The Wallops – Stories from long ago
A novel by JRRR Waltkien
Chapter One
In days of old, way beyond the memories of our grandfathers who had Alzheimer’s anyway, there lived in the Wallops, a people called the Bobbits. The Bobbits were small folk, not human and in no way linked to any infantry regiments. The average Bobbit was only three feet tall and they lived in a shire called the Wallops. The Wallops was a wonderful land, fields of corn waved in the wind, babbling brooks sort of babbled and the birds sang from dawn to dusk in the woods and forests, which did make them unpopular so they were regularly trapped and killed. Bobbits lived in holes in the ground but with windows and doors and furniture. The Bobbits were extremely civilized and they lived a commune type existence where everybody helped everybody else unless they couldn’t be arrsed or it was the wrong time of the month.
The Wallops was part of just left of centre earth and was
nestled south of a great kingdom, The Keynes. They were ruled by a great king
called
To the south lay the kingdom of the
Between the Wallops and the
To the west of the Wallops was a vast plain. It stretched for as far as the eye could see but as Bobbits had such bad eyesight that wasn’t that far at all. It actually stretched for many kilometres as Bobbits had gone metric many years ago. Well not totally, as a Bobbit was still considered to be three feet tall and the biggest seller in timber was 50mm x 25mm but it came in nine-foot lengths. Mythical creatures lived on the plain and while nobody had ever seen one, their footprints were left for all to see. They weren’t actually footprints at all but like two tracks and everything in the way of this mysterious creature seemed to be crushed in its path. On the edge of the plain were more humans who lived in a town called St. Windon. It was a new town but the people were bored as it all looked the same and everybody or almost everybody worked in the same place. A huge factory produced carts and the Honder carts were the dogs bollox as their advert used to say. The people were bored but they were civic, did things of their own accord and didn’t mind the acclaim.
At the southwestern tip of the plain lived a strange people
called Hippies in the
The only scary part of just left of centre earth or the only
bit that will feature in this epic lay in the east. You could travel to
Handover, just half a day’s ride from the Wallops but Handover was too dull to
be scary and it was just an insignificant market town on the border of
civilization, as we know it. A bridge over the River Test was the gateway and
it was locked at night. The last time they didn’t lock it, somebody stole the
padlock, so it was always locked after that. In the east lay the real danger to
just left of centre earth and all who lived in it, the kingdom formerly known
as Mordor but now known as
The Witches of Gatwick were three sisters who getting the
push from a theatrical production of ‘that play’ moved to the east and through
much spilling of blood found favour with the then ruler and had risen quickly
through the ranks. They were high flyers and from their humble beginnings, they
had become advisors to the ruler of
The bridge at Handover had kept the Chavs at bay but there were whispers of a full invasion of the Wallops and the other kingdoms. The Witches of Gatwick were not content with their own lands, it was the familiar theme of world domination. The Bobbits weren’t really capable of fighting, they were only three feet tall and did have a few swords, some bows and arrows and they could knock up a smart looking trebuchet in minutes few but nothing really significant. The Bobbits had paid a few mercenary humans known as Knight Riders and they patrolled the lands near Handover but even these highly trained human soldiers would be no match for an army of Chavs. But Bobbits did as they have done for centuries, got drunk, looked at pornography and hoped it would never happen as it usually never does and hadn’t so far. The Knight Riders were not happy as you can only have so many flat pack wardrobes and rumours abounded that even The Knight Riders would desert in the Bobbit’s hour of need, whenever that was going to be.
It was at this dangerous time that Billy Cabbageleaf was due to celebrate his two hundredth birthday. Bobbits lived to a ripe old age, well into their three hundreds and Billy was just a youngster really and the worst possible age if you needed insurance for your cart. “Robbing fcukers” said Billy reading the quote he was got from the Gnawich Insurance Group. “Quote me happy, my arrse” he complained throwing the quote into the fire. The fire roared up and spat sending a red-hot ember onto the hearth, fortunately not burning his hearthrug. “That’s lucky” he exclaimed picking up the ember with the tongs and throwing it back into the fire. A dog barked in the distance and Billy repeated himself “That’s Lucky”. Lucky was the dog of his bestest friend in the whole of the Wallops, Fergal Raddishnose. They had grown up together, they had played football together, gone to school together and Billy remembered the first time he ever saw a porn book, it was with Fergal. “Happy days” he said to himself and rubbed his groin. “That’s lucky” he said to himself and walked along the corridor to the bathroom.
“Fcuk off, I’m busy!” shouted Billy still in the bathroom and determined to be like on Mastermind. “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” he thought to himself trying to get back in the mood. “Open the door you tosser!” Billy jumped as somebody knocked the bathroom window and the booming voice put him off totally. He zipped up his trousers and screamed. “Get it off!” he screamed. The bathroom door opened and there stood Paul or to give him his full name Paul ‘the Grey’ Daniels. “You dirty little fcuker Billy” said Paul eyeing up the situation. “You do know it has to go down before it goes up? Asked Paul and Billy nodded still in agony. “Right here goes” and Paul whipped the zipper down and Billy collapsed on the floor holding his groin. “That’ll teach you, you dirty little shite” said Paul, not exactly brimming over with sympathy. Billy lay on the floor, his eyes full of tears and with one hand, he attempted to examine the damage. It appeared that nothing was missing so carefully and very slowly, he pulled up the zipper and rose gingerly to his feet. “Paul, how’d you like the journey?” asked Billy trying to regain some composure. “Not a lot” was the very, very predictable answer.
Paul the Grey was a giant compared to the normal Bobbit. He
was at least five foot tall and towered over Billy. That was really why he
spent time with the Bobbits, he was a smug, vain sod who just liked looking
down his nose at people but people were too tall so hence the Bobbits. Paul
lifted off his wig, scratched his head and put the wig back on. He settled
himself in a Bobbit size chair that broke so he threw it on the fire. “There’s
evil about, Billy,” he said sitting on the table that fortunately took his
weight. “Yes, it’s you, that was my favourite chair you sod,” replied Billy and
not lying, he had knocked it off and knocked it up many years ago and even
built it without the instructions and the little Allen key thing that had been
missing anyway. “I mean in the East,” replied Paul looking serious. “What, East
Wallop? Asked Billy as current affairs and geography had never been his
strongpoint. “No fcuking miles further!” shouted Paul impatiently. “Is that the
same as fcuking kilometres further?” asked Billy who did prefer the metric
system to the Imperial one. “I fcuking mean in the fcuking East as in fcuking
Gatwick or fcuking
Paul ‘The Grey’ Daniels was a wizard and he fought for the side of good. He always paid his speeding fines and never told lies. He did swear far too much but everybody swore in the Wallops and there was every chance a baby Bobbit’s first words would involve sex and travel. Paul ‘the Grey’ Daniels had originally been Paul ‘the Black’ Daniels but he had washed his cloak in the wrong washing powder and at the wrong temperature and the colour had faded. He didn’t mind and have you seen the price of cloaks nowadays? Paul told Billy all about the Chavs in the east and Billy’s blood ran cold when Paul mentioned the Witches of Gatwick. “I think you are destined for a long and dangerous journey, my son,” said Paul rather sanctimoniously. “Am I fcuk!” replied Billy not mincing his words. “The future of all of just left centre earth will ride on your shoulders Billy,” continued Paul trying to install some sort of thought process in Billy’s slightly inadequate brain. “Will it fcuk!” replied Billy still not daunted. “It does matter what happens and it will affect you, your children and your children’s children and the whole of the Wallops will just be a passing memory if you don’t heed what I say Billy” continued Paul in the most serious voice he could muster. God, he wished Debbie was with him now in his hour of need. “Pardon?” said Billy who had been staring into the fire and trying not to listen. “It does possibly involve looking at pornography as well” Paul was playing his master card now and Billy pricked up which is allowed as long as its well after the watershed and he replied “When do we fcuking start mate?” “I’ll explain,” said Paul and they talked long into the night.
Chapter Two
The two of them sat round the fire and talked until quite late. Billy was tired but he took in every word that Paul said. There was to be a Council of War in Saulsberry, half a day’s ride from where they were and all of the kingdoms would be sending a representative to decide what to do about the threat of invasion from the Chavs. Even one of the Knight Riders would be there as they got double time at Councils of War or on Sundays or Bank Holidays. The two talked about the good old days, the days when men, Bobbits and even Hippies had lived together peacefully much as they did now actually but the east had been a lovely place then before the influence of the Witches of Gatwick.
It was saddening that things had come to this but Paul told
Billy that he believed that even the Bobbits would play an integral part in
what was going to happen. “But no fcuking elves” he said and Billy had to
agree. Elves were a real pain in the arrse, little pointy-eared barstewards who
did nothing but pout and sing stupid songs. They did have magical powers but by
the time they had been through three verses of the latest Enya song, magical
powers were too late and so were the elves. The elves lived in old tin mines in
the far west, in a land called
Talking of whether to come or not, Billy picked up his latest porn magazine ‘Dirty Debbie Does Grateley’ and flicked through the pages. “You won’t be needing that my son” said Paul rather pompously and excused himself with the words “I need a dump”. “Fcuking will” said Billy to himself and slid the magazine into his rucksack. They were due to leave in the morning and Paul had instructed him not to tell anybody. He would be missing his own birthday party, which was a real bummer with all the radish beer that he had brewed. Gallons of the stuff and not a drop would touch his lips. “Fcuk that” he said to himself or maybe it was the hat stand but he walked into the kitchen and pulled out a flagon of the beer, uncorked it and had a few swigs. He could feel the warmth as the beer hit the spot and because radish beer doesn’t care which spot it hits, he shouted out to Paul “Don’t spend all fcuking night in there!” followed by the important but very necessary “And don’t forget to pull the fcuking chain this time!” The last time he had been forced to shovel it out and yes, the radishes had benefited but the house had stunk for weeks.
Paul had finished in the toilet. Billy was relieved to have heard the chain being pulled several times but thought he would leave it a minute or two before he brushed his teeth. Paul came back pulling his cloak out from between the cheeks of his arrse and sat back down again. “Do you know why I have chosen you?” he asked Billy. “Fcuked if I know” replied Billy not exactly making it easy for Paul. “Billy, listen you little shite. The whole of the future of just left of centre earth could depend on you. You are the key to the possible success or failure of this mission and the others are there to help but primarily they are there to PROTECT you,” explained Paul in great depth. “What’s primarily mean?” asked Billy trying hard not to look stupid but failing miserably. “Are you taking the fcuking pish?” asked a now very annoyed Paul.
Paul stood up; he was in a rage now and forgetting the low
height of the ceiling, banged his head on a beam, which didn’t improve his
mood. From a pocket in his cloak, Paul produced a small black bag. He shook it
and something inside the bag rattled, it sounded metallic. “What’s in the bag,
Paul?” asked Billy, finally interested. “Balls” replied Paul and he looked at
Billy.” Fcuk you then, I was only asking!” replied Billy who sounded annoyed as
well. “You t1t, I meant there are balls in this bag” and he pulled out three
silvery balls and held them in the palm of his hand. “I always thought you
talked balls,” Billy was laughing as he said it. Bobbits liked a good joke but
they didn’t mind crappy ones either, which is probably just as well. “These
balls are Elvish balls,” explained Paul and Billy crossed his legs and visibly
squirmed. “Elvish Preshley?” joked Billy who was not taking this seriously.
“Paul raised himself to his full height, banging his head on another beam but
grabbed Billy round the throat and lifted him up. Billy’s legs kicked in the
air but he could tell struggling was useless. “Do I have your
“These are Elvish balls Billy but they are the ONLY way that the Witches of Gatwick can be killed. They don’t like it up ‘em you see. I’m now going to sing you a long but important Elvish song that explains it all” Paul finished speaking, coughed a couple of times and launched himself into the song. Three hours later, Paul kicked Billy as he could see him nodding off. “So you see that these balls are made of heavy metal and only somebody who doesn’t mind a bit of AC/DC can use them to their full potential” Billy tried to deny it but Paul added “Look tosh, I’ve seen you looking at your porn mags, you’re an AC/DC fan, no mistakes. Plus I can read minds so get used to it.” So the proud owner of two startling pieces of news, Billy tried to come to terms with the fact that apparently, he liked his radishes planted in both gardens. He had suspected it really, that time at the swimming hole but he had thought it was just part of growing up. It would have consequences, his monthly porn mag costs would increase but then he’d always liked a bit of variety. “It wasn’t so bad was it?” he thought to himself.
So finally, he went to bed and briefly contemplated today’s news. The fact that everybody was depending on him worried him and he hoped he would be up to the job. “Fcuk it, I’ll do my best, can’t do any more” he thought to himself and drifted off into a troubled sleep. Giant radishes chased him in his dreams and his legs twitched like a puppy’s while he slept. He was just getting to the dream about three giant metal balls when Paul woke him. “Get up you lazy sod” said Paul pulling at Billy’s arm. Billy lashed out but Paul was long gone, in the kitchen sorting through the breakfast cereal. “Haven’t you got anything that doesn’t have fcuking radishes in?” shouted Paul, throwing a box of Special L with added radish onto the floor in disgust. Bobbits ate, drank and slept radishes, which is why they were never as popular as say, for instance Hobbits. A type of Hobbit with extremely bad breath, not a very pleasant manner and they swore like troopers. Plus this one was a cloak lifter, Bobbits were not sweet and cuddly and if a story about Bobbits was ever made into a film, the merchandising would be a real test for the marketing department.
Billy walked naked into the kitchen and scratched himself in various places. “Cover it up you little fcuker, I don’t fancy you” said Paul quite truthfully. Billy grabbed a dressing gown from the bedroom and covered up his hairy body. “I like your slippers” said Paul making polite conversation. “They’re not slippers, they’re my feet” said Billy admiring the hair between his toes. “What time does the party start?” asked Paul eager to get away before he ended up looking after the whole village. There was a knock on the door and Paul and Billy looked at each other. “Get rid of whoever it is” said Paul and crunched on his snap, crackle and radish cereal. Billy strolled to the door and pulled the heavy wooden door open with a creak. He put the creak down and there was Fergal Raddishnose, his bestest friend with his dog Lucky. Lucky was having a dump on Billy’s radishes but it was too late to say anything even “That’s Lucky” but then Lucky never did anything Fergal or anybody told it to do. “Happy birthday Billy” said Fergal and Lucky tried to hump Billy’s leg. Obviously, some sort of canine birthday wish but with a shake of Billy’s powerful leg, Lucky flew through the air and landed in the radish patch. “You’d better come in,” he said to Fergal who followed him in. The door slammed shut and they both heard Lucky yelp. “Can’t be lucky all the time” said Fergal philosophically and followed Billy into the kitchen.
“Hello Paul” said Fergal. “Hello Fergal” said Paul. So that scintillating conversation over, they sat in the kitchen staring out the window. Paul’s chair creaked as his weight was a bit much for standard Bobbit furniture. “Ready for the pish up?” asked Fergal and Paul and Billy looked at each other knowingly. Paul kicked Billy under the table and how he fitted under the table was a miracle but he had dropped one of his balls, as he hadn’t tied the bag up properly. “I might be bit late” Billy tried to explain. “Late for your own party?” Fergal was amazed and a bit suspicious. Billy was dying to tell him but he knew that Paul would give him what for so he bit his tongue but that was too painful so just tried to keep quiet. “You’re up to something,” stated Fergal knowingly, he had known Billy for years and he wasn’t going to take any old crap, there was something going on and he wanted to know. Billy tried to deny that something was going on and he looked to Paul for help but Paul just looked out of the window.
“Can you keep a secret, Fergal?” said Paul, still looking out of the window. “If it’s to do with Billy, you can trust me,” said Fergal truthfully, as they had grown up together and he saw Billy almost as a brother. “Billy is a cloak lifter,” said Paul expecting some sort of reaction from Fergal but Fergal just smiled and replied “Known that for years and he’s not choosy where he shoves his tadger” “You mean, you’ve known all this time?” said an amazed Billy. “Why the fcuk didn’t you tell me? I seem to have been the only one in the dark about this” Billy was glad to get if off his chest not that he had much of a chest. Paul interrupted the conversation “Will you stand beside him, whatever the danger?” he asked Fergal. “Yes, yes of course, as long as he leaves my arrse alone,” replied a determined Fergal, if there was something going on, he wanted a piece of the action but he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his arrse, there are limits to a friendship and that was the limit in this case. So Paul explained it all to Fergal and he even showed him his balls.
