I will…but I won’t 
Have really got into Crusty’s capers now, so much so that I shall read until the last full stop. 
And thank you for your efforts Mollie. 
I’m behind the others…just finished chapter 4 and still enjoying his antics
Thanks again lass. I’ve noticed folk reading them, but no longer commenting, so it does me heart good to have feed-back.
The effort is worth it Carmen, as long as folk are enjoying them, and commenting.
Are you SURE you want to be there at the end? You will grow to love him and at the same time want to pop him one, and he’s so innocent and gentle-natured, but a pain in the arse at the same time. He truly is unbelievable, but you will see how his and Bel’s relationship develops in later chapters, despite their massive difference of lifestyle and financial status! 
Thank you so much for reading lass. I’ve just posted a reply to Carmen and I do hope you continue to read as he gets dafter and dafter. 
Once I start something Mollie I want to see it to the end. I am sure as sure as can be.
Then I will post the next chapter tomorrow night and hope you will enjoy the fun, but there will come a time when you will weep for him, on more than one occasion, but you’ll laugh as well. 
The way I visualise Crusty Mollie is as a man who got the wrong end of the stick in the luck stakes, life was never too kind to him so he pushes his best points (as he sees them) to the fore, then usually makes a balls of it. He’s a bit of a rake and there’s a bit of that in most men, including me, thats probebly why I like him.
That’s an interesting description of him, Jem.
[B]19
Crusty’s Played As A Cornish Patsy
(and Ends Up In The Poo, Poo!)[/B]
Crusty, resigning himself to the fact that Bel wasn’t taking him with her, thought about how he could amuse himself in her absence.
She’d told him about the pub down the road and why didn’t he go and buy himself a pint and a pie, and try to stay out of trouble.
Crusty decided to do just that.
It was Monday when they’d arrived back from Germany and he’d arrived in Cornwall in the early hours of Tuesday morning after driving all night. This was Wednesday now and he still hadn’t changed out of the clothes he’d arrived back from Skoffenburg in!
Even he had to admit that it was time to change, so off he went upstairs to the bathroom taking his carrier bag with him. He found a change of socks and underwear and, running the cold water from the tap, he sluiced his face down.
Brrrrrr! That was bloody cold. Still, he felt a bit fresher.
He put his clothes back on again and popped the OBJ over his head, then checked his back pocket to make sure his wallet was there. He took it out and tried to open it.
“Ummph! It’s stuck again as usual!”
He prised it open and then returned it to his pocket.
Crustabel had already left and she did look nice. Crusty was very disappointed not to be proudly escorting her.
In an hour or so, she’d wish she had taken him!
He set off walking through the little village in search of the pub which, it turned out, was only a hundred yards down the road. In doing so, he passed the Colonel’s house. He tried to peer in but the curtains were drawn so he continued on his way. He remembered the threat with the spade so decided not to push his luck.
The pub was called The Hungry Ploughman.
“Aye, and Crusty’s a hungry ploughman. Well, he ploughed up the farmer’s turnip field, didn’t he?”
He tittered to himself.
Bel had told him that as he’d set out to come to Cornwall on his own, he could see to his own meals.
Crusty may be a tight bugger but he’d never ever go hungry. It was just on seven o’clock and his belly was rumbling. He walked in through the pub door.
On entering, the lively chatter of the locals suddenly stopped. All eyes were on Crusty as he made his way to the bar.
“How do,” he said over his right shoulder.
They stared.
“A’t all reet?” he said over his left shoulder.
They stared.
“I’m Crusty!” he addressed the whole pub.
They stared.
He sauntered up to the bar.
“Givvus a pint owd fettler, and wor’ave ya getten’t ayte?”
The Landlord gave him his pint in silence.
Crusty asked again for food but everybody just stared at him. So, Crusty, realising that he wasn’t being understood, sat down at a table and, with a pretend knife and fork, commenced eating from a pretend plate.
The Landlord produced a menu - nobody spoke. Poor Crusty was feeling a little uncomfortable in these strange surroundings, with even stranger people.
He pointed to the home-made steak and kidney pie, chips, peas and gravy on the menu and sat waiting for the meal to arrive, which came very quickly.
He was watching them watching him and couldn’t for the life of him understand it.
All of a sudden, the clock chimed the half hour and they all turned to look at the it. It was dead on seven thirty and the pub door opened.
