ll see about that,” she said, taking out her mobile phone and dialling a number.
“Hello, this is Crustabel Leekey. I’d like to speak to …”
She turned her back so no one could hear what she was saying.
The two officers stared at her in disbelief then stared at each other.
“Wot’s goin’ on?”
She was put on hold for a few seconds and, when she spoke again, her accent had changed.
“Hello Justin, Crustabel here. How are you? Oh good, I’m fine but I have a little problem which you may be able to solve for me …”
She finished her phone call and turned to Crusty.
“Reet owd fettler, let’s go.”
“Hang on a moment, please madam. May I ask who you just phoned?”
“You certainly can young man! I phoned my cousin Justin. He’s going to sort out the problem with Crusty’s car.”
“But I fail to understand …”
“Cousin Justin,” said Bel, smiling sweetly.
Their eyes bobbed out of their heads.
“Cousin Justin LEEKEY! Now do you understand young man?”
The cops stared at each other again, their faces draining of all colour.
Cousin Justin Leekey?
In unison they both said exactly the same words.
“Cousin Justin Leekey? THE DETECTIVE CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT FOR LANCASHIRE?”
She gave Crusty a shove in the back.
“That’s him! Come on Ned Kelly and let’s get ya home”
Crusty tittered at the cops and waved 'bye 'bye with his tie as he clopped off behind the love of his life!
© Mollie M
28.09.01
Well well who would have thought it, Bel with family in high places rescues Crusty!! Another brilliant chapter Mollie, looking forward to the next
Many thanks, Marian. Oh yes, Bel has family in very high places, unknown to Crusty.
You won’t believe what Bel rescues him from in chapters to come.
Great episode in the police station Mollie with the good cop, bad cop routine, and I love Crusty’s middle names, ‘Grayvid Eatwell’. Very clever writing.
Thanks Jem. Glad to see you’re back. You’ve soon caught up, so hope you enjoyed them.