Tag Archives: Big M

Foodge and the Old Bill

03 Sunday Jan 2021

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Foodge has many faces…

Never Far From The Truth:

Episode One Billion in Some Parts

Written by Shoe – Direction and Photography by Mark.

“Granny can’t be all that deaf,” Mark was remarking.

“I’m not going as Death,” Granny hollered. The cellar’s a long way. From is even longer by the time Granny climbs the stairs after a few quiet ones.

“Fancy dress,” Algy explained to Big M, “They’re holding an Allusion to celebrate we’re all in a better place.

“There’s a row of them in a big wooden box,” Foodge heard Granny screech as he walked in.

“I’m all done in, Uncle Merv.”

Merv set down a steaming cup of milo on the bar. Foodge expelled the breath of a man of all reason. Foodge was a season of reason. No-one dared ask. Foodge was likely to recount. He might recount his entire latest judgement. Foodge never came away from any trial without a good 40-minute obiter.

“Come to think of it,” Shoe said aloud. She thought she was only thinking it. “Foodge comes away from every trial like a man glued to postal mail.”

She wrote it down. Benj, new proprietor of the bookshop suggested, “Like a George the Fifth?”

Benj in better times…

So unnecessary. Overstatement of an adhesive. Strictly speaking, it had been used before.

“If we could make them a little less corny.”

Mark was remarking.

“Not again,” Yvonne groaned. Yvonne could barely breathe for fear if she stopped holding her breath in anticipation, Shoe would say nothing more, write nothing, least of all think.

“Breathe, Yvonne.”

Mark had it in hand. He placed the bar bill down on the, well, bar.

“I can’t read all these zeroes,” Shoe animated. “You can’t expect me to pay this as penalty. Three quadrillion billion five thousand and thirty two million…”

“That’s a heart starter,” sibilanted Big M. Big sibilanted in the face of all emergencies. He knew where to toss a vowel in for good effect when needed.

Ms Lake shouts the next round…

“Here’s a how-de-do,” Veronica Lake said. Ms Lake is new to that beer-soaked chook-squirt-stained establisment. Everyone remembers the Mexican chooks imported from, well, close to the truth.

“This is what comes of putting drinks on tick in an ever-expanding consciousness series sense,” Foodge interrupted, “I’ll take the case.”

Advanced Hair. Yeah! Yeah!

13 Sunday Dec 2020

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Written by Big M

Wot? Me worry…

Foodge was stood at his station behind the coffee machine. He was in a pensive mood (No he wasn’t, he was just plain embarrassed). Sorry, (Thanks Mark) he was just plain embarrassed after having to piss in the sluice behind the bar. Of course, Foodge’s idea if micturating in the sluice involved piss going everywhere, especially with an over-distended bladder. “Thanks, Father O’Way, for cleaning up yesterday.”

“No worries, I suppose you mentally lapsed back to those days of micturating through the ship’s railing.” FOW, as he liked to be called, was struggling with a leaking tap. It seemed like a cellarman’s job. “O’Hoo, are you there?”

“Yeah.” Came a muffled voice from the cellar.

“Leaking tap on Bitter, can you have a look?”

“Yep.” O’Hoo was trying to keep a low profile in view of the mad rooting in the store room incident.

“What ship?” Foodge had some vague idea about being on a ship but somehow his brain was stopping him from remembering. “Not the Wasted Seamen?”

“Where did you hear that name?” It was FOW’s turn to be pensive, or was it wary?

“It went down last week with three passengers missing, three Australian blokes.”

FOW realised that he had said too much. “Perhaps I heard it on the news. How about a pint?” FOW pushed a canoe in Foodge’s direction.

………………………………..

Merv needs to get dressed…

Merv realised that he had slept in. He tried to get up but his balls ached and his arm seemed to be trapped. He was spooning the most delightful creature he’d ever seen. Like a fitness model she had delts like boulders, traps like the hind leg of an ox and muscular striations that Mr Schwarzenegger would die for. He gently nuzzled her ear. “Mon Cheri.”

…………………………….

Janet puts on the death stare…

Foodge heard the back door slam. Looking around he was face to face with Merv’s ex, Janet. Where is he?” She spluttered.

“Who would that be?” Foodge answered.

“Who dya think!”

