Monologue – 27 Feb 2017
This week was sponsored by mobile phones! Ambridge has caught on and the whole week was binging and bonging away like billy-oh. I’m not sure it was just the mobiles that were bonging, to be honest. There was such strange behaviour going on I was beginning to think Titchynob had leaked LSD into the water supply as a final gesture. Hooty Jill and Carol Toboggan suddenly decided, based on a casual remark about Ben watching films, that they should start making lists. Lists of films they liked. They didn’t seem to feel the need to share them with Ben, just talk about them. What is it next week? Aunty Cardboard ranks her favourite biscuits in size order?
Johnnie was volunteering at the parents evening at his college. His job was to hold the door open and shout “brilliant!” as they came through. And then shout “Goodbye! Brilliant!” as they left. It was vital he was there. So he didn’t go and went to the cricket team meeting instead. Harassment introduced the topic of women in the cricket team under any other business but it turned out it could have been filed under no sodding chance. To be honest though, Harassment if your entire plan hinges on Molly bloody Button then you’re stuffed.
What about changing facilities for women, said Rex? Toby popped up and suggested they all got changed in the chicken shed. With him. He’d be available for massages, looking at groin injuries or ….well just groins generally, really.
Clarrie’s been booted out of her bathroom to give it to bed and breakfast guests. Apparently the guest wants to wash her schnauzer in private and who can blame her.
By the way, did everyone hear that if they don’t do anything about the speed at which people drive through Ambridge there will be a terrible accident? Did we get that, yes? A terrible accident? Now it’s just a matter of working out who it’ll be… The way Hooty Jill is honing her passive aggression and her bossiness I’d be considering stapling her loafers to the road and asking Toby to have a run up at her in the van.
This chat about local vehicle speed was combined with a chat about reinvigorating local railway lines. Please God. Please God let’s not have an Ambridge railway. I can’t deal with that. Not with Trump and the loss of the cricket team. Please. OH MY GOD, CAROL TOBOGGAN MENTIONED THE TITFIELD THUNDERBOLT. That’s what we’ll have. The Tit Head Thunderbolt. Lynda rushing around trying to find volunteers, Eddie and Joe dressed up as station guards printing illicit tickets, Fallon doing vintage curly ham sandwiches and Aunty Cardboard shovelling coal for all she’s worth.
Jennidarling’s Roman orgy carries on. She needed a theme, apparently, for her party. Why? Too many people in a hot room wearing hurty shoes and worrying that the alcohol’s going to run out, that’s the theme of most parties. She picked, strangely, land. Harrassment’s first suggestion on hearing this was “sushi!” which shows what kind of intellect they are letting into the police force nowadays. So it’s a mud party then. Soil. What kind of a stupid idea is that?
Anisha’s asked Alastair for a gigantinormous cheque and in exchange she’s let him play on a Fisher-Price tablet. He thinks it’s connected to the server but really it’s just Postman Pat singing songs about animals. Shula and Anisha want to redecorate the waiting room at the stables. It doesn’t do to have your clients perched on an upturned bucket drinking out of the hose pipe, apparently.
Kenton’s plan to dress up as Mrs Doubtfire and crash through the window of the school hall continued apace. Even Freddie Thickythickthick thought it was a terrible idea. He was detailed by Kenton criminal mastermind to pretend he’d contributed to a project about refugees. It was about the plight of private school boys forced into the state sector. Some of these poor boys are having to flee private school at a term’s notice with just one rugby shirt and the keys to the Mini Countryman. Entirely inevitably it went tits up with Elizabeth busting out of her white stuff blouse with fury as Kenton weaselled his way around her and she has banned him from the baronial hall.
Well Russell Dankworth at Environmental Health is a bit of a washout, isn’t he? And also has anyone heard of data protection? Bloody hell, if I was the Dankworth family I’d be seriously worried about being tracked down through my flipping veg box and the Rotary Club. What’s Pat done, stuck a tracking device on the aubergines? Anyway they found his wife and threatened to chop her toes off unless she coughed up her husband’s details.
So Justin was delighted and promised to blow Lilian’s trumpet. And that’s just what he was doing when Jennidarling burst in. Lilian was spreadeagled on the bed dressed as Maria von Trapp and Justin had his trousers round his ankles, sock suspenders flying high, little pink bristly bottom bobbing up and down while he recited the Ryder cup champions for the last decade to keep himself going. Oh dear, I’ll see myself out, said Justin. We’ve all seen you out, said Jenni. Now put it back in. Not there. And Lilian if you don’t behave yourself I’m stopping access to the white wine fridge and most importantly I’m not letting you come to my mud party. So there’s always an up side. The End.
