Attention went back once again to Edward, but proceedings were interrupted by Thomas (62), the local butcher, who said it was unfair that the fishmonger should get all the extra business, and after a bit of a verbal scuffle, Thomas managed to secure the boat hire. No doubt he was happy with that judging by the satisfied look on his face.
Anyway, Edward’s idea was …
The proceedings were interrupted by Lottie (37), a local abstract artist, who suggested that she paint the sides of the boats in the same style as the lake water, in order to cause an optical illusion and entertain American tourists, who would think that people were actually sitting on the top of the lake. This she said would have tourists coming in their droves, and would really ‘wazz’ (polite way of saying ‘piss’) Stratford off, because if they tried the same thing with their boats and barges, they would have to paint their sides brown, and also be good at painting beer cans. This caused quite a laugh, being true. She also thought that this would maybe get Alcester on Midlands Today, and get her an exhibition in the National Gallery. The idea was seen as quite cool, and was passed.
Edward, who had been very patient, then at last spoke about a little known subject … ‘cloud seeding’. Cloud seeding, explained Edward, is a controversial method of producing rain or snow by sprinkling crushed dry ice (frozen Carbon Dioxide), or silver iodide into the clouds from an airplane.
Well, after a quick ask round, it appeared that no one had any silver iodide (although Gloria (54), said she had some silver earrings we could borrow), so Eleanor (86), immediately offered a blender to crush the dry ice, saying it was very good at doing ice from her fridge and coffee beans: and false teeth, which had been a rather inconvenient mistake. Arnold (46), suggested also that it may be useful to put the dry ice into a small sack, and then hit it with a hammer, a method he found very effective for smashing toffee into small pieces which he could then eat easily or suck with his teeth out without gluing his mouth up.
A vote was taken, and the blender won. Eleanor kindly offered to lend it to Edward any morning at approx 9.15 a.m., after her fruit smoothie at 9am, as long as he had it back to her, washed, by 9am the following morning. Arnold was given a free strip of raffle tickets for using initiative, even though it was rather wishy washy. He actually won a lovely, hand crafted ‘draughts set’ which had been donated by Helen (54). He said he would have many a pleasurable game with his wife.
The only problem then was the acquisition of dry ice? But it wasn’t a problem for long. Linda, (22), said she worked in a Military underground testing facility in a secret location in Warwickshire, and said that she was sure she could get some, as the brass there didn’t much like the residents of Oversley Green, and particularly hated Stratford because they were forced to study Shakespeare at school, so maybe we could become ‘inconvenient’ to the Stratfordians too? She actually called her boss up on her mobile, who turned out to be very helpful. Dry ice was no problem! How good is that!? We still had another problem though; how to drop the ice onto the clouds? But, our intention was strong, and that problem was immediately cured too.
Jack (54), a cleaner, said he knew Sam Tulip, the cross eyed air ambulance helicopter pilot who served the all new University hospital in Coventry and he would have a word with him. Everything seemed good, but as Bernice (55), pointed out, we had overlooked one vital point …Bernice stated that if we were going to flood using CO2 seeded clouds, how were we going to ensure that the residents of Oversley Green were submerged with their properties as clouds tend to move? Wouldn’t they maybe miss, because we would have to do them from a good distance away to allow the dry ice to work, and a lot of them at that to ensure a decent monsoon? Good point. We ignored it though as it was a little inconvenient to our needs, and therefore something we didn’t want to hear. Hector (58), then piped up and saved the day. He said: ‘what if we study the weather report on TV, and ring up the MET office and get some wind reports to find which way the wind would be blowing on any day, and we could then seed lots of clouds for miles, before they reached the target’. Cool! We would have to be precise, but we could do it! We had to! Our future depended on it.
We will NOT be denied! But, Eunice (68), then piped up, and said: ‘As it would take a long time to flood the settlement, such as a month or more maybe? How would we be sure to drown everyone, as they would raise the alarm and escape, wouldn’t they?’ This was a good point, and earned a strip of raffle tickets. It was probably why the hosepipe idea hadn’t worked either, which we all saw as Divine intervention to stop us failing. So, saved from one, we now had another problem: how to stop the panic during flooding?
Hmmm?
Ten minutes later, inspiration arrived again, and Ming Hoi piped up. Ming Hoi (76), imagined owner of the popular local Chinese takeaway, who is currently promoting an ‘eat last night’s Chinese takeaway leftovers for breakfast every morning, simply because it’s still nice!’ at the local non weight ‘aware’ group (a pre-group to the weight ‘aware’ group). This is a system designed to stop some townsfolk getting bored; said that he had trouble sleeping because he was worried about leaving his brand new Aston Martin parked on the main street …Len (65), the local chip shop owner rudely shouted … “try running a chip shop and driving a 1987 Astra!” Jealousy is not tolerated, but before this could be said officially, Ming Hoi shouted back something in Chinese which we think meant, ‘Look Len, don’t be jealous; if you need a lift anytime, gizza shout!’…and the matter was dropped. We, like everyone in Alcester, like to get on with each other.
