Afternoon Tea (pt4)

 

“Blblblbp Orchid you say? Some interest, cousin Lawrence used to grow orchids, before, before…” and Clancy sniffs in an affected way, Yolanda rushes over with a hanky “there there Clancy don’t upset yourself with that story.” “Blblblp most kind” he says dabbing his beak with the hanky “orchids always make me think of him.” The Furnissons look confused so Yolanda goes over to them and says as quietly as she can “he’s very sensitive, his cousin was eaten by a large omnivore, it’s a sad tale.” The Furnissons look more intrigued than sympathetic “eaten you say, meow meow, hmm well that’s a thing isn’t it, a giant Turkey all eaten up, bones licked clean I imagine.” Suddenly Dr Furnisson whirls round to Clancy “Mr Butterball, it would be my honour to even give you this orchid in memory of dear cousin Lawrence, god rest his soul!” At this rather gusto filled gesture Clancy is quite overcome “Blblblbp, most kind, can hardly refuse, must pop home first then will come straight over, shall we say around blblblblbp 7 o clock?” “Why Mr Butterball, you’ve read my mind, you’ll be our guest for dinner of course?” “Blbllp, gracious acceptance, will bring own gift, most agreeable, blblblblp” and with that the Turkey ups and bustles off. “Blblbp see you all later!” he calls as he politely shuts the door on his way out.” “Tender fellow you say?” says Mr Furnisson to Yolanda “Oh yes, he’s very sweet.” “Sweet yes,” says Mrs Furnisson with a somewhat faraway look in her eye. Suddenly Morris interjects “That butterball bastard, I hate  him, I would have him incinerated, lord knows I’ve tried, but he’s a tricky so and so, Johnson here used to work for him, didn’t you Johnson.” Johnson mwaaerks to the verity of the claim and slightly recalls that this previous employment, whilst also strange and unpleasant was not quite so fraught with fire based incidents. “The things Johnson used to get up to let me tell you, mind you, I’ve known a few rum fellows in my time, Geoff Baxter Ashtray, whatever happened to him eh, burned to death in some hideous aeroplane accident I shouldn’t wonder. Anyway hadn’t you lot better be off, I have a dozen campanologists in the shed waiting for the off. Eh Johnson?!” he intones cheerfully, “Mwaaerk!” Johnson agrees. The Furnissons look a bit non-plussed. “Ho ho and that reminds me how all  this business started, ‘Landa  says to me the Furnissons have gone out, and I said that would be an inconvenience given said bell ringers waiting for their fiery doom in the shed, and she said, no no Morris you old card, not furnaces, Furnissons, and I said…” Yolanda interjects “Anyway Morris, I’m sure the Furnissons don’t want to hear a repetition of the morning’s conversation, and have better things to do.” “Or butter things to do!” quips Dr Furnisson in reference to their dinner guest, Morris doesn’t get it “Butter things to do? Do you mean things to do with butter? I have a book about that, OSM Johnson lent it to me, though I haven’t looked through it yet, indeed I was only going to burn it, you can borrow it if you like, well you have borrowed it haven’t you and you had better look after it or Johnson will be round, well in fact Johnson  is round, rotund Johnson rolling down the hills on a fine sunny day, bouncing off the boulders, crushing lambs and sheep alike so that ravens may have their fill, and hark is that Northumbrian pipe music I can hear colouring this curious scene with its authentic sound.” The Furnissons and other guests are by now making their way carefully out of the house whilst Morris’ monologue continues. “Hark the call of the peregrine, the hoary stones, the unwitting pigeon, Johnson!” And peregrine Johnson and unwitting pigeon Johnson play out the raptor-prey scene by one Johnson jumping off the armchair onto the other apparently unaware one. Yolanda looks on in dismay and leaves the room whilst LD Johnson looks on fascinated.

Later on the doorbell rings at the Furnissons house. Mrs Furnisson answers to an impeccably turned out Clancy. “Bllblblblblp, round for dinner, always prompt, tardiness impolite, in I come.” And in he duly bustles. “Blbllblblp, small children, most endearing, brought wooden spinning top for you, made it myself blblblblbp!” and he produces and beautiful hand-made spinning top which he proceeds to demonstrate to the children with expertise. They watch on and pounce after it delightedly as it spins around the room. “Ah Mr Butterball, glad you could make it!” says Dr Furnisson “Yes, lovely of you to come.” Agrees his wife. “Blblblblbp nice to be here, pleasant evening, tawney port, smoked trout pate, maybe cards later? Blblp?” and he produces the items from a bag he’s been carrying. “Why that’s most kind of you Mr Butterball.” She replies “Blblblbp call me Clancy, all friends here blblbp!”