It was time to leave. Billy had packed his rucksack with all the essentials, radishes, water, porn, more radishes and more porn. Fergal had taken Lucky to a neighbour and was to meet them at Billy’s house in a few minutes. So as not to attract attention, they would be walking to Saulsberry, they could have borrowed some ponies or even rented some but it just would have possibly warned people they were going. So Billy oiled his feet, which is what any good Bobbit does before a long journey, went for a nervous pish and waited for Fergal to come back. Paul sat outside on the small patch of grass in Billy’s garden and did his yoga exercises. Fergal arrived back a few minutes later carrying a rucksack and he sat outside next to Paul who had just finished his yoga. “This is going to dangerous Fergal,” said Paul trying to warn him that this was not just a walk in the park. “You might even die,” he continued but Fergal’s spirit was not going to broken. “Could be worse,” he said though secretly his stomach was churning and even the butterflies had butterflies.
So, the three left towards Saulsberry. They took a roundabout way to avoid being spotted and managed to reach the edge of the village by one of the fields of Farmer Prescott, a fat, miserable farmer with a huge croquet lawn and two carts, when everybody else had just the one. He was human but only just and came from a human place far away, Billy couldn’t remember exactly but he thought it was the same name as part of a boat or ship. For years, Farmer Prescott had made their life a misery with his crop spraying and had chased them from his fields anytime they went near them. They were on the track but the field was on one side with the woods on the other. They heard barking in the distance and all thought immediately “That’s Lucky”. There was the sound of Lucky and also the sound of somebody or something crashing through the field with its crop of maize. The crashing sounds and the barking got ever nearer and the three waited with baited breath.
Lucky appeared first followed closely by two other Bobbits
and all five and Lucky fell into a heap of bodies. Billy was starting to like
that but in the distance, he heard the voice of Farmer Prescott and he was
getting nearer. They all picked themselves up as there was nobody else around
to do it and they stood waiting for the inevitable appearance of Farmer
Prescott. A large red-faced man crashed through the maze and collapsed onto the
track. He wheezed where he lay and he did not look very healthy. Paul tried to
pick him up but Farmer Prescott swung a huge arm narrowly missing him. He
managed to dodge that telegraphed swing and ducking and weaving like a
professional boxer, worked his way towards the lower torso of Farmer Prescott
and with one swing of his foot, kicked him in the bollox. “You'll like it, not a lot, but you'll like it.,”
said Paul and while nobody loves a stereotype, Farmer Prescott squirmed on the
floor holding his injured groin.
So while Farmer
Prescott wished his balls were made of heavy metal, it was time for
introductions. Paul of course already knew Lucky and Lucky was making his
presence felt by trying to hump his leg. It didn’t last long as Lucky flew
through the air and landed somewhere in the field of maize. The other two
Bobbits who had supposed to look after Lucky were not known to Paul but Billy of
course knew them both. The taller one, by half an inch was Nathaniel ‘Nat’
Beanpole and the fatter one by half an elephant was Cubby Broccoli. They both
had rucksacks and it appears that the secret of Billy had not been as secret as
was first thought. “We followed you” said Nat brushing the dust off himself.
“I’ll protect you” said Cubby who was a bit of a mauler after too much radish
beer. “My word is my bond” he said needlessly and spitting on the ground, in
fact he was quite an expert on phlegming. “Well you can’t go back now I
suppose” said Paul shaking his leg to try and get a persistent Lucky off it. “I
think we’d better make tracks for Saulsberry” said Paul and after a swift kick
in the nuts for Farmer Prescott, they started off on again on their travels.
Lucky bit him on the nose and how they laughed. “That’s Lucky” said Nat and
they walked on towards Saulsberry.
Chapter Three
“This isn’t the way to Saulsberry,” said Nat looking at his Reader’s Digest Book of the Track that never left his side. “We have to make a slight detour,” said Paul wondering why it took the Bobbits so long to notice. “Thick little shites” he thought to himself, somewhat ungraciously but fairly accurately. They walked along the track, the sun was shining and the birds would not shut up. Cubby threw stones at them but they just sang all the more. You would not have thought that just left of centre earth was in such grave danger, it was a perfect day or it would have been if they hadn’t have been walking for hours. The Bobbits were both hungry and thirsty and insisted on stopping for a bite to eat. So umpteen radish sandwiches, a few bottles of that famous radish beer later and the Bobbits were happy again. They wandered along the path intoxicated with the excitement of the task in hand, plus the fact that Bobbits really can’t hold their drink. Billy tripped over a tree root and the other three Bobbits almost wet themselves laughing. Bobbits are also not naturally sympathetic especially when half pished.
Finally, they came to a large track, almost a road and they were surprised at the amount of traffic on it. The road was almost at a standstill with the amount of traffic. A few hundred metres down the road, a gypsy wagon had overturned and what seemed like hundreds of small children played around the overturned wagon dodging the traffic.
“Fcuking caravans” growled Paul hoping that this would not
hold them up. “This is the
They made their way past the overturned wagon and headed
onwards. The road was still busy but they made good time. They passed the
It took them a couple of minutes fighting through the held up traffic to reach the Druid. The Druid was even taller than they had first estimated and was resplendent in his white robes. Paul and the Druid embraced each other, they obviously knew each other but there were no tongues so not quite that well. “How’s it going you old scrote?” The Druid asked Paul, still almost squeezing the life out of him. “Great mate, just great” replied Paul trying to break free, this was starting to restrict his breathing. “Gentlemen, this is Stone, Oliver Stone” Paul introduced the Druid to the Bobbits. The Bobbits stood in awe of him especially as he was still squeezing Paul who was now starting to turn a shade of blue. Stone dropped Paul and the colour slowly returned to his face. “So what you up to Olly?” asked Paul looking round the huge site. “Just building a henge,” replied Olly not sure, if the rest knew exactly what a henge was. “Stone’s henge?” Paul played around with a possible name for this mammoth construction project. “You putting a roof on it?” asked Paul quite seriously. “Maybe later” replied Olly glad he had shelled out the extra for a project manager. So many questions, so much to do and he had been particularly bad on the Henge Phase at Druid’s College having just scraped through with a very low pass.
They sat on the grass and Olly explained all about the henge, how it was all being constructed, how the rock was sourced and how it got here to just left of centre earth. “Got the rock from B&Q Carmarthen branch but the fcukers don’t deliver” explained Olly. A human dressed in a donkey cloak came up to them and whispered something in Olly’s ear. Olly replied and the man rushed off back to the main construction site. “Had to get the Paddi in,” he explained. The Paddi were a fierce warring tribe from far, far away but had excellent construction skills as long as they were kept at least one kingdom away from any alcohol. The Paddi wore heavy cloaks called donkey cloaks and they had red faces to match their red hair. Olly showed them all the architect’s drawing which did explain exactly where each room was to go and even showed the bedrooms with two of them en-suite.
“You know why I’m here,” said Paul, now in serious mode. “Olly nodded and threw a stone at one of the Paddi, hitting him neatly on the temple. “Stop shirking!” he shouted at the poor Paddi who was now on the grass nursing a gash on his temple. “I fcuking told you this was a hard head environment!” he shouted at the Paddi and two of the poor Paddi’s mates rushed up and dragged him away out of range of Olly or so they hoped. “You have to keep on top of them,” he told Paul and Billy’s ears pricked up which was quite painful but he was having feelings elsewhere so hardly noticed it. “You can come with us?” asked Paul and Olly nodded looking serious. “I have to go,” said Olly and they all clapped and danced around with happiness except Paul who just smiled, very smugly. “I said I have to go” Olly repeated and pulling up his long white cloak, let go of a curly one onto the grass. He wiped his arrse with some nettles that took any hint of a smile off his face but finally finished he held out a hand for Paul. “You can bollox” was the fairly predictable reply to this gesture and Olly rushed off to wash his hands. “You won’t get a finer man than that,” Paul told the Bobbits and they moved away from what Olly had left on the grass. Even the Bobbits were looking a bit green and a diet of mainly radishes can produce some serious smells.
So they left the construction site and headed for Saulsberry. The traffic did get back to normal once the Paddi had erected that stone and even the gypsy wagon got righted as they had called out breakdown assistance. The intrepid six now, headed for Saulsberry just stopping for something to eat in a roadside eating establishment run by dwarves. “You can’t beat little chefs,” said Billy as they all tucked in to a hearty meal. So the meal finished they continued their journey and soon, the huge spire of Saulsberry could be seen in the distance. It was a bit posh for a hotel and conference centre to have a spire but it was a five star facility. They followed the river towards the hotel and soon they were stood by the ‘No Elves” sign at the entrance to the hotel grounds. They checked in, the rooms had been pre-booked and the Tidworth Suite was ready and available for the Council of War. They each made their way to their respective rooms and Olly even chose one with a roof. So washed, dressed and after a quick snooze, they assembled in the Wiltshire Bar for a cocktail before dinner. As they sipped their respective cocktails, they heard a rumpus at reception. Paul stood up and walked purposely towards reception. The hotel security staff were trying to throw out somebody and this somebody was not too happy on going. Tall, pointy eared and only on verse sixty-seven of “The Ballad of the Hotel Lobby”, it could only be one thing and it was. It was an Elf.
The rumpus in the hotel lobby had calmed down a bit and the hotel manager was there trying to talk the Elf into leaving. Rather than singing, the Elf was using human speak and had already told the hotel manager to ‘Fcuk right off’ three times. Paul asked the Elf whom he was but was told to ‘Fcuk right off’ as well. The Elf still not singing which has to be a record for an elf introduced himself. “I am Legoland, son of Arafat, son of Borrowmore, son of Peters and Lee, son of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich” Paul suddenly realised that he knew this Elf or had known him when he had been much younger. “Dave?” The Elf looked at Paul and you could see he was either struggling not to sing or trying to remember where he had seen Paul before. “I knew your father, Dave,” Paul explained and you could see the recognition growing on Dave’s face. They embraced each other, again no tongues and the hotel manager was a bit pished off as he got caught in between. Extracting himself, the manager pointed to the ‘No Elves’ sign behind reception. “What if he signs the no singing clause?” Paul asked the hotel manager but the manager had his jobs worth hat on. “Either he stays or we go,” stated a very determined Paul. Elves were a real pain in the arrse but if you stop them singing, they can be quite useful. So after a few minutes of persuading and signing the no singing clause, Dave was booked into the hotel. The clerk at reception asked his name for the records. “I am Legoland, son of Arafat, son of Borrowmore, son of Peters and Lee, son of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich or just plain Dave,” said Dave, happy to get a room for the night. “Dave” confirmed the clerk “That’ll do nicely sir” he said with a very wide but false smile and handed over the key.
They all ate in the John Constable Dining Room and made their way to the Tidworth Suite for the Council of War. Present were of course was Paul and the four Bobbits, Olly the Druid who they had picked up on the way and the latest member, Dave the Elf who still got dirty looks at reception as while he didn’t sing, he did whistle a bit too much for the hotel’s liking. They sat themselves down around a huge oblong table. They could have had a round table but the Arthur Suite had been already booked so they had settled for the next one down. Two of the hotel security staff were on the door and announced all those that entered. The next to enter was announced as Hugh Ferninglystall-Whittingstallworthy from the Hippy Kingdom, a master chef, martial arts expert, keen fisherman and expert on square crop circles who greeted all in the customary Hippy way “Peace”. Chubby was heard to say “Peace off” but very softly and only Billy managed to hear it. The next to enter was announced as David Hasslehuff of the Knight Riders who was relishing the double time. He had left the border near Handover under the capable hands of his deputy. Not much was known about him as the Bobbits had hired him thanks to an advert in a newsagent’s window.
The next to be announced was the champion of
So with all seated, Paul addressed the chair but as the chair was totally unresponsive, he addressed those seated. “Gentlemen, these are grave times” Paul went on to tell of the three heavy metal balls, how Billy was now a bit of a cloak lifter, that his hotel room wasn’t that good and that food was pretty damn good here. He again warned Dave the Elf against singing and to maybe cut down on the whistling a bit and that they ALL would have to head eastwards to kill the Witches of Gatwick. Nobody spoke, they all just looked at each other but Billy didn’t fancy anybody so contented himself by blowing kisses at one of the security staff. “Billy, stop mincing!” shouted Paul and everybody looked at him. The Knight Rider asked if the double time extended to the killing of the Witches of Gatwick and Paul assured him that somehow he would be paid. The Knight Rider, David gave them all the assurance that he would now carry out the task in hand to the best of his abilities but especially at weekends and bank holidays. “I’m in” he said and they all looked at him. “Mercenary fcuker” thought most of them but Billy looked him up and down a bit and thought he had particularly nice arrse.
The Council of War drew to a close and they headed towards the Wiltshire Bar for a well earned drink. They were to meet again in the morning and then they were all going to leave on the life or death mission of killing the Witches of Gatwick. They all sat in the bar, some talked, some drank, some drank too much and one annoying one wrote a song but fortunately didn’t sing it. “Will you stop that fcuking humming!” shouted Billy, suddenly feeling brave after three radish beers and the fact that all assembled there were to protect him. Some stayed in the bar but the Bobbits made their way to bed, pished as usual. Billy blew a kiss goodnight to the hotel security guy and headed up the stairs to his room. He suddenly felt very safe but after undressing, reading his porn mag and brushing his teeth, he lay in bed and his heart felt heavy and a shiver ran down his spine. Somebody or something was watching him and it was talking to him. He lay there now very frightened and then it dawned on him. He jumped out of bed, turned the TV off and went back to bed. Morning would come soon enough and he needed some sleep. He drifted off and had a lovely dream about railway engines going into tunnels.
Chapter Four
Billy lay in bed, it was a warm night and he had thrown the duvet off. He looked at the clock and noticed it was ten minutes since he had last looked. It was the middle of the night and he now couldn’t sleep. He tried counting sheep but there weren’t any in the room and Bobbits don’t have particularly good imaginations unless its sex and then they’re pretty hard to beat, mainly as they won’t stand still. Billy listened but all he could hear was silence, that loud silence when all you hear was your own heartbeat. Of course, he was relieved he could hear his own heartbeat as if he couldn’t, he’d either be deaf or dead.
Suddenly there was a crash and the window to Billy’s room exploded into a million pieces, he didn’t count them but he guessed there must be a million, give or take a million. Something jumped through the window and Billy felt hot clammy breath on his skin. He didn’t mind that but the breath smelt of Pernod and Bobbits hated anything with aniseed. Two more bodies jumped through what had been the window and he could feel them whatever they were on the bed. He was too scared even to shout “Fcuk off!” but did manage a rather wimpy “Get off my bed aniseed balls”. There were hands all over him which he secretly enjoyed but when he felt something sticking into his chest and it was a bit pointy compared to what he had imagined, he was now genuinely petrified.
The door burst open and there stood Tarquin, dressed in a hotel dressing gown and wearing a shower cap and he seemed to have rollers in his hair. Tarquin flicked the light switch and there they were, two Chavs and worse still a single solitary Disco Chav. Tarquin didn’t ask if the Disco Chav was single and nor did Billy but he couldn’t see a wedding ring. With one swing of his huge axe, Tarquin decapitated the first Chav with the comment “He needs to get ahead”. Another swing of the axe and the Chav that had been just about to skewer Billy was minus an arm with the very corny comment of “That’ll stop him biting his nails” as the axe swung again and the Chav lay dead on the floor bleeding profusely over a disgusting hotel carpet. The Disco Chav muttered something that neither of them caught and threw itself out of the window forgetting they were just above the ornamental garden and on the third floor. The Disco Chav wrestled in agony as it had speared itself on a plastic heron. Tarquin looked out of the window as Billy couldn’t reach and added his comment that the Disco Chav “Should have looked before he leaped” which seemed just a bit obvious to Billy.
The others had been woken by the commotion, even the hotel manager who was extremely worried about the bloodstain on the carpet. A horrible scream came from the ornamental garden and they all tried to look out as the Disco Chav wrestled its last wrestle and went to meet its maker whatever that might be. The room was getting a bit crowded and Billy who was very tired after the ordeal was scratching his back using the Chav’s arm and suddenly realising what he was doing, he threw it out of the window in disgust. “You’ll have to sleep with me,” said Tarquin and Billy didn’t complain, he was dead on his feet or would have been had he been standing up. Tarquin picked up Billy, tucked him under his arm and strolled to his room. Billy was a tad disappointed as he was told to sleep in the bed while Tarquin kept guard sat on a chair. Billy drifted off into a troubled sleep and dreamed he was being chased by giant radishes with arms. They say you can analyse dreams and if Billy’s was anything to go on, they were all in big trouble or up shite creek without a paddle as Billy’s mum used to say.