FOW stepped in. “Now there’s no need to get excited dear.” In his most ministerial voice.

“Shuddup Padre. Where is he?”

FOW and O’Hoo avoided looking at her. Foodge couldn’t help himself and nervously glanced up at the ceiling.

“Still in bed, the lazy great oaf.” Janet sprinted up the Memorial Kristina Kennealy staircase.

Foodge tried to ring Merv, suddenly realising that Merv didn’t own a mobile. It was too late; the sound of thumping on Merv’s bedroom door resonated through the building.

Janet burst through the door. “Get up you lazy…what, I’ve been gone five days and you’re already playing hide the salami…whoozat?”

Mervette awkwardly tried to cover all of her bits. “Merv, you told me you were well and truly divorced. Five days? Separated five days. That’s barely a holiday!”

“So, who’s this, Merv, yer twin sister?” Janet was shaking with anger.

“No, wait…why…we’re nothing alike.” Now Merv was discombobulated.

“She looks like you with a sex change.” Granny, Foodge, FOW and O’Hoo all nodded in agreement. Gordon only knows what they were all doing in there.

Mervette spoke up. “I think I can explain it. Merv, did you ever donate tissue for cloning experiments?”

“Well, Advanced Hair paid me a thousand bucks for some hair follicles to clone for baldy headed blokes, but that was over thirty years ago.”

“What do you think happened to that tissue?”

“I assumed they made hair out of it!”

“Well, they did, but they also made me.”

“Hang on, if they made a human, why didn’t they publish, or sell the technology to make human organs and medical treatments.” Big M interjected. He’d been sleeping in the bar since the last episode.

“Shut up, Big M.” Yelled Mark. How he got into the story, no one knows. “Let ‘em tell the story.

“You’re female, you can’t be a clone!” Merv’s head hurt.

“They developed a technique to convert the cells into female cells by substituting X for Y, because women are less likely to become bald. They left some cells dividing and they became me. I am your female clone!”

“So you’ve been having an affair with yourself. I’ve heard of dedicated Onanists, but you absolutely take the cake” Janet seemed to make sense. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go and fuck yourself?”

A couple of onanists…

GOD rescues the Pigs Arms

30 Monday Nov 2020

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Gordon comes to the rescue…

Written by Big M

It had been a busy morning, what with the Night Nurses enjoying their first post lock down get together. It all went swimmingly until Big M knocked over a bottle of Shiraz, which managed to contaminate everybody’s uniforms. He had no excuse for the sudden lack of balance; he was only five pints in. Mark managed to steer him towards the door. “It’s orright, I’m ketchin’ the 3801” Big M slurred.

“That’s right, buddy, just wait for that big steam engine to pull up, then you’ll be on yer way.” Mark soothed as he dumped Big M onto the bus stop seat.

Foodge had been at the coffee machine all morning. He was desperate for a piss, I mean, micturition, so turned to ask Merv or Mervette to man the coffees. He suddenly realised he was alone, with a group of thirsty concreters bearing down on the bar. “Manne, Granny, O’Hoo, anybody??”

“O’Hoo popped his head around the corner. “What’s all of the yelling about?”

“Mate, I’ve been abandoned with a phalanx of thirsty tradesmen bearing down on me.”

“Well, you know that I can’t pull a pint!” O’Hoo tried to stand his ground but the concreters had made it to the bar. “Oh, fuck.” O’Hoo started pulling Trotters Best, all half beer and half foam.

A fresh beer Merv and make it snappy as a crocodile sandwich!

“We aint payin’ for this shit.”

“All on the house.” Mumbled O’Hoo.

Thankfully Granny arrived on the scene. “What in the name of Gordon O’Donnell are you doing?”

“Tryin’ to help.” Muttered O’Hoo as he passed another half arsed pint across the bar.

Granny slipped behind the bar to expertly pour a couple of pints. “Okay youz blokes, happy hour is over so there’s no more free piss.” She quickly checked each tap. “O’Hoo, IPA and Stout need to be replaced, oh, and by the way, thanks for stepping in.”

O’Hoo raced to the cellar, where he was most at home. Foodge tugged on Granny’s sleave. “I’m desperate for a wee wee.”

“Hold onto yer water works for a minute. Where the bloody hell is that barmaid I’m payin’”

“Well, um, you can probably hear her.” Foodge was either going to have to hold onto his knob or micturated in the sluice.”