Recently it has been rumoured that Ming Hoi and his family are moving to a posh mansion in Oversley Green; committee members all agree that they are too nice to drown (and we don’t want the Chinky to move there and be rendered underwater), and have all decided that if this is found to be true, to stop, with some effort, eating leftovers of the previous night’s Chinese meals for breakfast (better than cereal), and eat greasy stale chips instead, i.e. stop eating Chinese food and go to a boring, cod killing chippy: in order to financially gazump Ming Hoi, making him poor, and cause the residents of Oversley Green, to get a petition up and walk around with billboards stating their displeasure at the lowering of the tone of their posh patch. You see, the FAT B’s collectively are masters of strategy. Anyway, the seeding solution!
Ming Hoi said that he used a powerful herbal sleeping pill called ‘Dead to the world’, in order to stop the Mayor waking him at 3am as he sang his way home drunk, and thought it might be a good idea to crush a few and feed the powder into the Oversley water supply, in order to keep the residents happy in unconscious limbo until the deed was done (either that or nail their doors shut?). He said that they would be unaware of wetting the bed in their prolonged sleep, but wouldn’t be at all bothered about it, and would simply turn over and return to sleep or more to the point; a short term, fatal hibernation. Nice.
This was voted on and passed! In fact, he received a free strip of raffle tickets for that suggestion, and won some Paper Mache tableware which is made by Edna (75). It was actually a Paper Mache water jug and cups, in Edna’s famous ‘read it’ style, which means you can still read the newspaper articles on the jug and cups. Ming said he would keep the set for special guests when he moved to Oversley Green (perhaps the poor chap doesn’t understand English too well? Or simply doesn’t listen?). He was too polite to mention that Edna had not actually varnished any of the fine pieces, especially on the supposedly ‘water retaining’ insides, but never mind, the raffle tickets were free.
Len, now in a better mood (and a bit of a mischievous smile), accepted the offer of unspecified lifts from Ming Hoi (Len has a brother in Scotland who he visits regularly). Everything was cool amongst the FAT Bs; order was restored. Incidentally, Len won a raffle prize with his £1.00 strip of tickets … a takeaway box packed with the previous night’s Chinese leftovers, handpicked by Ming himself from the three boxes he found on the pavement outside his shop. King Prawn chow mien, egg foo yung, and some curry. Yum!
>
Other Business.
It was found that nothing had been done to ‘resurrect’ the gravestone of Gillian Wakespeare, Alcester’s great poet and playwright, and her husband Stan Stashaway. The last one if you remember, had been stolen by a gang from Stratford Council to make sure the Plagiarist William Shakespeare kept all the tourists with his ‘re-works’ of Gillian’s works. You see, as far as they were concerned, no gravestone in Alcester … no poet/playwright. Well, maybe the non-FAT B townsfolk and the council like to complain about Stratford, but don’t want to play the game?
Pity. A proposal was put forward to really give the clouds headed for Stratford some real attitude with the dry ice in the Winter, because, if we did it in the Winter and produced snow, wouldn’t it take them back to the ice age? As it is, with their litter problem, and violence on the streets at night, the ice age shouldn’t be a too big of a mental leap … from the Stone Age.”
***
“It was also mentioned that the Stan Stashaway Pottage has not yet appeared … don’t watch this space ...”
***
THE NAUGHTY DRAUGHTS BOARD.
“It’s worth mentioning here that Arnold (who won the draughts board) was rushed to hospital a week ago. Apparently, he had been sat on the settee playing the game with his wife, and every time he went to move a draught, the draught, with his finger on it, began to move round the board by itself? This phenomenon was followed by various doors in the house opening by themselves and slamming shut, with the windows following suit, and then something pushed over the grandfather clock which was sleepily ticking away behind him, and it landed on his head. He is now in traction.
I met Helen (who donated the board) in one of the local pubs a couple of days later. After we had bought the Mayor a drink, she told me that the board had originally been an Ouija board, which she had purchased from a rather strange looking woman (all dressed in black with a deathly white complexion) at a car boot sale in Stratford (they’re secret, as they don’t want to admit to such common behaviour). She also told me that as she handed the money over, she happened to glance in the rear window of the woman’s hearse … a vampire bat was flying against the glass and gnashing its teeth ‘and’ looking at her very meanly. That isn’t actually true, it appeared in my mind courtesy of my muse (bit of a naughty on is my muse). She had bought it because she wanted to explore the psychic world with a few friends who craved answers to questions such as ‘life is fun, but when am I going to die? And how?
She had lovingly converted it into a draughts board after her suspicious late husband Ralph had messed about with it one night with no good intentions in mind. Apparently, naughty Ralph had walked past the bottom of the stairs to check for burglars, as the kitchen door had opened and slammed shut; the grandfather clock which couldn’t possibly have fallen down the stairs, had fallen down the stairs … and landed on him. Both movements were wrecked, his and the clock’s. X Rays show that he has a second hand embedded in his brain. His wife now won’t argue with him at ten am and ten pm, because he’s right twice a day at those times (not a bad effort).
