Continue the story.....

[poppy]

a tub of hummus. Catching sight of myself in a window, I got the fright of my life. Not only was I covered in red and purple splotches, but my black and white dyed hair had great clumps missing, making me look like a mange-ridden skunk. I had wondered why people were staring at me with alarm in their eyes and giving me a wide berth. Several children burst into tears and dogs slunk off, tails between legs. I shot back to C&A, grabbed a beanie and decided to ...

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make good by covering my bonce in a red and white striped beanie, it was all going well , some even admiring my Sam, Green eggs and ham (look it up, young hipsters..you have never lived) get up, as though Yves St Laurent himself was responsible for this 

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piece of sartorial elegance. So I headed home and to keep up my flagging spirits (I'd been through quite an ordeal!) I loudly recited my very own Green Eggs and Ham version. 'And I would wear it in a boat, and I would wear it with a goat. I would wear it on a train and I would wear it in the rain. I would wear it in the house and I would wear it with a mouse. I would wear it here or there,  I would wear it ANYWHERE!'

'THERE HE IS!' someone shouted. 'GRAB HIM!' It sounded suspiciously like ...

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the general , daddy of my very own other 50 per cent, yes, Rosie to you; and yet, feeling melancholy due to having read a story from John Cheever whilst having a ........

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rather up close and personal bedbath from a staff nurse who would have given Attila the Hun a run for her money. Things got worse when a member of the constabulary blocked my way and demanded my name.

Now I was well versed in the law having had previous contretemps with the 'thin blue line,' so I wasn't going to take this laying down. 

'Do you suspect me of a crime?' I demanded.

'Yes,' replied Constable Bertie E. Bluebottle.

This rather took the wind out of my sails. 

'And what trumped up crime are you accusing me of?'

'For starters, how about...

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the crime against decent humanity, presented by your hair sir..in a manner of speaking, it will give grave offence to humans that dislike badgers..furthermore....'

'Will it..I am so pleased officer", said I, darting past him and rushing to the closest hostelry, the Backscrubber and toilet Brush in Hackney.  I ordered a gallon of freezing cold kiwi and lemon, and guzzling a pint of it certainly 

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went a long way to numbing the brain and making me forget my recent difficulties. After about ten minutes when my cerebrum began to thaw and the splitting headache eased, I decided it was probably time to head for home and ...

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see what the cats made of all the drama.

Well lo and behold, was that not Puddles Malone rapping on the door? I wondered if he was sozzled, but no sign of....

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red-rimmed eyes, slurred speech or unsteady gait was apparent. However, that meant nothing where Puddles was concerned. He was renowned for his prodigious capacity for alcoholic beverages of any kind with little or no obvious effect. Why, I'd known him, in one sitting, to down ...

Edited November 2, 2024 by poppy

[itsmeagain]

14 pints of Tolkiens wee , Lincolnshire brew composed of salamander puke, French gin and Afghan vodka. Not only that, but Puddles loved icy beverages, so one day, in his sister's cupboard, he got Beechams lemsip, sugar, black chocolate and whiskey. Into a whisker he poured the potent slush, and by 11pm the whole street was rancid , boggle eyed drunk, so much so that Ira Green , 54, from Barrow, wrote to the Tinsel Star in disgust.

' I need to convey my abject horror at the carry on down Wormbum road last ...

Edited November 2, 2024 by itsmeagain

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Thursday, 6th inst. Never in all my born days have I witnessed such disgraceful behaviour. Degenerates were being sick and doing unmentionable things into Mrs Arbottle's window boxes. Her coleus and asteraceae will never be the same again. Quentin Quigley from No. 27 was seen hanging upside down from St Abundus's steeple, an absolute desecration, particularly as he was wearing a kilt at the time.  And Councillor Halitosis was observed running up and down the street dressed only in a ...

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bovver boy outfit straight out  of the 1970s, like a scene in Queersabeenia, that Rockers n mods thing involving the Who. If I ever regain my composure I'll be seeing my MP for cake and tea at Mrs  Crimefest' s flat in Rushmond to blot

Edited November 4, 2024 by itsmeagain

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out the trauma of it all. I expect the perpetrator of this depravity to be dealt with in the harshest fashion and for our esteemed Barrow county councillors to ensure that a repeat of such shocking conduct is never allowed to transpire.

Yours,

Ira Green (Ms)'

The Tinsel Star, the editor of which had caroused with the best of them, conveniently ...

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omitted all mention of Freda Halitosis, whose tryst with he, Mick Subplot, had tongues wagging around Cheam for about a week  , back in 2007.

When Ms Green read the article in Tinsel Star, outrage wouldn't even cover 50 per cent of her feelings. Such a harridan was she that, one October Saturday, she rang the Old Bill to say there's no way the Kumars at no 56 are actually genuine immigrants, they are just lying and if it's drama you want, go to USA and you'll find drama. I mean, see, we in this great country take peace, such as I see it , for granted. We are in a massive catch 2 doesn't one acknowledge? When every man

 

 

Edited November 6, 2024 by itsmeagain

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in the neighbourhood feels he's entitled to behave in any way he sees fit, irregardless of the law.  We're being overrun by illegal immigrants, taking our jobs, our houses, committing all sorts of heinous crimes. A defenseless lady like me isn't safe to sleep in her own bed at night, let alone walk the streets.'