So they chat and have a drink and after a while Mr Furnisson suggests he might as well show Clancy the azaleas whilst he’s here and, then they can see the orchid “Bblblbp, very well, didn’t mean to be rude, azaleas common but pretty, mother always likes a bunch blblblblbp!” “Err yes, if you’ll just come this way.” “Blblbp happy to oblige, here I come!” and he follows Mr Furnisson. They stroll around the various flower beds and chat agreeably, though Dr Furnisson seems increasing distracted by something and occasionally almost frustrated by Clancy’s enthusiastic babble.  “Let’s go and see that orchid now shall we Clance?” “Blblblp no hurry, bed of primroses to inspect, evening air, most pleasing” At length, Mrs Furnisson pops her head out and sheepishly says “How are you boys doing?” and pointedly at her husband “Are you nearly ready for dinner?” To which Clancy answers enthusiastically “BLblblblbp, quite starving, twilight air, engaging chat, nearly ready?” he peers over his pince-nez. “Let’s go and see the orchid first shall we then I’m sure you’ll be served I mean I’ll serve you up, that is I’ll serve you up a dinner meow meow” and she disappears inside “Blblblp, cousin Lawrence memorial orchid, looking forward to it, emotional moment.” “Come this way then Clancy, the orchid’s in this greenhouse here.” “Blblblbp delighted to see it, blblblp, lead on Dr Furnisson.” And so Clancy and Dr Furnisson enter the steamy greenery obscured structure. Remaining as outsiders, all is calm for a moment or two before there is an alarmed “Blblblblblp!” followed by a sharp “Mreeowwl!” The next thing we observe is Dr Furnisson dragging Clancy out of the greenhouse as his wife (who has emerged from the kitchen now) watches on with glee. “Meow help with this dear meow meow!” says the Dr as dragging the hefty bird across the lawn in clearly tough work. So the husband and wife team work together to get him into the kitchen. Our next scene is the Furnisson family sat round a large dinner table. Hungry small Furnissons tuck into a hearty plate of meat and very little else. Mr Furnisson seems very keen on the smoked trout pate and tawney port as well as indulging a healthy portion of the meat. “Meow meow, compliments to the chef.” proclaims the doctor. “Why thank-you Dr Furnisson” she giggles playfully “Now if you little ones have finished, go clean your paws and into bed!” “Do you meow meow think Dr that there might be any treatment tonight?” she looks winking across at him. Dr Furnisson looked curiously but happily across at her and pronounced with some glee “Meow meow, treatment you say? Really!”

Published in: on February 22, 2017 at 2:24 pm  Comments (2)  

Afternoon Tea (pt3)

