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