Oh that’s a shame, wonder why? Never mind hope you can do it soon or I’ll get withdrawal symptoms 
I really am sorry. I’ve no idea why this is happening. I can copy, but can’t paste onto the forum. I can copy and paste into another Word application on my own computer. I’ve even tried copying and pasting into Forum Help, but that doesn’t work either so I don’t know if it’s me or the forum that’s at fault, but I suspect it’s a forum problem. 
I’ll send a message to Azz, but I know he’s not been around very much just lately. Can’t do any more than that I’m afraid.
That was good 
Was preparing myself to ask some questions, then read that it was all a dream 
Hope this trouble you’re having Mollie, gets sorted. Don’t know about Marian, but I’ll be having withdrawal symptoms soon. ;-)
Edit: Don’t believe what Marian just posted, about withdrawal symptoms!
Thanks Carmen. I’ve just PM’d Azz about this because I do think it’s a forum problem. I’ll try again tomorrow night but, if it doesn’t work again, we’ll have to wait for Azz.
Could one of you type something out in Word, then try to copy and paste it in here? It doesn’t matter what it is. I just want to be sure it’s not a problem at my end.
This is definitely a forum fault. I’ve copied and pasted something into an email which I sent to myself and it’s fine, so the forum for some reason is blocking pasted text. Don’t know what else I can do.
ha ha you can tell we’re big fans, great minds think alike.
Hopefully Mollie will be able to post the next one tomorrow, fingers crossed :!:
Testing testing 1 2 3 4 5
its ok my end Mollie, typed that in word then copied and pasted into here, very strange?
Very odd. Thinking caps. Thanks Marian.
Perhaps when you shut down tonight and start up again tomorrow whatever the problem is will have cleared.
Yes, I may need to re-boot, but I can’t understand why I can copy and paste into other different applications, except for here.
Me not a happy bunnykins right now. Am having a most magnificent sulk right now.
http://bestsmileys.com/hugging/2.gif
Never mind Mollie, try again tomorrow. I’ll be off now, getting tired 
Testing
Copy and paste ok!
Testing 1 2 3 4 5
Working again now. 
Did you discover what the problem was, Mollie?
No Mags. I think I just needed to re-boot. Hopefully it will be okay again now, thanks.
woooo hoooo…can’t wait for Crusty…
Just fine tuning the next chapter, so keep your fingers crossed that I don’t have that problem again.
[B][CENTER]54
Bang, Bang Bel
(Crusty Feels Like Hell!)[/CENTER][/B]
Half an hour later after Bel had awoken from her mad dream she went into his kitchen and tried frantically to find the box of Tide she’d dreamt he had but couldn’t find one, so instead she filled the little compartment in his old Crustamatic with his other lemony powder. She had to do something to take her mind off her day-mare and Crusty always forgot about washing his clothes!
“Worra ya looking for Bel?” he asked, seeing her scrabbling around in his cupboards.
“Yer box o’ Tide. Where is it?”
“Tide Bel? I’ve not gor’a box o’ Tide. Worra ya talking about? I’ve got me new box of Oxydol tharram saving and that lemon powder. Are ya still dreaming Bel?”
She was still angry with him for the dream she’d had, although it wasn’t his fault, but Bel didn’t see it quite like that. It was because he was always moidering and playing on her mind that she’d had the disjointed dream in the first place.
A lot of it she could make sense of. He’d called her his Queen of Hearts hence her outfit in the art shop, his rabbit costume because he was so timid and leading on from that the skinning of a rabbit, putting salt and vinegar on the paintings thinking they were fish and chips, and all the other silly things could be attributed to things that had actually happened. The horse having a pee in the field symbolised Crusty himself as he could pee like a horse! Even “Mister Fartyarse” was symbolised as Crusty as well for more obvious reasons!
The one thing she couldn’t analyse though was dreaming that Crusty was a great artist. A p!ss artist from time to time yes, especially when he got hold of some whisky, but a cultural or classical artist? No! Not in a million years. Still, it was worth asking the question when the time was right.
She tried to rip the old black jacket from Crusty’s struggling shoulders to stuff it into the machine. Old Beigey the Jumper was already in there stiff as a board and bored stiff! Well actually he’d been there for about three or four weeks waiting his turn for a wash and was pigged off until th’owd black jacket joined him. They hadn’t seen each other for ages and had a lot of catching up to do.
“Gimme thar’owd black jacket here. It’s a bluddy breeding ground for all sorts! Ya could manufacture a new strain of anthrax wi’ this jacket! Ya favver summat out o’t Plague of the Bluddy Zombies wearing this sodding thing! In fact, I think I might throw it in’t dustbin next time ya mess it up!”
“Leave me alone Bel. I don’t want me jacket washing and yer not throwing it away neither! It’s a good 'un this,” he said trying to escape her grasp, and got a kick in the shins for his trouble which brought him down to his knees.
“It’s a bluddy straight jacket that you need,” she said wrenching it from his shoulders.
Paaarp!
On realising what she was doing the Old Blue Jumper, who was underneath, started shouting at Bel trying to attract her attention.