Morning came soon enough or too soon for Billy as he didn’t want to get up. The rest except Billy and Tarquin were sat round the breakfast table and tucking into a hearty breakfast. Tarquin finished in the bathroom and told Billy to join them soon or else he would be back up to get him. Billy was extremely grateful to Tarquin but he wasn’t about to cross him, so he finally dragged himself out of his pit and made the effort. He washed, dressed and finally made it down to breakfast for a nice bowl of radish muesli. The rest had already finished and were chatting about the events of last night. “They know you’re coming Billy and I’ve written a song especially for you” said Dave the Elf but the glares he got off the others made him rethink and he just hummed a few bars. More glares managed to stop the humming and Dave the Elf sat in silence much to the other’s relief. “We have to go Billy and soon” said Paul and the others nodded in agreement.
So, it was time to leave and they all stood in the lobby arguing who was going to pay. The manager was there and was insisting that the damage to the window be paid for but there was still the matter of the rooms to pay for. “Ah fcuk it, I’ll pay. I can get the Hair Miles,” said Paul mopping his brow with his wig. He paid the entire bill, which was a tidy sum as the manager was on the fiddle and had added a bit on for himself. He used his Lord and Master credit card and they were ready to go. “Thank you, please come again” said the manager without much feeling. “Not fcuking likely mate” replied Fergal with enough feeling for the both of them. They walked up the long winding drive and Dave paused to rip off the ‘No Elves” sign at the entrance to the grounds, swearing to be back with a long and boring song. “No fcuking Elves, I’ll fcuking teach ‘em” he said most uncharacteristically.
They walked along the lower road to Handover as Paul had once seen a lynx near to a place called Hairfield and hoped to show them it. Hairfield was a strange collection of buildings close to a large grassy plain. He went on and on about the lynx, of course a large ferocious cat that preyed on anything that hung around long enough to be preyed upon. Hugh the hippy was on something, actually a small tree stump but he was smoking something strange as he had resorted to hippy-speak and just sat there with glazed eyes and double vision or perhaps double-glazed and repeated one word over and over again. “Cyclic” he went on and anything and everything was ‘Cyclic”. “Mark, one knows they are secretive animals,” said Paul as they had seen absolutely bugger all. “Mark, nine people only have ever seen it,” he continued. “Mark, seven of those were pished” he concluded which confused Fergal so much that he had to ask it. “Who the fcuk’s Mark?” Billy laughed and so did some of the others.
The relatively happy bunch finally reached the outskirts of Handover and they stopped for something to eat in a restaurant made of links of metal joined together. It was a chain and the owner was now Mac Donald as he had stabbed his brother Ronald to death but had got away with a light sentence because the judge had called it a crime of passion and plain common sense. It wasn’t everyday you heard a judge agree, “He had it coming to him”. They ate heartily however you do that but they actually did eat most of what had been put in front of them. That did include most of the packaging as well but they hadn’t noticed the difference and would have to use alternative methods for recycling. So with full stomachs and something to play with as most had chosen a kiddies meal, they continued towards the gate and towards the horrors that might lie beyond.
The gate stood before them with Knight Riders alert to any danger. In fact they had to shout to get them out of their hut as a couple had been asleep and the rest had been playing Uckers, a strange game that they had picked up somewhere on their travels like most of the anti-social diseases they suffered from. The key was obtained from the key press and inserted into the lock and with a large clunk, the door was unlocked and the gate squeaked open. “Could do with a bit of fcuking oil there,” remarked Cubby ever attentive. ”After you” said Billy. “After you” said Nat. “Cyclic” said Hugh. “After you” said Dave the Elf, as Elves are boringly polite, ok just boring. “For fcuk’s sake!” shouted Paul and walked through the open gate. Tarquin strode through with the confidence he just oozed and the rest finally followed. “Bye chaps…” said Billy but the gate was already shut, they heard the key in the lock, not long afterwards the sound of the hut door slamming and then silence. “Guess we’re on our own now” said Billy and the rest looked at him. Actually, he had a piece of radish stuck in his teeth but nobody wanted to tell him.
They walked on in comparative silence as Lucky barked at anything in sight, which wasn’t much, so he barked at nothing instead. The silence was occasionally broken by Fergal telling Lucky to “Shut the fcuk up”. There was no traffic on the road and it was deadly quiet everywhere, the odd bird would sing and sometimes even one that wasn’t odd but there was a strange feeling to this land. They reached a large junction in the road and roads went off east, north and south. In the distance, they heard the rumble of cartwheels and they waited nervously as it got ever closer. The cart was now in sight but looked innocent enough but Tarquin suddenly shouted, “Hide!” They dived into any cover they could find and Tarquin was left stood standing there on his own. The cart stopped and Tarquin, still alone talked to the driver. Gradually the braver ones broke their cover just in time to see Tarquin taking a large cow skin from the driver and draping it over his shoulders. “Fcuking wimps” he said stroking the cow skin. “I said hide didn’t I?” he asked and they looked at him inquisitively. “That cart sold hides,” he explained “I’ve been after a nice cowhide for years,” he concluded and the rest looked at him rather sheepishly.
“I think we should split up here,” said Paul ‘The Grey’ Daniels” and they all stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Well except Nat who was having a crap in some bushes and he carried on regardless. “The enemy are expecting us and we are rather a large group” he continued and most made valiant attempts at holding their stomachs in. “I meant large in number, you fcuking numpty” he shouted and clipped Cubby round the ear who gasped loudly and there was suddenly the smell of radishes and second hand radishes as well. “Dirty little fcuker” exclaimed Paul and clipped Cubby round the ear again. Nat finished in the bushes and walked over to join them just as Paul spoke again. “Right, that’s settled, we’re splitting up here. I’ll take Billy and Fergal” he said and Lucky striving for attention tried to hump his leg. Paul kicked his leg and Lucky flew through the air landing very close to where Nat had just had his dump.
“Yes ok and Lucky” continued Paul as Lucky wrestled through the bushes to get back to join them. “But one more hump and I’ll be wearing his balls as earrings” he warned Lucky who cowered behind Fergal. “So that’s Billy, Fergal and fcuking Lucky and Tarquin and Dave the Elf and the rest of you can fcuk right off” Paul was laughing now as they all looked at him. “I’m joking” he said trying to reassure them. “ You fcuking lot can go via Winchaster as there is a direct road from Winchaster to Crawley and you can see if you can pick up some reinforcements, can’t you Tom.” “Yes fcuking sir” said Tom and saluted a nearby birch tree. Everybody laughed except the birch tree and Lucky as he had tried Tarquin’s leg this time and he had gone so high and far that he was worried he might burn up on re-entry. “Fcuking intelligent dog that” said Fergal to Billy and if only he knew HOW intelligent Lucky was, it was the humping that annoyed him or lack of in his case so he was sympathetic.
So they said their goodbyes and Nat, Cubby, Olly, David Hasslehuff, Hugh F-W and Capt Tom headed off due south but didn’t see anybody vaguely Canadian on their way to Winchaster. They reached Winchaster just as night fell and Tom led them towards the barracks where they would be spending the night. He disappeared to discuss things with his superiors while the rest got bunged in the transit room, which was better than nothing but only just. Still there was no shortage of radishes on the menu for the evening meal, so Nat and Cubby pigged out and didn’t the rest of them know it that night. Tom joined them later on and explained that there had been no definite promises from his superiors but a few definite maybes, which was as good as he could get and actually more than he had expected.
They all met later in a small cosy bar just round the corner from the barracks, Nat and Cubby had a quart of radish beer each and all except Hugh just settled for the local brew. Hugh had recovered from his special tobacco and suddenly seeing reality and not liking it had started smoking some more. At least he had stopped saying “Cyclic” now but he wasn’t much help sat in the corner staring at a wonderful set of fake horse brasses either. Nat still had his trusty Reader’s Digest Book of the Track with him and they looked at the route they would have to take. “Piece of pish” exclaimed Cubby, not really knowing what was going to happen. “Could do with a polish” said Hugh but he was still staring at the horse brasses and they just ignored him. They had a pleasant evening and headed back for the barracks leading Hugh on a piece of string that Nat had found in his pocket. He was totally out of it but they didn’t want to lose him. “As much use as t1ts on a bull” shouted Cubby and woke up the guard at the barracks. They made their way to the transit room and all fell into their respective sleeps. Some dreamed, some didn’t and Hugh pished the bed but then it wasn’t really his fault. They all wondered what the coming days would bring.
Chapter Five
Billy shook his leg as Lucky was in mid-hump and Lucky flew through the air yet again. Billy watched the others disappear down the south road and wondered if this was a good idea. They were there to protect him, so they couldn’t do much protecting in Winchaster or on the southerly route. He was just being selfish but Bobbits are quite selfish and not really the cuddly types that Hobbits were but at least they didn’t bite their nails. Billy stared up at Tarquin who was fingering his axe and dreamt rude things but he was brought back to earth with a bump when Tarquin spoke. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking then I wouldn’t otherwise you’re going to be sliding down this axe and your difference will be well and truly split” Billy’s bubble had burst, he muttered something and went to find Fergal. “Fcuking cloak lifter” said Tarquin still playing with his axe.
“We have to make tracks,” said Paul to those that were
listening and Billy wondered why they would have to make tracks when a
perfectly good road stretched out in front of them. “For those sarcastic
barstewards or thick little fcukers that means we have to get going” said Paul
almost reading Billy’s mind, if in fact there was anything to read at all.
“Right, wagons roll,” said Paul sarcastically and off they went along the
easterly road. It really was quite pleasant, the late afternoon sun shown down
on them, the birds sang while they had a chance and Lucky had found a diseased
but still alive rabbit and humped it to death. They were heading for Baize-in-Stoke
which confusingly was nowhere near Stoke. Paul had mentioned that he knew of an
“Fcuking great!” shouted Billy as he supped his third pint of radish beer. They were sat in the public bar of the Dewdrop Inn and Billy and Fergal were trying to out drink each other. Not exactly responsible behaviour but in Billy’s words “Fcuk it, they are there to protect ME” showing just HOW selfish Bobbits really were. Dave the Elf sat sulking in a corner as he had just had the riot act read to him and been told that there was abso-fcuking-lutely no singing in the Inn, the cart park or anywhere else within a distance of a couple of kilometres. “That’s pished in his Elf sink,” said the manager so grateful for the customer relations course he’d recently attended as he had opted for the extra Elf relations module. The Dewdrop Inn was on the outskirts of Baize-in-Stoke as Paul had heard rumours that Chavs were already occupying parts of the town. It seemed improbable but he had heard that some Chavs had actually lowered their cart and fitted a sports exhaust to a pony though they were responding to treatment and the doctors were sure that the sports exhaust could be extracted from where the pony had kicked it.
They each had a bedroom to themselves except Billy who had to share with Fergal. It was the only one with an en-suite, which had confused Billy twice, first with “On what?” Then the half an hour he had spent looking for the sweet until somebody had explained it to him. “I even looked in the fcuking bathroom” he had exclaimed. Paul had told them to meet in his bedroom later that evening, so they all just occupied themselves as they could until it was time. Billy and Fergal were well on the way to getting bat faced, Tarquin just kept sharpening that axe, Lucky was having intimate relations with a dustbin and Dave the Elf was still sulking as he’d written three songs already that day and still wasn’t allowed to sing them. Paul was last seen going to his room with a mysterious stranger but then nobody really cared that much; he was a consenting adult and a consulting wizard though someone did comment that it might possibly be a wig salesman.
“Oh fcuk” said Fergal suddenly realising they were late for the meeting in Paul’s room. They made their way through the bar, wobbled up the stairs and bounced along the corridor to Paul’s room. Billy knocked on the door and Tarquin opened it slowly, glanced up and down the corridor and pulled them into the room and none too gently. Everybody was there, even Lucky and in the far corner of the room sat a stranger. “Billy, Fergal, this is Mister X” Paul broke the silence and introduced the mysterious stranger, who obviously wished to remain anonymous. “Or Mark the Thatcher to his friends” explained Paul. “He is a Thatcher but times are hard and he is here with his other head on,” continued Paul while both Billy and Fergal stared at the stranger wondering where he kept his normal head. Billy thought he could spot the join but it was just a trick of the light.
Mark the Thatcher picked up a large bundle from the bed, unrolled it on the floor and all sorts of weapons in all shapes and sizes fell onto the floor. There were large swords, small swords, broadswords and axes and daggers, some longbows and crossbows with some arrows and quills and some rather tasty looking catapults. “Nice” said Tarquin picking up a broadsword the size of Billy and swung it around his head, which plunged the room into darkness as he hit the light. Half an hour later after calling room service, the light was back on and everybody had the chance to choose something suitable for the trip. Dave the Elf of course chose a longbow, as Elves are famous for their archery skills, when they’re not singing that is and they do have strange pointy ears but that’s not important right now. Tarquin kept the broadsword, mainly as nobody could get it back off him and as nobody dared asking him. Paul chose a crossbow and sword and the two Bobbits each chose a small sword, which were perfect for their size. Lucky just tried to hump Mark the Thatcher until a short, sharp stab with a sword in a delicate part of his anatomy ruined the mood and he curled up in a corner and licked his wounded bits, perhaps a bit too much licking but at least he didn’t bother anybody. Paul picked a couple of catapults and handed one each to the Bobbits. “How the fcuk are you going to fire your balls?” he said to Billy and “Best have a spare” to Fergal. “So that’s what I’m supposed to do with them” thought Billy and stuffed the catapult in his pocket.
Paul pulled an old purse from his cloak and paid Mark the Thatcher with some gold coins, as he didn’t take plastic. So now armed for the journey ahead, they all returned to their rooms and settled down for the night though Billy and Fergal did nip down to the bar for a swift half of radish beer. They all spent a relatively quiet night though Fergal did wake just the once as something seemed to be sticking in him but he was very relieved to find that Billy had taken his sword to bed with him. It wasn’t what he had first thought when he had woken. The rest of the night passed uneventfully and they all met again for breakfast. “From now on, we really need to stay off the roads,” said Paul. “There are dark forces at work and we need to avoid them,” continued Paul, a bit melodramatically. “But we don’t have a map” said Fergal, so used to having Nat and his Reader’s Digest Book of the Track near to hand. “The balls will tell us” said Paul and explained all about the balls to all those assembled and two elderly ladies sat at a nearby table who did look shocked at first but things stirred that had long since been dormant and they got quite excited in the end. The waiter had never seen somebody get that excited over muesli before but he was philosophical and knew it took all sorts.
So they headed east. It didn’t get off to a very good start as five travellers and a dog tramping across your prize lawn is enough to upset anybody and this particular gardener chased them off with an evil looking dog. From then on, they kept to the side of the road, trying to stay the other side of a hedge if there was one. Paul checked his balls that often that did get them some funny looks especially since they were now armed, not the balls, the group obviously but it was more the ball checking that got them the looks. Crime was rife in this area and with the Chavs on the rampage; many people had opted for carrying arms. They were making good time but in the distance, they thought they could see some sort of checkpoint. They crept closer trying to stay undetected especially difficult as Lucky liked this position and kept trying to hump them. “Chavs” whispered Paul pointing at the group of half a dozen hooded figures that were stopping all traffic on the road and they appeared to be looking for something or someone. “We could try and go round,” suggested Dave the Elf but the hedge ended fairly soon and the countryside was very open. “We could just kill them all,” suggested Tarquin running his thumb along the blade of his axe, a glint in his eye. “We have to fcuking do something,” stated Billy very obliviously and Fergal had to agree with him. Paul handed the bag of balls to Billy and told him “You guard those with your life, you little fcuker” and to Fergal “And you fcuking make sure he does” Billy rattled his balls nervously and waited for somebody to think of something.