“Oh no! Nor’again!”
Nobody could be so unlucky!
Except for Crusty.
This was a very small village with a close-knit community. It was slightly off the beaten track - that was one of the reasons why Crustabel and her husband had chosen to buy their cottage here. It wasn’t a tourist spot.
There he stood framing the door and he spotted Crusty immediately, as he was the only one tucking in.
He was also carrying a 12-bore!!
The rest of the community had been warned by this farmer about a scruffy little Northern oik who’d destroyed part of his turnip crop, and which he had been working hard on to cultivate for market.
Oh crumbs!
The farmer thundered over from the door and hoisted Crusty out of his chair. Crusty, still with fork in hand and piecrust dangling was shaking like a leaf.
“Am sorry owd lad! I didn’t mean’t plough up yer turnips. Will they be alreet?”
Silence!
With a slight nod of the head from the farmer, three other equally big chaps came over. Never known to waste food, Crusty had just put the dangling crust into his mouth when they took an arm and a leg each and hauled him out of the pub.
Despite his protestations they wouldn’t put him down. He was kicking away as best he could, but they held him fast. They carried him just a very short distance and into a nearby field. Then, swinging him … one, two, three, they let go and he sailed off.
Plop!
“Bel, Bel, help me Bel!”
After a couple of minutes he stood up and looked around to get his bearings. It was dark now and he wasn’t sure where he was again. Then he saw the lights from the village and set off again at an ungainly trot. Oddly enough, when they’d flung him, he’d landed on something warm and soft. He wasn’t hurt. He’d landed on a simmering compost heap on which a cow had deposited a huge pat, face first!!
He limped along, a very strong smell beginning to assail his nostrils. It was nothing like what he was used to!
Back in the village street he stopped at the door of the house whose window he had earlier peered through. He remembered the threat with the spade again, but he’d no choice this time.
He knocked on the door. A kindly, soft-spoken man opened the door. A military- looking man.
The man’s jaw dropped open when he saw Crusty.
“Please mister, is this where the retarded Colonel lives? I want my Crustabel!” He was almost sobbing now.
The kindly man told Crusty that if he went round to the back door he’d be let in, but not through the front door. Not in that state.
Crusty shambled off in the dark around to the back where the door had been opened. Crusty entered and Crustabel greeted him with spade in hand.
Yes folks, she’d taken it with her just in case.
“Wot the bl…?” She stopped when she saw the state he was in.
His face was covered in cow dung as was all his clothes, which were also messed up with bits of straw and grass, and all sorts. He favvered Worzel Gummidge.
“Wot in the name of sanity have ya been up to this time?”
Bobbers rolling down his cheeks now, he told her of his three encounters with the farmer, for the first time since he’d arrived. The turnip field, the tractor and just now in the pub.
Crustabel started laughing. She laughed so much all her fat started to wobble about. Her face was contorted and she slapped Crusty hard on the back.
He fell on the floor where he sat mesmerised. How cruel. How could she possibly find anything funny about all of this?
“Oh Crusty. Ya would go an’ do summat bluddy daft again!”
Eventually she stopped laughing, wiped her eyes and picked him up. She shoved him into a chair.
“Poor old Crusty! I warned ya not to follow me but ya did and gor’into a load o’ bluddy mischief again. Ya had to go against me and ya had to pick on the one farmer in the whole of Cornwall to upset. The one farmer, in the whole county, that would not suffer a bluddy daft owd Crusty like thee.”
She started laughing again, her ample belly jiggling away.
“Wot’s so funny Bel?”
“Come on ya daft owd fart, I’ll take ya back to the cottage.”
She made her apologies to the Colonel and, giving him a shove on the back, pushed him back home to run him a bath.
[SIZE=“2”]“A Bath!!!”[/SIZE]
Crusty screeched to a halt.
“I don’t think we need to go to such extremes Bel. I’ll be alreet wi’ just a quick rub down with a flannel!”
“Oh no ya bluddy-well don’t. Yer not spending the neet on my settee smelling like a bluddy owd cattle shed! Neh get gooin’!”
Actually, it wasn’t too bad this soaking business. He hurried in the warm soapy water and soaped himself down quickly. He didn’t want to get too used to this sort of thing.
He dried himself off and put on the change of clothing (the second change within 24 hours, please note), which Crustabel had supplied him with from his carrier bags. He sniffed at himself. He smelt funny. He hoped Crustabel wouldn’t mind.
