A Grammar School Girl

I was right. Sydney is staying with his girlfriend, in her flat on the 'Parade'. And before you go thinking he's got himself involved with some old slapper, let me tell you Sybil is educated. She's an ex Grammar School girl. How do I know? I found another poem - and it had her phone number written on the bottom (that's how I found it).

'Twas a Grammar School girl
Set my head in a whirl,
In her gymslip so short and enticing;
And her black stocking-tops,
Where she hid lollipops -
Their flavour was strangely exciting.

Actually, it was Sybil I spoke to on the phone - Syd wouldn't talk to me. She called me 'love' - which was nice. "Don't worry, love" she said "I'll get the silly bugger to ring you".

He hasn't phoned so far, but his mother has - the lesbian. Wants me to take her back. Seems the Swedish tart has dumped her. Anastasia was bi-sexual (I could have told her that) and she took off with the bloke who runs the dodgems on the Pleasure Beach.

Told her I'd think about it. Well the place is in a mess. Needs a damn good clean. I mean, I can't live in a place like a tip. I have my standards.

I told her I'd think about it. Let her sweat a bit, eh.

George

A health problem

I think I have caught something off Carol.

I was a bit snuffly when I got up, and now I really think I am coming down with a cold. It just shows you how dangerous this romantic stuff can be. Now I come to think of it, she was sneezing a bit last night, but she said it was Hay Fever. I must have been stupid - Hay Fever - in February!

I was due to compete in the "6 peaks" race tommorrow, but they can forget that now. Acutally it isn't 6 peaks - it is 6 gradual slopes. Even so, it is a test of fitness and stamina. And it is tradition that the winner has his pick of the "Little Farting Drum Majorettes". So it is a pity I shan't be competing.

By the way, Adams. old sport - I looked up "syntax" in Syd's dictionary "the arrangement of words and phrases to create well- formed sentences" and I realise I have been syntaxing all my life; in fact you could say I was a born syntaxer. So Syd takes after his dad eh!

Pass the parecetemol.

George

Poets Corner

To lose your virginity
To a Doctor of Divinity,
Just because he happened
To be in the vicinity,
May not be very clever -
But it doesn't seem a sin to me.

Imagine my consternation when I found this poem on a sheet of paper tucked in a copy of "Aeromodeller". I was having a rummage in Syd's bedroom to see if I could find any clues as to his disappearance. I mean, I know he scribbles a bit of the old poetry from time to time, but what is one to make of this?

Actually, I have just remembered; the lesbian said something about him having a girlfriend: Sybil, I think it was. She's got a flat on the same estate as Carol. Talking of the aforesaid, I left there rather sharpish. She had a 'phone call from Gareth (Wayne's dad). He's out on licence and wants to come to see his son. Carol wanted me to stay because Gareth can be quite violent. But I said a man needed time with his son, and I could not interfere with that. She seemed quite upset. I think she'll be alright.

Well, Sydney's probably staying with Sybil; that will be the explanation. If I can find a phone number I will give her a ring.

Meahwhile I'll pop down the the "Jolly Pervert" for a spot of lunch. Feeling a bit peckish, what with all this dashing about.

George

Sydney does a runner

I had a phone call from Cecil (our vicar) on my mobile - it was at a most inappropriate time: I was unblocking Carol's U bend. Wayne, her youngest, had emptied a full packet of Porridge Oats down the sink; and you know that stuff sets like concrete.

Anyway, Cecil was in a right tizzy; seems Sydney never turned up at camp. And Cecil had reserved him a place in his tent. Anyway, when he hadn't showed at 2am he gave the place to young Bert from the Off- Licence. But he thought he had better give me a ring.

Well, I am sure I don't know where the silly sod is. And I have more pressing matters to attend to. But I rang the local nick to report him missing. Inspector Wetherspoon is still on 'gardening leave' so I had to speak to that dolt Berkinshaw - how he made seargant I'll never know: I could hear him licking his pencil over the phone. He asked me had Sydney been worried about anything. I said what's the little bugger got to worry about. He lives in the lap of luxury. I don't think Berkinshaw liked that. He put the phone down.

I also tried ringing his mother, but the lesbian has her phone switched off. Her and the Swedish tart are in Blackpool; or so I'm told by Harry Carter. He'd taken them to the station in his taxi and hung about a bit. Swears he heard them book tickets for Blackpool North.

Well, as I said, I have other fish to fry. Talking of fish, Carol and I had a lovely fish-supper last night, with a couple of bottles of Newcastle Brown (each). I must have been really merry - I've agreed to get a tattoo done!

Let you know if it hurts.

George

Old friends

Good to hear from you again, Hector, old sport. Sorry about your spot of bother but it seems you can handle that sort of thing. Thank God for the Old School Tie, eh!
And R. J.. Do you know, your style of writing is somehow familiar - and your sense of humour. We once had a coal man who used to send us quirky notes when his bill remained unpaid. He had a very similar style; but his name wasn't Adams. I can't for the life of me remember it now. He gave up his business to join the Navy.