Plan A turned into Plan B and then they worked their way through the alphabet while Billy and Fergal sat, trying to keep Lucky under control and stopping him from trying to hump them. “Where the fcuk’s Tarquin? Asked Paul, as he was conspicuous by his absence. Then from the general direction of the checkpoint and the Chavs came horrendous screaming. They all looked in that direction, just in time to see the end of the carnage. Limbs flew through the air as Tarquin with axe in one hand and broadsword in the other rendered the half a dozen limbless and eventually lifeless. A severed arm flew towards them and Lucky caught it in mid air. He ran around with his new toy, so proud and not really appreciating the Rollex watch still on the wrist. Then it was quiet, bloody and messy but quiet. They wandered across to where six Chavs, only minutes ago had been relatively fit and healthy and there was Tarquin leaning on his axe. “They seem a bit cut up about something,” he said, smiling at his handiwork. “Well bang goes the fcuking element of surprise,” commented Paul. “We’d better clear up a bit here” he added and started dragging a limbless torso into the side of the road and kicking it into the ditch. “Billy, Fergal, get your fcuking lazy arrses out here and fcuking help” he shouted without much subtlety. Lucky still ran around playing with the severed arm but the watch was gone as Dave the Elf confirmed by showing off his new acquisition, a nice shiny Rollex watch.
It was a warm day and they were all a bit warmer after trying to hide any evidence of the Chavs that had previously been mounting the checkpoint. Limbs and limbless torsos had been carried well away from the road and hidden as best they could but there was still the chance that they could be found. It wasn’t helped by Lucky who seemed to love the arms and as fast as they were hidden, he found them again and pranced about with his new toy. Billy had suggested burning but a funeral pyre does produce smoke and probably a rather unpleasant odour and that would have definitely attracted attention. So with everything covered up as well as possible they continued on their way, not before Lucky had pulled out one last arm and left it rather close to the road. They had wasted enough time and wanted to put as many miles or kilometres between them and the scene of the massacre as possible.
It was late afternoon and they were all starving. Billy and Fergal were going through radish withdrawal symptoms, which wasn’t pleasant for them or for the rest come to that. Off to the left of the road was what looked like a holiday cottage. With times as they were now, nobody in their right mind would go on holiday and especially not there, so it was pretty certain that it was empty. They looked round the back, checking for an open window and Billy was getting worried, well hungry and worried because he was hungry. “We’ll never get in,” he said dejectedly as Tarquin leant on the back door and it miraculously opened as the doorframe gave way. They all piled in and Billy and Fergal were at the food before anybody else. “Bollox!” said Fergal as he discovered the lack of any radishes. “Fcuking bollox!” said Billy as he discovered the lack of any radishes and the lack of any beer. “Double fcuking bollox!” they said almost in unison, which means together and not the name of a trade union.
Billy and Fergal had struck lucky as the garden was well cared for, a bit overgrown now but there were vegetables of all shapes and sizes and most importantly rows and rows of radishes. They picked until they couldn’t carry any more and rushed into the kitchen to wash them, trim them and most importantly to eat them. Lucky was off in the woods behind the house somewhere trying to find either something to eat or to hump or in an ideal world, both. The rest except Tarquin were resting eating what little food they had found and generally relaxing. Tarquin was on guard at the front of the house and was ready to cut to pieces anything that came his way. “I wonder when the Jehovah’s Witnesses call?” he muttered to himself, having been disturbed many a Sunday lunchtime and he was ready for ‘payback time’.
Billy and Fergal were back in the garden again picking radishes. They heard Lucky barking but thought it sounded like his humping bark so ignored him. Suddenly the pair of them felt hands cover their mouths and they were picked up by strong hands on the end of very strong arms and worse still they could smell Alco-Pops. They had been captured by Chavs. “Got the little fcukers, init,” said Chav 1 who was carrying Billy. “Fcuking right, init” replied Chav 2 carrying Fergal under his arm. Greenery flashed passed them and Billy tried to shout but a large sweaty hand covered his mouth, he tried to bite it but the pain as a finger was shoved up his left nostril told him that maybe shouting or trying to shout wasn’t such a good idea. “Bobbits can shut the fcuk up, init,” said Chav 1 and both Bobbits got the message. “Oh my god, we’re fcuked” thought Billy and normally he would have been right as Chavs didn’t really care where they dipped their wick. Fortunately for the Bobbits, the Chavs were under strict orders. It just remained to see how well they followed them.
Chapter Six
Back at Winchaster, dawn broke much as it does anywhere else so nothing that special really. “Oh fcuk man” were the first words uttered by Hugh and he wasn’t a well man or a happy teddy, a hippy teddy perhaps but he was not in the best of spirits. The two Bobbits had slept like logs, albeit half cut logs but they hadn’t stirred all night. Capt Tom had been called away early so the rest sat trying to eat breakfast, Hugh just looked at his. Tom had been called to meet with his superiors and there was finally some news and it was good news. He now had at his disposal, six members of the Light Infantry (LI), armed to the teeth and ready for any eventuality. One did mention that they’d rather not get into a fight straightaway as they’d had a bit of a tumble the previous night, which is really why these six were detailed. The powers that be in an attempt to save paperwork had decided that the punishment should fit the crime. They followed Tom like puppies as he made his way back to meet the rest in the cookhouse.
They joined the rest and a fight broke out as there weren’t enough chairs. “Fcuking leave ‘em, they’ll sort it out in the end” said Tom and he was right as peace did eventually break out and a bloody nose and a black eye were the only casualties. “That’ll fcuking teach the slop jockeys to stick their fcuking noses in” said Dave, one of the six protagonists. The others were Chaz, Taff, Jock, Paddy and Marmaduke or “Duke” to his friends. So introductions were made, ignored and probably forgotten but they finished breakfast, which for Jock took a good while. “Greedy fcuker” said Dave as Jock went back for more bacon. “You wouldn’t think he was Jewish, so you wouldn’t” remarked Paddy. “Right listen in lads” said Tom trying to get the show on the road. “Parade outside at 0900 hours, ready to go and hot to trot” he told the assembled rabble. “Is that clear?” he added to counteract a few blank looks. The others talked amongst themselves and consulted Nat’s Reader’s Digest Book of the Track to check their route and they made their way outside. A fight broke out between the LI again as some wanted go out four minutes early and some five minutes early. It didn’t last long as a cook or slop jockey got decked and before the rest of the kitchen staff could join in, the six were outside as well. A quick trip to the armoury and all were armed now as well as the six LI. A selection of swords, axes, longbows and crossbows provided perhaps the ideal persuading tools they might need sometime in the future.
So they headed eastwards. They made good time to start with but Hugh was still suffering and in true hippy fashion and was not used to hard work or walking long distances. Even the short distance they had covered was a problem to him so Olly being a Druid made him up a potion that would give him the strength to carry on. Actually he didn’t really make it up as they were still sticking to the roads and passing a chemist, he had nipped in, had a word with the pharmacist and purchased something suitable. “Like wow man” was now the words of the day for Hugh and it did get annoying but most just ignored him. “I wonder how Billy is?” asked Nat. “Who the fcuk’s Billy?” asked Taff and Capt Tom had to explain it to him and the other five. It had been about time for a smoke break and those that didn’t just went through the motions. “Like wow man” said Hugh and Jock punched him on the nose. Another fight broke out involving the six LI, so the rest sat on the grass and watched. It sorted itself out eventually and everybody was again the best of friends, until the next time. “Can’t they save this for the Chavs?” remarked Cubby and Capt Tom had to break them up again. “Like wow man” said Hugh, trying to stem a bloody nose with a dock leaf.
They still made excellent time despite the constant fighting. There was a fight over which side of the road they had to walk on, how often there should be a smoke break, when they were to eat, what they were to eat and the rest sat on the grass as a fork in the road had produced the most intense scrap yet. “We go right!” shouted Jock. “Do we fcuk!” shouted Dave and so it went on for a good quarter of an hour. Capt Tom was used to all this and did usually command in a laissez faire style of command or as he put it “Leave well alone” or “Fcuk ‘em they’ll sort it out” They were an excellent fighting machine, it was just they didn’t know when to stop. The struggle over, the six bloodied LI sat down on the grass and made the most of the pleasant afternoon sun. They were all hungry which could have started them off again but they seemed more philosophical about it but Paddy did promise to punch Hugh’s lights out if he said “Like wow man” one more time. Almost all agreed with him so nobody leapt to Hugh’s defence especially when his opinion on the subject was “Like wow man”.
They were hoping to reach halfway by nightfall, where they could hole up for the night and maybe catch something to eat through any means fair or foul. “Or fowl” suggested Nat as his barbequed chicken was famous throughout his kitchen. The influence of the Chavs had frightened many away and houses lay empty, ripe for their picking. They had seen no sign of Chavs but they knew the roads were patrolled and watched. Their goal was a small town named after a famous magician’s brother. Geoff Hurst was famous in magic circles for his hat trick but his lesser-known brother had given the name to their intended destination. Midhurst was a market town that had suffered badly at the hands of the Chavs and was literally wall to wall Burberry, the adopted uniform of the Chavs. They hoped to find somewhere safe close to the town but not too close. Capt Tom was interested in any intelligence he could get about the Chavs. Intelligence did not abound in those under his command though, as they had just started fighting again because Paddy had only five pear drops left in the bag and somebody would have to go without. “Its fcuking not me” came from all general directions as the fists started flying again.
The problem with the pear drops was finally resolved as Paddy had dropped the bag and Taff had accidentally trodden on it so there had been enough pear drop dust for all. There had been one scary moment as a lone Chav scout had gone by on a Vespa Scooter. They had dived for cover as the Chav had whizzed past at a great rate of knots or it had seemed a great rate of knots but the noise to speed ratio was quite high according to the Vespa handbook and the thing had hardly been moving at all. Fortunately they had not been spotted but this had confirmed they were no longer safe on the roads and a bit more care would have to be taken. The long march continued but they were alert now and even the LI had stopped fighting, this was now getting serious.
Open fields and the countryside turned into the suburbs and Capt Tom suspected they were getting close to Midhurst. The sign on the side of the road saying ‘Midhurst is close init’ confirmed this but also the presence of Chavs in the area. A quiet cul-de-sac, which turned out to be a dead end had a large bungalow at the bottom of it and it looked deserted. “I’m having the upstairs” confirmed that Jock wasn’t thinking straight if he ever did but a subtle push on the backdoor and they were in. Nat and Cubby were in like a shot and some slightly dried out radishes disappeared, washed down with some apple juice. Actually the apple juice was the bungalow owner’s last urine sample before leaving but Bobbits, through excess radish consumption fortunately have no or very little sense of taste. “I liked the salty taste” said Nat and Cubby agreeing and finishing the bottle.
The LI started fighting again as a guard had to be posted. It was who was to stag on first that had set off the fists flying again. Finally sorted, Jock stood on guard, sat in an armchair and peered out of the front window. There was really only access from the front so they should be safe for the night, especially when Capt Tom booted Jock out of the armchair as he was falling asleep. Those lucky enough to have grabbed a bed, cuddled up and tried to shut out the rest of the world, even just for a few minutes. Even dreams came to some but they were frightening dreams of Burberry, Vespas and hooded figures and while nothing to do with Chavs, the so-called sport of synchronized swimming. Dreams can’t get much worse than that.
It was late, Nat didn’t know how late but he heard noises. Not the usual noises that a diet of radishes produces but a different sort of noise. He opened an eye then another but as his head was under the blankets, he still couldn’t see anything. He peered out from under the blankets and saw lights flickering outside the bedroom window and the voices were coming from there. As quietly as hairy feet would carry him, he made his way along the corridor towards the living room where the LI were sleeping. Gently opening the door, he stuck his head round the door was suddenly jumped on and rolled on the floor with his assailant. A torch shone in his face and he was blinded. “You stupid fcuking wee ejit, so you are” sad Paddy and switched the torch off quickly.
The flickering light now shone through the rear window of the living room and they heard the voices getting closer and closer. The back door that couldn’t shut properly after being forced creaked open and the sound of footsteps on the kitchen floor was heard. The rear living room door opened slowly and a torch shone into the room. Then there was chaos. Figures rushed about the dark room and sounds came from all directions. “That’s me so it is” that sounded like Paddy but “Fcuk off me init” was a strange voice as was “You’re biting my bollox init” The lights suddenly came on and under a pile of bodies comprising Paddy, Taff and Jock was a Chav. Another pile comprising the rest had pinned down a loathsome looking creature, it was a Disco Chav.
The Disco Chav was trying to shield its eyes, a creature not used to bright light. “Turn it off init” it kept saying over and over. “Like wow man” said Hugh arriving on the scene from a bedroom and if looks could have killed. “You’re fcuked init” said the Chav, struggling to break free so Jock gave it a tiny bop on the nose. The Chav bled profusely but at least it stopped struggling. Capt Tom came in from outside, he had nipped out to scout around just in case the two had brought company but it was all clear. He rushed round the room closing curtains and barked orders to tie up the two Chavs on chairs, that he had brought in from the kitchen. The Disco Chav was still going on about the light so he threw a cushion cover over its head and that did appear to calm the creature. The Chav was still bleeding where Jock had bopped it but it did seem resigned to its fate as well and kept perfectly quiet.
That was the end of any thoughts of sleep. The Disco Chav was tied up on a chair in the living room and the Chav had been moved to the kitchen and tied up on the chair again. All blinds and curtains were shut and guards had been posted just in case. The LI were still thinking about fighting but not each other, they had a real enemy to fight and they turned into the fighting machines they really were. A patrol was sent out just to the main road but they needed to make certain that the two had been working alone. Capt Tom stood over the Chav and there was a side to him that the others had not yet seen. “What were you doing here?” he asked the Chav. The Chav’s face was covered in dried blood where Jock had snotted him but the creature sat in the kitchen still looking and sounding defiant. “What the fcuk’s it got to do with you init?” Capt Tom swung his hand and slapped the Chav on the cheek, not hard but enough to try and shake some of the smugness out of the creature.
“Fcuk’s sake init, no need to hit me init” the Chav’s mood changed as if by magic. “Fcuk’s sake init, not very nice init, fcuk’s sake init” the creature was talking but they weren’t exactly learning much. Capt Tom repeated the question and the creature looked thoughtful. “Can I have a question on sport init?” it replied sarcastically and Capt Tom’s hand swung further and hit the creature harder this time, blood appeared at the creature’s mouth and it spat out what looked like tooth. “That was my fcuking cap you fcuker init” it replied now defiant again. Capt Tom grabbed a crossbow and stuck it between the Chav’s legs. “If I pull this trigger you will be a Chav on a stick and that will be about your only use” he threatened and the Chav’s mood changed immediately. It didn’t fancy being emasculated for any cause especially one that it only worked on part time. Couldn’t give up the day job as it had an aging mum to look after.
The Chav spilled the beans, it answered all questions it was
asked and they even learned it had a name, Darren. Darren was just a lowly Chav
and most of the information was low grade to match but he did learn that the
password for the week was ‘
Chapter Seven
Billy and Fergal were carried under the arm of their respective Chavs for what seemed ages but was in fact only a few minutes. They didn’t appreciate first being carried and they certainly didn’t appreciate the barbed wire fences they were carted over or the rather healthy nettles that the Chavs didn’t seem to notice but the two were just dying for a nice crop of dock leaves to stop the itch. After the age or few minutes depending on who’s telling this, they were dragged through a large hedge and into a garden. At the end of the garden after head butting the gate or at least Billy did as it was his turn, there was a couple of conveniently parked Lambrettas. The Chavs didn’t say much except the odd “init” which seemed more of a nervous habit than an attempt at conversation. The pair of them got unceremoniously thrown across the back of a Lambretta and Fergal managed to bite the luggage rack which wasn’t at all pleasant. The Chavs then proceeded to tie them up using those spidery bungee type things and Billy’s right nostril was spiked by one of the hooks until the Chav noticed it and ripped it out. There was no way they were going anywhere or at least if they did the miles of bungee would make damn sure they soon returned. Billy attempted to converse with Fergal but a blow to the head told him quite conclusively there was a no speaking rule in place and he didn’t try again.
