Crusty's Comical Capers (part one)

[Mollie]

These were Crusty’s first songs to be sung in front of his Crustabel. They wouldn’t be the last, but the time would come when he would wish that they had been.

He was one of the worst singers anyone had ever heard but because he was so bad, it was hilarious to most people.

But not to Crustabel, as you shall find out in later chapters!

He was going to live to regret this, in no uncertain terms.

His last song was Bean Martin’s “That’s Amore” and Crusty sang it something like this:

[B][I][CENTER]“Oom pah pah, oom pah pah, oom pah pah, ooooh:”

“When … the … moon hits your eye like a big prater pie
I want moray …
(the crowd: “I want moray”)
When the cake that you bake keeps your eyes wide awake
I want moray …
(I want moray)
I’ve a wish, for a lickle fish, on me plate, I can’t wait
I’m … so hungry
It’s a thing you can’t beat, when I eat eat eat eat
I want moray …”[/CENTER][/I][/B]

… and so it went on, and on. He didn’t know the words to any of the songs so he just made them up as he went along. At each chorus he would gesture to the crowd for them to sing along with him. And they did!

The crowd were totally ecstatic!

Suddenly, a custard pie flew through the air at him. He caught it and stuffed it in his mouth. They all started throwing pies, sausages and other food at him. He only dropped one. Somebody even threw a cabbage at him.

He caught everything slung at him and stuffed his pockets, still singing! Didn’t Manchester United need a new goalie? He’d have been perfect as long as they were playing footy with pies or barm cakes! There would have been no goals scored with Crusty in the net.

However, one member of the crowd could stand it no longer.

“Vill you plis shut up. Ve have vays of shutting you up!”

He was a big beefy German lad with mussels in his eyebrows. He jumped up on stage and wrestled Crusty to the stage floor. Crusty thought it was a joke and carried on singing … "I’ve a wish, for a lickle fish, on me plate … " so the German lad boxed his ears for him till his eyes watered.

At the end of his “spot” he bowed low and thanked everyone for the kind gifts of food. He told them nothing would get left and he packed everything more neatly into the carrier bag he’d retrieved from his pocket.

The Police arrived shortly after that.

Now that’s entertainment!

-oo0oo-

Crustabel dragged him back to their apartment and locked him in for the rest of the evening. He couldn’t even behave himself singing. Crusty could still hear the crowd cheering him from there.

“Am sorry if I showed y’up Bel. I didn’t mean it!”

“Tha’ sounded bluddy weel. Ya’ve getten a voice thar’ad seep through six inch concrete!”

“Amma nor’a good singer then?”

“No, yer singing’s crap!”

They were catching their plane the next day and they couldn’t do that if he got himself arrested for causing an affray so they watched television for the rest of the evening. She made him sit there through an old war film, which he liked, called “The Buns of Navarone”.

Next morning, bags in hand, Crusty and Bel descended the stairs for their last breakfast in Skoffenburg.

The dining room was quieter than normal so they enjoyed chatting to each other, and eating.

At last, it was time to go! The taxi was booked and stood at the front of the building.

They went through the doors and immediately a huge crowd started cheering. It was unprecedented for a tourist, but Crusty had made his mark, again!

He waved to them all and kept bowing and clicking his heels in German fashion. He’d have kept that up all day if it hadn’t been for Crustabel.

She snatched him by the collar and kicked him up the arse to get into the taxi.

He was still waving and bowing so she picked him up by the jacket and britches and, head pointing forward, propelled him into the waiting vehicle. Big woman our Crustabel don’t forget.

“Auf Wiedersehn Crusty,” waved the crowd.

“I’ve wee’d again,” shouted Crusty to the crowd.

Finally, they were underway.

They drove in silence to the airport. Crusty was still waving and grinning at the cheering crowds who had lined the streets, the length and breadth of Skoffenburg.

They’d never see his like again.

© Mollie M
01.08.01

[Berxer]

“I’ve wee’d again” (took me a minute or two to cotton on)

Brilliant Mollie NameBright - Coming Soon

[Mollie]

Thanks lass. You’ll get used to his daft way of speaking.

