The butter's churned and the rats are fleeing. If we don't get out soon it'll be our heads on the knobbing board and the thieves slice is the worst. I don't go in for shady dealings of any sorts, but the sanctity of the Upper Lower Tollwoodford Beauty Pageant is being threatened and dripping with civic pride I cannot stand by and watch Kathy Rattle pirouette onto the stage without a crown.
Not my vote I'll have you know and until Shirley Sloop outlined a revolutionary proposal to clear away the riff raff that have wedged themselves onto the war memorial my vote was stubbornly reserved for newcomer Andrea Pritt. Yet regardless of the outcome, don't worry a full investigation is under way and yes drug tests will be invoked, as chairman of the pageant committee I was keen to volunteer the services of a number of local officials to aid in the recapture of the ceremonial head piece.
I think a brief history is in order, and seeing as Ewan's out of town visiting his chipmunk (Pete, has cancer, currently seeing off his life in the Lake District, nasty business) Archie Snuckers is driving the van and has freed up some time by efficiently ploughing the bumper three feet deep into the flower arrangement on the B2321/C8839 linking station. Even still we're on the hunt for an heirloom of irreplaceable importance. It was in 1955 that my own mother wore the crown and my grandmother four years after her and although not all of the locals are blessed with such glorious genetics the wonderful sense of acceptance that gold painted tiara has brought our community needs no further explanation.
I won't say I've never harboured claims on it myself and ever since my neckerchief brought me a preemptive disqualification against Bobby Dubbin and Sarah Green back in 89' I've progressed to a position in which the art of competition has long since held little fascination.
Luckily Snuckers and co have salvaged the best of the poppies and a new tip chucked over the waves from HQ has put us back into action. Our first having sent us county bound. We'd done a lap before we realised it was a hoax being played by one of the Lipson Twins. Probably just musing on a failure due to the mistiming in their bottle smashing performance. Like I told them earlier, it wasn't original, it wasn't clever and it certainly wasn't inspiring. If I want to see a bottle being broken I'll head over to Town Hall on a Thursday and watch the AA crew work through their life issues, if you haven't been they've extended their season, a must see.
Time is pushing and if this lead doesn't pay off we're looking blank and enthusiasm is waning on all fronts as it is. The counsellors are late for supper, the Reverend is pissed and the PCC won't stop bitching about the amount of petrol we're ploughing through and stopping for high tea certainly didn't help. Then again I'm not sitting in a butcher's van with Jakob rocking a low blood sugar, it's bad enough watching him deliver the morning post when he's forgot his Snickers. It'll take me a long time to get over the crease in my 2012 collector's edition Lego Club Guide.
Okay, we're rolling now, just laying down some reconnaissance on a basement flat over in Cropplingford. Word has it Local Charlie saw some sparkle being smuggled in there a few hours ago, so we've either hit our mark or will have possibly given the Sarge's to do list a whack concerning the Candlestick Kidnapper's mysterious identity.
I call us thieves but liberators sounds far more enjoyable. It seems the occupier took ill with a bout of duty towards his recently acquired canine which leaves us with a dog piss and change to get our own business completed. The thunderclouds have been switched on and I'm starting to think this was a two man job, bringing the Reverend was a definite mistake. He's already hit the liquor cabinet, laying in his lot with a forgiveness he isn't buying not too mention the fact Jakob's spent more time looking for the biscuit tin than he has our trophy.
I'll admit I was a popping the fears in regards to getting found, bound and browned but that was another time in another country and government work is far more treacherous in nature. The lock snapped into action just as we laid eyes on the prize squatting amongst a pile of stolen candlesticks swiftly identified by the Rev as the nativity set belonging to Father Looper over in Tophatch. Sick with rage and venting his stress from the days events he instigated the attack on our suspect as she emerged into what she thought would be an empty living room.
Unfortunately I can't relay the finer details as Snuckers dropped his Santa hat onto the side lamp and knocked it onto the floor but I'm sure the counsellors got in a few swift jabs before Jakob's unsuccessful cookie scouting got the worst of him and he broke what sounded like a jaw bone. The downside was that John (PCC) who had stayed in the van to avoid any action flew into the building in time to join his left eye in union with a stray bullet that had appeared out of the culprits side pocket. Still in a manner of seconds this black day was over and prize in hand we were able to top off the ceremony. Admittedly unconventional and not the first death but that's the true beauty of the Upper Lower Tollwoodford Pageant.
