Maybeline was moaning softly now into her mouthpiece as the crackling voice from Control Tower B chirped: "Right, squadron lead-awww. Ready for take awwff. Ov-awww."
"Lib, help!" Maybeline's voice shook sending static crackle into her headset.
(Control: ) "What was that? And say ov-awww! Ovawww."
"What are we going to do Libby?" And to her mouthpiece. "I said Roger. Over."
(Control: ) "Roger? No, Roger's not flying. He's here with me. Pass me a jelly scone. Thanks, Rog. Right. Bugges? Ready for take off? Ov-awwwwr."
Maybeline moaned, "Er... ignition, engaged... throttle on, engine... started... moving.... errr.... we're clearing the runway... over--"
"Gosh, this is ripping stuff, Maybeline! Right, pull up the joystick, bring the plane up!", yapped Libby merrily. "Right, I'll get the booze out! Which colour lever opens the scotch drawer, sis?"
"Red. NO!!! Green!! Greeen!!!"
But it was too late. Suddenly the plane's wobbly rivets jangled in the cockpit and the window thudded in and out bulbously as the plane roared up vertically with a definite raaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrghhhh, over the heads of the radar tower, up up up into the misty blue Home Counties dazzling sky, up into the rainy cloud cover, and deep into a blind vapour haze.
The King was now seated in the royal box thanking himself for fixing up that engagement to have the wife visit the leper colony, while he smoked a fine Havana and exchanged betting tips with the Earl of Smeggton. "Dashed fine port that Scuttletongue knocked up for the occasion. Four bottles and I'm feelin' ready for drinkin', now. Ah ha, after a quart of gin that'll clear the dust out of me throat and we'll be ready for dinner. Now, maybe someone can shut that wretched band up and pass me a scotch."
Above the Constable connifers and lean poplars rose plumes of toot-tooting smoke preceding the spluttering rasp of several approaching aeroplane engines; sprinkly orbs of dazzling dust moneycoined the goldblue heavens shine-heralding the planes' arrival.
"Here come the buggers. Quick, pass that bottle. Glug. Lovely. Pass another, and put some rum in it this time. Lord Byron's blazing undergarments! That first plane at the front! Why, its wing's hanging off!"
"Charlie's plane's in freefall!", hollered Maybeline through the electric heat of the cockpit, wiping the windscreen while she watched her beloved's Spitfire spin hurtling down into the limegreen shires. "No! My darling! What to do? What to do?"
"Have no fear!", came a reassuring chirp from behind Maybeline and Libby. "'Tis I, your heroine Bella to the rescue! Just flip the jetison lever next to where my cubby hole is marked, and I'll parachute out over to Charles! I'll steer his plane with this anchor and rope over to that big house over there - the Reverend's house - and he can jetison down into the chimney. See you soooooooooooooooooooooooooon!" And with that Bella disappeared through a hatch on the floor of the craft, parachuting happily into the clouds with a canvas balloon swaying rhythmically above her.
Maybeline watched amazed as Bella flew over to Hardy-Banger's plane in the torrid wind as if it were the gentle stirring of river breezes through a summer heath; she gasped as our intrepid Bella secured the anchor to its propeller, tapping on the windscreen, communicating with the desperate Hardy-Banger via semaphor and getting him to jetison tumbling down down down down down into safety, to land on the Reverend's roof and promptly disappear down the chimney.
"Jolly good show!", cheered Libby, as Bella butterfly-crawled through the sky back to their plane, climbed back up through the open jetison chute and got back in the plane again.
"Chocolate biscuit, anyone?", asked Bella.
* * * * * * *
"Bloody good performance this, Scuttletongue. This puts the mockers on the Red Arrows. Goes well with a flaggon of Bergundy, I say. Fetch us a barrel, I'm gettin' thirsty here", roared the King from his chair, amid much flag waving and hurrahing as the amassed throng of Midgely Manor applauded Bella's aerodynamic heroics from the ground.
But Scuttletongue could not answer. Ashen faced, he had spied Maybeline through his pier-glass jetisonning with Libby and Bella. They were in the air landing towards the assembly at a gentle, parachuting pace, swinging in the wind.
