So true!
As it was 8/9 years ago though, you should try and re-introduce your work to them. Worth a try? 
Thanks lass but I wish it were that simple. I’m not sure I could handle all the knock-backs again at my age now. Back then, you could submit work directly to a publisher but you can’t now otherwise it gets put on a slush pile and may never get read.
The only other way is to go through a Literary Agent and it’s not easy to find one that deals with comedy. Believe me, I’ve tried, but I will try again, but it’s such darned hard work.
Ok. I understand that times have changed and it’s not easy. Seems such a shame though 
You need to find a friend that’s in that field.
I love how his jumper stands up on its own in the corner!
It’s all the quirky little details that bring your little guy to life.
I can imagine Victor Meldrew playing the part in a TV sitcom.
Just finished the last chapter, i couldnt wait until this evening, Mollie you really are gifted, and its such a shame you have not had this wonderful story published.
Help me bake it through the night…indeed:lol:, he seems to have all my old records Mollie. Thanks for the laughs.
The dialect is all part of the character’s makeup, you couldn’t have him talking like a newsreader now could you?.
Remember how the Simpsons started on TV, they were introduced to the public in a series of short sketch’s and blossomed from there, I know it’s hard work, but keep pestering them until they give you at least a shot at telling your stories, and never lose heart, to make someone laugh is divine in my book.
Once again thank you all so much for your constructive comments. Maybe I just might have a look through my book of Literary Agents and see if I can get somebody interested.
Morty, the person I see playing the part of Crusty is Bernard Wrigley who is about the same size and has a similar accent to the Wigan one, although he’s from Bolton, not far from here.
Jemflux I’ve only ever watched The Simpsons once and didn’t like it I’m afraid, but you’re right about the accent. There would be no comedy value if I’d written it in the Queen’s English. 
[B]5
Crusty Meats His Sole Mate
(and Life Long Partner?)[/B]
It was two months later and November again now. Time passed very quickly for Crusty. It was a lovely morning and he was in fine fettle. He was up early and was going to make himself some breakfast, but decided against it as he would probably be able to pick up a few leftovers at the cafe from the early morning customers.
His clock read seven thirty and he decided to get up whilst the weather was so nice. He put on his bathrobe and kippers and mooched along to the bathroom. He did feel happy today. He picked up his old tube of Pepsodent toothpaste and cleaned his false teeth then found his block of Lyril soap. He picked off the few specks of fluff again. By heck that soap and toothpaste had lasted a long time! Almost as long as his packet of Oxydol, which he bought back in 1958!
He didn’t use his soap or toothpaste very regularly, but he decided to treat himself today! Back in the bedroom he slithered into his old blue jumper (for ease, the old blue jumper will from now on be referred to as the “OBJ”), and the rest of his clothes and, ablutions seen to, he went downstairs and put the kettle on.
The sun was bursting through the window which made even Crusty’s dingy kitchen look cheerful and, as he made a cup of tea he looked around. It was time for re-decorating. This apple green and apricot looked nice when it was first done but on duller days it was looking a little seedy. Perhaps a nice new coat of cream on the walls and maybe a touch of peach gloss for the woodwork! Yes, he’d certainly think more on that one. Perhaps even a little tongue and groove for the ceiling! On second thoughts, forget it as he’d have to shell out good money!
He turned on the radio and sat down to drink his tea. He did enjoy his old Macaroni radio. He’d had that since about 1958 as well. In fact, just about everything he owned was circa 1958! I’m not saying he’s as tight as tick on a camel’s backside. He’s just very careful with money.
The valves in his radio had warmed up and the songs emerged. Songs from about 1958!! Gracie Fields was in full swing with “If I Knew You Were Coming I’d Have Baked a Cake”. Oh, but no, that was earlier. That was brought out in 1950. He could remember all those lovely songs. “She Wears Bread Feathers and a Huly Huly Skirt” with Guy Mitchell. Suddenly the room was filled with a lovely Caribbean sound and Harry Belafonte melodically began his song, “Oh Island In A Bun …”!
