Tag Archives: humour

Adventures in Cardiz

23 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

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

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

” …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

Posted by in Big M

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

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

Posted by in Big M, Merv

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

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

Posted by in Big M

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

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…”

Merv meets no Name

12 Saturday Sep 2020

Posted by in Mark, Merv

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Did you say root darling?

Written by Mark

Hello, Merv here or hear, whatever you like. Never been one for correctness. Anyhoo this geeza walks into the bar the other day. This is what happened.

“Gidday mate” replied in my normal friendly but neutral composure.

“Yeah mate, I’m here for the job” says this geeza.

“So what job was that?”

“An exciting new character at the Pigs Arms Hotel. Here, I was sent by the agency, the Fictional Characters Union, all the paper work is here.”

“So, what’s your name then?”  being always on the lookout for a scam.

“Um, dunno. They didn’t tell me”

“So you don’t know your name, your from the agency, hmm, so what can you do that’s exciting and new ?”

Never get between Merv and a pie…

“Well, I can play chess, sort of and the ukulele, sort of , oh yes and I once had a piano lesson.”

Things were starting to go downhill.

I decided to ramp up the atmosphere.

“No skydiving, no rodeos, so how exciting does it get. So if you have no name then the Pigs Arms will have to name you” Merv is now ruining a good story.

[Merv we didn’t want that till later. I frigging hate you sometimes]

“How about Neville or Baxter?” says the man with no name.

“Fuck off, something spicy for the viewers like Gonzales or Geoffrey.” Funny thing was that I hate both of those names.

“So, Merv, what is your last name?” says Gonzales or Geoffrey or Neville or Baxter.

I wished I looked this good…

“I don’t have one” says hypocrite Merv. “Wot’s yours?”

“Smith actually”

“So no first name Smith, lets call you Abba Zoodoo” Merv ponderously states.

“Okay from now on my name is Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville  Baxter ” says Abba. “Fuckin’ happy now.” Gez I hate authors.

“ So Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville Baxter getting the word count up with you new name is invaluable, but in your view given this is comedy should have I said knew instead of new? And if I had a last name I would call myself …”

Episode 103.5 Merv gets a call

09 Wednesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick, Merv

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

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!”

Episode 102 Merv and Unexpected Travel

08 Tuesday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Granny and Father O’Way talk politics…

 

Written by Big M.

 

“Granny won’t be what?” Granny (obviously) roared from the landing of the Mary McKillop Memorial Staircase (somehow the naming of things has gone all Catholic).

Foodge looked up and started wringing his plump little hands.” Err, um, ah, um…happy?” Which was hardly a revelation as Granny was rarely happy.

“It was rhetorical!” Granny waved a bony finger at our hero. “Why won’t I be happy?”

“Oh, Christ, I mean, God, I mean Crikey, I’m going to vomit.” Foodge lurched forward, managing to spray his entire stomach contents into the fireplace, which didn’t really help. It’s not like you can burn the stuff.

This time Father O’Way spoke up. “The London trip is being financed by the Vatican, highly sensitive, and they specifically require a single male for the job. When the personal characteristics of the agent were forwarded to me I immediately thought of Foodge. I mean, he’s highly educated, has an encyclopaedic knowledge of criminal law with detective skills that put Holmes to shame. This comes from the Pope himself, with Extreme Unction.” O’Way had no idea what unction was, ordinary or extreme, but thought it added gravitas when working for the tykes.

By this stage Granny had descended the stairs, and stood in front of the Good Father. “So yer sayin’ that this is gonna be a priestly type of excursion, vow a chastity and all that?”

You are kidding me right!

“Err, yep, that kinda sums it up.” O’Way mopped his brow with a linen hanky that the Pope had given him. “We need someone with intelligence and decorum. Someone who can rub shoulders with the common man, chat about current affairs in a Gentleman’s Club, then enjoy theological discussions with the Bishop.” O’Way felt like he was losing his way. For all he knew Foodge could be a Freemason.

“So what youz are sayin’ is that I’m not goin’, but neither are any other sheilas?”

“Absolutely!” O’Way almost heaved a sigh of relief. “No sheilas, I mean birds, I mean ladies at all.”

“So who’s goin’ with him, Merv?”

“I just ruptured an anterio-posterior crucio-menisceal ligament.” Merv gestured for someone, anyone to get another bag of ice.

Granny nodded to Foodge who ambled off sullenly to the ice machine. “Well, we couldn’t send Manne, on the basis of him being a sexual deviant.”

“It was only internet porn, Granny!” A voice came from the kitchen.

“What about O’Hoo, he’s always lookin’ for extra work, unlike the rest of youz, plus he really is a detective.” Granny’s face lit up. “That way youz can try and work out where yer dragon tattoos come from.”

This was an excellent idea, as Big M had forgotten about the tattoos, and, for that matter, O’Hoo!

“The problem with O’Hoo is that he isn’t allowed into England, or, should I say, back into England.” Foodge piped up.

“That’s true, Granny, I can never set foot in England ever again.” O’Hoo was pulling a Piglet Pale Ale. “Well, not since the incident.”

Big M was uncomfortable with the way this episode was heading. Well, more of a

Big M seems upset…

collection of paragraphs, than an episode. Anyhoo.

“What incident?” Granny gasped.

O’Hoo tapped the side of his nose. “Need to know basis.” Enough said.

“Enough said.” Replied Granny, suddenly experiencing déjà vu, or whatever they say in France. “What about you, O’Way?”

“Well, agh, err, um, look there’s a dwarf!” O’Way tried to sprint towards the exit, only to find himself face down on the putrid carpet, thanks to Granny’s almost imperceptible foot work.