"Lord's festering vegetables!" Isn't that your wife, Scuttletongue? Up there? But I thought your wife was -- right -- here --"
Beryl was nowhere to be seen, and on the fold up bench chair, there sat at Sir Tarquin's plastered leg a veiled straw hat in which was to be found the note, "Remember the negatives. A deal is a deal. Love, B.x".
The banquet had gone off resplendently with the King falling asleep during the Reverend's after dinner speech on blessed be the dry of throat; the 'ores getting the day off to lounge about the grounds smoking complimentary french cigarettes; Olivier waking up in the kitchen with a bucket of water over him from Staggers who had wanted some of that sherry for herself; and scandalous rumours abounding that Hardy-Banger had gone AWOL and eloped with somebody's missus, up Shagge Valley way: the Reverend curtailed his speech and cycled back home to survey the damage to his fireplace.
The King had pronounced the day's festivities a bally riot, awarded Bella the promise of a trip to the palace and a year's subscription to McVities's dark chocolate hob nobs, and gone home in his coach with The Master, whom he declared his faithful mascot to the end of his days. Beryl had departed in another coach of only slightly inferior sheen and ornament, waving serenely in her tiara as she turned away from Midgely Manor never to return.
Maybeline and Sir Tarquin were alone together in the drawing room.
"Darling?"
"Yes, darling."
"I've been thinking, you know, about my venturesome ways. And my search for contentment. And how really, I could say that I should realise that Charles Hardy-Banger, for whom I fell, I confess, was nothing but a cad, a bounder and a rakish rover, a womaniser and a cheat. And that I should be content with my lot as the wife of the knight of the realm, here at Midgely, amid ancestral history, green shades and sceptred hallowed mysteries of eternal England."
"Yes."
"But up yours. I'm off to start a cigar smoking, all girl commune with Rita Vita Bagge in Shagge Valley, where I can ride unicycles all day and lounge about reciting Gertrude Stein dressed in only my slippers! Libby and Bella are on top of the roof now waiting for me with the ladder! So long, Bastard features! Have fun beating your Slackpole! Hahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!! ta-ra!"
And with that, Maybeline disappeared up the chimney.
As the curtain closes, the authors come out and take a bow.....
And most of all thank YOU Finsbury!!!! For entertaining us with some humor, charm and always brilliance!!!
'..... Ah! A perfect illustration of the poststructuralist paradox. Does the signifier "Merlot" correspond with the 'truth' of the bottle I polished off last night, or do we hold in our thoughts a different "signified" of bottle-of-Merlot-ness? Perhaps we're dreaming of the same bottle!" -FinsburyParkCarrots
Comments
"Lib, help!" Maybeline's voice shook sending static crackle into her headset.
(Control: ) "What was that? And say ov-awww! Ovawww."
"What are we going to do Libby?" And to her mouthpiece. "I said Roger. Over."
(Control: ) "Roger? No, Roger's not flying. He's here with me. Pass me a jelly scone. Thanks, Rog. Right. Bugges? Ready for take off? Ov-awwwwr."
"O-ohh-ohhhver--"
(Control: ) "Spiffing good. Now pull her up."
"Gosh, this is ripping stuff, Maybeline! Right, pull up the joystick, bring the plane up!", yapped Libby merrily. "Right, I'll get the booze out! Which colour lever opens the scotch drawer, sis?"
"Red. NO!!! Green!! Greeen!!!"
But it was too late. Suddenly the plane's wobbly rivets jangled in the cockpit and the window thudded in and out bulbously as the plane roared up vertically with a definite raaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrghhhh, over the heads of the radar tower, up up up into the misty blue Home Counties dazzling sky, up into the rainy cloud cover, and deep into a blind vapour haze.
The King was now seated in the royal box thanking himself for fixing up that engagement to have the wife visit the leper colony, while he smoked a fine Havana and exchanged betting tips with the Earl of Smeggton. "Dashed fine port that Scuttletongue knocked up for the occasion. Four bottles and I'm feelin' ready for drinkin', now. Ah ha, after a quart of gin that'll clear the dust out of me throat and we'll be ready for dinner. Now, maybe someone can shut that wretched band up and pass me a scotch."
Above the Constable connifers and lean poplars rose plumes of toot-tooting smoke preceding the spluttering rasp of several approaching aeroplane engines; sprinkly orbs of dazzling dust moneycoined the goldblue heavens shine-heralding the planes' arrival.