From the back of the pub. “Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

“Merv!”

Granny located the source of the noise and tore open the storeroom door. She was horrified by the sight of a shaved, four legged, gorilla. She suddenly realised it was Merv and Mervette butt naked enjoying a conjugal visit. She was so angry she could barely speak. “Pull yer fuckin’ pants up and get outta my sight!”

Granny wandered back to the bar. “Are you still desperate for a Jimmy Riddle, Darling?” The sight of her lover had calmed her somewhat.

“Not now.” Foodge answered guiltily.

“Oh, Gordon O’Donnell help me.” Pleaded Granny.

“What can I do, dear?” Gordon appeared in the doorway of the Gents, busily trying to pull up his fly.

Wanking is fun…I’m a big wanker

Granny’s eyes misted over as she tried to put her arms around Gordon, but finding nothing but air. “Now, Granny, you know that us supernatural beings don’t like to be touched. I’m aware of the problem and I’ve summoned my best man for the job.

Father O’Way suddenly appeared. “Where shall I start Granny, oh, perhaps I should deal with the smell of piss behind the bar?”

Merv is back in the Saddle

17 Tuesday Nov 2020

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Written by Big M

The traffic outside the Pigs Arms is horrendous

Foodge had spent the morning trying to make four leaf clovers and love hearts in cappuccino froth. He’s progressively become more discombobulated as the morning progressed. Mervette was suddenly at his side vigorously wiping over beer taps and flushing stale beer through the overflow trays. “Mate, you’ve got a face like a dropped pie!”

“Yeah, yes.” Mumbled Foodge. “I feel like I’m missing time, I mean, there’s a huge gap in my diary…nothing for three weeks, then there was a news story this morning, about MI5 catching paedophiles. The thing is, I feel like I’ve met the agent in charge, and the street looked familiar, even though I’ve never been to England.”

“Ah, yes, it’s just Deja Vu, you know, the brain detects vaguely familiar patterns and makes sense of them by creating some sort of story.” Mervette pulled out a middy glass. “You wanna a swift half for morning tea?”

“Well, why not, it might settle down the over active brain.” Foodge thought he saw a fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eye. Was it Gordon O’Donnell?

“You know those coffee patterns are easier to do in a real cup of coffee. That way your skewer drags some coffee up into the froth forming a darker line.”

Foodge ponders his bowel habits…

“Oh, yes, thanks.” Foodge drank his beer in silence. He was suddenly alerted to a news flash on the telly. “A container ship, the Wasted Seamen, has sunk in the Indian Ocean. Three middle aged, male passengers are feared drowned as they are unaccounted for.” Foodge crumpled his brow trying to remember where he’d seen Wasted Seamen before.

Suddenly a familiar face loomed large. “Gidday, Foodge, you’ve got a face like a slapped arse. What’s wrong?” Merv enquired.

“Well it’s all to do with MI5, paedophiles and Wasted Seamen.”

“Why, what have you heard?” Merv looked worried.

“Just the news.”

“Oh, so no one’s said anything?” Merv looked pensive.

“Why would they?”

Their exchange was interrupted by Mervette. “Where have you been all my life?” As she pushed a glass canoe across the bar.

“Right here, sweet heart.” Merv skulled his pint, hoping for a second helping. “That’s something you don’t see every day in Inner Western Cyberia.”

“What’s that?”

“A beautiful lookin’ sheila.” Merv drank the second pint a little more slowly.

“Another silver tongued bastard.” Mervette gave Merv one of her come hither looks. “How about you sit yerself down and we’ll organise some breakfast?”

“I’m not that hungry, I suppose I could put away some scrambled eggs, bacon, chipolatas, tomato, mushrooms, Cumberland sausages, maybe a bit of leftover steak.” The words were barely out of Merv’s mouth when Granny appeared with her famous Pigs Arms Big Breakfast with customary wedges.

Both women fussed over him while Foodge stood behind the coffee machine. He reached over and pulled another beer. “I suppose he deserves all that fuss, but no one’s recognised my existential crisis.” He muttered to himself. “I could have been abducted by aliens for all I know.”

