I AM UNDONE

They say things always look better in the morning - except sunsets. Well, things looked a bloody site worse the following morning, when I read the report in the Cotswold Crier.

POLICE SWOOP IN FARTING ON THE HUMP

Police were, last night, called to an address in the sleepy Cotswold hamlet of Farting on the Hump. On arrival, after assessing the situation, armed backup was requested.

Neighbours in this usually peaceful backwater of rural England were woken from their beds by ‘the sound of racing motorcycle engines, shouting and swearing, the crash of breaking glass, and, at least one gunshot.’ according to Mrs E. T. Pyle of ‘The Old Forge’.

She told our reporter that she had only just got to sleep after a lengthy and strenuous session of Tai Chi with husband Arthur. Upon drawing back the bedroom curtains, she was greeted by ‘a site I would never thought to have witnessed in Lummock Lane: the road was full of policemen in those black jackets and baseball caps, like you see on the television. There were blue lights flashing all over the place from all the police-cars and vans. A fat man (or it may have been a woman, it was hard to tell from that distance and in the dark) appeared to be handcuffed to the handlebars of a motorcycle combination. She was shouting abuse at an officer who was sitting on the kerbside holding his head. The fat man/woman was using words I have never heard in all my years I service in the WRENS..

A young woman (very tall) was being wrestled into the police van. She was shouting “Fascist Swine” in what sounded like a Scandinavian accent. Then I saw another woman being led out of the house by two Policemen with machine guns. This woman was singing loudly – in German. Having spent two happy years in the naval port of Hamburg I immediately recognised that stirring anthem of the Nazi Party – the Horst Wessel song. I started to sing along – only to be called back to bed by my husband. I don’t remember any more.’

The police have refused to make any comment except to say that they would like to interview Sydney Turner (son of the absentee owner of the property, Mr George Turner, author and local eccentric, currently residing in St Botolph’s Psychiatric Hospital.) Mr Turner junior was allegedly seen leaving the house by the rear garden gate, in the company of a young woman. Police will not give the name of the witness to this sighting but this newspaper has reason to believe it was a Mr Alf Perkins, returning from one of his nightly patrols in Bramley Bottoms. As a leading member of the local ‘Home Watch’ Alf regularly patrols these woods (haunt of courting couples) with his night-scope, looking for anything suspicious.

Police have, however, confirmed that Mrs Georgina Turner (estranged wife of George Turner) was arrested and later released on bail, pending further enquiries. Three other women – who the police are refusing to name – are being held in custody.


I am undone! I shall never again be able to hold my head up high in Farting on the Hump. And it’s all that man’s fault.

“That there’s some corner of a foreign field…”

Thank you Mr Adams for your – I am sure well intentioned – words of advice.

I would like to say, however, that I am prepared to go wherever I am sent, to fight for Queen and country – even in those inhospitable lands to the East. (If our young prince was ready to go to Iraq – though, in the end, he didn’t – I am sure I am.)

Anyway, Georgina says that the desert air would be good for my sinuses.

When I was a lad, Lawrence of Arabia was my hero. I can see him now (as portrayed by that fine actor, Peter O’Toole) racing across those sand dunes on the back of a camel. I would be honoured to follow in the hoof-prints of that great man. I shall not be found wanting.

I am reminded of those lines from the musical ‘White Horse Inn’

"Where the desert sand is
Nice and handy
I’ll be full of grit…"