Meanwhile, Bel was loading all his crappy clothes into the washer. The OBJ would have done handstands and cartwheels if only he’d had any hands to do it with. OBJ loved Crustabel. This was to be the second time she’d washed him. She kept her fingers crossed that the OBJ wouldn’t fall to pieces in the wash.
Crusty went back downstairs and poked his head around the living room door. Crustabel got up and went into the kitchen to brew him a nice cup of tea. He could hear her in the kitchen singing quietly to herself and every now and again he’d hear her give a little chuckle.
“Worra ya tittering about Bel. Yer always laffing at me!”
“Oh, ya’ll find out soon enough owd lad!”
The washing machine started spinning and when it had finished she transferred his belongings into her tumble dryer. OBJ was still in one piece and was as proud as punch!
Somebody knocked on the front door.
“Crusty just answer that will ya while I’m finishing making the tea!”
“Okay Bel!”
He went and opened it widely with a big grin on his face.
[SIZE=“3”]“Aaaarrrgh!” [/SIZE]
Crusty pelted off through to the kitchen and, quaking, hid behind the much larger Crustabel, his nose just poking out over her shoulder.
The farmer followed him into the small kitchen and sat down. He didn’t have the 12-bore!!! Thank goodness!
Crustabel tried to stand to one side, but Crusty kept following her in order to stay behind her.
“C’m’ere thee,” she said grabbing at him and, making him stand in front of her, she introduced him to the farmer.
“Hello, thanks for coming. Let me introduce you. This is Crusty, my friend.”
The farmer scowled.
“Crusty - this is my twin brother, Crustian!”
Crusty’s mouth quivered in the semblance of a gut-wrenching smile and, shaking, held out his hand.
Crustian scowled!!
Could this be the end of the Crusty we all know and love?
© Mollie M
09.08.01
Poor Crusty is not really a tight bugger, its just that he’s careful with his few bob. He also believes in the old Victorian theories about over washing the body, it undermines the skin causing premature sagging and wrinkles..
If you say so, Jem.
I couldn’t help feeling a slight bit of pity for Crusty in that chapter
Oh don’t make that mistake, Carmen. Not yet anyway. 
5
Crusty Meats His Sole Mate
(and Life Long Partner?)
Very good Mollie
Aw, thanks for reading, lass. 
I read them up to date last night Mollie and thoroughly enoyed it all. I felt sorry for poor Crusty right at the beginning and still do a bit.
I’ll put Chapter 20 on tonight.
[B]20
Crusty Uses A Net
(and Ends Up In A Web!)[/B]
He was so glad to be home at long last. He never thought he’d be so pleased to see 13 Bakewell Drive again.
He went upstairs and pulled his clothes out of his carrier bags. The OBJ almost leapt to attention, but didn’t want to alert Crusty as to his newfound intelligence.
Crustabel had folded him beautifully and he smelt gorgeous. Of course, Crusty just threw him into a corner because he’d gone limp again, but Crusty hadn’t complained, not this time. He could see her point and the poor jumper had had a big dangly cowpat down the front. Whew! Wor’a whiff!
At the end of the day, Crustabel had told her twin brother to shake Crusty’s hand and be friends.
Whilst Crusty had been having a bath, she’d phoned her brother and explained to him some of the escapades they’d been on and that Crusty was probably one of the most unlucky people she’d ever met, even though he was a prat.
She told him of the incident at Lady Melonie’s Summer Ball. Her brother didn’t find that funny at all. He couldn’t stand the gentry. He came across them all the time riding their horses and hounds over his land. Ever so bloody la-di-dah!
He felt sorry for Crusty, but at the time of the turnip field incident he hadn’t known he was a friend of his sister. Perhaps he would have treated him better had he known.
Anyway, Bel had asked him to come over and, once Crusty had proffered his hand in friendship the farmer, with one last scowl, had thrown his head back and laughed and Crusty grinned his cheesy grin. Crustian had then taken his hand and told him that any time he wanted to come back, he could come back.
Entertainment at its best is our Crusty!!!
When he went back downstairs he found the book on “Fly Fishing” by J R Heartley on the chair where he’d left it and started to read. He’d never been fishing for flies before!
It was a long time since he’d been fishing so he decided to have a rummage tomorrow to see if he still had his tackle! His fishing tackle, that is! Mind you, it was November so he’d have to dress up really, REALLY warm!!
