Classic Canaries 9: Pier’s Rampage

Bikle: Turning to the Turkey, sneering smugly: “You hear dat? Budstoppable! Dat’s be! Dat’s twice dow dat I’ve foiled your dastardly schebes! I frope dat you have leardt your lessod! Dobody besses wid Bikle! Rebember dat Bister Butterball!”

Clancy: “Blplplblp! Certainly will! Suitably chastened! Blplplp! Best man won! No more chicanery! Good clean fight!”

Bikle: “Well I hope so! Detherdeless, I’ll be keepig by eye od you, bake do bistake!”

Clancy: “Very good! Must go! Urgent appointment!” so saying, he bustles out of the tent, leaving Bikle savouring the moment. As Clancy heads back to the blue van, he passes the beer tent, from which are emitting sounds which would seem meet for a particularly fractious pub during some kind of televised sporting event, rather than a sedate event as a village bird show. Outside the beer tent, Morris is speaking to a trio of extremely well turned out and muscular Johnsons, and a couple of others, who are both dressed very flamboyantly, with flowing silk scarves and diamante covered jumpsuits.

Morris: “We’re scrapping Plan A you lot, but don’t worry, there’ll be work for you yet. Meantime, here’s a few quid, gerrin there and keep the drinks flowing, I want the lads well oiled.”One of the two louche Johnsons mwaerks in an arch fashion. “Ho ho I bet you do Johnson, but I mean I want them pissed out of their heads and ready for some rough stuff.” The second Johnson chimes in camply “Mwaeeerk!” “Ho ho, you know what I mean you old poove. Now get a move on, I’ve got to go and fetch me canaries innit?”

As he scurries past, Clancy can see that Morris has brought plenty of partisans along. The beer tent is heaving with Johnsons who have clearly been drinking, and are getting quite boisterous. Among them are a number of well known avian hooligans such as Punch You As Soon As Look At You Johnson, Cut You Up Properly For Two Pins Johnson and Your Own Mother Wouldn’t Know You When He’s Finished With You Johnson. By contrast, the Thompsons, being simple, primitive folk, long isolated on Trevor’s Island, are really entering into the spirit of the fete, enjoying the stalls and attractions, and even patronising the fairground rides. The more worldly, cynical Johnsons are both amused and contemptous of the naive antics of their rivals, but are so far limiting themselves to jeers and catcalls. Reaching the blue van, Clancy climbs into the back, where one of the more technically advanced Thompsons is sat wearing headphones and monitoring a screen.

Clancy: “Blplblp! Give me headphones! Taking over for a moment!”

Thompson happily relinquishes the headphones and looks wistfully through the one way glass of the van window at the nearby cracker stand. Ignoring him, Clancy starts typing away on a keyboard beneath the monitor. The screen is showing jerky black and white images of the inside of a tent, in a manner suggestive of a primitive first person video game. A grainy image of a man appears in front of the camera.

Richards: “Er, we are so glad that you could make it today your lordship. We were all most concerned when we heard ofyour misfortune at the Cat Charity Talent Show.”

Clancy types: MWAERK, and this is repeated tinnily back through the headphones.

The figure who is vaguely recognisable as Mr Richards, goes on.

Richards: “I do hope that you won’t find two events in two days rather a strain, would you like a cup of tea?”

In the van, Clancy types: ACCEPT TEA. Then attempts to manipulate the adjacent joystick to perform said action. Back in the judge’s tent Mr Richards passes a cup of oolong to Piers, who flails at it clumsily, sending it to the floor, before rabbit punching Mrs Haverstock in the neck. Clancy frantically tries to get his automaton under control, but it does not seem to be responding to his efforts. Piers is now running around in circles and making a strange “Beep beep”noise. He suddenly goes into reverse and sits down on a trestle table laden with refreshments, which collapses under him. Richards is torn between aiding him and comforting Mrs Haverstock. Before he can make a decision, Piers leaps to his feet and begins to perform star jumps, sending cream buns and cucumber sandwiches everywhere. The Turkey is desperately typing and waggling the joystick but to no avail. In the tent Piers is now running headlong into the main tentpole, smashing into it, falling down, getting up and again charging the sturdy pole. Quite a crowd has gathered to watch the astonishing performance. Back at the van Clancy is sweating,

Clancy: “Blblplp! Thompson! Thompson! Manual override quickly!”

There is no reply, shooting a hurried glance behindhe sees his accomplice queuing up eagerly for hot freshly baked crackers. Abandoning his attempts to bring Piers to heel, he exits the van and sets off at his fastest trot towards the judging tent. As he does so he sees a sniggering Morris.

Morris: “Lovely day for the bird show isn’t it you turkey bastard? Ho ho.”

Clancy: “Blplblblp! No time to waste on you! Things to do!” Reaching the Judges tent he forces his way through the throng and is confronted by the sight of Piers executing a mad waltz, a screaming Mrs Haverstock gripped tightly in his flippers, as various members of the committee, stallholders and bystanders try vainly to halt this lunatic dance. Finally, Mr Hornby manages to land a telling blow on Pier’s bandaged head with a chair leg. The creature stops deadin mid career, releasing poor Mrs Haverstock, who falls forward in a dead faint.

Piers: “Mwaereep beep! Mweeep beaeerk!” Sparks begin to fly from his beak. Stiff legged he marches towards Clancy, winging the crowd out of his way as he does so. “Mweearkeepeepeep! Beep beep! Killaerk!”

Clancy: “Blplplblp! Don’t like the look of this! Stop him someone!”

Piers continues to advance menacingly towards the turkey, smoke billowing out from beneath the bandages. Suddenly there is a tremendous crackling and his entire head blows off in a shower of sparks, the decapitated aristocrat stumbles crazily on, narrowly missing the terrified Clancy with his outstretched grasping flippers, before tumbling into the village duck pond where he finally expires in a geyser of mud and steam. Clancy backs away nonchalantly, trying to blend into the crowd. As he does so, he feels something bump against his ankle. “Beep beep!” Looking down he sees a small toy automobile. Then he notices a mismatched pair of sandals, worn with odd socks.

Buckle: “Ho dere Bister Clagcy!” Buckle’s face is smeared with chocolate, and he is trying to juggle with a toffee apple, candy floss, a baked potato, and some kind of black plastic gadget with an aerial. “Do you lige by rebote codtrolled botor car? Dat dice Bister Borris gabe it to be! Odly I’b odly alloweg to play wig id dext to dis tedt here begause stradgers bight get be! I’b dot allowed to talk to stradgers!”

Clancy: “Blblblblp! I should say not! Sound advice.” He pauses, eyes Buckle and ponders for a moment “BLblblblbp, do you know what a juggins is Buckle?”

Buckle:“Why do bister Turkey, Bi’ve do idea!”

Clancy: “BLblbllblbp, kind of treat, blblbp leave these things a moment, blbllbp, come with me, will take you for one!” and with that the Turkey leads Buckle away…

 

 

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Published in: on January 29, 2016 at 2:39 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Thoroughly enjoying this – looking forward to the finale


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