[maryl]

“OBJ1 calling OBJ4 - what is your position over?”
“OBJ4 to OBJ1 - am hiding in the airing cupboard.”
“OBJ1 to OBJ4 - hold your position!”
OBJ had seen Crusty look and it quivered with fright! Oh no - not again. For gawd’s sake choose one of the others for a change.
Hilarious Mollie

[Jem]

Just caught up with his latest antics Mollie, Crusty never fails to make me laugh. We used to have a terrible singer in our local, he’s now in that great big local in the sky, anyway when it came his turn to sing he used to say, “What’s your favourite song and I’ll ruin it for you.” And believe me he did.

[Mollie]

Everybody knows a Crusty in one form or another!

Will put another chapter on tomorrow night, but thank you for reading my feeble efforts. It’s much appreciated.

[Mollie]

[B]16

Crusty Goes Home
(and Nearly Starts a Epidemic!)[/B]

She finally managed to get him on the plane and buckled him into his seat. Some of the passengers had been at the Skoffenburg Bier Fest and recognised Crusty at once.

Before the plane was even in the air he’d started to show off again. He decided they’d all have a sing-song, but almost as soon as they started, the Captain came over on the speakers.

“I would like to ask you all to be a little quieter, and would the man with the voice like a duck-billed platypus please stop singing as the flight control systems are having a bad reaction to it and are going haywire!”

All went quiet and people then just chatted in their normal voices, except for Crusty that is and Crustabel was getting very frustrated with him.

She eventually blew her stack when a young lady from the cabin crew walked by and Crusty asked her for a glass of water whilst one of his hands was resting on her bum.

That was it! Crustabel told him to unbuckle and shift as she needed to go to the loo and, on doing so she purposely stamped her size nines down hard on his left foot.

“Ouch. Wor’ava done now?”

Eyes watering, Crusty squealed in pain and tried to get hold of his foot. Not easy that when you’re sat in a plane seat and you also happen to be 68 years old with a big belly. So he got out of his seat and hobbled up and down the aisle a couple of times to make sure it wasn’t broken. He was trying to walk normally, but because he was in so much pain he looked like he was trying to play hop-scotch as he went!

Once back in his seat, Crusty was quiet for the rest of the journey home. That had cured him, for now.

The plane landed at about ten thirty that morning and they went to collect their bags from the carousel. Crusty missed his twice and, instead of waiting for it to come round again he’d tried to chase after it. The other passengers were delighted at his antics.

“How are ya supposed’t catch these bluddy things!”

Crustabel told him if he didn’t behave she’d stamp on his other foot. He behaved.

It was raining when they got outside (what else) and they trudged over to where he’d left his car in a perfectly legal parking area and, naturally, where you didn’t have to pay.

“Weer’s me car? It’s bin pinched!”

Now what?

Just then they saw a Policeman on foot patrol. It is an usual sight I know these days but Crusty was so pleased to see him. He called the officer over and explained to him that his car had been stolen whilst he was out of the country.

“Right sir. I’ll take some details!”

The officer took out his notepad and wrote everything down. Crusty was getting excitable again and the officer told him to calm down.

With his radio the Policeman called in the theft giving details of the licence plate and last known location. A voice came back asking him if he could speak privately. The officer moved a few yards over so that the older couple couldn’t hear what was being said. They were all getting wet through by now.

The officer was on his radio quite some time and Crusty was getting worried. His face grim, the officer came back over to Crusty.

“Well sir, it appears that the Police have towed your car away!”

“But why?”

“Well apparently, toward the middle of last week when the car had been standing there for a few days without moving, a lady living in one of the nearby houses phoned the Police thinking the car had already been stolen but, not only that, there was a funny smell coming from it!”

? ?

“The Police arrived with sniffer dogs sir, and the highly trained dogs had set about their job with their handlers, but the poor dogs had ended up being taken to the Vet’s wearing gas masks for doggy counselling - they had suffered a terrible trauma once the car doors had been opened.”

? ?

Crusty couldn’t understand what the hell the Policeman was going on about.

“Apparently sir, it was so bad they had had to impound the car for further investigation and had called upon forensics to find the cause of the smell!”

“I cawn’t get me yed round this. Wor’appended?”

“Well sir, wearing special breathing equipment and suits they had set about their grim task, almost expecting to find a rotting corpse or something. They examined the outside of the car first by removing hub caps etc.”

Crusty was getting really worried.

“Wot did they find?”

