[B]9
Crusty Goes On A Steak-Out
(and Does Some Investigating!)[/B]
“FEARLESS CRUSTY - UXB HERO”.
It was emblazoned all over the front page of every newspaper in the land with his face covered with the jellyfish and, underneath the heading:
[B]“The face that launched a thousand chips”
“The Man Who Put the Bomb in a Bombe Surprise”[/B]
Not just the local papers, but all the tabloids as well. He was well chuffed. Perhaps he could sell the copyright to a leading film producer.
He Came, He Saw, He Conkered - He Fought Them On The Beaches. He could see it all now - Hail The Conkering Hero!
Ha! Crusty the Conqueror he was not!
Don’t worry! Melonie would soon bring him down from his high horse in grand style.
It was only when he turned the first page he realised he’d been the victim of some unscrupulous person. Who could have done this to him? Never mind.
“Hang on a bit. Wor’ave they gone an’ done at me this time?”
All the photos Melonie had shot were in comical order from the beginning of his ordeal. He looked like a cartoon character, but obviously it had been a serious matter. It was just the way it had all been portrayed.
There was one of his retreating back legging it up the beach with the bomb held out in front of him.
The photo where he’d held it aloft and then hurled into the sea.
The photo where the jellyfish had been launched into the air and then had hit him “plop”, in the face.
The photo of him churning up the sand as he circled the beach with the thing still stuck to his face, and lastly, the one where the coastguard sat on him like he’d bagged a prize prat!
Poor Crusty!
He didn’t care though. The point was everybody knew about what he’d done and he was now famous even if it was only for just a short time.
The jellyfish hadn’t tasted too bad!
The hospital staff had tried to remove it surgically, but its tentacles had held fast. In the end, Crusty had mustard up a huge lungful of air and sucked in as hard as he could. It slid down easily enough once it had let go its grip and it put a nice lining on his stomach! It was horrible crapping it out again later though!
The doctor told him that he should lose a little weight. One clever bugger said that if he could shove his belly up to his chest he’d make a bonny chap!
He was back home again now and had just put the living room back into apple-pie order. Give him his dues once he got started on anything he put his heart and sole into it, even if he usually made a pig’s breakfast of it.
The radio played away on its shelf and Salami Davies Junior was singing some old tripe. In fact the programme he was listening to was a revival of really old music with Bing Crosby singing “White Crustmas” and Frankie Prawn singing: “Give Me The Spoonbite”.
He mooched about for a while until one of his favourite songs came on the old radio and he stopped to listen.
It was Judy Garland singing that pretty song from Wizard of Oz: “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” …
Crusty loved this song and sang the next line
Weigh A Pie!
He suddenly thought about money. How much did he have in his wallet? He tried to open it Caerphilly but it had got stuck again so he got a sharp knife and sliced his way through the crud. Yes he needed to stock it up again with a few quid as he kneaded some petrol. He was a Krafty sod! The last time he went to the cash dispenser for some dough was ages ago, if you remember, when he was meeting Breadericka in Chapter 3!
Since then he’d pretty much got everything for free! He’d worked at his cafe for food, got involved with ladies who bought him his dinner for little favours he’d do, and had attended several funeral teas since the one where he met Melonie. So he hadn’t really had to buy any food and, as he didn’t smoke, he just needed a few quid for the odd pint for himself every now and again, and his petrol.
Speaking of whom, he was seeing her again tonight. He’d started getting a little suspicious of her. Driving that expensive new Land Rover and a few times, when he’d complimented her on her dresses.
“Oh thank you Crusty. This is a Dior dress!”
“Oh aye, it looks like a dear one!”
He really did need a hearing aid but he wouldn’t have recognised Dior from a charity shop frock!
And another thing, every time he rang the little terraced house, there was never any reply, and yet that’s where she supposedly lived. She hadn’t given him her mobile number and in any event it would have cost him too much to phone one of those. However, she regularly rang him to chat. Up to now, she hadn’t yet told him her full name.
Curioser and curioser!
He decided he would go and steak out the joint. He’d sit and wait until he saw a sign of life.
He went upstairs. He’d had a special wash earlier on in the week so he wouldn’t knead another and, as the weather had turned exceptionally cold for the time of year, he required extra clothing. There were cloudy skies, strong winds, and it was lashing it down with rain, in other words, a typical English day.
He was already wearing his vest, tee shirt, long sleeved shirt and Old Blue Jumper. On his way upstairs he picked up his old brown jacket off the banister and, once on the landing, put it on as it was icy up there. He’d gone up for his snack-a-mac, which he’d left hanging on a hook in the bathroom to drip dry from earlier in the day.
Once downstairs again, he pulled it on over the rest of his clothing. He’d more skins on than an onion but at least he’d be warm and dry. On went the balaclava and, pulling the tight snack-a-mac hood over it, went out to his car.
He drove the short distance to Eaton Place where the terraced house was and sat in wait.
The house was in darkness, despite the very overcast sky, and there were no signs of movement. He put on his car radio and Englebert Humperdinck was singing: “You, Spanish Pies”. He sang along tunelessly, waiting for something to happen. An hour went by.
Nothing.
He was just enjoying the warmth of his car and the music when, right in the middle of “Baby Love” by Diana Ross and the Chicken Supremes, the Land Rover rolled up.
Melonie got out and, slipping the key into the lock, let herself into the little house. On went the lights and Crusty could see her moving about.
He got out of the car and sprinted to a nearby telephone box and dialled the number which she answered almost immediately.
“Where’ve ya bin Melonie? I’ve been trying’t ger’owd o’ ya!”
“I’ve been here all the time Crusty, why?”
He knew she was lying. She made excuses that she’d been in the shower, or had popped to the shops but he wasn’t having any of this. He let it go for now but would tackle her later about this.
“Oh it’s nowt really. I’ll see ya later as planned!”
He sprinted back to his car and took off his snack-a-mac and jacket. The sun had made an appearance and he was sweating cobs now. Even the OBJ came off!!
When he got home he made his tea by opening a few tins. Stewed steak, potatoes and peas. Easy peasy!
He mused while he ate. The OBJ would have to stay home tonight as Melonie had bought him a herringbone cardigan and he thought he would look very posh in it. It had a label in the back which read Armani but Crusty read it as 'armony! If Crusty only knew!
The OBJ had let out a sigh of relief as Crusty stood it up in its usual corner. It knew that resistance was futile and it was no good trying to hide as he’d only find it again and put it on.
By now Crusty had found all its hiding places behind the bedside cabinet, back of the wardrobe and it had even tried to hide behind the curtains, as Crusty never opened them.
For those of you who have never been acquainted with him, I will try very hard to describe Crusty but it is not easy.
Here goes then!
He is either five feet four or five feet five, in his stocking feet, depending. The extra inch or so depends on when he last washed his socks! I have already described the skinny little legs and big belly so, working my way up, his jutting chin is often seen resting on his chest and his nose is somewhat larger than average. He has piggy little bleary eyes and his hair, all eight strands of it, gets waxed down with gelatine from one side to the other.
His piggy eyes give him the appearance of an old cod fish on a slab, and he always has butties or pies in his pockets.
Ah! But you already knew that.
His strong Wigan accent is made almost comical by its high pitch. When he laughs he sounds like an old witch cackling.
At the funerals he attends, people say he is a professional moaner but he’d thought they were saying professional “mourner”.
His full name is -
Wait for it -
Crustopher Grayvid Eatwell Nibbleswick
Is it any wonder he’s food fixated!
© Mollie M
08.07.01