There were some lovely songs made in the fifties. Some bluddy daft ones as well! He recalled some of the titles. "Shrimp Boats by Jo Stafford, “Sugarbush” by Doris Day, “I Left My Heart in San Franbisto” by Tony Bennett. He never could understand how anybody could leave a pound of heart anywhere, especially if they’d bought it for their tea! What a load of old tripe. He got up and turned the radio off. As usual he was going to the cafe to help out.
I should mention that the cafe owner had never asked for his help. Crusty had just turned up one day, bought a cup of tea then started clearing dishes. The cafe
owner told him that because he’d helped he could have his cup of tea and meat pie on the house. He went back every day after that much to the cafe owner’s disgruntlement. This is absolutely true, I swear it!
He put on his owd black jacket and checked to make sure he had his wallet and snack-a-mac with him. The weather seemed gorgeous but there would be a nip in the air and it might even rain again.
This was Thursday and on Saturday he was going to a fancy dress party. He was thinking very hard about what sort of character he should go as. Now, you must remember that Crusty is not the sort of person to make a fool of himself. Nobody he could think of would ever say that Crusty was daft! No sir! (Not so bluddy hardly)! He believed himself to be a well-respected and valued member of the community so he would have to have an air of suavity about him.
What he didn’t know was that everybody thought he was just a stupid old sod whom nobody liked at all!
Wor’a bluddy shame!
“I know worra could go as! I could go as Prawn Edwards, the Wigan Rugby player. All I’ll knead is a cherry and white striped jumper. Mind you, I don’t think I’d be very convincing at the age of sixty-eight! How about one of the Ugly Sisters, then?”
He started tittering.
“No, I’m nor’ugly enough!”
That’s what he thought.
He popped a pear drop into his mouth and started munching. This was a difficult one. He tried to remember that old comedy programme on telly. That was it! “The Bunsters!” He could go as Herman Bunster. He could easily make an outfit for that using the OBJ and his owd black jacket for a start. He tittered at that. Nobody would recognise him.
He passed a newly opened fancy dress shop just then and the costume that was in the window was definitely for him. This was the one they’ve all bean waiting for. He would go as one of the three Crustketeers! He tried on the costume and he thought he looked quite a dandy. Actually, he favvered a rum bugger in the doublet and hose! His skinny little legs in the tights and his big belly hanging over were a joy to behold. The voluminous cloak flapping at his ankles kept tripping him up and the enormous feather in the big hat kept flopping over his face. (That was a plus).
Believe it or not, he actually bought it!
He arrived at the cafe just in time. He’d heard a roll of thunder so perhaps the day was going to turn nasty. Still, he had his snack-a-mac with him if you remember.
He went straight to the bread bin (without asking first) and made himself a butty, cheeky sod.
It was a funny old morning. Everybody that came into the cafe either kept giving him odd looks or pointing and laughing at him. He couldn’t understand it and it was only when he went to pay a visit to the loo that he saw himself in the old cracked mirror and realised he’d made a prat of himself yet again.
He hadn’t removed the costume and was still dressed as a squashbuckler. He went red with embarrassment at the very thought and removed the garments immediately. He had put his carrier bag with his clothes in the toilet area and as he rummaged for the OBJ he wondered how he could get around this one, daft sod.
Well Saturday came and Crusty donned his costume with pride. He set off for the venue in his old car. He knew one of his tyres was a bit iffy but it would be alright till Monday. He needed a new Pierelli tyre. When he arrived at the Club he found the plaice packed and already in full swing.
Feeling very confident that he would win the fancy dress contest later on, he made his grand entrance through the door. His idea was to swish through and gallantly doff his hat to the first lady he met. Instead, he tripped over his cloak and launched himself into a table covered in beer glasses. His hat, once at a rakish angle, fell over his eyes and the pointed end of the feather stuck in his eye, temporarily blinding him.
Whelping in pain, and dripping in ale, he spun around the floor like a whirling dervish. The cloak was now completely twisted around his legs and, unable to see what he was doing, he finally came to rest with a thump on his arse on the empty dance floor. The place was in an uproar. The applause was music to Crusty’s ears though. So much for the grand entrance! Yet again, he’d made a complete prat of himself but he sat up and, with tongue dangling out, he grinned his cheesy grin.
Two men saw his predicament and went over to assist him.
“Come on owd lad. Wor’at doin’ on’t bluddy floor? Come on, I’ll buy ya a drink to seckle yer nerves!”