The Chavs started up the Lambrettas shattering the peace and rode off with Billy and Fergal staring at the road only inches from their faces. Billy lifted his head trying to look for road signs or any sign to try and determine where they were going but it was hard work, his head pounded from the fumes and the Chavs seemed to have pulled down most of the road signs. He thought there might be some sort of higher intelligence at work but then remembered they were Chavs so just assumed they had been pulled down because ‘they were there’. The miles and/or the kilometres flew by and so did the time as Lambrettas are not famed for their speed. Finally after what seemed another age, the Chavs pulled to a halt and Billy and Fergal tried to look around. The Chavs broke into an orgy of ‘inits’ as this was a checkpoint and half a dozen alco-popped Chavs staggered and swaggered across the road. Billy and Fergal were stared at, prodded and poked and while Billy was always up for a poke, this was different. A kick to the head reminded him exactly HOW different it was. Finally after a few minutes, the ‘inits’ dried up and they were on their way again though Billy fortunately did spot a sign for Guild Ford where they would no doubt be crossing the river. With his face so close to the ground, he hoped the water was low at the ford otherwise he was in for a soaking at best and a drowning at worst though he did suspect the Witches of Gatwick wanted him alive. Either that or they were after his balls.
They did cross the river but fortunately over a bridge so no soaking for the pair and for what Billy could smell, Chavs didn’t exactly like water or certainly not washing in it. The Lambrettas ate up the miles or due to the slow-ish speeds more nibbled them but the distance between Billy and Fergal and their so-called protectors increased albeit slowly. Fergal raised his head after leaving a hundred metre trail of puke on the road, riding upside down was doing things to his stomach. A sign whizzed by or rather they whizzed by a sign and he managed to deduce they were close to Shere. “Shear fcuking terror” he thought to himself, snorting out a piece of radish from his nose. The roads were deadly quiet, anybody with any sense had either left or stayed indoors and that left the roads clear for those with absolutely no sense, in other words, the Chavs. A few minutes later in what looked like a trading estate as there was a sign saying ‘Shere Trading Estate’, the Lambrettas pulled up at a huge building and parked the Lambrettas next to the other hundred or so already there. The two were untied and apart from a hook in the eye for Billy, they were still unscathed. The Chavs carried them into the building, a huge warehouse and down the steps to the cellar. The cellar had obviously been some sort of storeroom and a storeroom that people liked to help themselves to the stock as it was a maze of small cages, small cages but ideal individual Bobbit cells.
In an office at the end sat one Chav that looked slightly more intelligent than the rest as he obviously knew how to write. On his arm was an armband and what better place for an armband but written on it in marker pen was the word ‘Gaurd’. Ok more intelligent he might have been and he still couldn’t spell but he greeted the two, grunting out lots of ‘inits’. The two Chavs picked up Billy and Fergal and after much deliberation found what they were looking for and threw Billy in one cell and Fergal in the next, locking both doors and double checking the padlock was firmly shut. They muttered to themselves or even possibly to Billy and Fergal but the two couldn’t understand them so just ignored them. The two Chavs muttered all the way down the corridor and muttered all the way back as they had gone the wrong way. They disappeared round a corner and the muttering subsided and there was silence. “Fergal, you ok?” asked Billy. “No I’m fcuking not” replied Fergal truthfully. Their conversation was interrupted as the ‘Gaurd’ Chav appeared carrying a clipboard. “Which one you little tossers has the balls init?” it asked making notes on the clipboard. “Me fcukface” said Fergal rubbing his crutch suggestively. “Fcuking hilarious init” replied the Chav still scribbling on the clipboard. “Fcuking don’t bother me init, I’ll send both of you fcukers east init” concluded the Chav who now appeared to signing his report. “I’ll send the message off by Lambretta Express” he said mainly to himself as Billy and Fergal weren’t listening. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back soon init” said the Chav walking back towards his office or turning round and going the right way back to his office. His muttering disappeared and he was gone but then as he’d taken a left not a right, he appeared again briefly and finally, yes finally he was gone.
Now of course Billy and Fergal still had a sword and a catapult each as the Chavs had not searched them and the ‘Gaurd’ Chav hadn’t either. Bobbits were never armed, they might be drunk or abusing themselves behind a tree but never ever armed and even if a memo had been sent out to search all prisoners, there were very few Chavs capable of reading the memo. They might eat it or wipe their arrses with it or even both but reading was not one of a Chav’s best points. “We need to get out of here and fcuking quick” said Billy rather stating the obvious. “And then where?” asked Fergal as if there were as many Chavs in the building as there were Lambrettas parked outside then it wouldn’t be easy. Billy looked around his cell and apart from a solitary bed there was no furniture in the cell. An empty food bowl was on the floor and a water bowl next to it and that was it. “Next time I’m not going budget” joked Billy as he racked his brains for a way of getting out of the place. “Can you ride a Lambretta?” asked Fergal. “Can I fcuk” replied Billy. “Not now Billy, I don’t think it would fit through the bars and anyway, there’s more important things to think of” said Fergal with a “I’m not in the mood” killing off Billy’s ardour. Not that it was ardour, it was going to be ardour getting out of the cell and that’s all that really bothered him at the moment.
“I’ve got an idea” exclaimed Billy. “I said I’m not in the mood” joked Fergal and they both laughed. Billy pulled out his catapult, careful not to disturb his balls and tried it in the catapult sling. If you held it sideways, it might just work and then a sharp stabbing pain in his leg told him that his sword had moved. He had been wearing it under his cloak and he was still amazed that the Chavs hadn’t taken it off him. Maybe they were stupid or maybe the author was running out of ideas and just needed a way to get them out of there without tasking his three brain cells too much. Lying on the floor, holding the catapult with his feet he could draw the catapult back far enough for the sword to fit and he really hoped that this wouldn’t just result in him cutting his own leg off or worse. He explained the plan to Fergal and he started banging his food bowl on the ground, hoping to attract the attention of the ‘Gaurd’ Chav. Fergal stopped and listened as Billy steadied himself. In the distance was that familiar muttering as the Chav made his way slowly but surely towards their cell. The muttering got louder and louder and then quieter as the stupid Chav took a wrong turn but surprising even himself, found the right path and the muttering got even louder.
“I need some water!” shouted Fergal trying to distract the Chav. “Me too!” shouted Billy trying to confuse it which wasn’t too difficult. The Chav really wasn’t paying attention as it opened Fergal’s cell door and walked off with the water bowl to where it hoped the tap was. Several minutes later and mainly thanks to Fergal who talked him back, the Chav came back and handed the now full bowl to him. “Me too, me too!” shouted Billy and the Chav leaving Fergal’s door open, opened Billy’s and stood in surprise at first and then lost the will to live as a short sword flew into its throat at a great rate of knots. Billy rolled to his side as the Chav collapsed forward and crashed to the ground narrowly missing him but completely flattening the food bowl. Billy was out of his cell like a shot but still managed to retrieve his sword. Fergal rushed out of his and they made their way to the stairs that led to the ground level. All seemed quiet but they knew how many Chavs there could be and didn’t want to rush into anything. They did have some time but no doubt a reply to the ‘Gaurd’ Chav’s report would arrive and the fact he had a sword wound in his throat might make things slightly awkward for the two Bobbits. “We’ll try a Lambretta” said Billy as they really had to move and quickly. They managed to get outside and picked a heliotrope Lambretta on the end for their escape. Billy jumped on the kick-start and nothing happened, he wasn’t heavy enough. Together they tried but it still wouldn’t budge. Fergal twiddled anything on the scooter that looked as though it might need twiddling, any knob got turned or twisted and the merest hint of a switch got switched still the thing wouldn’t budge. Billy noticed something marked fuel tap and turned it on and with the mother of all jumps they descended onto the kick-start.
The kick-start finally gave way and the engine backfired, the kick-start shot up and two Bobbits were launched into the air. Fortunately after aerobatics a gymnast would have been proud of, they landed on the roof of a small building at the front of the warehouse and quickly ducked their heads as all hell was let loose. Chavs appeared as if by magic from every corner and Lambrettas started and were then ridden off into the distance. Some of the Chavs appeared to be looking for something and then they both twigged, they were looking for them. The nights were fair drawing in at Shere and Billy and Fergal were quite grateful of it as while their position was pretty safe, under cover of darkness, they might actually be able to put some distance between them and the Chavs. Billy wished he had Nat’s ever faithful Reader’s Digest Book of the Track to consult. They knew they were in Shere but where the fcuk WAS Shere? Billy thought long and hard, well he thought about their dilemma for a few seconds then his mind wandered onto sex which was why he got hard. Rubbing his balls and not the metal ones, he had lewd thoughts on top of the roof while the Chavs ran about like headless chickens down below.
So a few minutes and a soiling of the underpants later, Billy’s mind finally returned to the problem in hand, so that was another few minutes wasted and yet more soiling of the underpants but finally, yes finally he got back to the plot, such that it is. “What the fcuk do we do?” whispered Billy. “Fcuked if I know” replied Fergal not particularly helpful. Billy tried to plot out the route they had taken in his head but travelling so far with your nose inches (or millimetres) away from the tarmac isn’t exactly the easiest way to remember a route and in those old fashioned times without sat-nav, it was proving too much for Billy. His head hurt, his stomach rumbled and his underpants were still slightly sticky and definitely damp and they were well and truly fcuked. “If we could find my puke” said Fergal. Now Bobbits did have acute senses of smell or if they didn’t before, they do now and Fergal’s idea wasn’t such a bad one. There was the distinct possibility of at least heading in the right direction if they could pick up the trail of Fergal’s stomach along the way. Even though Fergal hadn’t eaten a tomato or a carrot for weeks, there would or could be the telltale sign and smell of a diced carrot or a tomato skin along with hopefully a partly digested piece of radish to help them establish their bearings or since they were heading back, back bearings.
It was now dark and the Chav activity had quietened down. Most of the Lambrettas had returned and were parked up outside the warehouse. A smell of two stroke fumes wafted around the area mixed with the stench of dozens of personal hygiene challenged Chavs and it was pretty rank. There was the faint mumblings of angry ‘inits’ from the warehouse and there wasn’t even a guard outside. It looked as though the search had been called off or at least postponed until the following morning. They had a window of opportunity and Bobbits never miss the chance of a window though usually peering through them hoping to see something they could get their rocks off on. Billy had remembered the general direction they had come in from and he pointed it out to Fergal but Fergal was taking a slash behind a chimney and in his eagerness to look, pished down his hand and all over one hairy foot. “Fcuk, I’m to need some conditioner soon” remarked Fergal more to himself as he shook the excess pish off his foot. The two scrambled down from the roof and landed in an undignified heap on the tarmac. They froze and listened but all was quiet. Billy crept towards the road and Fergal squelched behind him, still shaking his wet foot. They made it to the road and they both sniffed the air and bent down to sniff the road. “Move your fcuking foot, all I can smell is pish” whispered Billy. Fergal dutifully moved his foot, sticking it in Billy’s face. “You dirty fcuker, I said move it” Billy was angry now and not too pleased with the salty taste in his mouth either.
The two finally headed off down the road with Billy leading. He spat on the ground as they walked, trying to rid his mouth of that salty taste and Fergal just squelched along behind him. Billy fumbled with his balls and suddenly felt reassured but this was short lived as in the distance, they heard the unmistakable sound of a Lambretta. They quickly ducked up an alleyway and waited for it to go by. The Lambretta roared past slowly of course but the noise soon faded into the distance. Billy and Fergal rejoined the road and headed off in the direction that would hopefully lead them to the comparative safety of their so-called protectors. A dog barked and it wasn’t Lucky as Lucky was miles (or kilometres) away, cats fought and a pigeon fell off its perch but apart from that, all was quiet. The roads were dead and not a light shone from any of the buildings. Every so often, they would stop and sniff the ground, sometimes wishing they hadn’t as the cats had been there first but they did seem to be heading in the right direction. “Are we heading in the right direction?” asked Fergal who obviously didn’t know the plot. “The author’s just said so” replied Billy and Fergal smiled slightly embarrassed. “Only time will tell” he said trying to get his street cred back but failing miserably.
Chapter Eight
Billy and Fergal’s so-called protectors had been in total panic then the pair had disappeared. Lucky at first had felt lucky as the rest had tried to get him to lead them to Billy and Fergal but after half an hour of Lucky trying to hump a dead wood pigeon, they had given up on that idea and Lucky had been tied up to stop him wandering off and decimating the wildlife. Lucky didn’t feel so lucky now; he curled himself up and consoled himself by licking his bits. Tarquin maintained guard at the front of the cottage, somebody had to do it and with any luck, he’d get the chance to disembowel somebody. The disappearance of Billy and Fergal had hit him hard and while he wasn’t at fault he was overcome with guilt. Paul had shouted at anybody and everybody and blamed anybody and everybody as well. Dave the Elf had written a song and was now serenading the wildlife in the garden or the wildlife that hadn’t already left or those who were conveniently deaf. It was a ninety-eight verse song and in true elf form sounded like Enya after a year of substance abuse, so exactly like Enya. “Oi, pointy ears, get your fcuking arrse in here!” Paul ruined the moment but the wildlife was eternally grateful. Dave stopped in mid verse and followed Paul into the cottage to be greeted by a now untied Lucky who of course tried to hump his leg. Tarquin sauntered into the room just in time to see Lucky fly through the air, hit the far wall and fall to the floor. Lucky finally got the message and went back to licking himself.
“Right, no fcuking singing” Paul opened the council of war with a warning. Dave pretended not to hear it, hummed very softly to himself and admired his newly acquired Rollex watch. “Right we have to move and fcuking quick” continued Paul. “We just have to continue eastwards, hopefully catching them up or if they have been captured then we’ll rescue them. The fate of the whole of just left of centre earth rides on what we can achieve and if it’s ‘fcuk all’ then things are well and truly fcuked” It was an eloquent speech from Paul and it stirred the others except Lucky who was licking his arrse. Tarquin stroked his axe suggestively and even Dave took his eyes off that fcuking watch and looked vaguely interested. “Grab what you can; we need to move now and fast. We MUST help Billy and Fergal as well of course and as far as Billy’s concerned I’m talking balls” The others looked at him a bit strangely at first but they knew what he was saying and they knew he was right. They grabbed what they could to ease their task which wasn’t much and despite the darkness, headed out into the night. “And I fcuking mean it. No fcuking singing” shouted Paul leading the group. Lucky ran along side them hoping for something to hump and Tarquin menacingly stroked his axe while on the move.
They fairly ate up the ground, the roads were quiet and there wasn’t a Chav in sight. Although it was night time, a full moon lit up their way and Paul’s little legs struggled to keep up with Tarquin’s huge strides. As Billy and Fergal had found out earlier, the lack of signs didn’t help them to know their exact location and Nat’s Reader’s Digest Book of the Track would have been extremely handy. “Stop!” boomed Tarquin and a pigeon fell off its perch in a nearby tree. His sharp eyes had spotted something and Paul grabbed Lucky in case he rushed off to hump whatever it was. They crouched at the side of the road and peered to where Tarquin seemed to be looking or had been looking but Tarquin was already gone. Tarquin was already further down the road; his massive axe glinted in the moonlight as he used the cover of a hedge to be closer. Paul still holding Lucky tight, edged forwards after him and finally spotted a Chav roadblock. A couple of Lambrettas were conveniently placed across the road and a group of figures seemed to talking around them. A glint of something caught Paul’s eye and he realised the Chavs were armed, they were drinking Alco-pops and that made them even more dangerous than at first thought. Just one solitary bottle was enough to turn even the meekest of Chavs into a human fighting machine with no remorse, a high pain tolerance but fortunately very little common sense if there was in fact any to start with.
Tarquin edged back towards them and held up four fingers, so there were four Chavs to deal with. Dave already had his longbow out and he shoved one up the spout ready for any eventuality. Paul had his crossbow out and he was ready for action too while Tarquin had his axe in one hand and now his broadsword in the other. Lucky was unarmed but ready to bite, hump or even both, anything that came across his path. Paul let Lucky go and he seemed to know what was expected of him as he trotted towards the Chav roadblock. As he got closer Lucky instinctively ducked as an empty alco-pop bottle whizzed past his head and he stopped and one curious Chav came closer either to stroke him or to kick him but he wasn’t staying around to find out. He back pedalled a few steps and the lone Chav followed, he repeated this a couple of times until the Chav seemed to tire of it and then it tired of life as one of Dave’s arrows flew into its chest. It collapsed into a heap, wriggled a bit, sang a few verses of a Blur song and pegged it. The other Chavs were really too far away to see exactly what was going on and as they were drinking, they really weren’t paying attention. They seemed to be calling their mate but eventually another solitary Chav was lured away from the group and Dave the Elf again showed off his archery skills. This was too much for Tarquin as he hadn’t killed anybody for ages and throwing caution and subtlety to the wind, charged the remaining two Chavs with axe and broadsword at the ready. The Chavs really hadn’t known what had hit them, one minute you’re having a nice chat over an alco-pop, the next you’re lying there minus a few limbs and bleeding to death. It was definitely an ‘off’ sort of day in Chav terms.