“Nothing,sir! They checked the inside of the car, down the backs of seats, in the boot, under the bonnet and under the carpets. They had to remove many of the car’s working parts as well to do a complete job.”

“And did they find owt?”

“No sir, nothing. The last place they looked was inside the glove compartment. Isn’t it always the way sir? It was a good job they were wearing special breathing equipment too, otherwise they’d have quickly sunk into deep comas for a very long time.”

The Policeman continued to tell the pair the tale and they were getting even wetter now. The rain dripped off the end of Crusty’s big nose and off the end of Crustabel’s jutting jaw.

But back to the Police report.

“The forensic investigators, doing a thorough job, eventually found the cause. There they were sir, in the glove compartment.”

“Wot were it?”

“It was a pair of your smelly old socks sir which had turned green and had fur growing on them AND an equally mouldy old cheese sandwich!”

“Oh is thar’all? That’s normal!”

Apparently the smell had been so horrendous that when they’d opened the glove box the other investigators, not suitably togged up, had recoiled from the stench, which had hit them like a Force Nine Gale. One of them threw up!

The investigators had bagged the offending items and placed them in a vacuum-sealed container. They were then to be transferred elsewhere and placed in a lead lined box and then thrown into the sea.

If these things had been released into the world they could have had an epidemic on their hands by now! Expert scientists had said that there was bacterium there that they’d never seen before and was unknown in the scientific world.

However, they were to study it for chemical and biological warfare whilst in a controlled environment. They had been an unusual strain which could have mutated into a lethal virus. All life could have ceased to exist, as we know it.

Crusty was very dis-chuffed!! A perfectly good pair of socks, and a butty that he could probably have got a few more nibbles out of, thrown away! He couldn’t believe they’d gone to all that trouble. He was crustificated!

Crustabel was so embarrassed she turned on Crusty.

“Neh then si’ thi’, look wot ya’ve gor’us into ya nasty owd gobsh!te!”

“It’s not my fault. It were only a pair o’ socks and an owd cheyse butty.”

“Well in future, keep yer bluddy car clean!”

“Okay, sorry ossifer!”

She was prodding and poking him whilst remonstrating with him and the Police officer had to calm her down this time.

It cost him more to get that car out of the pound than it would have cost if he’d paid for them to taxi to and from the airport. The whole planet would have been safer come to think of it. When he got in, even he had to admit there was a funny smell in it, but couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

After their investigations, the Police had had the car valeted and, on his return, the smell that Crusty thought was a funny one was actually the smell of CLEAN! The two young men who had been assigned to do the valeting though had had to have a week off work afterwards, thereby losing a week’s wages. The experience had left them deeply disturbed.

That’ll teach him. Or will it!

Of all the lessons Crusty had been taught throughout the pages of these tales, he had yet to learn from one of them.

© Mollie M
03.08.01

[Mollie]

[B]17

Crustabel Gets Mad
(and OBJ Plans a Strategy!)[/B]

Poor old Crusty-kins!

I know I keep saying that, and I also know that he brings these things upon himself, but there was never another man alive that gets into the scrapes he does. If it hadn’t been for Crustabel he’d have ended up in jail ages ago through his own stupidity!

Well anyway, eventually he and Crustabel drove home in his old rust-bucket once he’d got it out of the Police Pound. I say eventually because they’d virtually taken it apart but hadn’t put it back together, but had done the valeting inside. Crusty was at a loss as to what to do next.

“Wockle I do now Bel? I cawn’t afford a mechanic to come and re-build the car!”

“Ger’out o’t road ya daft owd dipstick. I’ll do it!”

Crusty was impressed.

She rolled up her sleeves and got stuck in by replacing the wheels, hub caps etc. She put the battery back in, connected up the radiator and hoses, replaced the cylinder head and re-connected the manifold. Lastly, she replaced the exhaust system which they’d taken off as well.

The Police had allowed her to use their garage and tools so, once she’d squeezed herself under the car and into the inspection pit, it was plain sailing for her. The pit was outside though with two inches of water at the bottom so she still got very, very wet.

And where was Crustykins while she was doing all the work?

Sitting in the bleedin’ car listening to his beloved radio and getting dry! At least he’d been kind enough to lend her his snack-a-mac but it only fitted where it touched as she was much bigger than him.

