Millom in the Dock (8 page)

Chris and
Freddie, that may seem like a light about Freddie’s head but it’s
actually an off centre halo, due to a bad camera angle, that’s
‘another’ pint too! About 2 a.m!

The wings were
fitted one Saturday afternoon in the beer garden after Fred had
carpet bombed his liver and had had to return home to the mansion
to do the milking. Peg had, under protest, been put on a shandy for
this occasion. Fred was loaded onto Peggy in a non-elegant
‘Quixotic Knight Errant’ yet very entertaining sort of body jumble,
not helped at all by her wobble, thirty seven pints on one third
lemonade shandy you see. Satisfied then with his illusory balance
when finally mounted i.e. his wobble luckily synchronising with
hers and, happy that his shoelaces were tied securely together with
good knots under Peg’s belly … a kind of crude safety harness just
in case the natural ethyl influenced telepathy failed. All systems
were ready! Mission (out of) control were all sat on the wall by
the river ‘Lazy’ waiting, with baited breath and, a complimentary
jug of Slalom D lager champagne substitute should the take-off be
successful … however no one gets lost on ‘their’ shift! The
take-off sequence was initiated i.e. her rump was smacked by Chris.
This is a local form of motivation enjoyed by many of the local
fema … never mind! Luckily because Peg wasn’t exactly pulling a ton
up, the tide was on the way which provided a good headwind from the
shorefront. At an estimated 3 mph Peg raised her nose from the
ground and pointed it forwards, a precursor to Conk-Corde.
Sufficient wind beneath her wings … they took off and were soon a
mere dot in the cloudless blue sky. There was a big cheer from
mission (out of) control and the Slalom D was polished off preceded
by the chinking of pint sized champagne flutes with celebratory
gusto!

Because Fred
knew nothing of flap control in rising thermals, save those
produced in abundance by mild and other assorted brews and pork
scratchings, they were at first blown totally out of control across
the channel (a local stretch of water belonging to the Irish Sea)
and over Barrow in Furness. It was lucky the pair were not forced
to land because Peg would have ended up as Cordon Bleu on plate
animal protein; horse being the stable (staple!) diet in Barrow.
However he managed in his panic to produce an excellent artificial
draught of warm ale conditioned air. This saved them and, as a
result, they swept around the marshy Duddon Estuary, over Clive
Procter’s residence (The Green). Clive, a shooting man and ex Round
Tabler, ‘missed’ with both No 6 shot, twelve bore cartridges, swore
and, in anger almost shot his next door neighbour Poggy’s dog. The
dog actually bit him in anger which was lucky really because if
he’d copped Peg she’d have been after his head on a plate.

My old bud
clive (he died october 2007

Poggy being the
local doctor he gets to prescribe many herb medicines, secret hick
potions and a little witchcraft! It must be said they are pretty
healthy up there. Good old Pog! Pog was a miracle healer. He had a
stutter, and by the time he had told someone what was wrong with
them, they were better ... he didn’t half piss the pharmaceutical
companies off.

***

Little
supplement:

It’s 2011 and
Poggy recommends that my mother lay her car aside because she’s
been diagnosed with dementia and the memory is going however, the
inner anger is still there and she isn’t happy, so she says … “He’s
took my car! I hope that ****** burns in hell!” ... She can be
forgiven I suppose as she has the demented, worry produced disease,
which when mixed with a practiced acid tongue … (she actually
always liked Pog). Poggy dropped dead two days later.

Another little
supplement: This is of a shooting flavour.

My uncle Arthur
was a very good shot in the army, something which he carried on
after he left. He had a .22 rifle, liked a pint, and landed a cushy
number at the prison. He told me that he would take the bullet
rifle to work and, when it was quiet (he had a silencer too), would
shoot the rabbits on the patch of grass ... then sell them in his
shop. Fresh Local Rabbit ... he had to skin them because they had
Property of HM Prison Haverigg showing naturally on them.

***

Eventually they
came in to land, Peg kissed the tarmac of Lapstone Road and Fred
joined the list of famous inventors in the sleepy, End of the Line
town … M. Unfortunately Peggy, having suffered from nerves just a
huge amount during her maiden voyage, had dropped some ballast just
prior to landing. It was a beautifully timed ejaculation and landed
right on the head of a local copper who had just left the cop shop
and was plodding around feeling bored. They were arrested and
locked up at the pleasure of His Majesty Ferg, who liked Peg and
released her immediately, well actually just after dubbing her his
by ‘Royal Appointment’, Deluxe Grade AA shaw kite supplier. He then
bought the lawman’s unexpected kite, scraping it from his head (he
had his helmet off at the time and was scratching his cranium,
wondering what day it was) and, sold it at a huuuuuuge profit. But
that was it the historic first one horse powered flight which was
‘claimed’ by the residents of M (now I’m going to flip to S-V)
because they thought there may be a few bob in it … ‘innit’ hasn’t
scaled the wire yet. The few bob would be used to subsidise their
DHSS because 1,000 of them are on the dole? According to the press.
Were they ‘Wright’? Or-Ville they suffer the consequences of
Wilbur-lingly taking what was rightly belonging to Haverigg?
(That’s probably a bit clever for most readers M’lud, ladies and
gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader).

Years later an
actual helicopter came and hovered above the town, all the locals
got onto their knees in the Mecca position (as they do with all
non-understood technology), making an offering of fresh fruit and
chanting incomprehensible gutturals. The helicopter landed and an
evil eyed Alien climbed out, it began to communicate with the
petrified masses. That though was how Labour got the critical votes
to win their historical, sorry, hysterical second term.