So the fun over, Paul and Dave walked towards the carnage as Lucky played with some loose limbs. Tarquin leant on his broadsword and rippled his muscles while the rest dragged the body parts into the side of the road. “Well at least we’ve got some fcuking transport” said Paul throwing a leg over a nearby hedge. “At least I fcuking killed somebody” said Tarquin still leaning on his sword. “I’ve got a great new song” exclaimed Dave throwing the last body part into the ditch. “No fcuking singing” shouted Paul and Tarquin together and even Lucky barked in approval. Judging by the next few minutes it should have been Lucky driving but the three of them tried the Lambrettas and a few smashed mirrors and some very dented pride later, at least Tarquin had sussed how to ride the thing. Paul and Dave were equally bad and Paul was even considering using magic when Dave finally sussed it though after a nasty trip through a hedge. The Lambretta was fine but Dave was slightly scratched to say the least and looked like a failed suicide attempt. Still it was dark and nobody would see but at least it had put him off song writing for a bit. So with Tarquin on one Lambretta with Lucky sat between his legs and Dave and Paul on the other, they roared off at just over walking pace into the night.
It was quicker than walking but only just as they thought it best to ride without lights. Even had they decided to run with lights then Dave and Paul would have been out of luck as Dave’s trip through the hedge had smashed the light. Stopping occasionally to try and get their bearings or for a nervous pish, they continued eastwards and according to a recent sign they must be crossing the bridge at Guild Ford. Paul was getting a strange feeling, he just knew that Billy and his balls were close or at least the feeling told him so. The strange feeling was also put down to the fact that as the rear end of the Lambretta had been smashed up a bit going through the hedge his arrse from time to time was rubbing on the rear wheel. It wasn’t that unpleasant and his piles had actually never felt better. It was Dave that had spotted it first, a long trail of something on the road. They managed to stop and Tarquin fell over still not quite understanding the principle of riding a scooter. Dave put his nose to the ground and sniffed it, it was radishes he smelt. He tested a small lump in his mouth and yes it was radishes he tasted. “Radishes” he said knowingly to Paul and Tarquin who was now vertical again. “That’s lucky” said Dave and the rest looked at him. “Thank fcuk I didn’t tread in it!” he exclaimed and the other two looked slightly sick.
So they now knew that a Bobbit had gone this way and they really hoped their guesses were correct. It had to be Billy and/or Fergal or hopefully it was so at least they were on the right track. They were just about to continue when they heard something in the distance. As quick as a flash, the Lambrettas were pulled off the road and the three and Lucky were lying in wait for whatever or whoever was heading their way. Paul was still having his strange feelings but he did have serious abrasions on his scrotum and that was enough to give anybody strange feelings. The voices got louder and louder and Lucky was uncontrollable. Biting Paul’s hand, he shot off down the road towards the unknown voices. Dave had an arrow up the spout and he was all a quiver, Paul had a bolt up the spout not that you could tell and Tarquin was just Tarquin and you knew that within a few minutes limbs would fly all over the place. They could hear Lucky barking quite close now and Paul seemed to recognize the voices. He put a hand on Dave’s bow indicating that it might be an idea to wait before letting one go. “Paul, Dave, Tarquin” a voice called out and they knew it was Billy. Paul, Dave, Tarquin” shouted another voice and they knew it some smart arrse copying Billy, yes it was Fergal.
There was great joy and merriment except for Lucky who had thought it an ideal moment to start humping again and picking on Tarquin he had been launched almost into orbit and on re-entry had landed in a nearby field. He was unhurt but his pride had been seriously dented as had his todger so he licked it while he could. They hugged each other like long lost relatives or loiterers at a gay bar but there was no shortage of celebration. Billy and Fergal told the tale of their capture and their escape and spiced it up a bit because there wasn’t exactly anybody there to contradict them or so they thought. “Bollox” said Tarquin and nobody argued. “Just tell the truth, it’s important and we do have to go past this place” he pointed out and Billy and Fergal told a slightly more truthful version. Tarquin congratulated them on their ingenuity and asked question after question until they were too tired to answer but finally the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth came out. Without maps or Nat’s trusty book they had no way of knowing if Shere could be bypassed and while Tarquin could look after himself, even he had to admit that the odds were stacked against them.
So the excitement over they decided to make tracks. Billy joined Tarquin on one Lambretta along with Lucky and Fergal joined Dave and Paul on the other. They roared off towards Shere with Billy and Fergal shouting any instructions. The only real problem would be as the main road went right through the town and while not past the warehouse full of Chavs, it was very close to it. Billy had told them all that the Chavs seemed to prefer daylight hours but then all you need is one Disco Chav and it’s all out the window. The ride through Shere went without any problems, the town was dead and no Chavs were to be seen and fortunately no sign of any Disco Chavs either. They continued onwards, the first signs of Dawn were seen, a pair of knickers in a tree as Dawn wasn’t too choosey but then neither are any other Chavette, the female Chavs. Night was turning into day and they knew they had to get off the road before the sun was up. A remaining sign told them they were close to the Rye Gate and that might their hardest task yet as the gate was always locked, it was well guarded and almost impossible to bypass. Still tomorrow was another day or would have been yesterday as they would be going later today.
They found a small house, well off the road, secluded, quiet; full of possibilities and close to all amenities and close to the Rye Gate. Tarquin’s shoulder provided entry and they explored their new surroundings. Tarquin who appeared to be tireless took first watch and feel asleep leaning on his broadsword. Nobody dared wake him so Dave took watch as well. They had thought the house was empty due to the front step being covered in milk bottles and it seemed as though the milkman had been one of the last to leave. There was some food in the house though mainly tinned and with various swords and axes between them the lack of a tin opener didn’t stop them getting something to eat. Paul had a great dump on the toilet and soothed his testicular wounds in the bidet. Billy and Fergal were in seventh heaven as the owner of the house had obviously been a radish fan, as bunches and bunches of them were in the larder. The pair of them pigged out on the radishes washed down with a bottle dandelion and burdock. Lucky dug a huge hole in the garden and buried a dead squirrel though not before humping it first. It was all rest and recuperation while Tarquin slept. Paul took over from Dave and Dave sat himself down in the garden whistling a seven thousand verse song he’d just knocked up and it really was if nobody had a care in the world.
Tarquin finally woke and bolloxed everybody for not waking him. He did look refreshed and even if he wasn’t nobody was going to tell him. He relaxed in the garden with some dry bread and first sharpened his axe then cleaned the bloodstains off the broadsword. There was a slight panic as the sound of a Lambretta was heard in the distance but they seemed to be far enough off the beaten track not to warrant a visit. Dave took over guard duty while Paul and Tarquin discussed how they would get through the Rye Gate and Billy and Fergal snuggled up in a bedroom each and dreamed their respective perverted dreams. The Rye Gate was supposedly heavily defended and while Tarquin said he could knock off a nifty fifty, any more and they might be in serious trouble. The Bobbits weren’t natural fighters and Dave while superb with a bow was easily distracted and liable to burst into song any minute. “We’ve come so far” said Paul. “Too far to have a stupid gate block our path” he added and Tarquin agreed. Failure wasn’t a word in his dictionary though nor was subtlety, so something special would have to be cooked up. Tarquin was a WMD, a warrior of mass destruction but even he wasn’t enough to take the Rye Gate by force.
Billy and Fergal woke refreshed and randy from their sleep so Paul sent them on guard to sort themselves out hopefully while keeping an eye on the front of the house. “We could burn the bugger” suggested Dave an expert with the bow and flaming arrows was one of his specialities. “I could use magic” suggested Paul and Tarquin’s laugh shook the house. “Magic my arrse” said Tarquin who firmly believed in things you could see or touch. It made them easier to chop into pieces which was his speciality. “We could blow it up” added Paul who had an idea. “That’s crap” replied Tarquin who didn’t know what the idea was but was sure it didn’t involve cutting up things or people. “What about a Trojan Horse?” suggested Dave but that was all Greek to Tarquin. “You might have something there Dave” replied Paul now working on another idea. “It’s probably fcuking bollox” added Tarquin not quite as refreshed from his sleep as he thought. “That might just work” Paul was onto something and went to the front of front of the house and kicked Billy as he was playing with himself. “That’s might just fcuking work” he added and Billy looked at him in surprise. Paul just kicked him again because he needed the practice. Paul now knew exactly what they had to do and rushed in to tell the rest.
Chapter Nine
The motley crew set off early in the morning and it would have been much earlier as the Light Infantry (LI) fought over breakfast, fought over the choice of beverage and fought over what time they were going to leave. Capt Tom maintained his ‘laissez faire’ style of command and just left them to it. Nat’s Reader’s Digest Book of the Track was open on the correct page and they could almost pinpoint their present location. Darren the Chav and Perry the Disco Chav seemed quite happy and resigned to the fact they had effectively changed sides overnight and they had already struck up a friendship with Hugh the hippy. They just sort of clicked and the fact they could hardly understand each other did nothing to stop this unlikely friendship blossoming. They marched eastwards keeping a careful watch in case of any Chavs and reached Whizz Borough Green by early afternoon. The journey so far had been pretty uneventful, a fact that the LI argued about and Duke got his lip split arguing the toss, the toss that not much later saw Paddy fly over a nearby hedge. They found a small shop in the town and it like the town was totally deserted. Jock using his boot gained access and they helped themselves to whatever foodstuffs they could find. Capt Tom did have to confiscate some Alco-pops from the two Chavs as he didn’t want them changing into the horrific creatures that Chavs could be after a few. Dave and Chaz systematically smashed the bottles and a couple of rather despondent Chavs looked on.
“We have to get past Horse Ham before nightfall” remarked
Capt Tom as he knew the Disco Chavs would be out in force or at least those
that had missed the bus to
Darren and Perry waved to the two Vespas and they roared up
towards them and screeched to a halt. The rest looked on as the Chavs engaged
in conversation. There was much waving of hands and the odd finger gesture and
some seemed more than odd but it didn’t look as though their two Chavs were
giving them away. The four of them sauntered over to the shop, knuckles
dragging and the conversation continued. The two scouts appeared to have
noticed the smashed alco-pop bottles and the four stood in silence for what
seemed ages but was in fact only two minutes. Then with a wave the scouts
jumped on their Vespas and tore off back in the direction they came from. Capt
Tom waited for a bit then crept out to the Chavs. “What did you say to them?”
he asked. “Told ‘em there’s no fcuker ‘ere init’ replied Darren the more
intelligent of the two though not by much. “And?” asked Olly who had extracted
himself from a large hedge and absentmindedly picked leaves from his cloak.
“We’s told ‘em that there’s no fcuker ‘ere init” replied Perry. “He’s just
fcuking said that” replied Capt Tom still not totally trusting them. “Yer but
what ya don’t know is that every fcuker from Horse Ham will be at a big bop in
It seemed their progress would be much easier than at first
thought or at least as far as
The LI’s fight was broken up and a few cuts and bruises was
all that showed of their little scrap. Hugh was pulled from a nearby garden
where he was eating strange looking mushrooms and using a piece of washing line
that Olly had slipped round his neck they set off with Hugh now safely on a
lead. The town was still deserted and it was a strange eerie feeling walking
through somewhere so quiet and while peaceful, the vibes were not good. They
marched on regardless with Jock as ‘tail end charlie’, mainly to keep him away
from Paddy as that did seem to cut the fighting down a bit. They continued
eastwards and the ground became more hilly but all was quiet and peaceful and
even a bird dared to sing until Paddy put an arrow up its chuff it and ate it.
The early evening sun was still warm and fields of some heavily subsidized crop
waved in a light breeze. Another bird sang but Duke missed it so it sang some
more mocking them until a sparrow hawk appeared from nowhere and killed it too.
It was so tranquil and beautiful and nothing like they had expected until they
reached the top of a very large hill and looked down. There in all its glory or
its former glory was the town of
From their vantage point they could see what looked like hundreds of tiny ants and while ants don’t ride Vespas the analogy was quite appropriate. The town or what they could see of it looked devastated and fires burned as far as the eye could see. The whole valley was filled with a mist of scooter fumes and the sun only just seemed to penetrate this evil fog. What had once been a proud town with a half decent cart boot fair twice weekly had been reduced to many people’s idea of hell. They all stood mouths open and Darren dribbled like he’d never dribbled before, even he was shocked. “’Kin hell init” he said and the others if they could have understood it would have definitely agreed. They started down the hill and found a large house of course unoccupied close to the road but hopefully not too close. Paddy tried the front while Jock tried the back but the house was well and truly locked up tight. Capt Tom lifted the flowerpot by the frontdoor and picked up the key. They were in and most settled in the large front room, while the rest raided other rooms in the house. Capt Tom rescued the alcohol just in case the two Chavs got tempted and Nat and Cubby checked under the beds in the bedrooms upstairs just in case there was any porn handy. There wasn’t so they returned to the ground floor and raided the kitchen. “I wonder how Billy and Fergal are” pondered Nat munching on some radishes he had found in a cupboard. “Fcuked if I no” replied Cubby also nibbling some radishes, he had found in the garden. “Like wow man” said Hugh again just before Paddy punched him on the nose.
They made themselves comfortable or as comfortable as they could as they would only be spending a few hours there before braving the hell that was Horse Ham. The hours slipped by and it was time to leave. They filed outside and even the LI seemed nervous or otherwise occupied as they didn’t fight or even try to. The unlikely mob made their way down the hill, it was all quiet now and there wasn’t a Chav to be seen. They reached the outskirts of the town and using any available cover headed towards the centre. They were on full alert and any weapons that required cocking were already cocked and anything else had one up the spout just in case. Duke was leading with Capt Tom closely behind him when without warning; Duke disappeared in a barrage of what appeared to be beer cans and large bottles of a golden liquid. “That’s pish” remarked Jock and not that far from the truth. The remaining LI rushed for cover ever looking for the source of the barrage while Capt Tom tended Duke. “It doesn’t look good” he shouted back to the rest while pulling the lager cans and cider bottles off Duke. “Its snakebite” he said deadly serious and Duke twitched a bit though why he should choose now to start bird watching will always remain a mystery to me. He twitched again and he was still. “He’s fcuking croaked” shouted Capt Tom sympathetically.
“Got him” whispered Jock pointing to where the barrage appeared to have come from. The rest of the LI and everybody else looked where he was pointing and sure enough, there was one of the Chavs they had seen in Whizz Borough Green. The Chav laughed manically and tried to make his escape but a volley of arrows cut him down but nobody knew or actually cared if he was in his prime. Jock shoved another one up the spout and crept forwards keeping to the buildings and dashing across any exposed parts which happened to be Cubby taking a pish but ignoring Cubby he crept further looking for the second Chav. Cubby had a shake, but then squeezed out another drop, shook it again, squeezed out yet another, shook it again thinking that if he shook it again it would constitute a w@nk when he heard a voice and it was right behind him. “That’s your last pish init” said the voice and Cubby knew this was the last Chav. He knew he had no chance of overpowering it and he prayed to anything or anybody that would listen. He thought of his childhood, his favourite porn books, his childhood sweetheart, the happy times and adventures with Billy and Fergal and there was Nat as well of course. “You fcuking finished or what init?” said the Chav behind him slightly impatiently when there was a scream that blew the earwax clean out of Cubby’s ears and directly behind him. Cubby spun round and the Chav was stood there with what looked like a sword sticking out of his arrse and holding this sword was Nat. Nat twisted the sword and the Chav screamed but only briefly as a couple of arrows hit it in the throat dropping it like a stone. Nat still holding the sword was catapulted through the air but fortunately landed on Hugh who didn’t really notice. Picking himself up, Nat walked back to try and extract the sword from the dead Chav’s arrse. He bet that somebody else would write of such a thing but they probably would have to change it from an arrse to something else.