Pigs Arms patrons

Granny rushed off to attend some wort that she had left on the boil. Mervette placed her hands either side of Merv’s neck. “You’re full of tension, Merv, you really need a massage.” As she worked on a particularly knotty trapezoid. “This might be better performed lying down.”

It was Merv’s turn to feel a stirring in the nether regions.

Just let me near an employee, I’ll root ya…allegedly

Adventures in Cardiz

23 Friday Oct 2020

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Granny loves her Trotters – written by Big M

Our three intrepid travellers found themselves abandoned on a container terminal in Cadiz, which wasn’t so bad because Foodge spoke fluent Spanish.

It was soon revealed that Foodge didn’t speak Spanish at all, but some weird dialect of Italian that most Italians don’t understand (Big M here: don’t ask, I don’t know anything about this). Foodge reverted to shouting at the locals in English, which didn’t work, either. They did seem to get quite agitated when he yelled. “We’re from Wasted Seamen!” While pointing out to sea.

Father O’Way was seen to quietly pray, and then addressed the small gathering of locals in fluent Spanish. There was plenty of nodding and pointing towards town. “Si, si, Padre…” One chap chatted away into his mobile then a small car seemed to appear out of nowhere. The three were motioned into the car, which quickly sped off towards the outskirts of town.

“Christ, Father, I thought speakin’ in tongues only happened in the bible days.” Wes enthused.

“No, my son, it still happens today, especially if one is schooled in Hebrew, Latin and Greek at the Seminary. It makes modern languages pretty easy to pick up.” O’Way laughed.

The three soon found themselves in front of a sepia coloured hotel in a sepia coloured streetscape. Foodge thought it rather romantic. Like being in a black and white detective film. The others recognised it for what it was, a run down dirty pub in a run down dirty part of town. “It is still rather quaint.” Enthused Foodge. “Las Armas Cerdos!” O’Way ushered them through the doors, still cranky that the friendly taxi ride had cost him a hundred American dollars.

“Ah, welcome my American Amigos.” Gushed a tall chap with a crooked nose and cauliflower ears. “I am Mervyn, the proprietor!” A trio of ‘Cerdo Amarga’ (Porcine Bitter) crossed the dirty, stained timber bar.

Foodge quickly took up the challenge and skulled a litre of beer. Wes and O’Way were more genteel so took the time to introduce the group and explain that they weren’t American but Australian. Their conversation was interrupted by a dulcet voice, which seemed to emanate from the cellar.

“Mervyn, Mervyn, are the Americans here yet?”

“No, La Abuelita, they’re Australians.”

Long John Parade

“Australians, ooohhh, so sexy, I’ll be right up.”

Foodge was mesmerised as the most beautiful face framed by long grey hair appeared behind the bar. He gasped and couldn’t help kissing the back of her proffered hand. “La Abuelita, I’m Foodge.”

“La Abuelita, no, we use English here, you can call me Granny.”

“Granny, of course, you remind me of someone.” Foodge still stood there holding her hand.

“Oh, I hope not, but surely such a handsome man would have a lover back home?” Granny took her hand back to fill another glass for Foodge.

“Oh, um, err, ah, well no.” Foodge’s ears had turned red. He downed the second drink like it was his first.

Neither Wes nor O’Way commented. After all, what happened in Cadiz, stayed in Cadiz. “You don’t seem to know, my Carino?” Purred Spanish Granny.

“It’s just that I was, um, err, ah, seeing, um…no.” He gulped.

O’Way interjected. “We were hoping for accommodation and dinner?”

“But, of course, Padre, you shall dine with us. Just wait and I’ll prepare some tapas to tide you over until dinner is served.” La Abuelita couldn’t take her eyes off Foodge, nor could he, her. “You shall all stay in the family apartment.”

The tapas and the meal that followed were exquisite. Fresh local seafood, local red wine, and, of course, Granny’s Bitter by the litre. The exhausted trio were exhausted so Granny quickly showed Wes and Father to a small bedroom with two narrow beds and an en suite. “Where am I sleeping?” Foodge felt like he’d been forgotten.

“You shall sleep in here!” Granny led him by the hand into an enormous bedroom with a king sized bed and an en suite the size of a dining room. “You bathe and then sleep.”