“Ah, the jokes on you O’Way, because there’s no such thing as a dwarf!” Granny looked triumphant.

“Actually there is, and plenty of different types; achondroplastic, hypochondroplastic, Laron, Hypophophataemic rickets, there’s a long list…” Merv was warming to his favourite topic.

Anyone for cricket…

O’Way hadn’t realised that Merv had a penchant for dwarfs, or had chosen to forget. Regardless, he’d been hoisted by his own petard, so to speak (Actually he hadn’t but Big M like to get this into conversations, along with ‘damp squib’, and ‘chance would be a fine thing’, which he didn’t understand, either). Petard or not, O’Way sat there rubbing his shin. “I couldn’t go, I’ve got Church business to attend.”

“I thought that this was a mission for, and on behalf of the Pope, hence the Mother Church Herself.” Granny smiled. “No, that’s it, yer goin’”

O’Way sat there nodding miserably.

Foodge and Merv fight for Justice Episode 101.7

05 Saturday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

This kind of encouragement keeps me running…

Written by Big M.

Merv had endured a shit house morning. He’d run to the gym, full of the lightness of running, or whatever that quote was, hit the squat rack, gone too heavy, too early and had his right knee collapse from under him, which wasn’t the purpose of doin’ squats! He’d bludged a lift from one of the young blokes and hobbled through the yard to the rear entrance, only to hear O’Way’s dulcet tones. “I said it’s a paedo job!”

“Yes, Speedos, everyone should have a pair!” Foodge was just pushing a Cup of Chino across the bar as Merv hobbled in.

“Morning Father, how’s the Church of St. Generic Brand goin’?” Merv tried to push himself in between Foodge and the expensive Eye Tallion Expresso machine.

“Dunno, I’m here on behalf of the Church of Rome, with Extreme Unction.”

Hey man, smoke this…

“Oh, shit.” Merv quickly crossed himself. “Spectacles, testicles, wallet ‘n watch. Now what does Holy Mother Church want with our own Foodge?” Merv had assumed that the good Father was trying to co-opt Foodge into summit. He was clever that way.

“Promoting sales of Speedos!” Foodge piped up.

“Not Speedos, paedos.” The Father gestured for something stronger than a chino.

“So the church is selling paedos?” Now Merv was confused.

“Fuck no!” The good Father downed half a pint of Trotters Pilsener. “They’re forming a special task force of Paedo Hunters to root them out, for want of a better word.”

Sweet budgies

Merv now had a pool of water forming under his knee from condensate on the bag of ice balanced on top. “Foodge, old son. Can you throw us a towel?”

“Throw in the towel? No, I’ll be a Paedo Hunter until the end!”

Christ, Foodge, why is everything a double entendre for you? A towel, the cotton thing hangin’ up!”

“So, if I’m to become a Paedo Hunter will I get a gun?” Foodge was finally making himself useful and had mopped up the ice water and started to help Merv to one of the lounge chairs where he could elevate the knee.

“Of course you won’t get a fucking gun, you can’t be trusted with tooth picks.” Which was true, Foodge had endured a previous episode with toothpicks. Let’s just say the magistrate was lenient.

“Let’s just say that the London trip has two aspects. You will be on a fact-finding mission as a Private Detective learning about English detection methods. That’s the cover. The other, secret, aspect is looking for paedos. You’ll be liaising with MI5’s Paedo Branch, and no one else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, so I assume that I’ll be getting a special Paedo Hunter Badge, or MI5 Paedo Officer ID?”

Merv has a fag…

“No, Dopey Dora, it’s fucking secret!!” O’Way had ducked behind the bar to pull a second pint. “Oh, and we expect you to travel alone. You need to maintain the façade of the swinging PI, man of the world, type of presentation.”

A small smile crossed Foodge’s pale lips. “So Granny can’t come?”

“Of course she can’t come. She’ll fuck the whole thing up!” Father O’Way finished his second pint. He certainly wasn’t used to drinking this early. Normally he waited until nine, or even ten.

“Granny won’t be happy!”

Merv wants to go to School

12 Wednesday Aug 2020

Posted by in Mark

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

, , ,

Yes, we are all for education…

Merv wants to go to School.

 

by Mark.

Hi, Merv here, I fink like, you know, I wanna go to school, just so I can say smart arse things at the bar when I’m working. Like you know if some gezza comes in and orders two pints of Special, I can turn around and say “I think therefore I am”. Whadda ya reckon, sounds good to me. But education is shit so I talk to my good friend Foodge(FOO), who is my legal adviser and any direct questions from this article should go directly to him via the Fictional Characters Union, 000, at your nearest capital city.

FOO: So what’s in an education for you. Let me ask you this. If you have nothing to start with and nothing at the end what do you have?

Merv: Nothing

FOO:1 take away 1

Merv: Nothing

FOO: Two hungry navvies arrive at the bar and order a pint and a pie. What’s left?

Merv: Nothing.

“Thank Gordon we have turned that interview technique off, so Merv you don’t need school” says Foodge reverting from FOO.

“Well I did have to go to the doctor” says Merv, “hey why can’t we go back to that old interview technique, boy, is this eating up the word limit and it’s good fun”.

FOO: What did the doctor say?

Merv: He said I was sick and that I should go home.

FOO: So what’s wrong with you?

Merv: I don’t know. He said it would be a breach of privacy.

FOO: But it’s you and your health.

Merv: Yes, he said I’d need birth certificates and affidavits from my parents just to prove that they were there at my birth so he could go ahead and release the information. Shit happens as they say.

FOO: I’m ringing your lawyer right now, we’ll get you out of this.

Merv: You are my lawyer.

FOO: Oh shit.