THE BARBARION INVASION OF LAKE WINDERMERE AND THE SURROUNDING HINTERLAND - PART 1

THE BARBARIAN INVASION OF LAKE WINDERMERE AND THE SURROUNDING HINTERLAND

On a cold spring morning the large nosed blaggard who went by the name "Yardos the one ball" rose from his drunken slumber and walked across his fêted hut to release his vile putrid urine across the matted floor covering and splattered against the coarse wattle walls. His drinking Horn hung against his huge gut and lay next to half shriveled semi lob.

Having finished his morning piss and dressed in his finest battledress he left his hut and moved through the still morning air towards the large horse drawn cart that was parked at the end of the lane, adjacent to the Mitorian Ale house that had expelled he and his and his brave band of heathen brother’s only hours earlier. 

Carefully tucking his one ball in to his tight leggings he boarded the transport and conducted a head count of his fellow band of stinking, drunken, puke covered comrades at arms. A slow count of heads soon revealed that Doctorian Doylus, the mustachioed Horsingtonious of the fêted fart, Pattious Cannonious of the bigguis vodkanannius, Beuwloaf of the Meat, and many other brave battle horn hardened revelers were all aboard and ready for their attack on unsuspecting natives of the northern outpost of Scousepool.

The rabble were soon venturing north engaging in spirited banter and lighthearted pissing in the bottle, so as to relieve the boredom and bladders as the overflowing pig bladders and Drinking horns were attacked with venomous ease by the Mitorian Barbarian hoard.
Having reached their destination, the stinking hoard shuffled in to their lodgings reeking of stale piss and sweat.

Yardos "the one ball" and the Doc were soon bickering in the space given over for imbibing the local fermented grape and barley, whilst the spirited Cannonious negotiated with the tavern keeper for a humungous round of festering venomous brain killer.

Horsingtonious was stalking the premises looking for the nearest dunny so that his festering pants could unload a truly magnificent heap of coagulating muck so as to enable more of the glorious flowing nectar to enter his huge aching stomach.

To be continued..................

DR DOYLE AND THE HOG-JUDGE SLAUGHTERHOUSE BLUES

DR DOYLE AND THE HOG-JUDGE SLAUGHTERHOUSE BLUES

Silas rose early, having been woken by the incessant heavy rainfall and continuous squealing from the farmyard pig pen. His bedding consisting of old straw and a coarsely woven blanket, and was situated in an old hay loft.

After his ablutions and dressing in his fathers old overalls, he hurriedly descended the lofts ladder and crossed the muddy yard towards the slaughterhouse.

The pig pens were prudently located adjacent to the stinking slaughterhouse, and just across the way from the feted duck pond.

He scanned the scene and noted that the body of old man scaggs was still where he left it.Glancing across the pond he was sure he was alone, and began to lift the lifeless corpse from the butchers hook it had been hanging from overnight.

The coals from the smouldering fire below the lifeless carcass were still hot and the smoke continued to engulf the former judges skin, the hue having changed to a dark burnt yellow with a tinge of ochre.The skin was wrinkled and dry and ready for a  heavy sprinkling of salt.

Silas yanked at the chain attached to the hook and the body fell to the ground, scattering the ash and glowing coals in the fire. Reaching in to his breeches pocket, Silas pulled out a 9 inch hunting knife and began slicing hunks of flesh from the former Judges rump.

Twenty minutes later a small wooden container was full of warm flesh, slightly crispy on the outside but fleshy and moister on the reverse side.The salt and seasoning rubbed in to the flesh  had done its job, and after tasting a particularly fleshy lump, Silas considered the product was ready for consumption.

After quickly slicing the remaining flesh from the unfortunate late Judge's body, Silas placed the salted delicacy in the large freezer located in an adjacent warehouse. He then returned to the barn and after a quick brush-down and hand wash decided that it was time to go and visit Dr Doyle and arrange a profitable distribution of his produce.

Dr Doyle had first met Silas when attached to the Sister Crippen unit of Shenley Hospital for the mentally insane.

They had been active during the Spanish Civil War and had also operated behind enemy lines during operation Barbarossa. However, Dr Doyle was now an enthusiastic accomplice in the distribution of Silas's salty product, due his almost fanatical love of the snack.

To be continued...........