Foodge went ahead and showered and popped on his best PJs. He was somewhat surprised to find La Abuelita in the bed with a ‘come hither’ look in her eyes. ‘Oh, well.’ He thought, I am an International Man of Mystery. What followed can only be imagined. Certainly unsuitable for the high minded intellectual that frequents the Pigs Arms.

Foodge woke with a start. He was still entwined with La Abuelita. “Foodge, Foodge.” She purred. “It’s wonderful to have a real man in my bed again.”

“La Abuelita, it’s wonderful to be in bed with such a wonderful lover.” Foodge playfully nibbled on her ear.

“La Abuelita! Who the fuck is Lar Ab you Liter?” Inner Western Cyberian Granny retorted.

“I must be in a parallel universe!”

Granny’s angry wrinkled face dissolved to be replace by O’Way’s. “Yes, indeed, now get back to nibbling on my ear!”

“Where’s Wes?”

Wes’ face popped up over his shoulder. “You didn’t think you’d leave me out,. I love them tattoos on yer bum.”

“Gordon O’Donnell, save me” Foodge pleaded.

Foodge suddenly found himself in Granny’s bed back at the Pigs Arms. Gordon O’Donnell was stood at the foot of the bed. “It’s all OK, Foodge, just a dream.” Gordon winked as he slowly disappeared.

Granny was knocking on the door. “Foodge, Foodge, it’s passed ten, you’ve almost slept in!”

Granny likes her Seamen

19 Monday Oct 2020

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

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” …if not for the courage of the fearless crew the Nimmow would be lost…”

Written by Big M.

Granny was getting concerned, perhaps discombobulated. No one had heard from Foodge, Wes and O’Way since Foodge had sent that stupid Carrow Wack inspired Stream of Urine. Micturating over the handrail indeed. Merv was lazily wiping horizontal surfaces with a dirty rag to ensure COVID compliance. “Merv, are you busy?”

“Flat out like a lizard drinkin’?” Merv laughed quietly to himself. “Why?”

“Have you heard from the Boys?”

“What Boys?” Merv had lost interest in his work so stood there wondering what to do with the rag.

“Foodge, Wes and Father.”

“They’re hardly Boys (with or without capitalisation).”

“The Hardy Boys?” Granny is a touch deaf.

The Hardy Boys (sorry Ace, couldn’t resist)

“Oo?”

“Anyhoo, ‘ave you ‘eard from Foodge ‘n’ Co?”

“Not since the ‘Stream of Unconsciousness’ thingy. Why?” Merv hadn’t bothered to read Foodge’s Kerouac Inspired whatsaname because it sounded like shit.

“I’m worried about them.” Granny had poured herself a Lady’s Waist of Trotter’s Best.

“I’m not.” Merv tossed the rag behind the bar.

“Why not?” Granny skulled the dirt brown concoction then poured a second.

“I’m tracking ‘em, or, more to the point, tracking Foodge.”

“How, I mean, why?” Granny had moved on to a pint of IPA.

“I placed a tracker in his toiletries bag.” Merv had already anticipated the next question so fired up his laptop and placed his reading glasses on the end of his nose. “Let’s see, now, it only switches on twice a day, to conserve power, ah….okay, it gave a position a couple of hours ago. They’re in Cadiz, which is odd. They should be somewhere way further south. Either the ship’s got mechanical trouble or they’ve been thrown orff.” Merv suspected the latter but went checked on the whereabouts of MV Wasted Seamen, which, it turns out had already rounded the Cape. “It looks like the wasted Seaman has left them behind!”

Foodge’s toiletry bag

“Wasted Seamen??” Granny was slightly intoxicated. “What would sailors be doing wasting…”

“Did you want to send a message?” Merv had adopted the attitude of a parent with a small child, which was Granny to a Tee when she was on the sauce. “Seeing as we know where they are, or, at least where Foodge’s toiletries are.”

“Oh, yes…I dunno, I just want him back.” Granny dissolved in tears.

“You want him back? I can organise that.”

“Can you really get him back?”

“I can probably get them home by the end of the week.” Merv was already typing an email to an old mate in Spain.

“So you could have got them back earlier, I’m guessing!” Granny had taken an accusatory tone.

“Of course.” Merv didn’t look up from the laptop.

“Why diddencha??”