I believe it is now in a local shop on sale, at a bargain price. Buy it if you dare! There is one positive effect with it too, so, if you ever come across it and it’s for sale, buy it. The thing is, when something falls on something living, immediately afterwards there is a disembodied laugh which is a bit chilling, but has happy overtones and a few undertones and the odd harmonic. This laughter is a good pick me up if the owner is having a lousy day, like that bag of laughs or the laughing clown at Blackpool. It is therefore worth having and putting a fish on your living room floor. An iron can be placed on a table so it is directly above it and some string leading to your hiding place. When a neighbourhood cheeky cat comes in to get the fish, you can wait until the opportune moment and a quick yank will ensure a cheery laugh to brighten up your day.
Hi! Me again! An idyllic posh end of Alcester … and I don’t mean hers! (Although she’s probably ‘powsh’). I wasn’t going to say anything, but the second I pressed the shutter, the lady bottom-burped. There was a great cave-like echo produced by the idyllically designed street. Imagine the eerie laugh if the iron was placed on the windowsill above her and the string yanked as she bends down to pick up one of those tissues that looks like a tenner. Ok, if that’s cruel, we could settle for a plastic bucket full of icy water.
***
Month 6
SAM TULIP, COVENTRY AIR AMBULANCE HELICOPTER PILOT ‘EXTRAORDINAIRE’
It took a couple of weeks, but Sam Tulip, the Air Ambulance pilot did turn up, and after hovering over the river for a while, eventually, thankfully!, landed on the area of parkland next to the River Arrow. I say eventually thankfully, because Sam is, if you recall, cross-eyed.
Sam’s landing patch. To him there are two benches.
He was hired by the NHS management because he was on the DSS, and therefore cheap. Apparently his wife, who doesn’t get on with him (hates him), had booked him in for some helicopter lessons at Helicentre Aviation based at Coventry Airport. He told me that he’d had three, and then the instructor (who was by then living in terror because of the lessons, and whom had decided that someone with little talent as a pilot and cross-eyed, was just too scary to co-pilot with) … had gone on the sick, and no one else was prepared to teach him. Poor Sam. He had then endeavoured to master the ‘dashboard’ as he called it on some computerised Vietnam War game.
When he had signed onto the DSS, and was asked by the stressed out, fed up clerk ‘what occupation he was looking for,’ Sam replied “Helicopter pilot.” After a double take, the clerk, deciding that Sam was mad but ‘refreshingly different’ entered those details into the computer. Cool is the sheep which will face the sheepdog, although the other sheep probably look on thinking ‘nutter! Why doesn’t she just comply? Who does she think she is?!’
After a while of ‘no jobs available’, Sam had to go on a Job Start course. There was a computer there with an ‘easy use’ programme, which asked a few questions about you, and then gave a list of suitable jobs. Now, you’d expect, ‘chicken packer’, cleaner … and not, Brain surgeon or doctor. That programme still exists. Sam however was driven by it, and took it on himself to write to the hospital, offering to be their Air Ambulance pilot, cheap!
The management wrote back saying that they had considered his offer, and so would be happy to interview him; and were over the moon that he had had three lessons at the Helicentre Aviation at Coventry airport, and had had a mess (so to speak) on a high definition computer game with great graphics. He cheated at his interview by wearing dark glasses. They should have guessed after (or during) his bumping around the room looking for his chair. However, the interviewers didn’t see Sam, they saw figures and graphs, and he was hired.
“Hi! Moley here! He’s actually missed the small landing pad at the hospital a few times, and gone to the City’s Pool Meadow bus station on the roof of the number 27 bendy bus, but, at the beginning of the day, were grateful that he came to help us destroy our enemies. Thanks Sam!”
***
OPERATION NOAH
“It was decided that, in order to fulfil the correct flooding level for our soon to be scuba lake, that Sam would nip over each lunchtime, for ‘40 days’, and sprinkle the clouds 20 miles away. Out for the count powdered sleeping pills would be put into Oversley’s water supply by George (44), who was a pump engineer at the local water board. It was decided to have some winter snow in Stratford and freeze them all to death, which would mean ... no more Shakespeare! OUR Gillian would rule! Sam would land on the green by the river Arrow, and be handed a bucket of dry ice and a sieve which had been put through Eleanor’s blender (the ice, not the sieve. False teeth are one thing, but let’s not get daft).
Ok, we got a little keen (a trait which comes with enthusiasm), and didn’t take one important thing into consideration … the weather report isn’t always terribly accurate, and it was British weather, and winds do change (and we’
re assuming that Sam did actually seed the clouds over England and not Wales?). A few hours after that first seeding, there was no rain in Oversley Green, although there were downpours in Grimsby, Bognor and Mabelthorpe, and STUDLOOOY! Aviemore in Scotland did a roaring trade with some extra skiing too!
The residents of Oversley Green seemed to have the best night’s sleep ever so we heard … so really; we did everyone a favour, except ourselves (know that feeling?).
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.
The Darling Buds of June Page 4