Next day he found his shrimp net and headed off for Southport. He was safer fishing in the shrimp pools than down at a river.
The last time he’d done that had ended in disaster with all the fishermen trying to hook him with their rods and lines for something he’d done. He couldn’t remember what it was though.
Anyway, once they’d all caught him with their hooks embedded in the OBJ, they’d all played Maypoles with him with the fishing line until he was trussed up good and proper.
Only his feet and ankles had been free from being bound with the fishing line so he was just about able to walk from the ankles down! He looked like a cartoon character inching his way along the riverbank. In fact he looked like a huge slug! At one point though he’d tripped and fallen over, rolled down a little hill and was unable to get up again.
Some kids had found him and, taking pity on the old man, had managed to cut him free with their Boy Scout Swiss knives.
“Dib, dib dib. This is our good deed for the day. Come on owd fettler and we’ll cut ya free!”
Crusty had been so mad that once he’d been freed he’d chased after the kids and had frightened them to death. Then their mum and dad, who’d set up a picnic on the riverbank, started chasing him!
What a day that had been.
Well here he was now, alone as usual, on Southport sands. The OBJ was back on covering a series of under vests and tee shirts. Crusty had on a sheepskin jacket, which he’d bought and paid (yes paid) a whole pound for at a jumble sale. It was a bit moth-eaten but it was serving its purpose. His cockle hat was planted on his head and, to complete the picture, he had on a pair of wellies. He favvered Compo from the Last of the Summer Wine!
What a delight he was.
A solitary figure standing in the middle of the sewage belt, there was nobody else about. Well, there’s nobody else daft enough to stand in the middle of the beach on a cold November day, shrimping and up to their ankles in sh!t!
Except for Crusty that is.
Crusty managed to catch a few shrimps and popped them into a little bag he had with him. He’s always got a little bag with him!
He thought if he could catch shrimps today though he could have them for his tea on a butty. He went from pool to pool and the few miserable little shrimps that he caught went into his bag. As he was moving he didn’t realise how far from his car he’d gone. When he finally looked up he couldn’t see it.
However, he could see a rather large stand being set up further along the shore. He started to walk toward it to watch the men go about their business of erecting what looked like an open-air stage.
Oh oh!
He sauntered up grandly and shouted up to the workmen.
“How do! Wot’s goin’ on here then?”
They waved to him cheerily.
“Dunno old lad. Some sort of display or seminar or something’s on this afternoon, selling computers or something. Not really sure!”
“Oh reet ta.”
Computers! That wasn’t Crusty’s field at all. A turnip field was more Crusty’s style. However, he decided to go back to his car and put his catch in the boot, then see if he could find a little cafe for a cup of tea.
He set off on the long journey and found his car eventually. Down Lord Street there were many cafes, but Crusty knew of a good one in a back street where they sold a cup of tea for just twenty-five pence.
I told you - he would ride a tidal wave if it took him somewhere that he could get something cheap, or free.
By the time he reached the cafe he was ready for a sit down. He ordered a pot of tea and some sandwiches and, whilst he was sat munching, he thought about what he could do until the computer seminar started.
He was in two minds. Should he go or not bother? Naturally he’d heard of computers but had never used one. Was there any point? Never mind! He decided it would pass an hour or two so, when he’d finished his pot of tea, he went for a walk around the town.
Southport is a very nice place to be - in summer. However, in winter it was dead like most other seaside resorts. Still it was dry.
He walked the length and breadth of Lord Street and then decided to go through the lovely gardens. There were some men bowling on the greens and he sat and watched them for a while.
Crusty loved bowling.
He whiled away the time and thought about Crustabel. She would be coming home in a few days and, up to now he’d kept out of mischief. She would be so pleased with him.
The day wasn’t over with yet though!
Her twin brother Crustian, as it turned out, had been an extremely nice sort of chap and, having been forgiven, Crusty had returned home a happy man.
He looked at the church clock. The workmen had said that the seminar would be starting at about two. It was now one thirty so he decided to make a move back down to the sands.
There were quite a few people there, mostly younger than him. Crusty didn’t let that bother him. He overheard some of them talking about surfing and other such things but Crusty was mystified. Surely you needed a surfboard to go surfing and the waves weren’t that high.
Kids today! They spoke a completely different language to when he was a lad.