“No one asked, besides, I thought they were enjoying the thrill of the journey. Hold on, I’ve got a reply. An old copper mate lives in Spain. He’ll track ‘em down easy enough and pop them on a freight plane. They’ll be in Inner Western Cyberia by Thursdee arvo.” Merv slammed the laptop shut. “Another pint, dear?”

Foodge’s Kerouac ‘Stream of Consciousness’ inspired Container Ship Travel Blog.

28 Monday Sep 2020

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They went that way…

By Big M

Foodge’s Kerouac ‘Stream of Consciousness’ inspired Container Ship Travel Blog.

05:37 Awoken by distended bladder. Tripped over doorstep and hit head simultaneously. Disorientated so micturated through railing into Mother Ocean. Managed to urinate over dressing gown hem. Returned to bed.

07:00 Ship’s horn announces change of shift. O’Way, Wes and myself tumble out of our bunks, ready for a hearty seamen’s breakfast. We hang back a bit to allow the night shift to eat first.

07:48 The ship’s cook invites us to clear the tables and help with the washing up. These chaps are wonderfully generous with sharing the workload.

08:12 Us three perambulate around the passenger deck. The feel of the ship rolling over the swell is marvellous, especially now that I’ve stopped vomiting!

08:28 Met some other passengers. All colourful characters, replete with tattoos. One even has an eye patch. I asked him if he was a pirate, to which he replied. “Do you want me to cut you?” Such wit, such humour.

10:12 Wandered down to the galley for morning tea. A little disappointed that there was just an urn with tea bags, instant coffee, sugar and no milk!

Some of the crew…

10:37 As we walked back to our cabin we noticed that a smaller ship was quite close, perhaps half a nautical mile away (yes, it’s all nautical miles, knots and fathoms here). A small boat had been lowered into the water and sped towards us. A sailor dropped a rope and the fellows in the small boat tied a large package to it, and sped off. It must have been a surprise for the Captain because the sailor quickly hauled it up and stowed it in a lifeboat. These chaps are full of shenanigans.

11:03 O’Way tells us that he has a migraine and needs to lie down in a darkened room for a few hours. I offered to sit with him, but he claims that my constant talking is causing the headache. Ungrateful!

12:37 Just finished lunch, and again the kitchen team were keen for us to help clean

Turn left, no right…

up. Wes was allowed to use the dish washing machine, while I scoured pots and pans. The Filipino cook kept calling me ‘tulala’, which I take to be a term of affection. He didn’t look very happy when I started calling him tulala!

13:04 Wes and I managed to find the recreation room. The library shelves have very few books in English and the video library seems to be full of romantic comedies, such as, ‘Dallas does Debbie’ and ‘Two Girls, One Cup’. Such silly titles.

14:05 Wes and I were confronted by the same sailor who we had watched stow the package in the lifeboat. He was very excited and shouted in some sort of foreign language. Must have been hard of hearing so I shouted back. “Don’t worry, we won’t say anything about the Captain’s surprise!” He turned and took off towards the prow, or bow, or whatever the sharp end is called. Foreigners do seem to understand much better when one shouts.

16:23 O’Way staggered back out onto the deck. He seemed to look better and put this down to a visit from Gordon O’Donnell, who had blessed him. Wes suggested that if Gordon was such a great bloke, why doesn’t he get us home. “He is! Was the short answer from O’Way.

20:35 After another meal and the galley, and another session of me being called ‘tulala’, we’d decided to take to our bunks early doing crossword and the like until lights out.

Day Two

05:43 Awoken by distended bladder. Tripped over doorstep and hit head simultaneously. Disorientated so micturated through railing into Mother Ocean. Managed to urinate over dressing gown hem. Returned to bed….

You didn’t see a boat go by by any chance…

Merv and the Elephant in the Room

17 Thursday Sep 2020

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Merv and Granny discuss life, the universe and everything.

Written by Big M

“Can I getcher anything, love?” Granny carefully approached Merv who was spread out on the Chesterfield doing leg raises with his crook leg.

“Nah, oh, yeah, some Panadol Osteo, and top up me South Sea Island Scotch, thanks, love” Merv had been doing leg raises religiously, twenty every hour.

“Here you go.” Granny had the capsules in her grubby hand. “Here. Flush it down with this.” As she proffered a generous tumbler of scotch. “Do you think we need to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Hell yeah, why do you think that dwarves don’t exist?”