PC Peabody muttered under his breath, 'Any self-respecting criminal would run a mile after listening to her for a couple of minutes. Either that or ...

 

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hand themselves in . Sarge, find out the silly crow's address and I will pay her a visit..arsekin  er to stand on town centre whittling..to make no  goods quake...'

'Certainly not..can you not see that such deplorable conduct, by you or any associate of the Met police, is entirely uncalled for and damnably unconscionable", said the stern, chic sergeant Moira Blueapple ,43, whose claim to glory..

Edited November 8, 2024 by itsmeagain

[poppy]

(the one and only) was winning in an eating competition by downing three large deep dish Chicago pizzas, a dozen peanut butter whisky cream doughnuts, four pints of John Smith's Newcastle Brown Ale, a jar of pickled gherkins, one pavlova topped with whipped cream, strawberries and chocolate sprinkles, a whole haggis and ...

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a cup of tea topped with chocolate powder. 

PC Peabody was  a standard bloke of standard temperament..a Yorkshireman  with true Yorkshire values. He believed in what's right being right, reward for hard work, disliked peace campaigners, animal rights, vegans, and men who do knitting. Yet he had nous enough to know , that the Met was organising a clampdown on anti social police officers ( wouldn't you when two murderous woman haters had made the news in the past two years for their acts of cruelty while at the same time being trusted to carry guns outside the palace?]

He decided to be reasonable, and so one rainy day on Kensington Drive, he thought two youths were acting suspiciously outside a block of flats.'Nah then, are you two lads awkaay?', he asked, Yorkshire drawl....

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to the fore. 

'We're doin' nowt!' said Freddy Flintoff defensively. 

'Ar didn' sair thee wur, Ar wur just askin.'

'Wats it t'ya?' asked Archie Cockerill, as cocky as his name.

'I were actually on t’lookout fah a Miss Ira Green.'

'That auld crone! She'll 'ave thee for breakfast, she will!' and the two lads ran off laughing uproariously.

He wished he'd boxed their ears when he had the chance, but remembered ...

 

('Men who do knitting.' That'd really be the thin edge of the wedge for PC Peabody 😂 )

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Sergeant Blueapple and so he  felt obliged to toe the line pretty much , for now. 

So it was that next day on Brixton High Street, Peabody espied a rather strange cavalcade consisting of a blue bicycle, a bloke with black and green tufts of hair, a deep purple mackintosh, and orange plus fours, whistling the Marseillaise with a cat on the

Edited November 11, 2024 by itsmeagain

[poppy]

or rather in, the bike basket. It looked suspiciously like Johnny Revolting, he thought. And he was correct, it WAS me. I'd just rescued a bedraggled moggy from a drain, where it appeared to have fallen and stuck fast. With a lot of manoeuvring, involving me laying flat on my stomach on a filthy pavement and sticking my arm down a disgusting drain, I'd managed to pull the poor little mite out.  Despite being cold and shivering, it still managed to lick my hand and give a faint purr. I wrapped it in my yellow and blue scarf (I liked to be colour coordinated with my accessories) and made a beeline for ...

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the premises known as Jacqui's Cat Palace, 🐈 a shop where kittens  ran freely, abetted by happy members of the public , all too keen to give money to Save the Cats, as well as buy bedding, food and vitamin supplements for our feline buddies.

Peabody entered the shop, whistling Who says You Can't Go Home, a Bon Jovi blockbuster. 

'Hi Sir, just wanted to say hello and to let you know your hair is amazing.. you resemble one of them punknrocker types that used to do the rounds in the 70s..are you available for a cup of tea..my expense..?'

Jumping at the chance, in Nero we explored the lives of great...

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risk-takers, but first I needed to check in Lickety Split, as I had called my little rescue cat. Unfortunately, they had no room for further animals.

Kitty Catchpool, the manager of Jacqui's Cat Palace, was a little perplexed. 'Why don't you take him home to your cafe?'

'Well,' I said ...

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'Lickety can survive only on raw biltong'. 

Meanwhile, Peabody answered a call to a phone booth in NW1. A Mr Farrakhan was trying to ring his sister when Jack Jagger, 23, from Isle of Dogs, asked how long he will be.

'As long as a piece of

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DNA.'

As PC Peabody had no clues what DNA was ( he suspected it was something to do with TNT) let alone how long it was, he gave up and wandered off.

'There's a shop down the road that sells pet foods, I suggest you call in there, grab yourself some biltong, and head for home, lickety split!' said Ms Catchpool. 

I didn't think Rosie was going to be too thrilled about another cat, we were already bursting at the seams. That dratted Clyde Piper was followed back to our cafe with a mottled menagerie of strays and pampered pets every time he ventured out. Reuniting them with their owners took days and nearly ate us out of house and home in the meantime. Shoulders sagging, with a heavy heart and furrowed brow, I ...