“Oooh, ta very muchly lad.”
He was escorted to the bar and was bought a pint of his favourite Whitbread. This pleased Crusty no end and wondered if he couldn’t perhaps use the same thing again as a ruse in order to get free drinks. Mmmmm! He’d have to think Caerphilly about that one.
He scampered around the room to see what was happening and sang jauntily to the song, “Bye, Bye Miss American Pie” then sat alone at a table. Other people joined him occasionally but they didn’t stay long. It had been quite a while since he’d showered and even longer since the poor OBJ had seen the inside of his Crustamatic! He’d been there over an hour now and hadn’t really spoken to anyone. Still, he had half a pint of Whitbread left. He could make it last.
Tight sod!
“Excuse me, chuck. Is that seat taken?”
Crusty spun round to see a fine looking lady standing tall at his shoulder. A very large lady in fact!
“No, it’s not tekken. Ya can sit theer if ya wants!”
They sat in silence for a while, but soon Crusty broke the ice.
“Ya know missus, that nice brown dress ya’ve getten on just reminds me of a golden pie crust!”
How gallante!
How romantic!
“Wot did ya just say? Who d’ya think yer talkin’ to?”
Then her eyes softened and she smiled at him, realising he was just trying to be nice in a weird sort of way.
With that they quickly became friends. Her name was Crustabel! Crusty was so excited about her name he couldn’t contain himself. He ran to the loo, had a pee and scampered back again. It seemed they were made for each other, their names so similar.
“I say Crustabel. D’ya fancy a twirl round’t dance floor? I’m nor’a bad dancer!”
“Aye, why not?”
They got up and started jigging around like a couple of school kids and singing along to the popular old songs like “Do Wha Piddle Piddle Dum Di Di Do” by Manfred Man, and Bredna Lee with “Let’s Jump the Breadstick!” They danced until they were dizzy and then a slow song came on. Ah, but this one took them back to their youth. The Platters were singing “Smoke Gets In Your Pies!”
She bought him a few more drinks and at the end of the evening he offered to walk her home rather than drive, but she declined as she had her own car outside and lived a distance away. She saw his crustfallen face and told him not to worry. She would meat him again tomorrow at the cafe he worked at, if he liked.
He nodded, gave her a cheesy grin and said goodnight. Because Crustabel had bought him a few pints, he left his car where it was and walked home, clicking his heels every fifty yards or so. It was a comical sight what with him and his funny costume but he didn’t care. He was happy.
True to her word, Crustabel came to the cafe next day and Crusty thought that this was the beginning of a beautiful romance.
They gazed at each other over a mug of tea and a chip butty. They didn’t need to speak - they had the most important thing in common. Food! Crusty admitted she
was on the hefty side, but what did that matter? He watched her push the food into her mouth - he was in love!
It was a partnership made in Heaven. Him for his love of food and her for her love of food and the fact that she appeared to have a pound or two in the bank! He could tell by her generosity and she didn’t look skint! This was happiness incarnate.
They decided to go out for a drink again that night and get to know each other better. Crustabel drove and they arrived at a little out of the way pub. As they approached the pub there was a placard at the front that read FRE… FOOD TONIGHT ONLY - FREE!
They couldn’t believe their luck and pushed their way through the door knocking a few drinkers to one side. Most people felt a bit sorry for them. Poor old couple probably can’t afford to eat properly. Aaah!!
They immediately made their way to the tables that were crammed with all sorts of food and made their selection. Sitting down, they started to munch and crunch their way through the food on their plates. There wasn’t mush room for talking as their mouths were full.
However, in between gulps he was asked to relate any interesting family history so Crusty began his tale. He decided to colour it up a bit. Well, you needed a bit of colour in your life when you were getting old and he didn’t think she’d mind one bit.
His grand-bappy, he told her, had served on a pierate chip over a hundred years ago. It was called “The Jolly Jack Bit” and they sailed the high seas around Cape Cod and down the Spanish Main. He wasn’t the Captain, but served as a galley hand and there the love of food was born.
After each attack the Captain’s war-cry was “Pasta La Bistro Baby” and this phrase would be used a hundred years later by that great action movie hero Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Eventually, they’d met their match and were gunned out of the water in 1872 just off the Sandwich Islands. They remained there until the end of their days and that’s where Crusty’s grand-bappy met his islander wife and ultimately where Crusty was born.