Anyway, old Maggie, down the 'Pervert'. You will not believe what she expected me to do for her. And me recovering from a hernia!
I said: Maggie I am not carrying those kegs of lager up the cellar steps.; not in my condition.
She didn't like it one bit. And when closing time came she said she had changed her mind about my staying the night. Well, I ask you! There's gratitude.

As luck would have it, Carol gave me a lift. Lovely girl. All those tattoes, and piercings. She was telling me she doesn't have any luck with boy friends; not when they know she's got six kids. I felt really sorry for her and asked her round to the House for a nightcap.

All those tattoes and piercings!

Doing one's best for the under-privileged.

George

The return of the prodigal

Hi - George here. I'm back.

The old cow has gone away for the weekend with her girlfriend. Now, I am not prudish, and I have nothing against lesbians - but when your own wife turns out to be one! Well it fair does one's head in.

The person I feel sorry for is Sydney. The poor lad thinks his mum has got herself a nice friend. Well, I am not going to disillusion him - yet. He is away himself this weekend. Cecil (our vicar) has taken some of the choir camping. I think it is good Sydney should get out of the house for a bit.

I have been eating at "The Jolly Pervert". Maggie - the landlady - has been really looking after me. Her dumplings are praised throughout the Cotswolds. She's asked me to give her a hand behind the bar tonight. Old Walter - the cellerman - has gone with the vicar and his boys, under canvass.

Well, as they say around these parts: It's an ill wind that blows up the nostrils of a horse of a different colour!

Wise words.

Yours from the Tap Room,

George

The Festivities

Well, Christmas turned out to be not as bad as I had feared. Hector, dear, I would have loved to have had you over, but you would have had to share a room with Sydney (the East Wing is still subject to the 'condemned' notice, placed by the council in August) and I know you like your privacy. Perhaps New Year?

I decided to put my foot down and insist that George and the Swedish trollop did not share a bedroom. George slept in the 'Blue Room' and the Swede came in with me.
And, do you know, I quite got to like Anastasia. It just goes to show that you should never judge a person until you really get to know them - and I really did get to know her over the next few days. She revealed a whole new side to her that I never thought existed: warm, fun loving, adventurous.

Cecil (our vicar) disgraced himself during 'Charades' - the less said about that the better.

George was all sulky when he could see how well Anastasia and I were getting on.

Sydney invited some of his friends from the 'Drop-In Centre' and mother brought her new boy-friend, Angelo. So you can see we had quite a houseful. (The downside being that so many people puts quite a strain on the lavatorial arrangements - and the drains are still blocked! - still, we all 'mucked-in' so to speak.)

Have to close now - Anastasia wants a little help with her blouse.

Brain surgery aint what it's cracked up to be

GEORGE SAYS

George is back! And the cat has disappeared.
I know.... I am a fool unto myself. But what can I do?
He arrived late last night - with that woman. She was drunk and vommited all over the parquet floor in the hall.

Sydney is not speaking to me. He thinks I am being weak.
And I know I will get it in the neck from mother, when she comes on Boxing day.

But, after all, it is the season of goowill. And I intend to slip something into George's Port after dinner. It is a little something I got from Mother Crankit. She lives in a caravan down by the old cess-pit. Some folks say she is a witch. I wouldn't know, but she's helped me out before, with the odd curse.

The vicar is coming for Christamas lunch, and Mr Tolville from the Off Licence. Also Elsie Munchen who runs the Domestic Violence Shelter - and a couple of her young ladies.

I look forward to seeing Sydney's eyes light up again.

Must go - I have to stuff George's bird.

Merry Christmas,


Georgina

A dilemma

George wants to come for Christmas. He offered to bring a bird. I assumed he meant a turkey - and told him where to stuff it.
He reminded me, however, that he has my library books, which are several weeks overdue; the fine is mounting by the day.

But more important (to me), the drains are blocked, and there is a nasty smell in the scullery which is gradually pervading the rest of the house.
Naturally, I cannot ask young Sydney to investigate - he is far too delicate a boy. So I may end up by letting George into my house again.

The vicar called this morning but he is not a rodding- type of man.

I am in a quandary

Georgina

Harrovian

GEORGE SAYS

Sir. I find your interest in youth work admirable. In this day and age, when so many people are out for what they can get, it is refreshing to find someone willing to devout so much of his time to our young people - who are, let's face it, our future.

I will speak to Sydney when he returns home from the cinema. But he is a delicate boy and would have to be treated with care and consideration.

I went into the cellar to get the Christmas tree, but I cannot get it up by myself. How I miss having a man in the house.
We usually have a big party here at the manor and invite all the poor children of the village (I think you would like it) but, quite honestly, I don't feel I can raise the enthusiasm what with all that has happened over the last few weeks.

The only pleasure I have these days is the Hoover; but I must admit that the housework in general has 'gone to the dogs'.

I went down to the pub last night to try and cheer myself up. Miss Winstanley, our postmistress was there. She has recently been 'released into the community' and I must say is looking very well - considering all that is wrong with her.
She seemed to be doing a good trade with her 'postcards' but I don't want to get into all of that again.

I had a phone call from George. Well, it was just heavy breathing - but I know it was him.

A wistful Georgina