(“Me Bel, me now Bel, please Bel put me in the washer Bel. BEL!!!”)
It was a fruitless task however as Bel couldn’t understand OBJ language, any more than she could speak Welsh a few months ago when Crusty got in bother.
She made Crusty go in search of knickers, socks and any other nasties he could find that had most probably been festering or decomposing and strewn around his room and under the bed for the last couple of months.
Ten minutes later he came back downstairs with an armful of grubby items. There were two pairs of trousers as well, including his smelly old brown pants.
She felt around all the pockets of the items he’d brought down in case he’d left any food in them (well he wasn’t likely to leave any money in the pockets was he? Or leave any food, come to think of it!). Out came the usual ball of string, cobbler’s wax, his lucky half a kipper, a fluffy Fisherman’s Friend, a handful of crumbs and a marble and, as she was about to put the clothing into the machine she saw a cooked sausage drop onto the floor. She didn’t know where it could have come from.
“Wot the bluddy hell’s this now?” she shouted holding it up gingerly between finger and thumb.
Crusty’s eyes lit up as he snatched it off her.
“Oh it’s me sausages, thanks Bel, I’d forgetten all about them. I keep some in me turn-ups for emergencies,” he said shoving it into his mouth.
She grimaced at him as he retrieved the other four off the floor and rammed them greedily down his throat.
“Ya nasty bugger! They’ve just been on yer dirty floor and ya shoves 'em in yer gob! How long 'ave they been in yer turn-ups anyway? I can’t believe this, even for YOU! Mind you, they’ve been in yer nasty owd pants as well! Bluddy floor’s probably cleaner than them!”
“They’ve only been theer a week or two Bel! I can get five in each turn-up provided they’re just the reet length!” he said sniggering.
“And wor’if they’re not?” she said pulling her face in disgust.
“Well I just bite a bit off each until they do fit. I’ve etten them that were in me left turn-up burrad forgetten about t’others!”
“Yer a nasty owd grot bag, yer nowt else!”
He started to giggle so she lamped him one, taking the smirk off his face.
She stuffed the rest of his clobber into the machine, checking first for more sausages and was just about to turn it onto a boil wash when she noticed the poor OBJ.
“Strange,” she said to herself, “I could’ve sworn I noticed a funny look on the OBJ’s little face!”
The “face” was a big gravy stain that had seeped into the wool mixture and it did indeed resemble a sort of face.
“Ger’it off!” she commanded.
“Get wor’off Bel? Ya’ve already getten me jacket!”
“That OBJ! The poor bugger’s not seen th’inside o’ this Crustamatic for months, I can tell.”
“I know Bel bur’it’s only because I’ve worn it all the time and nor’ad time to wash it. Why are ya mad at me Bel?”
“For tormenting the bluddy life out of me in me dream!”
“Burra couldn’t help being in yer dream Bel, that’s not fair. Why were ya dreaming about me anyway? Amma yer dream boy?” he asked fluttering his eyelashes.
For that he received a left hook and he dropped to the floor.
Paaaarip!
“No yer bluddy well not and stop lerrin Polly out o’ prison! I’ll tell ya about it sometime when I’ve calmed down. Anyway, ya’ve getten more than one jumper and more time on yer hands than a Trappist Monk. Now, ger’it off as its being washed, and ger’up off’t bluddy floor! Yer always relaxing and taking it easy!”
As she was speaking he got out his handkerchief and honked loudly into it, then inspected the contents with fascinated interest.
“Where the bluddy hell’s that nasty owd snot rag come from now? Me bluddy oil rag’s cleaner than that thar’a use on me car. Just look at the colour of it ya dirty sod! Ger’it in’t washer!”
“Okay Bel, here y’are!”
“I’m not touching that nasty owd thing, I might get foot and mouth. Shove it in’t machine!”
Crusty took off the OBJ who was absolutely thrilled to bits and, once in the washing machine, he did a merry dance with old beigey going round and round in circles. They did enjoy their little selves!
However when the handkerchief joined them they’d all screeched in horror and tried their hardest to steer clear of it, but to no avail. Even the OBJ and the old black jacket didn’t want anything to do with it, it was so filthy! Needless to say, Bel didn’t put it on a boil wash in deference to the OBJ as he would have shrunk or melted into nothingness.
Later on, when the machine had finished, she put them into the dryer but found the element to be burned out so she dropped the old fashioned clothes line down on its pulley and started to hang them to dry.
“There now,” she said satisfied of a job well done. “Ya’d best not let me see yer clothes in this state again, ya nasty owd scuz bag. Ger’em in’t machine more often! I’ll ger’a new element for yer dryer and fit it for ya.”
“Okay Bel! Thanks!”
“That’s alreet but you have’t pay for it, and don’t start sulkin’ again or I’ll paste ya”
He’d been trotting round after her all the while watching what she was doing, getting in her way at every turn and he nearly went apoplectic when she’d opened his box of lemony washing powder. He’d been saving the rest (three quarters of it) for a rainy day, which had been and gone many moons ago and he’d forgotten all about his washing. Still he had his “new” box of Oxydol as a stand-by!