“Hang on a bit there lad. Let’s just take a break and go for some more snap, eh?”
“Oooh, wor’a good idea!”
She got up and moved over to the buffet tables and Crusty happily scampered along after her.
They sat in silence for a short while still crunching and munching and wondering what exactly it was they were eating. Some of it was salty and crunchy, but it tasted okay.
Some nice music was being played and Crusty crooned to his new love along with the song, “I Only Have Pies, For You, Dear!” He wasn’t the best singer in the world. He sighed. She was wonderful.
He continued his historical saga. When they eventually came to England his father met a genealogist who’d looked up his family tree for him - for free of course.
He discovered that his family crest comprised two pork pies rampant with crossed knife and fork and his father’s friend had a plaque made for him and it now proudly hung on Crusty’s living room wall.
“Wot sort o’ films d’ya like Crusty?”
“Oh all sorts really. I likes the films about Jack the Kipper and Sweeney Todd. That Mrs Lovatt’s pies don’t half sound bluddy good!”
“Are ya having me on owd lad?”
“No why? Some of me favourite stories are by that Charles Dickens bloke. I likes “Oliver Crisp”, “A Crispmus Carol” and “A Tale of Two Chippies” bur’am nor’a very good reader so I’d sooner watch 'em on’t telly.”
He was getting into his stride now and continued talking about himself.
“Wor’else d’ya like doing?”
“Well I’m sixty-eight now, but when I were younger I used’t love goin’ pot noodling, but then me bally started gerrin too big an’a had to stop!”
Going on a diet had not been an option.
The time was now getting on and Crusty suggested they make a move. They’d enjoyed the evening but he’d eaten better food, he’d said. On their way out he asked the Landlord what food had been served that evening.
“Well there were champignon!”
“Worra champions?”
“Mushrooms!”
“Oh. Well wot were them horses doovers?”
“They weren’t horses doovers they were hor’s doeurves! It’s just another name for starters!”
“Oh reet! They were very nice, but wot were them crunchy things we had?”
“Escargot!”
“Ya mean we’ve gone an’ etten a race horse?”
“No sir. Escargot are snails!”
With that he zoomed off to the toilets with his hand covering his mouth. Crustabel stayed where she was, grinning.
He was angry now. Why hadn’t someone told them they were eating slugs? (The shells were the crunchy things)! The Landlord pointed to the blackboard sign that stated the food on offer. But it was in French! Crusty could barely master his own language never mind someone else’s.
“Burra cawn’t speyk French. Wot would anybody want speyk French for? Crustabel, can you speyk French?”
“As a matter of fact I can Crusty just a bit, burra didn’t stop to think 'cos I were that bluddy hungry. I just wanted’t get some meyt down me throat. Sorry owd lad. I’ll pay special attention next time!”
“I’m nor’avin’ any more o’ that t’ayte. I thowt I could ayte owt burra draw the line at ayetin’ slugs!”
They left and once outside, the coolness of the evening was very welcrumb. They looked again at the placard which had sent them running into the pub earlier that evening. If only they had read it properly they would have read FRENCH FOOD TONIGHT ONLY - FREE. A small piece of paper had covered the …NCH bit of the word and in their rush they had not stopped to read the sign properly.
This was one adventure they would chalk up to experience and there would be many, many more to come!
Many, many more!
© Mollie M
20.06.01
Another good read Mollie Am really getting into this. 
Brilliant Mollie
He’s doing alright for himself, she buys the drinks I notice:lol:. Looks like double trouble is on the cards, as my Granny used to say, ‘As God makes them, he matches them’.
Cheers folks. These early tales are pretty tame compared to what he gets up later.
For those who have asked for a description of the characters:
CHARACTER SYNOPSIS
Crustopher Grayvid Eatwell Nibbleswick
Crusty is an eternal 68 years old and has the IQ level of an amoeba, possessing only a single brain cell which is seldom used! He has an almost child-like innocence, lives a juvenile existence and has a strange way of speaking. His normal height, he says, is 5’ 4" except for when he’s accumulated several inches of crust on the soles of his socks which then can take him up to 5’ 8"! He has a big belly, big nose, huge backside, a cauliflower ear which is deaf and regularly mis-hears with comical results. He also has skinny, bandy legs and piggy little eyes. As his name suggests, he is extremely food fixated and is always “bluddy hungry”. He loves to sing but is tone deaf!