CARDINAL CHARD AND THE LOST ARK OF THE COVENANT

CARDINAL CHARD AND THE LOST ARK OF THE COVENANT

Driver Chard, the former self proclaimed potentate of the Duck Flat Cap Society, has expressed his view that only those who wear the traditional head garment in the orthodox manner, are entitled to vote in the forthcoming General Election.

This deeply controversial comment was delivered as he gave a speech to the assembled and manacled clientele of the geriatrics foot-binding and incontinence section at "St Bohemia and Augustus Temperance Sanatorium" in East Belmont, Middlesex.

The wildly enthusiastic audience sat entranced as the octogenarian potentate announced that the fabled "Lost Arc of the Covenant" has been discovered in his garden shed, behind a yellowing sticky pile of old magazines and periodicals, including an unhealthy number of black and white copies of "Men's Health", Green shield stamp albums and back copies of the Watchtower.

When questioned by members of the Duck Flat Cap society "Imbibing, Procrastinating and Ancient Artifact" section, Driver Chard explained that during the Suez conflict in north east Africa, he crashed his vehicle in to a temporary latrine when running an errand for his officer. Although there was not much damage to the army truck, the accident had revealed a previously hidden tunnel that descended adjacent to the latrine and ended in a previously concealed rock hewn chamber.

Within the chamber was a relic of antiquity that the still shaken Driver Chard believed could be used as an additional section of the latrine, and due to its shape, would make a perfect throne for laying the ace. Rushing back to the tented compound he alerted a number of sappers who came to assist with the recovery of the object, and to attend to minor alterations to allow the relic to be used for the soiling activities of the officer class.

However, prior to use by commissioned officers, Driver Chard decided to give it a cheeky trial, and after being seated on the throne was immediately blasted by holy electromagnetic forces blowing his undies to shreds and singeing his public garden area so that it resembled burnt toast. Luckily for Driver Chard, he was sitting on a rubber inner tube to protect his acute farmer Giles, and therefore was saved from total inhalation.

In view of his electrical mishap, the Chard decided that it was best not to utilise the artifact as a latrine, and using his army and navy contacts, (fostered after an unfortunate incident in the washroom on the troop ship on the way to North Africa), arranged to have the relic shipped back to the UK where it has remained until recently rediscovered in his garden shed.

Not long after rediscovering the Ark, Driver Chard took to addressing himself as "Cardinal Chard" and started wearing red clothing, and in particular an old red bonnet which he apparently stole from his granddaughter. However, he continues to claim that it appeared from nowhere whilst examining the contents of the clothes line  just after rediscovering the ancient relic.

More on this important discovery will be published as soon as Cardinal Chard recovers from his latest lobotomy.


R.I.P   JOHN CHARD 1933 - 2020

THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY – PART 4 (SWANSONG)

THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY – PART 4 (SWANSONG)

 

Big Mac and Old Pa Bumfold sat silent for twenty minutes until a mighty bout of flatulence forced Bumfold from his stool. Struggling to slide from his lofty perch, he groped for the brass foot rail with his flaying feet, whilst steadying himself with his left hand on the Bar. Just as he obtained sufficient balance to stand aside from the bar, he felt a hard blow to his arthritic shoulder, and turned towards the significant bulk and large red face of Dr Doyle.

Dr Doyle smiled at Pa Bumfold as the geriatric near cripple, broke wind, and inadvertently followed through. Dr Doyle turned his grinning face to Big Mac who had quickly averted his attention from the wireless, and was gesticulating as if to shake the Doctors hand.
 Big Mac was as surprised as Bumfold to see the Doctor, as he had spoken to him on the phone only hours ago. However, he managed to maintain control of his sphincter and nonchalantly offered the wheezing Doctor Doyle a drink.

The Doctor accepted Big Macs offer of a drink, but refused a handshake, purposely placing both hands in his trouser pockets.  After taking a glug from his large Bacardi and Coke, Dr Doyle stood between the trembling Pa Bumfold and the seated Big Mac and pulled a package from his war surplus overcoat pocket. The package consisted of a scarlet handkerchief that had been tied with cord so as to secure old black and white photographs, which on inspection were taken in the Mitre public house. However, on closer scrutiny, it was apparent that two of the photos were of a far more revealing nature and contained images of Ted the barman laying prone on the bar floor with both Old Pa Bumfold and Big Mac standing over the lifeless body. Both had implements in their hands, possibly a screwdriver and a spanner, and the darkened street viewed through the windows, together with the pub clock in the background, revealed that the time was 1.16 am.  

