The Darling Buds of June (7 page)

The entrance to
Oversley Green, I (ME) didn’t dare go any nearer in case of a
possible lynching should they know about me (you do NOT want to
actually see Studloooy, except as a scuba lake)
.

(Moley): We
thanked Sam, and cancelled the next 39 days, and the Winter snow
project, but promised to let him know if anything else came up. We
gave him a free strip of raffle tickets, which I kept, and promised
to pass onto him any prize he happened to win (if there’s another
draughts board, maybe I’ll scrap it if he wins it). Sam was really
chuffed by this generous gesture, and said it was the nicest thing
anyone had ever done for him (how sad is that? I mean, the man’s
married!), and his tears of happiness were consoled by Mary (68),
who judging by the way she rubbed her inner thigh up against his
thigh (I’m not saying which one), quite fancied him. On the way
back to Coventry, Sam, as a final gesture, did a leaflet drop over
Stratford (we think?), but, because of a bloody North Easterly, the
residents of Sutton Coldfield know about Gillian Wakespeare and
Stan Stashaway, which we all supposed was good really; although
another method must be found to fulfil our dream of not being
invisible any more.

***

So, you the
reader want to see the gravestone where Stan and Gillian are
buried? Well ok, but as it was gone before this project began, here
is my impression as told me by my mole.

Here then is
what I’m told the burial stone looked like. No names? Well no, it
wasn’t quite a pauper’s grave. Or was it? How do you know Gillian
and Stan are buried there? Personally, I just ‘do’ ... it’s like
the lady who recently discovered Richard III grave in the Leicester
car park ... there was an R painted on the ground above it, and,
well, she just ‘knew’. Obviously, a new gravestone would have their
names on it, wouldn’t that be nice?

Afterword

I don’t think
the people in Alcester like being made into a joke, because
absolutely no help was offered. Well, I say that, on lady did
promise ... it was and then members of the local cult must have had
a word in the helper’s ear ... as a result, it was withdrawn. Some
you win, some you lose. At least I tried. Anyway, thank you for
reading my little venture into the creative process. I did plan a
sequel, but as I’m all on my own with no help, I’ll never get
by.

***

But, here’s
that little treat I promised you, the verse from Hammy the pig. The
picture? I went to a car boot sale with Evo and I came across a set
of pigs, they were a perfect match to the pencil sketch. What a
co-incidence eh?! It’s written in pig with the translation into
human so you can understand it.

‘Oink, oink,
oink, oink, oink, squeal,’

The eye of
heaven hangs in the sky.

‘Oink, oink,
oink, oink oinnnnkkkk!’

Hot and shiny
as a gold doubloon,

‘Oink squeal!
Squeal! Squeal! Oink?’

But, where dost
thou come from o noisy, smelly wind?

‘Squeal
,
squeal! Squeal! Oink
,
squeal!’

That shakes the
darling buds of June.

Hammy is on
the left.

***

ALCESTER HAMLET
COUNCIL CABINET MEETING

A RIGHT
HONORABLE MEMBER:

“I PROPOSE THAT
WE GET MR LASSUT, LAST SOOT, LATUTT, OR WHATEVER HIS BLOODY NAME
IS, AND BURN HIM IN ONE OF OUR SMALL COUNTRY TOWN ‘RITUALS’. WE
COULD TELL OUTSIDERS THAT IT WAS A SCARECROW AND OUR CROPS HAD
FAILED. SAY ‘I’, ANYONE WHO AGREES!”

“I! I! I! ...
ETC”

“MOTION
CARRIED!”

“HURRAH! BURN
HIM! BURN HIM!”

“Erm … can we
turn it into a barbecue? May as well.”

***

‘
STRATFORD’
COUNCIL,
SPECIAL POSH MEETING WITH TOP TABLE CHAMPAGNE, DEVOID
OF COMMONERS (THEY MUST NOT KNOW WHAT WE DO IN PRIVATE
MEETINGS!)

BROTHER AND
SISTERHOOD OF THE CLOVEN HOOF CLUB

“O GREAT ONE,
WHO HELPED ‘OUR’ BELOVED, LUCRATIVE BARD; PLEASE HELP US NOW TO
‘SORT’ FRANKIE LASSUT. HELP US PLACE HIM IN STOCKS AND HAVE HIM
PUBLICLY FLOGGED … OR, CAN WE THROW HIM TO THE SWANS FOR THE
AMUSEMENT OF THE LOCAL ‘UGH’ COMMONERS AND THE LUCRATIVE TOURISTS?
WHAT IS YOUR BIDDING O HORNED AND CLOVEN HOOVED LORD OF THE FIERY
UNDERWORLD!
?
”

Squeak! (She
plunges the sacrificial dagger in
to
the
heart of an assumed virgin hedgehog someone caught on the way to
the meeting).

“DO AS YOU WILL
MY DISCIPLES! AS LONG AS YOU SACRIFICE HIM TO ME AFTER HE’S HAD A
GOOD FLOGGING OR PECKING! SEEMS A SHAME TO HAVE AN ‘ALTAR’ IN YOUR
‘MEETING ROOM’ AND NOT USE IT; PROPERLY! I’M NOT KEEN ON
HEDGEHOGS.”

Female member:
“Thank you O Great One! Now, who will drink with me the blood of
the hedgehog?!” Lesser member (Male): “Erm ... have we got no red
wine, or even raspberry juice? I’m not keen on hedgehog blood. In
fact, I think I’ll go home, I feel sick. Is there another litter
trail to where I live? I think I’m pissed.”

***

For more
information see:

www.frankie-lassut.com