by David Elvar
The next thing the agent organised was an appearance in front of the queen, the queen, there being only one, of course. He said the queen needed cheering up after the royal coach had crashed swerving to avoid a cat that was chasing it. Lord Mustard felt extremely nervous about appearing in front of the queen but then he remembered how things had gone so far and he felt a bit better, though he still hoped she wouldn’t remember him from that Ascot Week.
At the palace, he put his Clodhompers on, wound up his old record player and started tap-dancing. The queen loved him, though he would never have guessed because she was a queen and queens aren’t supposed to do things like clap and cheer and toss money into upturned top hats, but she did get one of her servants to do it instead so he sort of knew from that.
Lord Mustard came to the end of his last dance, took a last bow, put his top hat back on and stood there nervously.
‘We are amused,’ the queen said royally.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ said Lord Mustard. ‘It would have been even better with a proper ghetto blaster, though.’
‘I think you mean gorgonzola blaster,’ said the queen. Then she looked at him more closely standing there in his squashed top hat and added, ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before…?’
NINE
Well, Lord Mustard went on tap-dancing in Clodhompers to an old wind-up record player. And people went on clapping and cheering and tossing money into his upturned top hat. Which meant, of course, that he was making rather a lot of it. In fact, you might almost say he was making too much!
He guessed he might be after he’d filled the bank and the manager said he couldn’t take any more, and the bathroom at Mustard Manor was so full of ten pound notes that it made things a little difficult whenever anyone wanted to use the loo.
Mrs. Wrinkle was now being paid too much, which she wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t meant she had to keep buying piggy banks. And that Christmas, they had the most enormous turkey ever which they couldn’t eat in one go and had to have turkey sandwiches for weeks afterwards to use it up.
As for the next telephone bill, that was for £2700.14p. (Mrs. Wrinkle’s sister was now better but the cat had caused another accident chasing a rather royal-looking coach), and Lord Mustard paid it twice, just to make sure. But it wasn’t enough.
‘What are we going to do about all this money?’ he said one day to Mrs. Wrinkle.
‘You could always buy something,’ she said.
‘Good idea! Buy a Rolls Royce!’
‘You bought one last week,’ said Mrs. Wrinkle.
‘Buy some family silver, then!’
‘You bought that the week before,’ said Mrs. Wrinkle.
‘Well, buy back that famous portrait of my great-great-great grandfather, then!’
‘You did that a month ago,’ said Mrs. Wrinkle, ‘and you had one painted of yourself.’
Lord Mustard looked at the wardrobe bulging under the weight of twenty pound notes stuffed inside. Money, thought Lord Mustard, is getting to be a bit of a problem.
This time, it was easier to solve. Since he couldn’t seem to spend any more money, Lord Mustard decided to put it to good use, especially for those people who’d helped him make so much of it in the first place, and he knew just who they were.
First was the manager of the shoe shop. Lord Mustard paid for a de-ponging machine to be installed so she wouldn’t have to go on wearing that antique cast iron clothes peg. Which was just as well because trainers had just gone out of fashion and people were flocking to shoe shops everywhere to buy Clodhompers instead, and we all know what people’s feet smell like when they take their trainers off.
Next was the instructor at the dance studio. Lord Mustard paid for a moving floor to be installed so he wouldn’t have to go on rolling rock-hard chocolates under his students’ feet to teach them poise and balance. Which was just as well because people were flocking to dance studios everywhere to learn tap-dancing, and even rock-hard chocolates don’t last forever.
Last was Dave the Rave in his Musical Cave. Lord Mustard paid for lots of sets of personal headphones to be installed so he wouldn’t have to go on wearing those extra-large earmuffs to block out the sound of the music he had to sell. Which was just as well because people were flocking to music shops everywhere to buy old and scratchy records that sound even worse than Grunge, Gunge, Plunge, Splunge, Jungle, Grumble, Grizzle, Sizzle and all kinds of Rock that no one’s ever heard of. Dave the Rave even has a pair of his own, and he listens to Max O’Connor on them all the time, though he doesn’t tell anyone.
But of course, it still wasn’t enough. The bathroom at Mustard Manor was empty of ten pound notes so they could now get to the loo but that wardrobe had burst open and the Bank Manager kept writing to him to complain about his underdraft, which is like an overdraft only the bank owes you money instead of the other way round. So Lord Mustard decided to put it to even better use by giving it to some more people who’d helped him make so much of it in the first place.
First was The Worshipful Order Of Distressed Ironmongers. Lord Mustard gave them money so they could start making things in plastic. It worked. Now they make things like plastic dumb-bells to help you build up your muscles so you can carry your shopping home in your solid iron carrier bags. One day, they might get it right.
Next was Max O’Connor. Lord Mustard gave him money for singing lessons so he could learn to sing all the latest kinds of music and be different, too. It worked. His new CD, Grunge a-long a-Max, will be out next week.
Last was the queen, the queen, there being only one, of course, as everybody probably knows by now. Lord Mustard gave her money so she could have the royal coach repaired after it had crashed swerving to avoid a cat that had been chasing it. Not only that, she had a dog’s face painted on it to scare cats off. It worked. Now she chases cats in it instead.
The rest he just gave away. But he kept enough back to buy an antique cast iron clothes peg, a box of rock-hard chocolates and a pair of extra-large earmuffs for keeping out the cold…
…just in case…
~oOo~
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