Not my vote I'll have you know and until Shirley Sloop outlined a revolutionary proposal to clear away the riff raff that have wedged themselves onto the war memorial my vote was stubbornly reserved for newcomer Andrea Pritt. Yet regardless of the outcome, don't worry a full investigation is under way and yes drug tests will be invoked, as chairman of the pageant committee I was keen to volunteer the services of a number of local officials to aid in the recapture of the ceremonial head piece.
I think a brief history is in order, and seeing as Ewan's out of town visiting his chipmunk (Pete, has cancer, currently seeing off his life in the Lake District, nasty business) Archie Snuckers is driving the van and has freed up some time by efficiently ploughing the bumper three feet deep into the flower arrangement on the B2321/C8839 linking station. Even still we're on the hunt for an heirloom of irreplaceable importance. It was in 1955 that my own mother wore the crown and my grandmother four years after her and although not all of the locals are blessed with such glorious genetics the wonderful sense of acceptance that gold painted tiara has brought our community needs no further explanation.
I won't say I've never harboured claims on it myself and ever since my neckerchief brought me a preemptive disqualification against Bobby Dubbin and Sarah Green back in 89' I've progressed to a position in which the art of competition has long since held little fascination.
Luckily Snuckers and co have salvaged the best of the poppies and a new tip chucked over the waves from HQ has put us back into action. Our first having sent us county bound. We'd done a lap before we realised it was a hoax being played by one of the Lipson Twins. Probably just musing on a failure due to the mistiming in their bottle smashing performance. Like I told them earlier, it wasn't original, it wasn't clever and it certainly wasn't inspiring. If I want to see a bottle being broken I'll head over to Town Hall on a Thursday and watch the AA crew work through their life issues, if you haven't been they've extended their season, a must see.
Time is pushing and if this lead doesn't pay off we're looking blank and enthusiasm is waning on all fronts as it is. The counsellors are late for supper, the Reverend is pissed and the PCC won't stop bitching about the amount of petrol we're ploughing through and stopping for high tea certainly didn't help. Then again I'm not sitting in a butcher's van with Jakob rocking a low blood sugar, it's bad enough watching him deliver the morning post when he's forgot his Snickers. It'll take me a long time to get over the crease in my 2012 collector's edition Lego Club Guide.
Okay, we're rolling now, just laying down some reconnaissance on a basement flat over in Cropplingford. Word has it Local Charlie saw some sparkle being smuggled in there a few hours ago, so we've either hit our mark or will have possibly given the Sarge's to do list a whack concerning the Candlestick Kidnapper's mysterious identity.
I call us thieves but liberators sounds far more enjoyable. It seems the occupier took ill with a bout of duty towards his recently acquired canine which leaves us with a dog piss and change to get our own business completed. The thunderclouds have been switched on and I'm starting to think this was a two man job, bringing the Reverend was a definite mistake. He's already hit the liquor cabinet, laying in his lot with a forgiveness he isn't buying not too mention the fact Jakob's spent more time looking for the biscuit tin than he has our trophy.
I'll admit I was a popping the fears in regards to getting found, bound and browned but that was another time in another country and government work is far more treacherous in nature. The lock snapped into action just as we laid eyes on the prize squatting amongst a pile of stolen candlesticks swiftly identified by the Rev as the nativity set belonging to Father Looper over in Tophatch. Sick with rage and venting his stress from the days events he instigated the attack on our suspect as she emerged into what she thought would be an empty living room.
Unfortunately I can't relay the finer details as Snuckers dropped his Santa hat onto the side lamp and knocked it onto the floor but I'm sure the counsellors got in a few swift jabs before Jakob's unsuccessful cookie scouting got the worst of him and he broke what sounded like a jaw bone. The downside was that John (PCC) who had stayed in the van to avoid any action flew into the building in time to join his left eye in union with a stray bullet that had appeared out of the culprits side pocket. Still in a manner of seconds this black day was over and prize in hand we were able to top off the ceremony. Admittedly unconventional and not the first death but that's the true beauty of the Upper Lower Tollwoodford Pageant.