He’s a smelly old tramp of a man, who has a squawky whingeing voice and whose idea of a good wash or shower is a quick sprinkle from the cold water tap, occasionally. His excuse is that he’s allergic to water! He has a nodding acquaintance with his Lyril soap which went out of manufacture in the late fifties/early sixties, and he rarely washes his clothes, (his socks and undies in particular) and is “gifted” with extraordinary outbursts of flatulence!
His favourite outfit is his dirty old brown trousers into which he usually keeps a supply of cooked sausages secreted in the turn-ups, his old blue jumper known fondly as the OBJ, his scruffy old black jacket in which he keeps a meat filled barm cake/roll for each shoulder pad and his lucky kipper in his pocket. Sniffy and Whiffy are his favourite socks, and his little black vinyl boots which, because of his sweaty feet, squelch loudly as he walks.
He’s as tight as cramp where money is concerned and pays for nothing unless it is absolutely necessary and would have the pennies off a dead man’s eyes if he got the chance. At lower than average intelligence, Crusty gets into more mischief than any other person alive, but he has one person who can always help him out.
Crustabel Fairy Leekey (AKA Crustabel the Mighty!)
Well! They do say that opposites attract! Bel is a much larger than life female Desperate Dan or Bluto who is an extremely wealthy woman of a “certain age” and owns several businesses, some of which include Leekey Haulage, Leekey Bathrooms and Leekey Plumbing in Lancashire, and other businesses elsewhere like Leekey Oil in Dallas! She has a beautiful home and several cars. She’s an ace mechanic, truck driver, qualified helicopter pilot and is highly intelligent and well-respected.
Standing at 6’ in her stocking feet and weighing in at 19 stones, she has a mouth like a bear trap. “Bel” is a formidable woman with whom nobody argues if they have any sense, and is quite handy with her fists if the occasion arises! An exceptionally dominant person with a face like a plumber’s tool bag and extremely dry wit, she rules Crusty with a rod of iron, occasionally finding it necessary to chastise him in different ways but takes him on many jaunts during which he always gets into mischief.
She has to extricate him from many escapades at home and away in which he regularly finds himself, through “no fault of his own”, and the names she calls him are truly unbelievable. One of her most polite endearments to him is “ya dim-witted old ditch rat” to the more colourful phrases such as “ya festering little fart”! Her pet name for him is The Pigmy!
Despite all this Crustabel, (AKA Basher Bel the Battler from Hell) would fight for him in his corner every time and defend him to the last.
© Mollie M
2001
[B]6
Crusty Loses His Sole Mate
(Life Short Partner?)[/B]
Apart from the slugs he’d had a wonderful day, with a wonderful woman. He was having a wonderful life just now.
When he got in he put the kettle on. Waiting for it to boil he sat and thought about the moment he’d met Crustabel.
He turned on the telly. It was late, but he was still wide awake so decided to watch something to tire him out. The valves had warmed up now and Crusty saw that a film had just started. He wanted to see what it was so he sat back. The antics of the actor made him giggle then laugh. Finally, he was so hysterical that his false teeth fell out and plopped into his tea. He was watching the film with Rowan Atkinson playing the part of Mr Bean at an Art Gallery in America.
An hour and a half later the film ended and Crusty had tears rolling down his face with mirth. He climbed the stairs wearily with his second cup of tea and started to get ready for bed.
He’d already scanned tomorrow’s viewing and he had a couple of options. There was a film about the Krays which he assumed to be a documentary about warm water fish, so that could be interesting. Also, there was a film with Robert Bredford and Pizza Sellars. Now there was a combination of fine actors. There was ice skateing with John Curry and an old boxing match featuring Mohambred Ali. He fell asleep thinking about this and his stomach rumbled in anticipation of breakfast.
Next morning the cockerel at the back of his house crowed his usual cock-a-noodle-do and then the phone rang.
“Hello this is Crusty’s phone. To whom ham I speyking with?”