Two hours later, sweating like a pig and panting like a dog, she’d finished. She removed the snack-a-mac and, still soaking wet through, heaved herself into the car.

Ah. That was better. She was knackered, sweaty and dirty now. She put on her seat belt.

“Reet Crusty we can ger’on our way now!”

No reply!

She looked at him. She stared at him. She got within a half inch of his nose.

“Crusty? Crusty!”

“Whaaaaaah, wossup!”

She nearly killed him. Whilst she was out there in the pouring rain putting the car back together and getting p!ss wet through, he’d fallen asleep.

“Ya bluddy sod” she screamed at him. “Ya’ll pay for this!”

“Whaaaaah! Wossup?” he wailed again.

“Wossup? I’ll bluddy give ya wossup!”

She jumped (?) out of the car and went round to the driver’s side and, opening the car door, heaved him out and dumped him on the garage floor. Jumped (?) back into the car, started it and moved off.

“Wossup? Wor’ava gone and done now?” he said again, rubbing his eyes from sleep as he watched the car disappear from the garage. Up on his feet now he started sprinting trying to catch her up.

She’d only gone up the road and just round a corner then stopped to wait for him.

She looked into her rear view mirror.

“Here he comes, lolloping up the road as fast as his skinny little legs can carry him, tongue dangling out as usual! Hey up, I never noticed thar’e’ad bandy legs before now, nor’even when he were wearing them lederhosen. He couldn’t stop a bluddy pig in an entry!”

He went to the driver’s side. She’d locked it. He went to the passenger door and tried to get in. She’d locked it. He ran-tanned on the window, to no avail. She just sat there staring straight ahead.

“Come on Bel, I’m gerrin’ weet through here.”

Crustabel didn’t even flinch.

“Oh are ya now? Tough! Ya’ll be even wetter by the time I’ve finished with you, ya little sh!thead!”

She let him get a bit wetter, enough for the rain to start dripping off his nose again, then unlocked the passenger door and he got in.

“Ya know Bel, this is my car and really I should be driving.”

“D’ya want to walk all that way home to Wigan?”

“No Bel.”

They didn’t speak all the way home. He still didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

Back at 13 Bakewell Drive she phoned for a taxi to take herself and her luggage home and while she waited she put the kettle on. He was about to ask her for fifty pence to cover the cost of the phone call but checked himself just in time.

He sat quietly, for once.

What a rotten end to a brilliant holiday.

The Germans would have loved this.

Crusty was worried. He’d really upset Bel now. He’d started calling her Bel whilst on holiday as their names, being so similar had caused a lot of confusion. She hadn’t minded him calling her Bel. In fact, she said, she quite liked it.

He’d gone upstairs to get out of his wet clothing. He’d catch his death if he sat here in them. Off came OBJ1. Crusty tried to stand it up in its corner but it kept falling down as it had gone limp from the rain. Crusty was upset that it had got wet. It would take him ages to get it back into Crusty shape again. OBJ1 was elated! It felt nice and fresh for a change.

-oo0oo-

OBJ1 had made a decision that, now it was mobile and had learned to move into hiding positions it might perhaps try to make it to the bathroom!

Why?

Well, if it could just get itself to the bathroom it might, just might, be able to jump into the toilet to rinse itself off. It had thought about this for a long time but there was a down side.

Even if it managed to get into the toilet and shimmy around in the water, how was it going to get out again? AND how could it be absolutely sure that the loo had been flushed the last time it had been used, once it had slid in. No! There were too many iffs and buts, but it would think of something.

It couldn’t put its plan into action yet. Not until it had worked out a strategy, but meanwhile it would keep trying to inch its way closer and closer to the bathroom for practice runs.

What he was going to have to do was get the other three OBJs together and see if they would help him by creating an OBJ chain. That might work.

Never mind, he would call a summit meeting in the morning and see if they could work something out between them.

-oo0oo-

Crusty crawled out of his pit the following morning, warm as toast! He hadn’t really slept all that well because he and Crustabel had parted with her still being angry with him.
He was just wondering if he’d blown it with her yet again when the phone rang.

It was Crustabel!

“Oh hiya Bel. I were just thinking about you. Are ya still angry wi’ me?”

“No I’m nor’angry wi’ ya now burra do expect an apology about the car!”

