Story by Emmjay
Did you see that show on TV last night where they dug up Henry the Eighth in a carpark ?
It was Richard the third.
A round of snickering swept through the pub – “Richard the Third” being slang for “turd”, but owing to the extreme laziness of the Pig’s Arms patrons, it was usually Shortened ( Billed) to “R3” as in “Manne, go outside and clean that doggy R3 off your shoe, please mate, ta”.
“Richard the Third”, Foodge corrected himself. (Snigger, wave 2).
I was just thinking”, said Foodge.
“Pop” a thought bubble visible to everyone except Foodge appeared beside Merv’s head. It read “Oh, struth, here we go !”
“You know that shiela who reckoned he was buried under the “R” in the carpark ?” asked Foodge.
Yeah, I thought she was havin’ herself on. You know “R” for “Reserved” said Merv.
“Yeah, but no. She was right, Merv.”
“Yeah, I know, but it was a fuckin huge fluke, Foodge.”
“I don’t think so”, said Foodge. “I think she was claw footed”
“Clairvoyant”, Merv offered.
“Yeah, what you said”, said Foodge. I think there was something in the message in the carpark that that shiela picked up on”, said Foodge.
“Where’s this going Foodge ?” Merv wondered. This time his lips gave an audible update on the thought bubble.
“I was just thinking…”, repeated Foodge, “I think Harold Holt is buried in the Pig’s Arms car park”, and he opened up the sluice gates for another Trotter’s Ale.
“What makes you think that ?” Merv said, preparing for a long run of leg pulling.
“You know that metal plaque in the car park next to The Pig’s Legs Waxing and and Beauty Parlour’s drums of discarded eyebrows ?” said Foodge.
“What metal plaque ?” said Merv.
“The one marked ‘PMG’ ”, said Foodge. “I reckon that stands for ‘Prime Minister’s grave”.
“Do you, now ?” said Merv.
“Nah”, said Manne. “People notice when a PM goes missing.”
“For some reason, I am given to recall that Harold Holt went missing”, said Hung warming to the task of setting Foodge up nicely – with an added faint smile of approval at the remembrance of Harold Holt getting his snorkel in a twist.
“Nah” said Merv. “If it was Harold Holt down there, the plaque would say ‘PMH’”.
“Nah”, said Granny. “That’s a kind of condiment sauce thing in a square bottle.”
“I think you’re thinking of ‘Worcestershire”, said Merv.
“Nah, that’s HP sauce”, said Hung.
“I was thinking that it could be Harold Holt buried in the car park of the Pig’s Arms”, said Foodge dragging the wild speculation back onto the rails. “
“I think you’re on to something, Foodge”, said Merv. “I’ll call up Terry and see if some of his mates from the University can give us a hand and check this out properly”.
Righto”, said Foodge. “I’ll park the Zephyr over the plaque for protection. This could be a Libnat Party sacred site.
“Merv doesn’t know anyone in the University”, Granny whispered to Hung.
“Course he doesn’t” said Hung.
Merv’s thought bubble evaporated in the shape of a Cheshire cat.
to be continued …..