Easter Egg Hunt Result

I don't want to talk about it.

The Upper Lower Tollwoodford Easter Egg Hunt 2011

There is still an hour or two before the big Easter Egg Hunt so Ewan and I are rocking some warm up exercises.  It's physically impossible for Ewan to touch his toes but he is giving it a damn good try.  I've been working on my running.  I can now get a whole fifty metres without questioning myself.

The reason we are working so hard is that this year we have vowed not too lose.  If it is the last thing we do we will stop little Tommy Worthing from winning all those damn eggs.  Every year that fat shit alters the arrows on the course, plants fake eggs or fiddles with the clues, but not today.  I've had Mike doing reconnaissance around the course overnight to stop Tommy's annual prehunt search.  I also dragged Miss Bubble in to do security this year so there won't be any fucking around.  She used to work security for Edward VII back in the day and has broken enough bones to fill a really big hall.

You may ask us why we wish to win so badly seeing as Ewan is afraid of chocolate and I have some unresolved issues with the whole crown of thorns business.  Well I shall tell you why.  I hate fat little Tommy Worthing.  Not only is the kid a millionaire because of his Dad's Ugandan coffee shop chain, he was awarded an honourary membership to the Lego Club without buying so much as a brick.  That sort of thing just pisses me off.  I pay my subscription like everyone else and what do I get, an awesome magazine and a birthday card.  Well I don't think that sits right seeing as Worthing gets full use of the Lego company jet and all the bendy two's he can dream of.  Not to mention that botched bakery heist we did together.  He was our driver and shopped us to the fuzz while making off with the all the lemon slices himself.  This is an injustice that must be stopped.  I will not suffer another success by fat little Tommy Worthing.

Here comes Ewan with the match plan and background checks on all the contestants.  There doesn't seem to be anything to worry about.  Wendy Kingsley is out with a grazed knee and the Reverend has disqualified Bruce Fields because he said 'bollocks' really loudly behind Prince Philip.  He also lost his regulation jumper while feeding the flamingos so it looks like it is a straight contest between Worthing and us. 

I would say that we are an absolute shoe in to win today's Egg Hunt.  I can imagine it all now.  The glory, the fame, that feeling of pure bliss knowing that Tommy might be denied those few morsels of Mini Egg heaven.  I can't wait.

We just have to do a few more stretches and everything will be golden.  I don't want a repeat of the '96 hunt.  I overslept because the night before I found out my keyboard had an extra note and without the proper warm up I cramped up during the final dash.  I've never lived it down.  It was worse than the time Ewan forgot how to read or when Lenny Henry turned up to award the prizes and I booed him off stage with a large mounted Travelodge poster.  That was an awful year because they confiscated the egg we found and disqualified us from last year's event.

It is true, the annual Upper Lower Tollwoodford Easter Egg Hunt has seen some grim days.  There was the year they brought out Galaxy Truffle eggs.  They were the size of your fist and were heaven in chocolate form.  Turned out it was just another ruse by the Mars company to get our hopes up because they were never heard of again.  The same thing happened with the white chocolate Vienetta, but I have as yet been unable to prove anything.  It doesn't help that I ate all the evidence.

There was also the time the Florist, Draws Dropper Daisy found Miss Bubble's Foster Son dead upon the starting line. It was all a bit fishy and they said it was a botched Mafia killing.  Still when we told her she had won honourary first place she got over herself and managed to crack a smile.  This didn't sit well with Tommy as he was on the cusp of his tenth consecutive victory.  The look on his face when he presented Bubble with the trophy.  He could have killed butter.  The language that he came out with after the match.  Mr. E. Worthing Snr. (the 'E' stands for Enrique) was so embarrassed he took Tommy home and washed his mouth out with religion.  The town was in mourning for three days over the English language.  I thought it was fantastic until the Pete, that was the Foster Son, kept haunting the local football pitch.  We haven't a proper game in years because he kept scarring away the ball.

Right back to work, those eggs won't find themselves and Ewan's just pulled a calf muscle so we're in for the long haul.  I'll let you know how things turn out.

Some Stuff Went Down

It was Tuesday.  Ewan and I were sat behind the shop having a smoke and enjoying the afternoon sunshine.  I'd spent the last six hours trying to work up a rhythm on this old Pringles Can but they don't make them like they used to and the beat was flat.

All of a sudden Mike the Shite runs up.  He gets his nickname because he works down at the dump selling off road kill and stolen electronics.  I'm like, "Chill out you daft shit, what's up?"  He gets all panicky and confers to us the news that some stupid kid fell down the East Street Well.  I look at Ewan and the fear rushes into his eyes.  You see Ewan fell down the same well a few years back.  He never talks about it, when we dragged him out he was delirious and the only words he could utter were, "Ogre and cheeseboard".  So we aren't exactly sure what happened.  It was still enough to frighten him into the sanatorium for a summer.

These were pretty minor thoughts as I was already on my feet following the crowd down to the edge of town.  Not much happens in Lower Upper Tollwoodford, so a boy stuck in a well is a great excuse for a party.  

Mike is head of the local brass band so his Guys were already strutting up and down East Street with their crowns on playing the William Tell Overture and the theme from Quantum Leap.  The Fire Brigade were in the process of lowering a down a rescue attempt when things went wrong.  All of a sudden we heard these screams.  Not, 'I've burnt my thumb on the oven' screams.  These were worse.  Blood curdling screams of horror came thundering up from the bowels of the earth.  This Fireman comes scrambling up the well with his legs all slashed up stinking of Camembert.  It was like something out of a comedy film.

