Thursday 21 May 2009

THE CASE OF THE MISSING DRAWERS

Fare indeed was the day as I dunged out the midden like a Trojan. My bulging biceps flexed as I filled the wheel barrow with good rotten manure. I leant on my fork and looked around me. A dungy smell was in the air. I opened my nostrils like the late dead Kenneth Williams and sniffed the pungent aroma up my hooter. Ah, there's nothing like the smell of manure on a barmy Summer day. Probably the first smell in the world, in the garden of Eden, was the smell of manure. I was stripped to my grey simmet, my mulberry blew gansey hung from a rotten fence post. The suction on my wellingtons was tarra, as the midden tried to pull me down into it's red hot core. Dung is a grate fossil fuel. Heel up a cart load of dung at the haggard, and a weak later you could boil an egg in the nuclear core. The government should build dung nuclear reactors. Cheep fuel for the masses and co friendly emmisions. I spat on my hands and cried. "This shi dung, won't shift itself" and went at it like a navvy. Being a female woman who could multi-task I sang as I worked.
"DUNG, DUNG, RING-A-DING-DING
PUT IT ON YOUR RHUBARB IN THE EARLY SPRING
STICK IN A FORK AND GIVE IT A FLING
OH, DUNG,DUNG,RING-A-DING-DING.
"Another cracker Rosie" I giggled, as I squelched further up the midden.
Suddenly, I heard the swish of wellingtons coming through the rushes and nettles. I utulised my oculars and preceived that it was my Sun Bon Jovi and another cub coming through the bog. I scrutinized the cub, I had scene him before, leaping and jumping like a kangeroo with corns in the skool playground. He was a rare looking cub, thin as a willow stick, all elbows and knees and a head of the gingerest hare I had ever scene. A real carrot top. "MAMMY!" roared Bon Jovi "I wood like too interduce you to a fellow student, Fergie McBoing". "Hello Fergie" I said "Hello Mrs Ryan" said the cub in a Hi reedy voice. "Just back from skool Fergie?" I asked. "AYe Mrs Ryan" squeaked the ginger nut. "Do you like skool Fergie?" I asked "Aye Mrs Ryan" squeaked the red hared scoolar. "There are knot many Fergie's round here" I said "Did your daddy call you after Sir Alex Ferguson?" "No, Mrs Ryan" squeaked the cub, "He called me after his wee tractor. And now he tells everyone, "I've got too wee Fergies". Bon Jovi opeded his big yapper and began to laugh like a tickled hynea. "Ah,-Ha-Ha-Ha" roared the cub. "OH, Ho-Ho-Ho,--AH, Tee-Tee-Hee" "Do you get it Mammy?" roared Bon Jovi "Fergie's name is-Fergie and Fergie's daddy has a wee Fergie tractor, so Fergie's daddy can say without a devil of a lie, that he has too-Fergie's. Every thyme I heer that story" said Bon Jovi "I go into veritable-fits". I took the too cubs inside and gave them a meel of buttered heels from pan loaves and too big mugs of buttermilk. Then the too cubs went out two play. It was good to sea Bon Jovi play with someone who did knot belong too the rodent family. After wee Fergie went home, Bon Jovi and I sat down to supper. This thyme it was too mugs of buttermilk and the buttered heels from pan loaves. I broke wind, discretly and demurly like a member of the royal family and went out two bring the washing in. In the twinkling of an eye, I was back in the house, ashen faced and trembling all over like a caul-rifed eel. "BON JOVI" I roared "Did you sea my good red flannel drawers?" Bon Jovi looked up haughtly and riposted, "KNOW, I have know wish or desire to sea your auld smelly red flannel drawers". "That red hared Fergie must have purlioned the drawers" I yelled. "That ginger nut must be an apprentice pervert" Bon Jovi pointed with a rigid digid and yelled, "LOOK!" a piece of paper, it must have bean pushed under the door". I grabbed the piece of paper, it was a page from a skool jotter and on it was rote.
IF YOU WANT TO SEA YOUR DRAWERS ALIVE AGAIN. LEAVE A FIVER UNDER THE STONE BY THE CHESTNUT TREE. PS. DON'T TELL THE PEELERS OR THE FBI.
"My good Sunday go too meeting drawers have bean-kidnapped!" I yelled.
"If I was you" said Bon Jovi "I wood pay the ransome, these boys seem to know what they're doing. Give me the auld fiver and I'll go and leave it under the stone and I wood say you wool soon be reunited with your drawers." "Something didn't seem rite. I smelled a rat and it wasn't the one behind the sofa for it was mummified. I looked at Bon Jovi, he seemed-different, he seemed to have-changed. "Hi boy!" I yelled "Is your hump getting bigger?" Bon Jovi tried to flea, but I was two quick for him, I grabbed him by the scruff of his dirty neck and found too my chargrin that the cub had stuffed my red flannel drawers up the back of his gansey. I cuffed Bon Jovi round the ear and fell too my knees crying out to the Lord like a constipated donkey. "Oh Lord, why has the fruit of my lions, turned out too be a cub that wood kidnap his auld mammy's drawers?". Answer, there came-none. I was going to tell the parish priest on the wee gulpin, but I wood feel inhabited talking about my drawers too a man of the cloth. I hope I haven't reared another Jesse James or Machine Gun Ryan!

My letters to Gerry Anderson and books of poems are available from..
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
Go now to
www.greatshowlastweekkid.blogspot.com

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