The sign, which had been erected over the stage in huge letters read:
COMPUTING IN 2050
Apparently it was all about “state of the art” computer equipment, which would still be in existence in the year twenty fifty. Highly unlikely, but some companies boasted many things just to sell their wares. In any event, it meant nothing at all to Crusty.
Yet!
As we all well know, Crusty’s always up for a challenge and today would be no exception.
He started getting bored almost immediately and decided that this wasn’t for him. Just as he turned to leave, the salesman on stage started talking again, but this time he was talking about megabytes and gigabytes and something about webs.
Crusty’s ears pricked up!
He turned back round to listen carefully. There must be some food implication if they were talking about bites. He started to warm to the man on the stage. The man noticed Crusty beaming at him and felt a little uncomfortable but, notwithstanding, continued his spiel.
Feeling a little edgy, the salesman asked over the microphone if there was anybody in the crowd that didn’t have at least one gigabyte.
Crusty put his hand up.
“Me, me. I’ve no bites! Have ya gor’any’t spare lad?”
“Thank you, sir. Would you care to step up on the stage?”
Whoosh!
He was on stage before the man had got his last word out!
The man started talking to Crusty, asking him questions and giving him details of the very latest in hardware. Bytes, megabytes, gigabytes! Crusty was nodding his head enthusiastically, not understanding one single word.
“Are you happy with all this, sir?”
“Oh yeh, ta very muchly.”
“Right. All I’ll need from you now sir is your signature on this piece of paper.”
"And then do I get me bites?
“Yes sir!”
Crusty took the piece of paper and, without reading it, took the pen and wrote his name on the form with a flourish! He turned and gave his audience a huge smile and a little wave! The man gave him a copy of the paper to keep, which Crusty stuffed into his pocket.
There’s one born every minute!
Actually, he hadn’t entered into an agreement to buy a computer, as you may be thinking.
Oh no! Crusty’s daft but he’s not that daft.
Well, perhaps a tinzy winzy!
The salesman had been telling him about what can be done these days with computers and how you can find out just about everything you need to know. Crusty hadn’t a clue what the man was going on about, but he was quite happy in the knowledge that very soon people all over the world would know about Crusty.
The OBJ had been listening in to all of this and groaned! What was the silly old trout thinking of at all? Even the OBJ had got the gist of what was happening and he was only a fifty year-old jumper.
The seminar continued for another hour or so and then music started up. They were playing something by Meat Loaf and everybody started to mill around a little more. Crusty decided to stay on for a little while to see if anything else transpired. A few people came over to him and patted him on the back and wished him well.
Crusty was getting attention again. And he didn’t know why. Oh Lord, help us!
He was really enjoying the music. Boney M was being played now and it was a medley of songs and Crusty sang along, putting his own words to the music as per usual.
[B][CENTER]By the Rivers of Bappylon
Where we sat down
To eat our tea
When we remember pies on
Brown Bread in the Ring, lalalala la
Brown Bread in the Ring, la la la la la la
Brown Bread in the Ring, lalalala la
It looks like some sugar on a bun
Ra Ra Rasputin, he has got a big bread bin[/CENTER][/B]
Crusty never did learn the words properly to songs.
Suddenly he noticed a marquee. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it before - it was big enough so Crusty strolled over to see what was in there.
Well. You should have seen his little pink crusty face light up when he entered. It was the refreshments tent!
There were trestle tables with all sorts on. He sauntered over casually admiring the array of butties, finger rolls, pies, barm cakes etc. There were a couple of officials behind the tables who noticed Crusty dribbling!
“Good afternoon sir. Would you like to partake of something to eat?”
Is a Rabbi Jewish?
“Oh I would lad, ta very muchly!”
He grabbed a left handful and fed them through the hole in his face with his right, gobbling them down at the speed of light.
Gone in thirty seconds!
The officials looked at each other and shrugged.
Crusty stood there looking longingly at the feast before him. All he needed were two words from the officials and he knew if he stood there long enough they’d say them.
“Help yourself,” said one of the officials.
Those were the two words!
Crusty gorged himself once more and, whilst eating, went for a walk around the tent. By the time he’d completed the circuit he was back again near the food.
The officials had been worried that some of this food might get left, but now that Crusty had put in an appearance, their fears had been alleviated.
Crusty retrieved the carrier bag from his pocket and filled it while the official looked on with their mouths wide open, totally gob-smacked.