“I was wondering about yer interest in dwarves, you seem to know a hell of a lot more

about them than a grown man should!” The old girl was already getting heated up.

We might be small but we still count…

Merv swivelled around and plonked his leg on an Ottoman. “You first, Granny, why don’t you believe in them?”

“Well, they’re like fairies and elves, no one has ever seen them!” Granny stood her ground.

“Yeah, no one’s ever seen fairies and elves, but there’s dwarves everywhere.” Merv took a generous sip. “ There’s an achondroplastic dwarf down the road.”

“What, that little bloke?”

“Yes, he’s an actual dwarf!”

“Yer jokin’!”

“No, he’s married to the florist.”

“What, the big tall streak of misery?”

“Yep.”

“Imagine them in the fart sack!” Granny started to giggle. “Well, what about you bein’ the expert on dwarves?”

“I’m not an expert, I got talking to a few of them when I was a copper. A big bastard was bullying them all, so some of us coppers used casually drop into the café they hung out in, and, we used to chat and learned a bit about them.”

“Is that all? Here was I thinkin’ you had some sort of weird fetish.”

Can’t you see I’m busy…

Merv’s phone rang. “O’Way here, we’re fucked, absolutely fucked. It turns out that DFAT is completely unaware that we’ve left the country, and, as we are acting as agents for a foreign power, we could be charged under foreign incursion legislation.”

“Hold on, hold on, you mean yer there illegally?”

“Yep, we left Australia on a Papal plane, never went through customs or filed a visa. England can regard us as foreign combatants. The MI5 bloke twigged to it. He reckons it was deliberate, to get us to perform some sort of act of aggression on English soil, so become mercenaries.”

“So are the Tykes gonna fly you back?”

“Nah, can’t trust ‘em. We’re boarding a container ship that will get us to Sydney in about forty days. Paid in cash. No questions asked.”

“Where’d you get the reddies?”

“Had ‘em in my briefcase. I never travel anywhere with less than twenty thou

Did you say readies…

American. Been stuck before. American cash does wonders! We’ll be ditching our mobiles, might be able to make a radio call, or something…”

“But what about the paedos?” Merv was hoping for a refill, but Granny didn’t get the hint.

“You wouldn’t believe this. The Tykes were sending us to protect ‘em, not arrest ‘em. I never would have thought in a million years. Is Granny there? Tell her I’ll get Foodge to call her before we ditch these phones.”

Granny was visibly shaken, but still climbed the stairs so she could have one last conversation with her Foodge before the blackout.

‘What about Wes?”

“He’s farewelling his young lady as we speak.”

“See yuz all in forty days, Father, travel safe!”

O’Way travels in style across the universe…

Wes’s First Report

14 Monday Sep 2020

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The local hotel where Wes is staying

Written by Big M and his fingers on the keyboard.

“So, Wes, how are you settlin’ into the Old Dart?” Merv drained the glass and motioned to Manne for a refill. “This bloody knee’s still givin’ me curry.”

“Well, I think I’m settling in OK. Walked straight into a job in paediatrics at the local NHS. Of course, havin’ a Federal Pleece paedo check on file didn’t hurt.” Wes polished off the rest of his Yorkshire Pudd, while a very buxom barmaid pushed another pint across the bar.

“Paedo check? If the Federal Pleece can check to see if you’re a paedo, then why don’t they do it for everyone, then round up the paedos and shoot ‘em?” Merv had never heard of such a thing.

The AFP…

“Nah, they just check to see if you’re on any state or Federal pleece data base for anything related to kiddy fiddling. All health care workers, ambos, teachers, volunteers and such forth have to get one.” Wes was wondering what sort of technology was being used to retain so much barmaid bosom in so little blouse.

“Orright, clear as mud.” Merv was thinking that in his day they’d take ‘em out to the bush and shoot ‘em, not put ‘em in a database. “Excellent thinking regarding the paediatric job. I guess that’s where they’d target. Have you had any dealings with Foodge?”

“No, Foodge thought he was onto a paedo ring, so went to Belgium to infiltrate the European Paediatric Society meeting. I think he’s getting paediatricians and paedophiles mixed up.” Wes was getting some promising signals from the buxom one.