“Morning Crusty. I just thowt I’d give ya a ring to see if yer doing owt toneet?” boomed Crustabel.
“Well I’ve nowt planned owd lass, why?”
“Reet! Pick me up at half seven. It’s going to be a surprise and it’ll be a devil of a night! Here’s the address, and don’t be late!”
“Right-ho. I’ll be there!”
With that in mind he once again trudged the streets to his beloved cafe. He started to realise he’d been on a bread-mill until he met her, but now his life was taking a different turn.
He did his duties in the cafe with that horrible cheesy grin that he’d cultivated to perfection, with that evening fixed entirely in his mind. As usual, the radio was blaring away in its corner. The song that was playing could have had Crusty in mind. How appropriate. How apt. It was a song by Sam Cooke singing “What A Wonderful World”.
Yes. When you thought about it, it was pretty wonderful. Especially for Crusty.
He was intrigued by Crustabel’s call though. A surprise evening and a devil of a night she’d said! Where would they go? What would they be doing?
“Wockle I pur’on to wear though? I’ve getten me OBJ. That goes without saying but wor’else?”
Later that day he arrived back at 13 Bakewell Drive and dragged out his few clothes. He didn’t have much, but what he had were just fine.
Just fine?
Ah well!
Today he’d been wearing his old beige jumper (not to be confused with the OBJ so it’s spelt out in full). The OBJ had been left standing in the corner of his bedroom to give it a bit of an airing so that would be okay for tonight.
He had a look at his brown jacket and whinged. He’d forgotten that a bird had crapped down his back the other day and it was still there so he sponged it down, but it didn’t look much different. Well! It was at the back. Nobody would notice.
Then he went into the bathroom and searched for the soap. It was about a fortnight since he’d last seen it but he finally found it at the back of the toilet covered in fluff. Once again, he picked the bits off and had a wash. He had a strange tingling sensation when he dried off and wondered if he was coming down with something.
It was the tingle of clean!
At seven thirty sharp he pulled up outside her house and knocked smartly on her front door. He was very impressed with the house, but when she answered he recoiled in horror.
“Wor’in the world have ya gor’on?”
She was all of nineteen stone in weight and around six feet tall and was wearing a voluminous dress fashioned from the time of the thirteenth century. The tall pointed hat with wisps of chiffon dangling down and the over-done make-up made her look like an enormous birthday cake with one solitary candle on top.
“It’s me costume Crusty. D’ya like it? Come on in.”
Had she gone completely bonkers? Costume?
It was a very nice large home which had photographs of old fifties advertisements hanging neatly on her favourite living room wall. Advertisements for Oxo, Horniman’s tea and the old Rowntrees cocoa picture were just some of them.
He continued to stare at her but she didn’t notice.
“Where’s your costume then lad? Is it in the car?”
His eyes grew as large as saucers and his mouth gaped open. He was beginning to resemble a rather large haddock and she smacked her chops hungrily. For once he was stuck for words. He tried to speak but couldn’t.
“Wot costume? Worra ya talking about? Ya didn’t say anything about it being a fancy dress neet!”
“No Crusty - it’s nor’a fancy dress night!”
“Then wor’in the name of sanity do I need a costume for then?”
He reminded her of their conversation earlier.
“You said that we were gooin’ somewhere for a surprise and it’d be the divil of a night!”
She went red with anger and punched him one, sending him sprawling on the floor.
[SIZE=“2”]“Ya daft owd fart! Are ya deef?” [/SIZE]
“Only in me cauliflower ear. Wor’ava done now?”
She helped him up off the floor.
"Sorry owd lad. I didn’t know. I didn’t say it was to be a “devil of a night”. I said “you” was to be a “mediaeval knight!”
“Oh!”
“Never mind! There’s still time to do you up.”
She rummaged through her kitchen cupboards and came out with a few items that would do. A metal roasting tin would be his breast plate, an old pan with holes which she drilled out with her hammer drill for his headgear, and two cake tins strapped to his knees. The closest thing she had to chain mail was a bit of chicken wire from her gardening shed which she attached to the OBJ. He clattered around looking like Metal Mickey and decided he looked good enough.
He favvered bluddy weel!