The Fireman turns to us and is like, "It's real, the Cheeseboard is real."  Ewan tears off down the street yelling and that's when it hit us all that things were serious.  The Mayor showed up and decreed that only a Mix Master would have the beats to take down something of this magnitude.  Turns out I was the only one on call, so I dusted down the record collection and bravely descended into the pit.

I'll be honest, I wasn't terrified, but as the warm sound of the Leap faded out of hearing I got a bit nervous, though this was partly because I had left my record deck back in the shop.  Anyway, I got down and found that this well was more like a cavern.  In fact it was a cavern.  From up above Mike yells down that the Eclipse is coming and that if I'm not out in five minutes then I'll get trapped down here forever.

That didn't sound like a good thing and I didn't want anything to kill my buzz so I set up shop on this massive Ogre skeleton and waited.  I start playing Spice World in its entirety to instill a response from the Cheeseboard or whatever it was I was supposed to be doing in this fucking hole when the Kid shows up.  Apparently he was, "Chasing his football and sort of tripped."  I said, "I'll show you a fucking trip, try some of this."  So I pass him a smoke and then we both see the Evil Cheeseboard smirking at us from the shadows.

That gurgling bastard was one mean sack of stench.  Predominantly a strong Cheddar, you know the kind?  The stuff that is so mature it takes like farm.  Well this was worse.  He tried to drown out 'Wannabe', with his roar but I wasn't having any of it.  I launched into, 'Who Do You Think You Are', and that sealed the matter.  There was this bang and the next thing I know there was cheese dripping from the ceiling and bits of wood forcibly embedded into the stalactites.  It seems the Girls had done their job and I was free to become the local town hero.

I dragged that stupid Child and his football out the well just in time.  I had saved the day but it was close.  The Eclipse came shooting over and we all made a wish. Then the cheers broke out.  Miss Bubble took her top off; much to the distress of the neighbourhood and the Mayor decreed that today would be appropriately known as Geri Halliwell Day after the town's favourite Spice Girl.  There was much celebration and drinking.  Mike rummaged out a medal that was presented to me and I was bestowed with the title, 'Supreme Honourary Lord Defender of the Village'.

Ten minutes later the excitement was over and I was back at work.  I flipped over this old oil drum and started composing a beat for the new track.  It sounded a bit like Quantum Leap but then again it didn't.  Who knows, I gave up and decided the day would be best spent sun bathing and trying to cheat Ewan out of Pokemon Cards.

P.S. Ewan found his damn sheep.  The fucker was hiding behind a wall or something. 

Show Me The Way To Go Home

I'm not tired, I don't want to go to bed, Ewan is just being a tasteless prick. After his behaviour during the last twenty four hours I couldn't take another day on the road with him. Reluctantly I turned the van round and headed back south. I know he's my butcher but he can really take things too far.

It all happened yesterday. We got a puncture outside Wales and while we were sat by the road eating jam sandwiches, Ewan had this idea. He'd noticed this dead badger on the side of the road so with more enthusiasm than was natural he rushed over to pick it up. He knows that I have a pure hatred for road kill. It cost me mother and my father, but that doesn't stop him dragging this carcass across the road like some sort of demented taxidermist. The look in his eyes was scary, he was like a kid at Christmas. He couldn't wait to get his hands on that lump of coal.

So he dunks this dead badger in front of me. The flies and insects start to invade my jam sandwich is never a constructive way to get into my good books. I throw away the sandwich and just stare at this corpse. It can't have been dead long. There was blood oozing out of the eye sockets and the whole thing stank of shit. I'm holding back the retch to end all retches then Ewan takes it too far.

He grabs this badger and hugs it around his shoulders and starts playing Bodger and Badger. He's running up and down the road thrusting his junk at all the cars and telling them how he loves to make mash potato. This Elderly Couple slow down to see if we need any help when Ewan suddenly jumps off the roof of their caravan onto their Volvo estate. The Old Lady starts screaming when she sees all this infected blood dripping onto the windscreen. The Bloke puts on the wipers and this just makes things worse. The whole activity spurs Ewan on and he breaks out into tune. He gets a bit bored midway through his tenth rendition of, "He makes them into shapes and east them everyday", before shrinking off into the undergrowth. The Old Couple use the opportunity to do a bunk and floor it off down the road. I could still here the Old Lady's yells of terror halfway down the County.

It all goes quite and I find Ewan has disappeared. Two hours later he comes hobbling back Quasimodo style with this little grey bundle in his hands. Turns out he's hunted down a mouse and hollowed it out with a twig and wants me to play Mousy. I'm stunned. Even I thought this was tasteless. Luckily the police showed up and dealt with things. They dragged Ewan off to hospital and I got left with the task of fixing the flat tyre. Funnily enough it turned out that the tyre was fine and the escaping gas we could hear was coming from the badger we had hit. The burning rubber we incorrectly identified was in fact scorched shit.

It took me a while to track down Ewan. I followed the trail of disgust and outrage until I found him unconscious in the local psych ward. It turns out he had a fever of 110 degrees and had three tabs of acid swimming around his belly. That still doesn't excuse him, even if it was me who slipped the acid into his Thermos.

The tour had to end.  We couldn't go on after this. There was no music playing on the way home, just a sad silence. That man has ruined one of my favourite television shows, an act I deem to be a cardinal sin. It would be like painting a cock on Postman Pat's forehead. Some things just aren't done, and dry humping a Volkswagon Golf Mk5 while wearing a dead badger over your head is one of them.

Ewan can't talk now because he's still under sedation but I would like to publicly apologise to Andy Cunningham and thank him for the years of enjoyment his creations have given the world. I wouldn't have gotten through my thirties without you.