“I’ve bloody well explained the differences to ‘im a ‘undred times”. Whoda thought Foodge had been to uni? Merv was propped up on some pillows on the battered old Chesterfield in the Gentleman’s bar. “Any more wedges, Manne?” Manne nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. “What about O’Way?

“O’Way has taken to it like a real private eye. He’s diarised every meeting, catalogued

O’way grows in stature

information, surveillance photos pinned up everywhere, computer logs of recordings. He’s actually having dinner with some high up tyke, a bishop or cardinal or summit.” Now the buxom one was pushing a note across the bar. “How’s everything else going?”

“An agency sent a bloke around because they’d heard that we needed a new character. Dunno his name. Viv reckons Wilma, Hung One On sort of agrees and Big M thought Wilmer sounded more masculine, not that anyone would presume anyone’s gender in this modern world. Granny is pining for Foodge and worried that he might root some European sheila. Manne and O’Hoo are the only one’s workin’, but it’s worrying having a serial masticater or like,  Manne in both the kitchen and bar. It’s put me off havin’ sour cream with me wedges.”

Wes couldn’t believe what was in the note. “Ah, oh, we’re breakin’ up…losing the satellite link, feckin’ mobile phone…”

Episode 103.5 Merv gets a call

09 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick, Merv

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Microscopic surgery for sure…

Written by Big M. 

Merv had endured a torrid time with his ‘blown out’ knee. He’d been to the GP, orthopaedic surgeon, MRI, and then physio. He’d hoped that a quick arthroscopy of the knee would fix it, but, no, now it’s all knee brace and physio exercises. Maybe he’d have an arthroscopy when all this fails, he pondered. Just then the phone rang. “Hello Mr Merv.”

“Ah, Foodge, we’re all wondering ‘ow you an’ O’Way were getting’ on in the Old Dart?” Merv bent down to adjust the Velcro on his knee brace.

“Well, it’s all plain sailing over here. I doubt they’ve ever had a paedo here in England, well, except Jimmy Saville and Rolf Harris, and Eric Gill, but he was a famous artist so doesn’t count.” Foodge enthused. “How’s the knee?”

“Painful and tedious. Can’t run or lift. Have to wear a kneebrace and do stupid feckin’

I see the problem with your knee…

exercises. How’s O’Way settling in?” Merv sat heavily into the old Chesterfield.

“I’ll put him on.”

“It’s O’Way here. Can’t talk. Too much going on. Have managed to infiltrate the tykes. They’re a tight bunch. Can’t get a word out of them. Foodge has joined a Gentleman’s Club. He’s hopeless. He’s lapped up all of the usual guff because they have free Scotch and cigars for new members. I’ll pop him back on.”

“Did you hear that? Free Scotch and cigars. How could these folk be harbouring paedos?” Foodge took a drag on a stogie.

“Mate, you don’t think they’re trying to bribe you with cheap booze and tobacco?” Merv took a sip of South Sea Islands Scotch (it seemed to enhance the pain killers).

“No, no-one escapes eagle eyed Foodge. O’Way wants to say something.”

“Merv, O’Way here, Foodge has no idea of what he’s doing. Way out of his depth.The

Oh, book him Danno…

only thing protecting him is his complete ignorance and ineptitude. I think I’m pretty safe, because I haven’t really managed to get anywhere, but Foodge wanders around talking about paedos at the top of his voice. I’m not sure, but I think we’ve been followed a couple of times.” O’Way was nervously twitching the Venetians. “We either need to withdraw or get backup.”

“There’s no-one here we can send.” Merv was secretly pleased that his knee prevented him from helping. “Hey, what about me nephew Wes? He’s built like a brick shit-house, he can fight like a threshing machine, and hasn’t even had a cameo in an episode for years.”

O’Way ruminated for a few minutes. “Yes, Wes, I met him once. Unforgettable. He’s a nurse, isn’t he?”

“Yes, male nurse, can drive just about any vehicle. Used to work in an abattoir, so he’s good with a knife. He’s been to Bali, once, so he’s an international traveller.”

Okay then…

“He sounds like he possesses useful skills, plus we can get him to snoop around some of these London hospitals. Merv, so you feel comfortable with recruitment? Usual deal, Leer jet from Sydney to London. Five thousand pounds a week, plus board. We also provide a very generous hosiery allowance!”

“Merv gulped. “Five thousand? I’ll call ‘im now!”