Dr Doyle shuffled the photographs in his hands, and mentioned in an aggressive but positive manner, that he had copies and that they would find their way to Inspector Crapper at the Wembley Police station, if anything happened to him. Removing his wire spectacles from his blotched red face, and placing them in his inside coat pocket, the Doctor turned to Big Mac and explained that unless he helps recover the Crimson Wiener there will be no alternative for him, other than to hand the photographic evidence to the police, together with further information indicating where the skull of the murdered Barman could be recovered.  Turning to Pa Bumfold, Dr Doyle whispered “when you came to me earlier, did you really think I didn’t know you were involved with the murder of Ted. I have known since the day after you handed these photographs to your wife for safe keeping. She showed them to be in the Mitre, boasting that she had taken them, and for a few drinks she handed them to be together with the negatives. ”

The telephone behind the bar started to ring rhythmically and startled Big Mac and Pa Bumfold from their panic induced silence. The governor of the Swan lifted the receiver and stood back as the ranting of a hormone deficient mountain goat bawled down the line. Regaining his composure the publican scanned the bar and shouted to all and sundry as to whether a Mr Bumfold was in the house. Knowing it could only be his wife, Bumfold gesticulated that he wasn’t there and that was sorry for the interruption. The relevant information was relayed to his deranged octogenarian wife Gloria, who slammed the phone back on to its base almost breaking the Bakelite casing.    

Dr Doyle grabbed Big Mac by the shoulder and pulled Pa Bumfold towards his screwed up face and whispered that unless he hears from both of them by the morning regarding the whereabouts of the Crimson Wiener, they would both be receiving a knock from the old bill and be taking a short walk to the hangman’s noose shortly afterwards. So as to exaggerate his claim, he pulled a flat black cap from his pocket and placed it on his head, before turning his back on his trembling counterparts and swiftly exiting the Swan.

Big Mac and Bumfold sat with empty glasses for a few minutes until they noticed a commotion coming from the direction of the Bar Billiards table. As Big Mac ordered two further drinks, Old Pa Bumfold recognised that the fracas was centred on “Pope Pat” a retarded and defrocked former priest from Achill, an island located off the coast of County Mayo in West Ireland. Pope Pat was supposedly a reformed alcoholic, but was prone to prolonged lapses of abstinence, and during these periods was extremely unstable and dangerous company. He was known to be an associate of Dr Doyle, and had actually previously operated on missions all over Europe with Big Mac and his accomplices.

These operations had included undercover missions to Dublin, Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Brussels, Munich and other European destinations, together with active duty in Edinburgh, Cardiff, Bath and the Isle of White.   After a few minutes the Bar Billiard table was surrounded by drunken travellers and navies, shaking hands and hugging each other. Walking away from this melee was Pope Pat who made a direct approach to where Big Mac and Pa Bumfold were seated.

“How’s the crack, you whores” retorted the inebriate ex priest who pulling a wad of five pound notes from his britches offered all and sundry a drink.

To be continued......  

THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY - PART 3 (BIG MAC)

THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY - PART 3 (BIG MAC)

Old Pa Bumfold pushed the door of the Swan open and surveyed the crowded bar. His red eyes darted about the smoke filled premises as he searched for the familiar bulk of Big Mac.

Big Mac had been an associate of Bumfold's for many years, and having first met him in Wormwood Scrubs whilst doing a five year stretch for bigamy and possession of forged petrol coupons, had become a firm friend.

Big Mac had been serving three years for G.B.H and took a shine to the much older Bumfold, due to his ability to make him laugh when they shared a cell. In particular, Big Mac was particularly amused the way he described the mad antics of his debauched alcoholic wife back at the Mitre, and the way she would back flip her way across the bar floor wearing no underwear and smoking a roll-up.

Pa Bumfold moved towards the lonely figure of Big Mac who was seated at the end of the bar, quietly watching the radio as it played family favorites. He gingerly placed his withered hand on the monstrous shoulder of his compatriot and pulled up a stool beside him. Big Mac slowly twisted in his seat and acknowledged Bumfold by raising his hand and pointing towards the barman. After buying Big Mac a pint, they began discussing the weather and the lack of snow for the time of year.

However, Big Mac soon tired of this chit chat and moving forward to within an inch of Bumfold's face retorted" Dr Doyle  has been in touch. I know you need the Crimson Wiener. But you can forget it...I'm not getting involved.".

To be continued......