"Here come the buggers. Quick, pass that bottle. Glug. Lovely. Pass another, and put some rum in it this time. Lord Byron's blazing undergarments! That first plane at the front! Why, its wing's hanging off!"
"Charlie's plane's in freefall!", hollered Maybeline through the electric heat of the cockpit, wiping the windscreen while she watched her beloved's Spitfire spin hurtling down into the limegreen shires. "No! My darling! What to do? What to do?"
"Have no fear!", came a reassuring chirp from behind Maybeline and Libby. "'Tis I, your heroine Bella to the rescue! Just flip the jetison lever next to where my cubby hole is marked, and I'll parachute out over to Charles! I'll steer his plane with this anchor and rope over to that big house over there - the Reverend's house - and he can jetison down into the chimney. See you soooooooooooooooooooooooooon!" And with that Bella disappeared through a hatch on the floor of the craft, parachuting happily into the clouds with a canvas balloon swaying rhythmically above her.
Maybeline watched amazed as Bella flew over to Hardy-Banger's plane in the torrid wind as if it were the gentle stirring of river breezes through a summer heath; she gasped as our intrepid Bella secured the anchor to its propeller, tapping on the windscreen, communicating with the desperate Hardy-Banger via semaphor and getting him to jetison tumbling down down down down down into safety, to land on the Reverend's roof and promptly disappear down the chimney.
"Jolly good show!", cheered Libby, as Bella butterfly-crawled through the sky back to their plane, climbed back up through the open jetison chute and got back in the plane again.
"Chocolate biscuit, anyone?", asked Bella.
* * * * * * *
"Bloody good performance this, Scuttletongue. This puts the mockers on the Red Arrows. Goes well with a flaggon of Bergundy, I say. Fetch us a barrel, I'm gettin' thirsty here", roared the King from his chair, amid much flag waving and hurrahing as the amassed throng of Midgely Manor applauded Bella's aerodynamic heroics from the ground.
But Scuttletongue could not answer. Ashen faced, he had spied Maybeline through his pier-glass jetisonning with Libby and Bella. They were in the air landing towards the assembly at a gentle, parachuting pace, swinging in the wind.
"Lord's festering vegetables!" Isn't that your wife, Scuttletongue? Up there? But I thought your wife was -- right -- here --"
Beryl was nowhere to be seen, and on the fold up bench chair, there sat at Sir Tarquin's plastered leg a veiled straw hat in which was to be found the note, "Remember the negatives. A deal is a deal. Love, B.x".
* * * * * * *
The King had pronounced the day's festivities a bally riot, awarded Bella the promise of a trip to the palace and a year's subscription to McVities's dark chocolate hob nobs, and gone home in his coach with The Master, whom he declared his faithful mascot to the end of his days. Beryl had departed in another coach of only slightly inferior sheen and ornament, waving serenely in her tiara as she turned away from Midgely Manor never to return.
Maybeline and Sir Tarquin were alone together in the drawing room.
"Darling?"
"Yes, darling."
"I've been thinking, you know, about my venturesome ways. And my search for contentment. And how really, I could say that I should realise that Charles Hardy-Banger, for whom I fell, I confess, was nothing but a cad, a bounder and a rakish rover, a womaniser and a cheat. And that I should be content with my lot as the wife of the knight of the realm, here at Midgely, amid ancestral history, green shades and sceptred hallowed mysteries of eternal England."
"Yes."
"But up yours. I'm off to start a cigar smoking, all girl commune with Rita Vita Bagge in Shagge Valley, where I can ride unicycles all day and lounge about reciting Gertrude Stein dressed in only my slippers! Libby and Bella are on top of the roof now waiting for me with the ladder! So long, Bastard features! Have fun beating your Slackpole! Hahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!! ta-ra!"
And with that, Maybeline disappeared up the chimney.
_______
The End.
*CLAP* !! *CLAP*!! *CLAP*!!! *CLAP* !!!!!*CLAP* !!!!!*CLAP* !!!!!
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As the curtain closes, the authors come out and take a bow.....
And most of all thank YOU Finsbury!!!! For entertaining us with some humor, charm and always brilliance!!!
(But I was just about to write more!)
LOVE TO Y"ALL!;)
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?