To Yolanda’s pleasure, and to her surprise, Morris and the Furnissons hit it off immediately, and the tea party seems a success. Admittedly Herbert Jackson seems somewhat antipathetic towards the new arrivals, and shortly thereafter, makes his excuses and leaves. Otherwise everybody seems to be getting on famously. Yolanda indeed is moved to say as much, “Well this is very nice, everybody is getting along like a house on f… I mean, getting on very well. Would anyone like another cup of tea?” Mrs Furnisson indicates that she would indeed enjoy another cup of tea. Yolanda reaches for the milk jug, and is dismayed to discover that it is empty. “Oh, we are out of milk, Morris, could you pop down to the newsagent and grab some for me?” Mrs Furnisson chimes in, “Oh don’t bother, I think we should have some left at ours, I’ll just nip over, save your shoe leather Mr Cutler.” “Morris, please Mrs F, Mr Cutler is my rascally brother Dennis, and anyhow, Just Popping Down The Shops Johnson is just popping down the shops, I am sure that he will pick up a couple of litres of full fat while he is there.”At this, there is another knock at the door, Morris, who happens to be on his way to the fridge for another Skol, flings the door open wide, “Come in, come in! Welcome, pull up a deckchair and help yourself to a slice of beetroot and goat’s cheese quiche.” “Blbplplblp! Most kind! Blplplp! Don’t mind if I do!” Morris, who was clearly expecting someone or something else at the door, is both taken aback, and clearly chagrined. He turns, intending to tell the interloper to leave, only to find Clancy perched upon a leather cushion type seat, a teacup and saucer daintily clutched in one wing. “Blplplp, lovely cup of tea Morris! Cupcakes lovely! Must get recipe! Blbplplblp!” Morris glowers and Clancy’s tweeds begin to smoulder for a moment, but catching Yolanda’s eye, he sighs and continues to the fridge.Grumbling and muttering under his breath, Morris resumes his seat and is soon involved in a pleasant discussion about lawnmowers with Mr Furnisson, who it must be said keeps eyeing Clancy furtively, with a somewhat hungry look in his eye. Mrs Furnisson and the youngster too seem fascinated by him, looking him up and down, almost as if they are weighing him up. Yolanda notices this too, but shrugs, as she supposes that a turkey in tweeds must be something new to them. Clancy himself is oblivious however, and chatters on about his prize blooms, to the point that he rather monopolises the conversation. Furnisson pauses a moment from discussing the relative merits of drum blades as against rotary blades, and turning to his wife makes a noise something like “Mreeowl?” Mrs Furnisson nods enthusiastically, before once again looking over at Clancy. “Blooms eh sir? Now I’m a keen gardener myself,” says Furnisson, addressing himself to the Turkey, “I’ve got some lovely azaleas over the road, perhaps you’d like to pop over with me and take a look if you’ve got time to baste? Waste I mean of course ha ha ha.” Clancy looks disdainful, “Blplplp. Azaleas. Rather common. Blplplp, don’t think I’ll bother.” “Common? Hmmm, you might be right, you prefer something more unusual then? If I follow your seasoning. Ha ha reasoning. Oh dear what is the matter with me today? Must have been that glass of sparkling wine, ha ha the bubbles must have gone to my head. Bubbling away in the oven, skin crispy and golden, garnished with fresh herbs, tender white flesh just falling off the bone… An orchid! Yes, a most unusual orchid, that’s right, in my greenhouse. Perhaps you’d care to view it sir? Won’t take long, about 3 hours at Gas Mark 7 I’d conjecture, won’t you step across Mr Butterball?”

Published in: on February 22, 2017 at 2:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

Afternoon tea (pt2)

 

“Morris! Stop being a twat, I want my book back. My Auntie Gretel gave me that for Easter.” “That is not strictly the case Yolanda, your Auntie Gretel gave you that book for Easter, don’t you remember? I got you violin lessons. Well I did didn’t I? And here comes Yehudi Menuhin Johnson now to instruct you.” “Mwaeerk!” “I don’t want sodding violin lessons Morris! I want my fucking cookery book back!” “Then why are you holding that violin and bow Yolanda? Not to mention wearing that t shirt which displays the humourous motto “Violinists do it standing up.” “Morris, you unutterable twat, stop it! I’ve got a cake baking in the oven that I need to check on. “A cake eh? And what sort of cake might that be?” “A sponge cake Morris, a novelty one in the shape of a dwarf in a pointy hat, I’m baking it for Tim from my office, he’s a big fan of dungeons and Dragons.” YM Johnson peers disapprovingly over his pince nez, and raps her sharply with his bow. “Mwaeerk!” “You heard him Yolanda, make with the music, pronto!” “Morris! This isn’t funny! I can’t stop playing the violin, and, wait a moment, oh for fuck’s sake! What’s that smell? Is that smoke coming from the kitchen? My cake will be ruined!” “Ho ho indeed it will Yolanda, and here you are, fiddling while your gnome burns! Ho ho geddit Johnson?”