   

ONE SEED BROWN IN DANCE FLOOR SENSATION

ONE SEED BROWN IN DANCE FLOOR SENSATION

PAUL "SLIPPERY" BAXTER AND WWB

WWB JOINS THE BLOG -

Ex Wembley Foot Tapper and failed DJ, Winfield Washington Brown, otherwise known as WWB or One Seed Brown, sensationally enthralled  a captivated audience in 2011  with his smooth gyrating and mesmerising moves and shapes on a sultry Saturday evening.

Partnered by Paul "Slippery" Baxter and a host of obliging acolytes, WWB strode through the venue receiving the accolade of the spellbound imbibers congregating at the busy and thronging bar.

Although now medically obese and suffering from gout, One Seed managed to capture the hearts of those assembled as he grimaced his way through routines not  practiced since his Wembley Foot Tapper heyday in the late 1970's.

WWB

Many in the crowd, who were ever present during WWB's gilded youth, were amazed that he was still performing the now idolised "Hankey on the head" routine. This fabled act was originally unveiled to the world during a riotous Wembley Foot Tapper outing to Benidorm  on the Cost Del Crime, and an outrageous visit to Eva's Disco.

 The fascinating routine begins with WWB undoing his trousers and swaying his shriveled manhood from side to side in imitation of swaying palm trees and ends with a snot covered white hankie being placed on the strutting WWB's head as performs a series of spins culminating in his Wang being thrust back in to his trousers as he does the splits.

After a number in minutes grooving across the dance floor WWB was finished and slumped to the floor with a cold pint of strong premium lager in one hand and his other grasping his sweating crutch. The sad look on his face was soon wiped away as the alcohol began to regain its familiar residence in his sponge like brain, and soon he was almost back to his 1980's best slowly swaying around the room with a pint of lager in one hand and his free hand wildly gesticulating at all and sundry.

WWB

In view of his short lived but magnificent throwback to his youth that  Saturday, One Seed Brown was invited to the next meeting of the Bohemian League Of Gentlemen and was offered membership on an Artisans basis, subject to the full acceptance of the imbibing committee which was ultimately forthcoming. . However Acorn Head Baxter's membership was deferred until he makes a visit to a monthly meeting, and BLOG are still waiting!


The rest is history.

THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY - PART 2 (THE CRIMSON WIENER)

THE MITRE MURDER MYSTERY - PART 2  (THE CRIMSON WIENER)

SUDBURY TOWN

Straining to breathe the cold air, Old Pa Bumnfold walked the few yards from the bus stop and entered the smoke filled drinking den known as “The Lodge”.  

He scanned the room looking for the unmistakable figure of Doctor Doyle and soon located him seated in his specially strengthened chair at the bar. With trepidation, he slowly approached the corpulent red faced doctor, his befuddled mind desperately trying to filter reality from the untrue.
He reached out his emaciated hand towards Dr Doyle but the shinny faced doctor refused to acknowledge his gesture.

The Doctor shuffled on his bar stool and turned slightly towards the foul smelling creature shuffling beside him. "Hi Pa” he retorted distastefully, in a low husky voice which was still recovering from his recent experience escaping from the clutches of his arch enemy, Karl Heinz-Brunner, in war torn Europe.

Seated to his left was his long time associated “Pope Pat” a retarded former priest and reformed alcoholic, but prone to long lapses of abstinence that lead to him being incredibly unstable and dangerous company to be with.  However, he was a lifelong friend of the Doctor and they had completed many dangerous operations in occupied Europe over the last few years.

Indeed, Pope Pat had recently saved the lives of Doctor Doyle and his South African accomplice, Ivan Terrablanche, enabling the Doctor to complete a dangerous mission to obtain the Munich Horn.

                                                         ------------------------

BAVARIA

At the end of the mission to recover the Munich Horn from Germany, the light was fading fast as Doctor Doyle and Terrablanche drove over the river Isar and headed for the sanctuary of a safe house on the outskirts of Friedrichshafen. There they were to board a small fishing boat, row across lake Constance (Bodensee) to enter neutral Switzerland, and eventually fly back to the UK with the recently recovered Munich Horn.

However, as they approached the small farmhouse on the banks of Lake Constance they encountered Karl Heinz-Brunner in a large battered Mercedes which attempted to crash in to the duo as they tried to board the fishing boat with the treasured Munich Horn.