“Hope ya don’t mind lads bur’it looked to me as if some o’ this good grub might go to waste so I thowt I’d help ya out!”
“That’s very kind of you sir!”
The day finally over with and fit to burst, Crusty returned to his car and went back home. He retrieved the shrimps from the boot of his car and, once in his kitchen, buttered some bread and put the paltry few shrimps on and ate his tea. Well it would do to be going on with. There was also his bagful of butties and pies.
He’d had a wonderful day.
A couple of days later Crustabel returned and went directly to Crusty’s house, sporting a new giant sized tee shirt under her coat!
She almost battered down his front door! He opened it and a big smile appeared on Crusty’s face.
“Hello Bel!”
“I thought I told you stay out of trouble!” she said shoving him out of her way.
His smile faded.
“But …”
“Can’t I leave you alone for just a few days without ya gerrin into bother?”
“But …”
“Ya’ve gone an’ done it again haven’t you?”
“But …”
“Ya stupid old bugger!”
“But …”
Mmmm?
“But wor’ava done wrong this time?”
She thrust off her jacket to show him the new tee shirt she was wearing.
He read the front.
She turned around.
He read the back.
His bottom lip came down.
“Where’ve ya getten that from?” asked Crusty.
Crustabel shoved him into a chair. First she wanted to know exactly what he’d been doing whilst she was away.
He told her he’d gone shrimping and had a cup of tea in Southport and a few other things, as well as working at his beloved cafe.
“Wor’else?”
“Nothing, Bel, honest.”
She had a carrier bag with her and Crusty rubbed his hands with glee.
“Wor’ave ya brought with ya Bel?”
“These.”
She tipped out the contents of the carrier bag into his lap. More tee shirts in various colours, still in their packaging.
“Read them!” she said.
As he started to read the tee shirts he went pale. Then he went white. Finally, he went red with embarrassment. Oh gawd! What had he done this time?
Then he remembered the piece of paper he’d signed. He’d been as proud as punch to be up on a stage again that he hadn’t really being paying too much attention to what the man had been saying. A lot of it was gibberish to Crusty anyway.
Crustabel told him to go and find the paper and she’d see if she could sort out the problem.
He handed it to her and she read it in silence. When she’d finished she folded it up.
She was still silent as she stared hard at him.
He knew she was going to chastise him once more and cowered from her gaze.
She started to speak, quietly at first
“Well Crusty. Of all the scrapes ya’ve been in and all the sh!t heaps I’ve extricated ya from, this one really takes the biscuit.”
Crusty opened his mouth to speak but with a hand in his face she stopped him.
“Of all the most stupid, bluddy things anybody could do only you could have done summat like this!”
He opened his mouth to speak again and the glare she gave him froze him to the spot.
“When will ya learn to stop bluddy well showing off and drawing attention to yerself? DO YA HAVE ANY IDEA WOT YA’VE GOT YERSELF INTO?”
Crusty shook his head.
“YA’VE ONLY SIGNED UP FOR A YEAR’S SUBSCRIPTION TO YER OWN BLUDDY WEBSITE YA SILLY OWD FART!”
“Wot’s a website Bel?”
She explained it to him.
“I wouldn’t care but ya don’t even have a sodding computer and ya’ve signed up, AND ya’ve agreed to have these tee shirts made up. They’ve not wasted any time either. I bought these on’t market only this morning!!”
He had a face like a slapped arse.
“How much for?”
“Never mind how much for, ya daft old pie-can. The subscription charge alone is over a thousand pounds!”
Crusty fainted.
While he was still unconscious Bel was sat quietly in a chair looking at him. She knew he didn’t have a thousand pounds. He’d signed up to pay all this money just for the thrill of being on stage and a few butties.
Once more she was going to have to pull him out of the mire.
She picked up the tee shirts again to have another look. Fair play. They were well made, but it was what was printed on them. She started laughing, quietly at first, then she read another and burst out laughing loudly until eventually she was rolling over eyes streaming.
As if!
Oh! You want to know what they said. Well here goes:
On the first front: We Love Crusty
On the back: Crusty Forever
2nd front Crusty Bytes!
Back Crusty Unplugged
3rd front Crusty Fan Club
Back apply www.Crusty.uk.com
Crustabel decided that it was time she took him well and truly into hand!!
She waited for him to regain consciousness!
© Mollie M
10.08.01