They went out to his car but there was a problem. He couldn’t bend his knees with the cake tins on so she had to drive her car to the venue. It hadn’t occurred to him that he would have to stand up all night.
They finally reached their rendezvous and Crusty was surprised to see a lot of other people in this strange garb. If it wasn’t fancy dress then what was it? Suddenly, his nose found the answer. The smell of roast pork and vegetables assailed him and he nearly fainted at the gloriousness of the aroma.
He looked around him properly now and found that he was in a mock-up of a castle banqueting hall. There were three long trestle tables covered in suckling pig, loaves of bread and whole roast chickens. Instead of regular plates, they had what looked like a big round bread board each. There were forks but no knives. Goblets of mead were in abundance and as people seated themselves (except for Crusty) some wandering minstrels came in with instruments playing the old favourite written by Henry VIII, “Green Sleeves”.
Crusty realised that he couldn’t possibly stay standing up all night so he removed his cake tins and sat down to tuck in.
“Ya know Crustabel. This is the most wonderful surprise I’ve ever had in me whole life an’ it’s nor’even me birthday yet!”
It came as quite a shock when they found out that both their birthdays fell on the same day - the twenty-eighth of the month!
Well Crusty and Crustabel really enjoyed the feast that had been provided and he was well chuffed that she’d taken him along.
She was telling him that she was thinking about booking a holiday in June and fancied going to Finger-rolla, one of the Canary Islands! Crusty went quiet. He’d miss her very much, but didn’t blame her.
“Ya can come wi’ me if ya fancy! My treat, of course!”
That perked him up again. She told him that there was a lady who would look after her little sausage dog, Palethorpe, so he’d be okay for the fortnight. He said he’d love to go, but had only ever flown twice and that was when he went to New Yorkie and Bredidorm. However, he’d be happy to go with her (especially as she was paying).
Now, as I said earlier, I wouldn’t say he was as tight at as a tick on a camel’s behind in a sand storm, but he is as tight as a duck’s arse in a flood. It was a long time since he’d used his wallet, but he always kept it on him to remind himself that there may come a time when he’d need to surgically remove a pound coin for something or another, but free was better.
The last time he’d got the wallet out the two opening parts had welded themselves together through lack of use, but he’d got a bread knife and gently separated them carefully. Yes he’d definitely go as he would miss her a lot. He’d grown accrustomed to her face now.
They continued stuffing themselves for the rest of the evening hardly daring to say anything in case it interrupted the flow of fork to mouth, but they smiled at each other a lot across the width of the table and, when they eventually left, both looking like two over-stuffed sofas, she told him that the night was not yet over.
To his astonishment, she removed her outer clothing to reveal another outfit she had on underneath so Crusty removed his tins.
They were now off somewhere else and eventually arrived at the cinema. She’d already purchased the tickets in advance and they were entering the auditorium. The lights dimmed and Crustabel put her arm around the back of Crusty’s chair. The screen jumped to life. She’d brought him to the new Jodie Foster version of “The Kingsmill and I”.
Crusty didn’t think life could get any better. Part way through the film she bought him some popcorn, ice cream and a fizzy drink. He wolfed it all back but would later regret it. He always did but it didn’t stop him making a pig of himself.
[SIZE=“2”]Paaarp![/SIZE]
“Oooh, ya nasty owd bugger Crusty!”
“Sorry!”
Over the next few months they saw a great deal of each other. They went here and there and just thoroughly enjoyed themselves and at the festive time Crusty was approached by a local store to play the part of Father Crispmus in the grotty grotto. He’d agreed to do it because he got paid, but he really did hate kids with their snivelling noses and sticky hands. Still he managed his yo-ho-ho convincingly. You will recall, Crusty can act his way out of a paper bag and, when he could, he’d pinch their lollipops and toffees off them.
They went to Blackpool for one day in late April and ate shrimps on the sea front, had pudding, chips and peas with a pot of tea in a nice little cafe then went on to force an ice-cream cornet down their throats! Crusty was getting fatter and fatter and Crustabel was gaining more weight too.
Whilst in Blackpool they attempted to ride the roller-coaster and the caterpillar but weren’t allowed on because of their combined weight. Crustabel was not amused and gave the attendant a right grilling but it made no difference. Instead, they settled for the less exciting side stands and she won him a prize from the coconut shye.
