Story by Big M
It was the eve of Easter Sunday, or Easter Saturday night, if you like. Foodge had tossed and tossed then turned for hours, so it seemed. It felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and wondered if tossing was such a good thing after all. He was usually (always) ignorant of world events, but even Foodge couldn’t escape the images of the Brussels Sprouts attacks, cramps, IBS etc,. He wondered if something similar could happen here, then remembered something about the Lindt Chocolate Café siege.
Foodge tried to shift his mind from violence and terror, but kept slipping back to that night he was told his parents had died. The Pleece Constable seemed like a nice bloke who had brought a lady constable to soften the blow, but it didn’t seem to help.
Life was never the same for Foodge, he became withdrawn, preferring to stay inside and read. Some teachers tried to get him labelled as ADD(Attention Deficient something, er, um, sorry lost my train of thought) or autistic, or worse MINUS(Mentality Insecure Neurotic User Syndrome) or acoustic, whilst the more cluey ones realised that he was just a sad little kid with a big penis. It worked to his advantage, though, he read so much that he excelled at English and History, which enabled him to go to university, well to the car park anyhoo. PM material for shore.
Then there was the blossoming relationship between him and Granny. In spite of being HIV, MRSA, VRE and LGQBTI positive, it created a great deal of anxiety in Foodge, who had never had sex, sorry, never had a long-term girlfriend. ‘What were her expectations of him?’ He pondered.
Foodge remembered reading something about insomnia. Emmjay and Big M had written that nothing really works. Viv reckoned it got worse as you got older, while Algernon swore by having a head job, nose only of course, just in case kiddies are watching, cured it. Perhaps he should follow O’Hoo’s advice. ‘Get stoned, pissed, and then laid.’ Well, he could probably do just one of them.
With that he wandered down to the Gentleman’s Bar, and poured a double South Sea Islands Imitation Scotch, and sat in one of the aging Chesterfields. Everything was quiet, but there was still some low-level background noise in the Pigs Arms. It gave Foodge a sense that the place was alive, but it was probably just the sound of refrigeration compressors.
[Editors note: It was really just Hedgie trying to tunnel out of AgH2O after meeting one to many Alfie’s, think about it before any correspondence is entered in to]
Foodge had managed to drift off, after a second Imitation Scotch. He awoke with a start (they don’t call him Foodge, Very Private Dick for no reason). There was the slightest movement just out of the corner of his eye. He looked around to see a pink figure with a basket full of eggs, which the figure was distributing around the pub. He let out a small gasp, as he had never managed to catch the Easter Bunny in the act. The ‘Easter Bunny’ turned around to reveal Granny, in her best pink chenille dressing gown, and her hair up in a bun. ‘Can’t sleep dear?’ As she continued to hide Cadbury’s eggs around the place. ‘We’ll fix that.’ With that she hid her last egg, then led Foodge upstairs to her room.
Two out of three isn’t bad! Cluck, cluck.
Big M said:
Thanks, Mark,for the embellishments. I’m still not sure whether or not Foodge has played hide the sausage, we may eventually find out. The events in Brussels Sproits are particularly disturbing.
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Mark said:
Hope you didn’t mind Sister
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vivienne29 said:
This sounds like men only business. So pretend I’m not here and keep chatting.
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Mark said:
🙂 🙂
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Big M said:
I dunno, Viv, knowing Foodge, not much happened, aside from a post imbibing fart-fest.
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Yvonne said:
And we’ll eavesdrop … errr … listen.
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Big M said:
Yes, rough talk at the Gentleman’s Bar. The last time the women folk eavesdropped on the fellas around the BBQ they learned plenty about solar panels, storage batteries, and losses due to localised heating within DC leads.
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gerard oosterman said:
Do they serve horse meat at the P/Arms? Just asking.
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Mark said:
Hope so Gerard. Most of the supermarket chains do.
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algernon1 said:
Its what they do with old racehorses isn’t it
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Mark said:
I was at a horse auction recently and even young ones go if they are trouble or unsaleable, was very sad
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algernon1 said:
Well if horses were bred like cattle where for eating that would be OK but to do so as they don’t sell or are trouble isn’t. Many in Europe eat horse.
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Mark said:
Yes I agree Ace, eating is very cultural. What actuallly upset me more was a young throughbred was led into the ring, very hamdsome chestnut. The auctioneer kept calling out “Must be killed…”. Several of the horses were referred to in this manner and are sold for pet food. I just found it upseting as I love horses.
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Big M said:
My step sister is married to a Frenchman, who loves horses so much that he will eat them without tomato sauce.
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Mark said:
Not even Smokey BBQ?
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Big M said:
Granny does a lovely Goat Rogan Josh!
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algernon1 said:
Rogan Josh was a racehorse. Nothing to do with Phallic Symbol though. On the other hand I do like a good goat curry.
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Big M said:
Yes, a friend won a fair bit of money off Rogan Josh, only because they had Indian takeaway the previous night.
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Mark said:
I went to school with Rogan, we studied Horseplay together
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Mark said:
Hmm, sounds good, suddenly my kids look attractive…
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Big M said:
Mark, you’re joshing.
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Mark said:
Mark, would I ever Josh you 🙂
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Big M said:
Nope.
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algernon1 said:
I didn’t go to school with anyone named Phallis, but there were plenty of Richards
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Mark said:
My mother in laws name was Phyllis, is that close, lovely woman.
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Mark said:
She told Tutu, marry who like except a black or a Catholic or even worse a black catholic. Then Tutu brought me home, a Chinese black catholic. After plastic surgery I turned into an Anglo-Saxon-Celt atheist, wheeze got along fine after that.
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Big M said:
The name of our English Head was Richard Head. He was such a lovely bloke that very few of us took the piss.
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Mark said:
When I was a nursing student I looked after a chap called Richard Head. After handover I would go and talk to all the patients in the ward, mainly just to suss them out a bit. Anyway when I got to the said gentleman and said my name was Mark he he said “Nice to meet you Mark, call me Dick” True story.
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algernon1 said:
I’ve know a few Richards, they all tended to be Dicks. I had a Scouting leader called Michael Hunt, didn’t like his name being abbreviated. Don’t know of too many bloke being called Phyllis though. Mrs A had an aunt called Phyllis. They called her auntie Phil. I was always confused.
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algernon1 said:
Out of Bordello Boy and Phallic Pride I understand
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Mark said:
Hmm, good bloodlines and great material
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algernon1 said:
Apparently a good stayer
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algernon1 said:
Roy and HG had a fantastic stayer called Rooting King I wonder if there is anything in Phallic Prides past linking it.
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algernon1 said:
Now is there any truth in the story that someone has acquired a horse called Phallic Symbol.
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Mark said:
Yes Ace, bound to be in the next episode.
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