They all gathered around the lifeless body of Duke and Jock kicked him just to make sure but he was definitely dead. They all paid their tributes and Capt Tom removed Duke’s dogtags because he’d always wanted some, he also nicked his watch and went through his wallet as well. They dragged Duke’s body to one of the few grassy areas in the town and scraped out a shallow grave. They placed his body in there and covered it up as best they could using anything they could lay their hands on. Capt Tom said a few words but most wouldn’t be fit to type as Paddy had just dropped a paving slab on his foot. He limped away and said a few more words and none of them were nice ones. They stood by the shallow grave and reflected, mainly as there was a mirror shop close by but they honoured the sacrifice that Duke had made to the cause. They stood for a few minutes, shadowed figures lit only by the still burning fires. Then they left and disappeared into the darkness and Duke was alone. They would never forget him. “We’ll never forget what’s his name” joked Jock but seriously they would miss him. Shame the Chav hadn’t missed him as well.
They navigated the town successfully thanks to Nat’s
excellent town plan and headed on towards
There were was all sorts of things happening at the Fay Gate and Capt Tom really wished somebody had invented night vision goggles as he could see basically bugger all. What had been a lightly guarded gate that wasn’t really a gate had turned into a heavily fortified gate that was slowly but surely turning into a gate. Then in the distance they heard voices and not just a few, this was a lot and even as many as a fcuking lot. The earth started to vibrate and beyond the gate torches snaked back many hundreds of yards or even metres. “There’s fcuking thousands of them!” shouted Capt Tom trying to make himself heard above the noise of thousands of feet and the mutterings of all those voices. It was a Chav army and it was fcuking huge! “Back, back and fcuking quick” shouted Capt Tom and just in time as the army of Chavs were up to the gate and any minute the gate would open and they would be marching westwards. Capt Tom called the Knight Rider over and whispered in his ear. “Yes double time on Sundays” he said to him and the Knight Rider was gone. He called Olly over and whispered in his ear and then he was gone as well. He then called Hugh over but after what seemed an age whispering in his ear just shouted “Fcuking forget it” but that seemed to inspire Hugh or at least it woke him up and he too was gone.
The Chav army was massing at the Fay Gate and Capt Tom
estimated tens of thousands of them and they went as far back as the eye could
see and even though it was dark, torches lit up the Chav masses. Capt Tom
sneaked towards Darren and Perry and talked to them. “You can go if you want, I
think your services are over as from now” he said to Darren and Perry listened
in though whether he took it all in or not was another matter. “Or you can help
us” added Capt Tom and he looked at the two of them praying they might be able
to help. “I’ve sent the other three back to warn all that the Chavs have an
army and it’s on its way. I pray the other kingdoms will help and send their
forces or else just left of centre earth is doomed” “Ah fcuk it. What you want
us to do init?” asked Darren. Capt Tom hugged him, a manly sort of hug of
course and gave them their orders. “Beg, steal or borrow a scooter and get
north to the
Chapter Ten
Paul was like a man possessed but still much better than
cheese possessed so they just let him get on with it. Lucky had disappeared for
a few hours and reappeared with another scraggy looking terrier type dog and it
was a female so Lucky was even luckier. They hardly feature in the story now as
they just hump or lick bits then hump again which is pretty boring really but
let’s just say you never want to pick and eat anything grown in that garden.
Dave watched the front of the house while Tarquin finally succumbed to sleep
and this time horizontally. Billy played with himself and would have played
with Fergal as well but Fergal was onto him and kept his distance when he was
in one of ‘those’ moods. Paul scribbled like a madman. He used the desk in the
back of the front room and was showing all the makings of a promising
draughtsman. Finally after what seemed an age or it would have done if anybody
had been interested, he was finished and called them all together to show off
his plan. “You’re fcuking pished” was Tarquin’s original comment. “You’re
fcuking barking” was Dave’s and “Fcuking loopy juice” from Fergal and “Have you
been sniffing a ring?” from Billy completed the criticism. “You’ve heard of the
Trojan Horse?” asked Paul all knowledgeable or the only one who owned an
encyclopaedia. “Yes” they all replied or those that did reply. Lucky continued
to hump outside in the garden and he hadn’t heard the question. “Well, we’re
going to build a Trojan David” said Paul with a flourish and threw the plans
onto the table in front of them. “You’ve been fcuking drinking floor polish”
exclaimed Tarquin none the better for his sleep. The plan to build a wooden
effigy of the ruler of
Paul spent the next twenty minutes or so going through the plans. Yes, it was a strange plan but how else would they get through the gate? Paul had not just been scribbling, he had wandered out of the back garden and just across a small field was a farm with an old cart and enough timber to make a fleet of Trojan Davids. There were tools, nails and the farm even had good access to the road so it would be easy to get the Trojan David to the gate and there were horses in a nearby field so they wouldn’t have to pull it themselves. He’d worked it all out, even to the smallest detail and there was no way it could go wrong. Or so he said. The others looked at each other and Tarquin put a finger to his forehead and make strange whirring noises which you might take as negative vibes but Paul was not to be deterred. Paul knew that Bobbits had excellent carpentry skills, Tarquin was a walking muscle man and even Elves have their uses though for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what or how. Paul’s sum total of carpentry experience was building a bookcase at wizard’s school and even though it had been flatpack, he had been totally proud of it even though the middle shelf had sloped rather alarmingly. “If anybody has any other ideas, I’m willing to listen” remarked Paul and added “If not shut the fcuk up” just in case somebody did. So it was decided or at least Paul decided and through the lack of an alternative, the plan was put into operation.
So Operation Trojan David was executed and so should Paul be or so thought Tarquin as while he helped, he was not a happy teddy. Nor was Dave the Elf as elves are crap at carpentry or Dave was and so he was on permanent guard duty. He didn’t mind really as he’d not written so many songs in a long time and being far enough away or out of earshot, he even managed to sing the odd one. The cart was starting to take shape but as yet nothing like a ‘David’ shape. Chiselled features are not so easy to replicate with fcuk off lengths of 4x4 and we all know how bad 4x4’s are and not just for the environment. It didn’t do Tarquin’s attitude or disposition much good either but you couldn’t fault him for effort. They worked liked beavers which actually means very hard and not like a bunch of cnuts. You could hear the hammering miles or even kilometres away but that didn’t seem to put off Paul as his monstrous creation gradually took shape. Despite hacking a bit off the nose, it still looked nothing like David of Beckham but the main thing was that there was room for them all to hide inside. Sadly, Lucky would not be coming with them as Lucky’s dick was red raw from the constant humping and to be honest, Lucky didn’t give a flying fcuk about anything apart from the bitch he was now pushing round the garden on the end of his knob. Lucky could be picked up later and there were more important things to think about. Fergal had protested but it had been a token protest, he knew the score and he was willing to make the sacrifice.
Finally after much swearing, some cuts and bruises, a few pretty nasty splinters and a lick of paint, it was finished and if you squinted with one eye shut on a bright sunny day and didn’t look too hard, there was just a passing resemblance to David of Beckham. The thing weighed a ton and Paul hoped the horses would be up to the job. They had been abandoned but still looked pretty fit and healthy. Tarquin’s statement that if they weren’t up to the job they could be eaten was not well received but it certainly put a spring in the horses’ steps. Fergal had a tearful farewell with Lucky, more tearful as Lucky ignored him and just kept pumping the bitch he’d found. Fergal turned his head one more time in farewell as Lucky added another notch to his bedpost and it was the end of a beautiful friendship. “Fcuking thing was always trying to hump my leg” said a teary Fergal, walking across the field to the farm and climbing into the Trojan David. Tarquin was already inside and had made himself comfortable. Billy climbed up after him and Paul followed. Dave who always seemed to get the crap jobs was to be driving the cart but it would have to be driven up to the gate at night or else he would have no chance of getting in the Trojan David himself. So the ‘dry run’ over those inside clambered out again to stretch their legs and helped Dave to harness up the horses just to check they could pull the thing. The thing groaned as did the horses but it started to move and then gather speed. Dave halted the horses and they all settled down for a few hours until it would be dark enough for them to go. “It’s going to fcuking work” bragged Paul but Tarquin was still not totally convinced.
Fergal did think of saying goodbye to Lucky again but thought better of it. He could see Lucky across the field and Lucky was still firmly stuck into his bitch. It was almost dark now and dark enough to think about moving. “Dirty fcuking barstewards” shouted Billy, wiping horse shite off his foot. The horse had been fed and watered and looked in the picture of health or would have done had it not been so dark. Dave hitched up the horses again and the rest clambered inside the Trojan David and tried to get comfortable. “There’s something sticking in me and that had better not be you Billy” shouted Tarquin. “Get your foot out of my fcuking face, numbnuts” shouted Fergal. “Watch that fcuking sword” screamed Paul finally getting the point. It wasn’t exactly comfortable and there was still Dave to get in once he had delivered them to the Rye Gate. Dave jumped up on the front end of the Trojan David. They had deliberately given him a double chin so at least Dave had somewhere to sit. He yanked on the reigns and eventually the horses set off, slowly at first but then gathering speed. The Trojan David held firm, no bits fell off or not any important ones as the dividing plank on the Trojan David’s nose came loose giving it a one nasal cavity look. Dave stopped the horses and using the lower jaw to stand on, hammered the plank back in place. So off they set again with the Trojan David now showing the correct amount of nostrils.
They finally got to the road and Dave hacked a left or at least the horses did and the hulk trundled towards the Rye Gate at not really a great rate of knots. Still speed was not of the essence but inside the Trojan David there was talk of other smells or a definite odour as Fergal just couldn’t resist letting one go in such a confined space. The now talking Trojan David trundled ever closer to the Rye Gate chastising the surrounding countryside for being a “Dirty rotten arrsed fcuker” or other such insults. The surrounding countryside didn’t particularly care but those confined inside the innards of the Trojan David did. In the distance, Dave could see the Rye Gate and torches burned all around it making it pretty hard not to spot. He thought he could hear a distant rumbling but thought to himself “It’s probably that dirty cnut Fergal again” The Rye Gate while well lit looked deserted which puzzled Dave. He made a mental note to write a song about it later but for now he concentrated on the job in hand. That rumbling noise seemed to be getting closer but again Dave put it down to Fergal’s stomach. Dave was close enough for hopefully anybody on or around the Rye Gate to see the Trojan David but still far enough away for nobody to see him disappear inside it. He jumped down and unhitched the horses as they didn’t want the horses taking them on an unexpected or unplanned trip. Standing in front of the effigy’s handsome features, Dave spotted more lights just beyond the gate and that rumbling sound was really getting much closer.
Quick as a flash though Dave had never been known to flash, he disappeared inside the Trojan David and the fun started all over again as they all tried to get comfortable. Paul hushed them as peering through a spy hole he could see lights flickering and waving and almost at the Rye Gate. He then finally realised exactly what it was he was seeing, it was Chavs, thousands of them and they were heading their way. Paul whispered to everybody to “Shut the fcuk up” and he held his breath mainly as Fergal had dropped one again. It was claustrophobic inside but nobody cared as the whole contraption started to shake as thousands of feet tramped ever closer. Peering through the spy hole, Paul looked down on thousands of Chavs marching three a breast and the first ones were pretty fcuking closer now. “Fcuk me, its Dave init” remarked the leading Chav and he saluted limply at the Trojan David. Chav after Chav, row after row tramped past, some saluting, a few sticking their fingers up playfully but at least not stopping. “After hearing “Fcuk me, its Dave init” for the several thousandth time, those inside were starting to relax and some even managed to breathe. The whole thing was shaking but it was holding form as the thousands of Chavs headed westwards.
For about half an hour, the Chavs tramped past, strangely not loitering at any corners and then came wagon after wagon, obviously weapons and supplies as Paul was sure he’d spotted some totally full of alco-pop bottles. Then came the mounted Chavs and ‘They fcuking should be mounted like on a wall” he thought to himself as Vespa after Vespa and Lambretta after Lambretta trundled past, all in tight formation. The inside of the Trojan David was filling up with fumes but nobody dared to cough. Last but not least came the Disco Chavs, huge lumbering beasts that made the ground shake even more. They were chaperoned by a squad of highly trained Ned mercenaries who would travel vast distances just for a fight. This really was some army and unknown to Paul and the rest, this was only one of TWO armies that were making their way west. The last Ned smashed its bottle of Buckfast on the Trojan David and sauntered past. There was just the sound of marching feet disappearing into the distance and then finally silence. Or until Fergal let the one he’d been holding go and they all piled out and dropped to the floor. “’Kin ‘ell” said Dave not exactly constructively but it did sum up the mood of the rest. “There must be tens of thousands of the fcukers” estimated Paul and not too far off either. “Well I fcuking know one thing” added Paul and they all looked at him expectantly. “If they’re going that fcuking way” he said pointing west, “Then we’re going that fcuking way” he concluded pointing towards the Rye Gate. It did seem the sensible thing to do but all were worried if they would ever have a home to come back to.
Tarquin sauntered off to recce the Rye Gate and no screams or the sounds of disembowelling meant that the Rye Gate was now deserted. Tarquin wandered back and told them what they already knew and they all set off eastwards passing through a spookily silent Rye Gate and on to their goal. It was surprisingly easy; the Witches of Gatwick had sent all their troops west and whether it was some ingenious plan or just plain stupidity, there seemed to be nobody left to halt their progress. Gatwick and the witches was only a matter of a few miles or a few more kilometres away. They continued down the road towards Gatwick and there wasn’t a Chav to be seen. They had been expecting to have to fight their way in and Tarquin was bitterly disappointed and going through withdrawal symptoms as he hadn’t killed anybody for yonks. Finally in the distance they could see the huge complex that was Gatwick and it wasn’t hard to miss as it was lit up like a Christmas tree whatever one of those is. A single solitary Chav was on guard though they only guessed he was single as they hadn’t spotted a wedding ring. He sat in a small hut on the side of the road and it still seemed just too easy. Easy it was as Tarquin had crept up behind the hut and then disposed of the Chav with his axe. The Chav now lay in several separate flower beds or parts of him did so they all concluded that while he might be single he could in fact be separated. Well he was now.
The whole complex seemed deserted and they explored the terminals. The latest intelligence was that the witches would be in Terminal One but they weren’t sure exactly where. They entered Terminal One cautiously and explored this strange place. Normally this place would be heaving with people but it was totally empty. A noise caught their attention and it appeared to be coming form the gents. Tarquin led the way, axe and broadsword at the ready and on into the toilets. It was empty or appeared to be empty as the sound of somebody heaving seemed to be coming from one of the cubicles. Tarquin went along the line of cubicles throwing each door open ready to decapitate anything inside until he got to the end one. He threw the door open and there was a sorry looking Chav, puking its ring up in the toilet. “Have they fcuked off yet init?” asked the Chav as Tarquin’s axe stopped a fraction from its neck. “Yes” replied Tarquin not giving too much away but strangely holding back. “Thank fcuk for that init” replied the Chav though this Chav seemed somewhat different to the rest. Ok, it walked the walk or would have if it didn’t have its head down a bog, it dressed the same, those Burberry underpants were a dead giveaway and it even spoke the same but there was definitely something different about this one. “I’m fcuking allergic to Alco-pops” it added puking some more and then the penny dropped. The control over the Chavs was all down to the Alco-pops or something added to the Alco-pops.
They left the puking Chav to it as it was no threat to them or not as long as it was allergic to Alco-pops. They continued through the terminal until they saw a sign for the VIP Lounge and kept following the signs until they noticed a couple of Chavs on guard outside a very posh looking set of double doors. Before Tarquin could even draw his broadsword, Dave had dispatched them with an arrow each straight in their black hearts. They rushed up and dragged the bodies away before they were noticed and hid them in a KFC as nobody in their right minds would ever go into one of those. They stood in front of the double doors and tried to see what was inside but as the doors were of solid oak with no windows; this was rather a waste of time. Realising that Paul pulled on one door while Tarquin ripped the other off its hinges and threw it to the floor. They rushed into the VIP Lounge and there in the far corner of a finely appointed room were the three horrors known as the Witches of Gatwick. Billy froze, a mistake standing too close to the air conditioning perhaps but it was shear terror as well. Fergal farted nervously, Dave cocked his bow which was quite painful and Tarquin rippled his muscles unnecessarily. “Who the fcuk are you? cackled the witch known as Sporty, the ugly one, not that the others were up to much either. “We are your worst nightmares” said Paul as he’d heard it in a film somewhere and it sounded better than “We’re here to kill you” which was technically true but had far less dramatic effect.