His eyes filled with devilment as his feeble brain devised yet another cunning plot. He tried to grab the box off her to run off with it but unfortunately for him there was a handy rolling pin on the work surface so she bopped him over the head with it. That stopped him in his tracks as he slithered to the floor hearing tweety birds overhead! Yet another plan had come to yet another sticky end!
A few minutes later, when she wasn’t looking, he’d sneaked up behind her and pinched the powder box, then tipped all of its contents into the sink! When she saw what he’d done, he didn’t half cop it. It clogged the drainage hole up and suds crept all over the kitchen because he’d turned the taps on full trying to wash it away before she spotted it and it had just lathered up in huge clouds of foam.
[SIZE=“3”]“Wot the bluddy hell hast done that for?”[/SIZE] she screamed, almost up to her chin now in soapsuds.
“Nothing,” he said, just a pair of red piggy eyes showing through. “It wasn’t me Bel!”
“Course it were you ya daft looking bugger. There’s only me and thee here an’a know it weren’t me that did it. Why did you do it?”
“Because I never did like that powder, Bel. It’s always made me itch ever since ya bought it me,” he shouted, trying to wade through the foam.
“Don’t start that soddin’ artistic temperamental bull-sh!t wi’ me lad or I’ll lamp ya one again. It’s bluddy nast that makes ya itch. Anyway, why didn’t ya say so before I did yer washing?”
“I didn’t think ya’d believe me Bel. Wot’s artistic temperamental bull-sh!t Bel?”
“Ne’ mind! Look at all this mess now in yer kitchen. Why didn’t ya just throw the powder into yer crustbin, I mean dustbin? Open that back door, ger’a brush and sweep it out. Ger’it cleaned up, this instance!”
“No!”
With that he whooshed off through the foam tittering so she had to chase after him.
“Thar’a nasty owd bugger tha’ nowt else Crusty. Come here while I hit ya!”
She was chasing after him with the frying pan in her hand and Crusty knew if she caught him he’d really be in bother for making such a mess in the kitchen she’d spent so much time on.
She decided to save her energy. After all, he had to come back sometime, especially when his belly started rumbling. It was his house after all! She’d fix him well and good this time. She’d thought of a new punishment and Crusty himself had provided her with the idea, the ways and the means!
She cleaned up the kitchen, again, and waited for him to return.
[CENTER]-oo0oo-[/CENTER]
A couple of hours later, belly rumbling for food, he came back expecting Bel to have gone, but when he came through the door his nose twizzled round three times with the smell of good grub that was being cooked in his kitchen.
“Hello Bel, am back. Wot’s cooking?”
“Boiled beef and parrots!”
“Ya means boiled beef and carrots Bel, don’t ya?” he said marching over to the cooker to look for signs of parrots.
“Don’t you bluddy well correct me, y’owd fart! No, I mean boiled beef and parrots. The beef’s for me, the parrots are for you and ya’ll ayte ‘em all up, beak an’ all!”
Crusty went green.
“But Bel I don’t like beaks. They’re too crunchy and they get stuck under me plate an’a don’t think I’m over-fond of parrots either! Are ya still mad at me for
being in yer dream?” he replied, taking the now dry old beigey off the line and slipping it over his head.
“Crusty, just stand by the door will ya for a minute. I’ve just had a good idea!”
“Okay Bel, anything ya say Bel!”
He was glad she was in a good mood and that a pasting probably wasn’t on the agenda tonight, for a change. She rummaged around in her handbag for a moment and then asked Crusty where he kept his hammer.
“In’t shed Bel. Wot d’ya want an 'ammer for?”
She didn’t answer him but went straight to the shed and, finding the hammer, returned to the kitchen to find that Crusty had moved away from the door.
“Up against that door with yer arms above yer yed,” she commanded, half a dozen nail heads clamped between her teeth.
“Are ya goin’t shoot me Bel?”
“Not today, burram goin’t hammer ya!” she mumbled back.
He stood by! It seemed he was going to get another pasting after all!
Why oh why didn’t he just behave himself? He was like a naughty little schoolboy most of the time.
Anyway, he did as he was told and she went up to him with that demonic grin on her face that Crusty feared the most. He knew he was going to be punished again but didn’t know what he’d done this time. He wasn’t counting the mess he’d made with the washing powder because it was his powder and his kitchen.
Holding the bag of six inch nails that he’d given her as a present in the “hospickal” she hoisted him up and banged them one by one into the door through old beigey, which he was still wearing of course, and left him dangling there while she sat down at his kitchen table and devoured the beef and carrots she’d been cooking.
He sat and watched her, drooling at every mouthful. It smelled bloody good.
“Bel, Bel, help me Bel. I’ll ayte the parrots if ya want Bel and the fithers too, anything, just get me down off this door.”
“There are no bluddy parrots ya daft looking bugger. Why would I cook parrots? Yer nor’a full shillin’ you’re not! I were only kidding!”
She was facing him and she continued eating her meal at a leisurely pace so that he could watch her and slavver.