Simple drawings
in rabbit blood and charcoal of flying machines and ‘lizard’ like
things in posh suits can still to this day be seen on some
residents living room walls. Historians from Cambridge University
and Barrow Museum said … “It is not too significant a find but the
local beer was okay”.

Oh no! Politics
in other dimensions and Universities.

***

2: THE
GAMMAWAVE OVEN (circa 1977)

This was
devised by two process workers from nearby, famous, sparkly,
wonderful what would we do without it ‘Sellafield’. Their finished
model, constructed from lead then painted Arctic White, with a red
door handle was bigger than you may imagine a puny microwave to be,
it was twelve foot by nine foot by eight foot. Yes that measurement
really is in feet. The body as already mentioned was made of lead
and the ‘waves’ were supplied courtesy of two (missing … enquiry!)
uranium rods. The oven is placed on the back garden; the item to be
cooked is placed on the garden path in a cooking tin because the
chef doesn’t want any greasy stains on the concrete slabs. These
type of erm … ‘microwave’ ovens, it should be stated, are not
affected by metal objects rather, they can sometimes melt them i.e.
Hiroshima. The chef opens the door and walks inside the appliance
of dodgy science. Then, after checking that there is no sign of the
neighbours through the periscope (which comes as standard) the
appliance is turned on, thus activating the Uranium in the mini
reactor on the top of the oven by bombarding it with Neutrons.
There is sometimes the slight problem of the neighbour’s dog or cat
coming to investigate the aromatic chicken and roast potatoes with
herbs, banking allotment veg, chestnut stuffing and giblets
‘Mmmmmmm’ sizzling away to perfection on the path only to wind up
on the menu themselves. This usually causes slight tiffs with the
now angry / furious neighbours, resolved in the usual way … an
invite to the following evenings barbecue and, a new pet (live
hedgehogs can be picked from the road most evenings) hoping deep
down that they aren’t the barbie type … be honest. And guess what,
they always say …

“Well thanks
very much, we can’t actually make tomorrow night (yes!) but, you
enjoy yourselves anyway … go on all night if you want to.” That’s
cos they hate you too but tend to mellow when you take them a burnt
sausage and a can of beer. Whatever.

But, bad news
…It is thought that the S-V / Sellafield Gamma wave oven didn’t
take off commercially, only because it wouldn’t fit on a kitchen
top, damned bad luck really. Blame the British weather.

***

3: THE
WOODEN HORSE OF
TROY
SCONNER (circa
1995)

This is so
close to the truth that I nearly didn’t require a parallel Universe
/ dimension. Built by Sconner in his bedroom much to the
displeasure of his wife; an equine phobic. The problem was, or so I
was told, it was too big to get out of the bedroom so the window
had to be removed, you know like when they have to get obese people
out. This four times life sized wooden replica of Peg was simply
for sneaking up on the enemy. The project failed miserably as it is
twenty four miles to Barrow in Furness with only about ten pubs on
the way, not to mention the hills between the pubs. It was
abandoned, under protest from Sconner, and shoved into a handy dyke
(who screamed ‘NO’ at first, but then begged for more). The mini
army disappeared into one of the refreshment centres after first
letting out the famous
Achillies
Sharpo
(he was too cuddly to leave behind. Who would run his decorated
fairy cupcake business?). It became a spacious luxury home to a
swarm of bees.

***

4: THE SHAW
KITE VIDEO RECORDER (circa 1989)

Invented by
local video title stockist; another mate, Mr Wilf Hornsby. My
cousin Chris wires up houses for Wilf, it keeps the local Fire
Brigade busy. Unfortunately for Wilf the television set had yet to
reach the North West coast, not to mention electrickery. To this
day I don’t know how he eats? Or pays for his huge house?

***

5: THE BAGLESS
VACUUM CLEANER (circa 1999)

Devised by the
local spinster sisters; the Dames Ison. These ladies owned a
domestic gadget shop in Holborn Hill (like Coronation Street on a
slope). Their invention didn’t have a plug supplied but, what is to
be expected in a town with no electricity supply … as yet, in the
Slade days that is. The claim on the box was … “Comes complete with
NO plug”. The device consisted of a very large jam jar with a tube
protruding from the base, providing the cleaning head and a wooden
rotor fan in the top. So then how does it work? Easy! The owner
attaches it to the front of their pushbikes and clever gearing
causes it to suck everything in its path, a bit like … never
mind.

***

6: THE POTATO
CHIP SOFT WRAPPING PAPER (circa 1932)

This was
invented by S-V’s famous ‘Mick the chip’. Unfortunately there was
nothing much happening in the town, so therefore no fantasy filled
tabloid pages in which to wrap the chips. Mick simply reverted to
wrapping his creations in soft toilet roll … solved! Some locals
neatly folded and kept the greasy toilet roll and used it later
and, as a result, their kecks keep slipping off (underpants, pants,
Y fronts).

***

7: THE
HOVERCRAFT (circa 1974)

The Sealand
Hovercraft was actually built in S-V. My uncle Arthur worked there,
the whole area around the factory was strangely devoid of rabbits.
The project was abandoned though when an amorous local lad in
rutting mood got carried away on a raft of niggling hormonal
frustration. The craft was the first thing he had ever been near
which was wearing a short skirt, because him being a local, but a
‘non’ rugby league player, he had no chance whatsoever with the
local women as genetically acceptable breeding stock. Those
propellers underneath could do some damage to the dingly dangly
bits, especially at 15,000 RPM. However he was lucky, he ended up
as the only twenty five year old bloke (the only bloke actually)
with a Brazilian. It wasn’t totally neat but, it was free. He was
still frustrated though.