“He’s nice” said the witch known as Scary and by fcuk did she live up to her name. “You don’t get a shag unless you’re a footballer” said the one called Emma and she was allegedly the nice one. “Why are you doing this?” asked Paul taking charge of the situation. “Just the usual world domination” replied Scary and added “As we’re fcuk all good at anything else” “Except fcuking” added Emma and they all nodded in agreement. “But it’s our world too” said Paul trying to appeal to their better natures. “Not for fcuking long mate” replied the horror called Sporty and fcuk knows what sort of sport she could ever do. They really were evil personified and pig ugly with it. “And you’re going to die” shouted Billy letting one of the balls go from his catapult. It hit Emma full on the forehead and with a explosion that was rather messy, she exploded into a million bits though nobody bothered to count them. Sporty jumped from her sofa and fell over as she was too fat but still managed to grab Fergal and pulling a small knife from her ample knickers, held it to his throat. “Any more of your balls and this little fcuker gets it” she shrieked. Fergal parted company with his stomach in sheer fright and this was no fart, this was the full contents, lumps ‘n all. “You dirty fcuker” shrieked relaxing her grip for a second and wishing she hadn’t as one of Billy’s balls hit her full in the mouth, improving it vastly before she too exploded in an undetermined number of squidgey bits.
Scary wasn’t sitting around to be shot and pressing a button close to her seat, a door appeared and she rushed through it, closing it after her. Tarquin was after her in a thrice or it could have been sooner but the door received some serious attention with his axe and then the door was no more. They all rushed after her except Fergal who did try but he found walking difficult and somewhat uncomfortable. They rushed through passages after her and found themselves back in the huge main hall of Terminal One. They could see Scary way ahead of them and once she left the building they would probably lose her in the maze of buildings that made up Gatwick. She was almost at the end and just running past the toilets when the door of the Gents flew open and a voice shouted “I feel much better now init” The door hit Scary full on the head and she collapsed in a heap on the ground. The Chav looked puzzled especially as most toilet doors opened inwards but what the fcuk, it wasn’t his story. The rest finally caught up and stood around looking down on the prostrate body of Scary. “You know what you have to do Billy” panted Paul wishing he was fitter and wiped his sweaty brow with his wig. “Billy felt a slight hint of remorse but taking the last ball from the bag, he pulled back on the catapult and while the others turned their backs, let rip hitting Scary in the face and she exploded leaving a huge stain on the wall. Billy wiped the gunge from his face and he suddenly felt a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Chapter Eleven
They all thanked the Chav even though his actions had been purely accidental. “No probs init” replied the Chav who was actually called Baz. The Witches of Gatwick were no more and Paul was sure that David of Beckham would see sense especially now as he wasn’t being advised by three fruitcakes. He wasn’t really the problem and nor was his wife Posh but the effects of the Alco-pops still had to addressed and the army of tens of thousands of Chavs they had seen would have to be dealt with in one way or the other. Paul needed a map and after much searching of shops and offices an even more up-to-date version of Nat’s favourite, the Reader’s Digest Book of the Track was found. Peering over the map Paul guessed that the army they had seen would be virtually following the route they had taken but in reverse of course and the end target looked like the gateway over the River Test at Handover and then onwards to the west. Paul didn’t yet know about the other army but he had already guessed that if a second army existed, it would take the southern route and he just hoped that the good people of Winchaster and its garrison could buy them enough time before the second army if one existed of course converged on Handover as well. “A classic pincer movement” thought Paul out loud and everybody looked at him as if he was a bit weird. He was so he didn’t care.
“We have to get back quick and I mean double fcuking treble fcuking quick” said Paul. He could walk the hind legs off a donkey even though that was supposed to be talk, he had no worries over his staying power but he was worried about the two Bobbits. Dave the Elf and Tarquin were not a problem as long as Dave threatened to sing and Tarquin didn’t want to listen, the pair would chase each other for centuries but what to do with the Bobbits? “Can I help?” asked Baz. “My Vespa GT is down in the car park” he added and suddenly it all became clear to Paul. He showed Baz the route on the map and he just hoped firstly that there wasn’t a second army and if there was that it wouldn’t be taking the route he was sending Baz down. “Fcuk, piece of pish init” said Baz eager to help now. “And there’s fcuking hundreds of other scooters down there as well” added Baz and suddenly Paul felt glad Baz was helping as he really hadn’t been looking forward to running all the way back. “Let’s go and have a look” said Baz and Paul looked at him as he hadn’t said ‘init’. “Sounds fcuking stupid dunit” replied Baz laughing as they made their way down to the huge car park. Sure enough there was Baz’s Vespa GT, fully fuelled and hot to trot and he picked out another couple of faster machines to get the other three back before the Chavs. Baz jumped on his with Billy on the back and a now clean and sweeter smelling Fergal as he’d cleaned up a bit sat between his legs. Tarquin tore round the car park showing off his skills and Paul jumped on the back of Dave but then realising his mistake, jumped on the back of the scooter and off they all went. They headed west and stopped for nothing or nobody though Tarquin did have a dump behind a tree close to Hazel Mere.
In the south, the three messengers, Olly the Druid, The
Knight Rider David Hasslehuff and Hugh the Hippy all made it back safely and were
warning anybody that would listen about the possible or more likely probable
invasion. The two Chavs, Darren and Perry had made it to see
The Chavs had progressed though not as quickly as they would have liked. Wagons were constantly being sent back for supplies and in particular more Alco-pops as without this magic brew the armies would have just melted into the countryside and loitered at each and every corner they could find. The northern army was camped in Baize-in-Stoke, having raised many towns en route to the ground. The troops were weary but happy with their success. They were also slightly pished which didn’t help sometimes but at least they obeyed each and every order although it did take a while to sink in sometimes. The troops as on an operational tour had been placed on a two cases a day restriction which had annoyed a few. That same few could have been caught breaking into a local Thresher’s but they weren’t and it had at least solved the problem. Baize-in-Stoke was an ideal springboard for Handover also handy for breakdown cover as the AA had their headquarters there. That had frightened some of the troops as they were perfectly happy with their problem and as long as it kept coming, there was no problem.
In the south, the Chav armed had also raised many towns to the ground including Horse Ham and that was for the second time. They now sat surrounding Winchaster or rather some sat while most slept off their hangovers. Winchaster had not fallen and had held out against overwhelming odds mostly placed with Indian bookmakers. Strict control was put into place as there had been previous instances of siege fixing, a slur on both the troops and the betting industry. Winchaster held out despite being low on ammunition, food and bottles of Chateau Neuf du Pape. Ammunition was that low that they had resorted to firing subalterns over the walls as they weren’t much use for anything else and they kept drinking all the good wine. Nobody was sure how much longer they could hold out but the Chav army maybe was slightly over confident and didn’t push home its advantage, this would give valuable time to those already on their way for the final battle. It was bravery of the highest order and the story would be told for years to come with a convenient grandchild sat on the knee and especially when the Werther’s Originals had run out.
The Wallops was a hive of activity as troops made their way to Handover. Most of the Bobbits who could wield a sword and hadn’t found a suitable hiding place were already at Handover and the women and children of The Wallops had gone underground. The fact that Bobbits lived underground anyway seemed to have escaped them but they felt safe so what the fcuk. Our four Bobbits were already in Handover and members of the official council of war but they never got to see the maps as the table was a bit high. Billy missed carrying his balls about, Fergal had cleaned up a bit more and missed Lucky, Nat was pished off because there was a newer version of the Reader’s Digest Book of the Track and Cubby had a boil on his arrse but other than that felt fine. It was all go and reports came in from the east of how close the two Chav armies were. That had been a shock to some but cleverer people like Paul had already pre-guessed it. Of course he did go on and on about it and nobody loves a smart arrse. The latest report came in and it was bad news, Winchaster had fallen and there were no reports about casualties or how many prisoners had been taken. All they knew was that now, both armies were on the move and their destination was Handover.
The military minded amongst the council of war were still undecided how to deal with the threat of the two armies but this problem was partially solved when reports came in that the southern army after leaving Winchaster, were heading due north and obviously intent on joining the northern army on its way westwards. It did save troops who had been detailed to protect the southern approaches and while there was no direct access from the south it would have tied up valuable troops. It did however mean they were facing a monstrously huge army and while usually pished, the odds were definitely against them. Troops continued to arrive from the west and from the most unlikely sources. Hippies skipped in the grass when they should have been stood to attention but they’d been smoking that stuff again. You couldn’t move in Handover for pointy ears, not helped by the fact there was a Star Trek Convention in town but at least the expert archery skills of the Elves could be tried and tested. Milton of Keynes was sending troops but they hadn’t arrived and Paul and the council of war really hoped they would get there in time. Anything or anybody that resembled Tarquin had to be something you wanted on your side. The Bobbits had many trebuchets in place by the gateway over the River Test and the first Chav that tried picking the lock was likely to get squashed first. “We mustn’t forget about the effects of the Alco-pops” stated Paul and explained what they had found out in Gatwick. “We need to hold fast but somehow destroy their supplies of the stuff” went on Paul and while nobody had a clue how to do it, it did give them some hope.
It was probably the eve before the battle and if there’s ever any bonking going on, it was usually then but nothing much happened. Nobody fell in love, nobody confessed his or her undying love for somebody else and apart from Billy having a shifty w@nk that was about it. They could hear the Chavs in the distance, you couldn’t really miss them and they were already drinking to their success. A bit presumptuous perhaps but with the odds so much in their favour this was going to be the proverbial walk in the park. Billy after washing his hands and some other parts that don’t really need mentioning but were slightly sticky made his way to talk to Paul. “Hi Billy, how’s it hanging?” asked Paul ever upbeat or barking, Billy couldn’t really make up his mind which. “Have we got an earthly?” asked Billy knowing that if anybody knew it had to be Paul. “Fcuked if I know mate but we’ll give it a fcuking good go” replied Paul refusing to admit defeat. Another cry from the Chav camp sent shivers running down Billy’s spine and he shook as if with the cold. “You bricking it?” asked Paul seeing Billy’s discomfort. ‘Aren’t you scared Paul?” asked Billy ignoring Paul’s question as he hadn’t understood what ‘bricking it’ meant. “Course I am mate. I’m bricking it too” replied Paul hopefully comforting Billy but Billy still didn’t know what ‘bricking it’ meant so excused himself and went for another w@nk. “Tomorrow will come soon enough” said Billy to himself enjoying himself immensely. “And so will I” he added still beating his meat.
The sun rose over the small town of
Paul looked at the mass of bodies that the Chav army was.
There was the Essex Chavs resplendent with their white handbags, the Suffolk
Chavs, the Norfolk Chavs, the swarthy looks of the Kent Chavs, The Ned
mercenaries head butted each other in anticipation and just for practice and
there must have been well over a hundred thousand souls or arrseholes in the
Chav army. Paul could see the hooded figures working themselves into a frenzy
and the Chavettes almost undistinguishable from the Chavs except for the odd
lump or generally two. The Elves sent over a shower of arrows but while Chavs
fell, it made no visible difference to their numbers. Their places were taken
by more Chavs and there were plenty more where they came from. From his vantage
point, Paul could see the smoke of the mounted Chavs as they revved their
scooters and then there was silence. An order was barked out, something ending
in ‘init’ and the first wave of Chavs launched themselves forward, breaking
into a trot and then running full pelt towards the bridge. Arrows landed
amongst them, some fell, some tripped over those that had fallen but the mass
of bodies just kept coming and they were real, none of your CGI in this battle.
The trebuchet’s opened up fire and huge rocks landed in the
The monsters ploughed through the Chavs, smashing them, squashing them and generally ruining their day. The huge nose of the monster spat fire and a bunch of Chavs instantly kicked the Alco-pop habit. The monsters were in the midst of the army and nothing seemed to touch them. A Ned mercenary head butted one or tried to and instantly regretted it. The mounted Chavs tried to outrun them but they were no match for the monsters, the Chavettes tried showing a bit of leg and one even got her t1ts out but nothing stopped them. It was carnage and as far as the eye could see and probably beyond, there was a mass of flattened Chavs along with flattened scooters and even when the Essex Chavs waved the white handbag as a sign of truce, there was no respite. Those with a view and that was Paul and Billy cheered as the Chavs or those that were left turned and fled. The monsters having sent the Chav army packing made their way to the bridge and contented themselves with spitting fire from their noses. There was a huge explosion as a couple of wagons full of Alco-pops disappeared off the face of the earth or off the face of just left of centre earth. The monsters ceased their spitting and Paul and Billy wondered why but in the distance they saw the glint of an axe, the rippling of muscles and realised that the army from Milton of Keynes had arrived as hundreds of Tarquin look-alikes decapitated and disembowelled their way through the Chav stragglers or those that were still interested in fighting. The gate opened and troops poured out of Handover to finish off the Chav army. Even the Hippies were there dressed in their regimental kaftans and while not the quickest off the mark, they too ploughed into the remnants of the Chav army. The air was full of the sounds of “Like wow man” as another Chav was dispatched.
The mopping up operation took many hours and those that
hadn’t been killed were rounded up and held in small groups and guarded though
it wasn’t really necessary as the Chavs seemed to have lost the will to fight.
Fight, they weren’t even angry and as the effects of the Alco-pops wore off
they were actually relatively normal and even quite talkative. The battlefield
was a sea of blood, limbs lay where they had been chopped off and this was just
the place to get a head. The Paddi who generally got all the shite jobs had
been called in and bodies and body parts were heaped into huge piles and then
set alight. The fires burned for days which suited the Paddi as there was
always somewhere you could toast your bread. What had been left of the
Alco-pops had been collected by the Paddi and they drank as they worked. It did
make them short tempered and they fought a lot but then that was situation
normal. An air of normality returned to the town of
Chapter Twelve
It was time for goodbyes and time to go home. Capt Tom and Dave, Chaz, Paddy, Jock and Taff said their goodbyes after a monumental scrap over what time to leave but eventually they headed back to Winchaster. There was much rebuilding to do in Winchaster and they dearly wanted to watch. Perry the Disco Chav and Darren the Chav had decided to open a kebab shop in Horse Ham and were keen to find out exactly what goes into a kebab though people do still wonder to this day. Hugh and the Hippies went back to Glassonberry and decided on having an extra festival every year especially when it rained to celebrate the great victory. Hugh just continued with his cooking and ran the burger van at the festivals as at least even when it rained, he stayed dry. The Knight Rider, David Hasslehuff was appointed as the Chief of the General Staff of the Bobbit army which was to be founded along Chav lines but definitely without the Alco-pops. He ignored Billy’s quips about mounted troops as he fcuking hated cloak lifters and basically he didn’t give a fcuk as he was finally in a salaried position. Olly went back to building his henge which had suffered badly in the hands of the Paddi. They were excellent workers but needed constant guidance and on the first day back, he put two in hospital giving them some extra guidance.
Tarquin hugged Billy but a manly sort of hug and if he’d
felt the slightest hint of an erection from Billy, he would have squeezed the
life out of the little fcuker. “Take care big boy” minced Billy a bit more open
with his sexuality. “Fcuk you” replied Tarquin and winked though not that sort
of wink but a wink that signified that he did understand. He didn’t approve but
he did understand. Tarquin and his clones strode off northwards back to The
Keynes and Billy sadly never saw him again. Tarquin did his twenty-two and
retired on full pension though he did moonlight doing the odd security
consultancy. Dave the Elf went back to
Billy, Fergal, Nat, Cubby and Paul were in The George in
Handover and Paul was lining them up. Four pints of radish ale with radish wine
chasers sat on the bar while Paul selected a fine Scotch from the bar. Paul
didn’t like the look of her so just had a drink instead but they had all
learned something from this and one of the things learned was not to let
amateurs write about them but then beggars can’t be choosers sometimes. They
sat down next to the space invaders but the space invaders left after they’d
finished their drinks and that’s another story. “Let’s drink” said Paul raising
a glass. “And what fcuking else are we going to do with it?” asked a sarcastic
Fergal who did miss Lucky. They raised their glasses and toasted absent friends
as there were no crisps or peanuts and the pork scratchings were a bit soft.
“Absent friends” they all cried and downed a mouthful of their respective
drinks or in Paul’s case, a respected drink though drink should always be
respected. Paul downed his whisky and ordered another; he would be going after
this drink, a wizard’s work was never done. He was a trouble shooter for the
THE END