“I am sorry Bel and ickle never happen again.”

“Darn straight it won’t!”

“Canna see ya later then Bel?”

“No ya can’t. Not this week in fact!”

Crusty was disappointed.

“Why not?”

“Because ya wore me out that much in Germany I’m going to me cottage in Cornwall for a week’s rest!”

Her cottage in Cornwall?

“I didn’t know ya had a cottage in Cornwall. Canna come wi’ ya?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! I need a week on me own to ger’over yer bluddy antics in Skoffenburg!”

He knew she was a woman of some substance and she’d told him that her husband had been a bully, but when he died he left her everything, so she wasn’t short of a few bob. Apparently they’d bought the cottage years ago as a retreat from the rat race.

Crusty was devastated.

“Okay then. I hope ya havva nice time an’ I’ll see ya when ya gets back! Will ya be warm enough though 'cos it’s November now and it’s started gerrin a bit cowd!”

She was touched by his concern.

“Don’t worry owd lad. I’ll be okay as I’ve gor’an excellent central heating system in me cottage.”

Before she’d hung up though, Crusty had secured the phone number and area of Cornwall where the cottage was.

Bude!

“Will ya ring me as soon as ya gets theer so I’ll know ya’ve arrived safely?”

“I will that owd lad!”

“Okay, bye”.

“Bye”.

Within the hour she was on the motorway. She hadn’t bothered unpacking her cases. She would just throw everything into the washer when she got there and then she could relax in peace!!!

And if you believe that, you haven’t been reading these stories properly!

© Mollie M
03.08.01

[Berxer]

Very good Mollie, I’m enjoying reading these.

Is there really somebody like Crusty out there!?

[Mollie]

Ya mean somebody with nasty toilet habits, someone who doesn’t wash, somebody who eats like a pig? Yep, there is indeed, although I’m not sure they’d get into the scrapes that Crusty does. That’s just my over-active imagination!

[Berxer]

Well, for what it’s worth, your over-active imagination is great and needs to be recognised. ;-)

[Mollie]

Maybe it will one day, and I’m so glad you’re enjoying them. I don’t have much, but I do have a mad sense of humour, which I’ve tried to share in these daft stories of mine.

They’re still quite mundane at the moment, or at least they are to me because I’ve read them over and over, but I must admit to having a little giggle at later stories when I’ve been editing them recently.

[Mollie]

[B]18

Crusty Gets Himself Lost
(and is Introduced To A 12-Bore Shotgun!)[/B]

He’d no sooner put the phone back into its cradle than he went fishing through his drawers and cupboards.

“Weer are they? I know they’re around somewhere bur’ave not seen 'em for a while!”

Half an hour later he found them. It was his collection of books that he’d been searching for.

There was an old Atlas. He flung that to one side. An ancient dictionary. He flung that to the other side. His copy of “Fly Fishing” by J R Heartley. He placed that reverently on the chair.

Ah this was it. This is what he’d been searching for. He opened the page at 150 Bb of his Reader’s Digest AA New Book of the Road! (If you don’t believe those co-ordinates, look them up yourself).

He’d already unpacked his things - after a fashion. He’d pulled everything out of his carrier bags. Knickers, socks, everything, and stuffed some in drawers and some at the back of the wardrobe. The hangers hung there empty.

He dragged out his “case” again and stuffed some of his belongings back into the bags, unwashed!! He sniffed?

“Where’s that funny smell coming from?”

He couldn’t work it out so, with a shrug of his shoulders, he continued.

We know where the smell was coming from though, don’t we kiddywinks?! Yep!

-oo0oo-

Crustabel put the key into the lock of the lovely little cottage. It was night time now but you could still see the prettiness of it.

In the daytime people going past would admire it immensely. It was a three up three down built from old stone with a thatched roof. The doors and window frames were painted in white and, typically, there were late roses growing around the door. It had a little white picket fence and just a small garden back and front, which were tended all the year round by a very kind neighbour, for a small remuneration.

This was her escape pod where she came alone to reflect and think and basically just chill out. It was her little piece of Cornwall where nobody bothered her. The local pub was just down the road and, if she didn’t feel like cooking, she could pop down to eat heartily and cheaply and sink a pint or two.