In the fading light it was difficult to precisely locate the duo as they ran towards the dark waters of the Bodensee, but just as the battered Mercedes driven by Brunner crashed in to the overweight and wheezing Doctor, a huge bulldozer driven by Pope Pat, thundered in to action and utilising its huge metal blade blocked the speeding car, stopping it in its tracks and smashing it to smithereens.

The collision enabled the Doctor and Terrablanche to safely reach their vessel and escape to the sanctuary of the Swiss border, and subsequently fly back to England. On arrival at Croydon airport they were debriefed by the Ministry of War and handed over the fabled Munich Horn so as to be safely stored by the military authorities.

After the successful mission to retrieve the Munich Horn, Doctor Doyle, having said farewell to Ivan Terrablanche, had lapsed in to his usual routine of overeating, over sleeping, frequenting seedy whorehouses and drinking copious amounts of alcohol in one or the other of his favourite drinking dens, the Mitre or the Lodge. 

                                                             ----------------

SUDBURY

At the Lodge, Pa Bumfold whispered in to Doctor Doyle’s ear and stood back for a response. The Doctor picked at his yellowing teeth with a cocktail stick and reaching in to his trouser pocket for a stained handkerchief, blew his nose and cleared his tortured airways.

“So you have murdered Ted” rasped the little chubby legged double agent.

Old Pa Bumfold recoiled in terror as he envisaged the clientele of the bar overhearing the conversation. However, as usual in the Lodge, nobody battered an eyelid or bothered to inquire as to the content of their sordid discussion. Even Pope Pat continued to read his yellowing copy of Picture Post, sipping from his huge glass of red wine, whilst engaged in small talk with the host of the establishment, Frau Grunewald.

Doyle, now grinning like a Cheshire cat, continued, “who else knows of this delicate matter?”, to which Pa responded “only the misses and you, your eminence.... , although the wife is as pissed as Pope Pat so will not remember anything, so it’s just you and me!”

“However...”, stuttered the geriatric piss stained octogenarian, “the old bill were making enquiries earlier today, but I don’t think the Rozzer got wind that the skull on the shelf was the deformed dwarf like creature known as Ted!”  

Doctor Doyle stretched his diminutive legs towards the floor and almost stumbled from his stool. Regaining his sense of gravity he slid from the reinforced steel seat and stood before old Pa Bumfold.  

The Doctor fumbled with his attire until he recovered a small red address book. The book was tattered and covered with a selection of body fluids and beer. Reaching for the wire spectacles hanging from the chain around his thick neck, he placed them upon his broad nose and pinched them in to a secure position on the ridge of the ruddy protuberance. Scanning the pages he quickly folded back a page and stared directly at old pa Bumfold.

“The Crimson Wiener” where is it Pa? If you lead me to the location of the Wiener I can arrange for your involvement in the unfortunate murder of barman Ted to be extinguished and the blame placed at the feet of your enemies.  Perhaps one of the Artimarti clan can take the can, or maybe the Taylors, or Redheads?

Anything can be arranged provided I have access to the “Crimson Wiener” Pa, anything you wish!  

Pa Bumfold looked at his soiled boots and shuffled uneasily from side to side. “That was a long time ago governor, and I don’t think I can locate the Crimson Wiener without upsetting a lot of the local villains who would kill to get their hands on the Crimson Wiener”. Doctor Doyle grabbed the wizened shoulders of Pa Bumfold and shook him until Pa pissed his pants leaving a putrid yellow stain on his pantaloons and a puddle on the dirty floor.

Grabbing a bar cloth from the bar and wiping the excess urine from his legs, Pa Bumfold explained that he would make enquiries towards getting the Wiener, and would start with visiting his younger former partner in crime “Big Mac” who was involved with the earlier discovery of the artifact some twenty years earlier, and was implicated in its subsequent disappearance, and the legend that has grown about its powers.

Although not established by science, the Crimson Wiener” was believed to have aphrodisiac powers and when immersed in a pint of cinnamon infused cider, and drunk in full without taking a breath, would induce  sexual arousal greater than that attributed to Eros and his arrows, honey, oysters and/ or a night in the bed of Frau Grunewald.  

Pa Bumfold trudged towards the Lodges door and slipped away with his mind full of terror and trepidation. A bus glided to a halt at the stop and after pulling himself on to the lower deck, and swearing at the clippie, Bumfold was soon heading towards the Swan and a meeting with “Big Mac”.

To be continued.......