It was such a shame though as they both loved the thrill of the fairground. They went to watch the Waltzer whizz round and round to the tune of the Drifters singing “Under the Breadwalk”. They watched the Big Dipper to the tune of The Hollies’ 60s hit “Just One Look”.
Crusty warbled along …“that’s all it cook, yeh, crust one cook.”
“Shurrup Crusty. D’ya not know the proper words to these songs?”
“I thowt they were the proper words!”
Before they’d left Blackpool they’d gone into another cafe for a bite to eat. This time they had fish , chips and peas with a pot of tea. They were fair bursting their britches by now and even Crusty admitted that he wouldn’t be able to eat another thing until tea time!!
Next day Crusty was poorly. He hadn’t felt this poorly since a couple of Crispmuses ago when he went to see the doctor because he’d eaten too much, but it was time to visit the doc again and this time Doctor Fry chastised him on his abhorrent lust for food. The doctor examined him and then looked at Crusty grimly.
“Thar’a greedy owd bugger. Ya know wot ya’ve gor’owd lad?”
“Worisit doctor?”
“Tha’s getten terminal greed, and unless tha’ stops ayetin’ there’s no cure!”
“Bur’ave getten t’ayte!”
Sad and disillusioned Crusty made his way back home.
What would he tell his Crustabel? He’d have to tell her the truth that he wouldn’t be able to eat quite so much in the future. She’d understand. He knew she would.
When he got home he opened a can of Crust & Bakewell soup. This wasn’t too fattening. He mustard all the strength he could to resist buttering some bread to go with it and was amazed at himself.
He sat down and listened to his radio. He really wasn’t paying too much attention to it as his mind wandered back to the last time he was with his love and he’d asked her what she would like for her birthday. She’d had her back to him when she replied and her answer shocked him. He didn’t say a word, but in the back of his mind he told her she could bog off! There was no way he was going to buy her a car.
She’d turned round with his silence.
“Wot’s wrong wi’ you?”
“Nowt! It’s just tharra cawn’t afford a car!”
“Worra ya on about now ya dim-witted owd dirt bag?”
“Well ya’ve just asked for a Ferrari. How can I afford’t buy ya a car like that, or any other type of car for that matter?”
She rolled up her eyes and sighed.
“Crusty! Don’t ya think it’s time ya got yerself a bluddy ear trumpet or summat? I said Ferraro Roche - the chocolates ya daft owd divil! I can buy me own soddin’ cars!”
“Oh! That’s different. I could manage a lickle box o’ those!”
Tight sod!
That also reminded him of the time someone had mentioned that he’d love Niagara in Canada. He thought she’d said Viagra in Canada!
Perhaps he should get a hearing aid after all.
Crustabel got up and stormed off into his kitchen and was busying herself with something or another. Perhaps she was cooking him something tasteyful to eat and he loved her cooking! He sat watching “Bready, Spready, Cook” on the telly. It was Ainsley Harricot cooking tonight. Crusty liked his sense of humour.
Crustabel was gone quite some time so he got out of his chair and went to look for her. She was still in the kitchen, the old Crustamatic had apparently been in full swing and she was removing a few items from it.
She looked up and smiled when she saw him.
“Neh then, I’ve done yer washing bur’ave used the last o’ that bluddy Oxydol. How long have ya had that ya tight owd bugger?”
He went white.
“That means I’ll have’t buy some more powder!”
She just laughed at him and in doing so she pulled out another item of clothing to go on the line to dry. He nearly didn’t recognise it but there it was in full colour, all soft and fluffy and blue. Crusty was beside himself. He ranted and raved at her until she cowered under his glare.
“How could ya do that? How could ya? After all these years of trying’t ger’im just the reet shape. How could ya do that to one of me dearest and closest friends?”
“Bur’it’s only a …”
Yes folks! You know what’s coming. It’s the one you’ve all bean waiting for.
She had committed the ultimate sin.
She’d washed the OBJ!
© Mollie M
04.07.01
Crustabel’s in deep trouble now!. I enjoyed that episode Mollie, thanks.
Thanks. I promise they do get much funnier.
Another fantastic chapter mollie thanks for sharing
Just brilliant Mollie
I can’t get that song by the Hollies out of my head now!