She turned on the lights and kicked off her shoes. My word that had been a long drive! She put the kettle on for a brew and went upstairs to unpack her things. When her smalls (or bigs, in Bel’s case) had been folded neatly into drawers and her other clothes were hanging in the wardrobe, she returned to her tiny kitchen and made a cup of tea.

This was her haven!

She picked up the phone to call Crusty. That’s funny! No reply - how strange. He’d told her to ring him when she arrived. Where could he be?

-oo0oo-

Crusty was hopelessly lost, that’s where he was. He’d found his way to Cornwall! It had taken him three hours longer than it had taken Crustabel, but he’d taken a wrong turning and, driving up a dirt road, eventually found himself in a farmer’s field! A turnip field would you believe!

He didn’t know what to do to get out of this predicament so he stayed where he was and fell asleep for the night.

Next morning a very angry, red-faced farmer hammered on his car window. Crusty, still sleepy, woke slowly and opened his window. Suddenly, he was looking straight up the twin barrels of a 12-bore, two inches from his face.

“Wossup?”

“What you be doing on my land?” growled the farmer.

Crusty didn’t understand his accent so he tried to explain anyway.

The farmer didn’t understand his strong Northern accent either. Separated by a common language Crusty, smart arse that he is, tried to adapt.

“Oooh ar oooh ar - Oi be lost!”

The farmer stepped back two paces holding the gun up.

“If you’re not off my land by the time I count to five I’ll let you have it with both barrels. One, two, three …!”

Crusty understood that alright!

Crusty started the car, slammed it into gear, and let the clutch out too fast. He screamed off American style leaving the farmer standing there caked in slutch. The farmer fired off one barrel, which just whizzed past Crusty’s car window. Crusty put his foot down harder churning up turnips and mud as he went. He was going round and round in circles not knowing how to get out. The farmer let the other barrel go, just missing the car.

Suddenly, he spotted a gap in the hedges and pointed his car at it hoping it would take him somewhere - anywhere. He crashed through the foliage with his fingers crossed.

It did.

Back on tarmac again he drove down the road until he came to another farm gate, which was closed. Crusty pulled in so that he could study his road map again. He was so wrapped up in the map that he didn’t hear the tractor!

Whilst he’d been reading, someone had opened the farm gate and, of course, Crusty’s car was blocking the way. Crusty was a little short on the ethics of country life and the driver of the tractor was mad. Oooh was he ever mad!

The tractor inched its way towards Crusty’s Larda. Just a weeny bit more. A weeny bit … oops! Tup!

Crusty jumped.

“Wossup?”

His face drained as he got out of the car. He had a look at his car where the tractor had touched, but the farmer was an expert with a tractor. There wasn’t even a scratch on the car. Not a blemish.

Crusty looked up. It was the same farmer he’d just had an encounter with only a few minutes before, and he’d re-loaded his 12-bore and which was now about three inches from Crusty’s fizzog.

“If I see you’re ugly face again I’ll re-arrange it, WITH BUCKSHOT!”

He started getting nervous again.

Paaarp, paaarp!

“I’m sorry mister bur’am lost. I’ve been here all neet an’am bluddy hungry!”

The farmer pointed and gave him directions.

“Now get off my land.”

Crusty got.

He arrived at his destination!

Oh dear!!

[Mollie]

Crustabel was seated in a high back settee and the back was to the window so, anyone peering in, wouldn’t be able to see her.

She was enjoying her cup of tea that morning. It seemed to taste so much better than at home. Perhaps it was the water.

It was still very early, and she was still a little drowsy with sleep when she heard a light tap on the door.

Perhaps it was her nice neighbour who did the gardening. He must have seen her car parked on the lane. She was about to get up when there was a slightly louder tap.

“Oh Crusta - bel!”

She put her cup down on the coffee table.

“Oh bluddy - hell!”

She listened intently.

“Nah! It can’t be. He couldn’t have followed me all this way. He’s not bright enough!”

Oh really?

She remained seated.

Rap, rap, rap. Thump, thump, thump, rrrrring!

The letterbox flopped open and a pair of piggy eyes peered through.

“Crustabel - I have surprise for you! It’s your Crusty come a-calling!”

You should have seen her shift out of that settee. Like a bolt of lightning she was.

She threw the door open and there he was, on her doorstep, with a bunch of flowers, another big grin on his chops. Well, he thought they were flowers. He’d picked her some droopy weeds off the side of the road.

“Aaaarghh!!”

He’d found her.

[SIZE=“2”]“Wot the xx@#yzz. /.^>xx ##~ff*/ are you doing here?”[/SIZE]

Crustabel had never sworn like that before. He’d make a saint swear he would.

She grabbed him by the coat lapels and hoisted him up in the air by them still cursing him. On his way down she kneed him in the crusticles!!

His eyes started watering.

“Ouch Bel, thar’urts!”

[SIZE=“2”]“Wot the bluddy hell are you doing here?”[/SIZE]

Crusty couldn’t speak. He was doubled over and whelping with pain. His eyes were always watering these days. He sat down, crusticles throbbing, and she stood over him with her arms folded, her face like thunder.

He’d done it well and good this time.

He thought she’d be pleased!

-oo0oo-

The locals were pleased to see Crustabel again and she had already received an invitation to attend dinner at a neighbour’s home on Wednesday evening. This was Tuesday.

Crusty spotted the gilt-edged card on the table in the little hall and his eyes lit up!

Then he frowned. It was from a Colonel (Retd) Jeffrey Weaver-Sinclair. Why would Crustabel be interested in attending a dinner hosted by a retarded old soldier?

He went into the kitchen where she’d just got out a frying pan to cook their breakfasts.

“When are ya going to the retarded old soldier’s house Bel?”

She suddenly stopped what she was doing and stood still for what seemed like ages, then turning slowly she raised the pan in the air and bopped Crusty on the head, reprimanding him.

“He’s not a retarded old soldier, y’owd fart face. He’s a retired old soldier!”

By now Crusty was in a crumpled heap on the floor, his eyes watering again. She stood over him and brought the pan up once more to give him a second clout.

“Mercy - don’t hit me again Bel.”

She remembered what it was like to be bullied. She put the pan down then reached down and put her hands under his armpits (yuk), and picked him up like a baby off the floor.

She carried him into the living room and threw him down on the sofa.

“Now stay there and don’t say anything. Don’t move a muscle until I come back.”

She returned to the kitchen.

Within seconds he’d started fidgeting and quietly got to his feet.

“Siddown!” came the voice from the kitchen.

He sat.

They ate their breakfasts in silence and, when they’d finished, Crustabel told him that he would have to leave and go back home.

His bottom lip came down.

“Burra like it here Bel. Please! I promise thar’if ya lets me stay I’ll be as good as gowd!”

Despite the hammerings she’d given him, Crustabel was a soft touch really. She made him do God’s oath, which he did. She gave him a Bible to swear on, which he did. She made him swear by all that was holy, which he did. So she told him he could stay one more day and then off he goes.

Crusty’s head was bobbing up and down like a nodding dog on the parcel shelf of a car. He clapped his hands and grinned. Oh goody, goody!

“Wockle I pur’on to go to the dinner at the retarded Colonel’s home?”

She went white.

“Neh listen to me thee. You are NOT to go anywhere near the Colonel’s home, d’ya understand me!”

“But …!”

“If I see you even within spitting distance I’ll bury ya up to yer bluddy eyeballs in sh!t!”

“But …!”

She disappeared for a second and came back with a gardening spade.

She meant it.

© Mollie M
07.08.01

[Berxer]

Another good read Mollie

[Mollie]

Aw, thank you so much lass. Seriously though, wouldn’t you want to bop him one! He does drive her patience to the very limit.

[Berxer]

Ooooh yes, would certainly bop him more than one He’s like a spot on her bum isn’t he, can’t seem to give her space.

[Mollie]

He’s so thrilled to have somebody to take notice of him though after many years of plodding about on his own, and he does keep trying to please her but sadly, he gets it wrong on so many levels.

There are so many escapades still yet to come, so I’d love it if you keep reading.

Incidentally, I never said before, but you can choose in your own minds how these tales should be visualised. Either as cartoon characters, or in a sit-com situation.

[Berxer]

I shall definitely keep on reading, you can be assured of that. I visualise the whole scenario as in ‘real life’

[Mollie]

Ah I see, so do I if I’m being honest. Looks like a few folk have abandoned the stories, but that’s okay. Promise me that when you get fed up of reading you’ll tell me, to save me the effort of putting more on.