But Johnson looks on a bit cluelessly as he has not heard the well-known phrase. Yolanda is predictably not impressed “Fucks sake Morris, my lovely cake ruined!” “Why are you making a cake anyway? I thought you were making scones for the tea party” “You disappeared the fucking scone book if you remember Morris!” “What scone book? Maybe you mean the ‘it’s gone’ book, ho ho geddit Johnson?” “Oh for fucking crying out loud, that was the original joke on the book!” “What book would that be my little anaerobic bacterium? Do you mean this arcane volume of dark knowledge by Abra Melon the mage?” and he produces an ancient vellumous tone “No Morris, not one of your nasty books” “Do not be so hasty my little mdf wardrobe, on page 474 of this volume is Abra Melon’s recipe for apricot scones, perhaps you would care to look?” “Christ not really Morris, the book looks really old and unhygienic.” “Not as old as old and unhygienic Johnson who I might add is behind you whipping up a batch of Yorkshire puddings.” She whirls round to see said doddering filthy avian struggling with a whisk and battery mixture. “Fuck’s sake get this thing out of my kitchen!” “As soon as the Yorkshire puddings are in the oven, Johnson will relinquish control of the region, in the mean time why don’t you pop down to the spar, pick up a bakewell tart a pack of scones and shall we say 8 cans of Tyskie?” Looking round at the geriatric Johnson and sundry other chaos she decides to take Morris up on the offer and with a half scowl picks up her coat and bag heads out. “Right Johnson let’s get this place ship shape, the Furnissons will be here 4 o clock sharp!”

No sooner has he said it than it seems it has happened. Yolanda is back and has artfully arranged the bakewell tart and scones, there is also a plate of slightly burned Yorkshire puddings that have a slightly grubby and in places hairy appearance, a plate of biscuits, a pot of tea, sugar, a milk jug. Morris is in his armchair with a can chatting to Herbert Jackson about crankshafts, whilst LD Johnson and Dr VS Johnson stand around. “He won’t poison anyone will he Morris?” “Who is that my dear?” “Johnson with the syringe, you remember we had that to-do with the cup of tea and the bin man last week.” “Hoho he really was a bin man after we disposed of his charred remains!” “It wasn’t funny Morris…” Suddenly the door bell goes “That will be the Furnissons.” “Maybe my sweet, or it could be some of the other guests, I have invited Mayor Johnson round amongst various other luminaries” Sure enough, it is Mayor Johnson, dressed his finest chain and Mayoral attire. Mwaaerking, he strides in and goes to chat to Dr VS Johnson, leaving LD Johnson somewhat out the loop. The piano playing midget sidles up to the side of him and they look at Morris plaintively. “No Johnson, no routines at the moment, maybe when the Furnissons get here!” Another doorbell and this time it is a kind of amphibian official, “Councillor Robinson, good of you to come!” shouts Morris, grab a can, grab a yorkie, pull up a pew but don’t eat shortie!” And Morris grins at the slightly alarmed looking midget “Ho ho don’t worry Tinkerbell, Robinson mostly eats flies.” And to demonstrate councillor Robinsons long tongue shoots out to grab a nearby mosquito form the air. Dr VS Johnson mwaaerks that he is impressed, but shorty continues to look anxious. “Maybe a thimbleful of lager?” Morris proffers. Yolanda looks stressed, the doorbell goes again. And this time Morris intones confidently “Ah that will be the Furnissons now!”

 

Published in: on February 10, 2017 at 3:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

Afternoon Tea (pt1)

Yolanda, peering through window, “It looks like the Furnisson’s are going out again Morris.” “What? I’ll have Coke Shovelling Johnson’s hide for this, what am I going to do with all those campanologists now?” “Not furnaces Morris, Furnissons, you know the new err… people from across the road, they’re always going out in that fiat panda or theirs.” “Oh yes, something strange about that lot if you ask me, eighty three bottles of milk on the doorstep every morning. Not natural is it? And Convinced He’s A Mouse Johnson won’t go anywhere near them. Excellent judge of character is CHAM Johnson, something amiss there you mark my words.””Maybe we should invite them round for a cup of tea, you know break the ice, be neighbourly?” “Maybe I should burn them to death. I do not cotton to them Yolanda. No indeed I do not. I do not like thee Dr Furnisson, the reason why I cannot tell, but this I know, and know full well, I shall exult on the charred and blasted ruins of your house before the day is much older.” “Morris! Stop it! They seem very nice. Mrs Furnisson works at the health centre. I often see her there when I pop in for my prescription.” “How about this then my little trestle table, me and Johnson will pop over with a few cans of lubricant and burn the place to the ground whilst they sleep?” “Morris! No that’s the same suggestion as before. No burning houses down on the street. It was bad enough when you burnt the Hobsons shed down, definitely no houses!” “Hobson was asking for it, after they bought a new mower when I had already fixed the old one, the cheek of it, I am not the lord of all lawnmowers for nothing. Still, as you desire my little Kettering traffic light system, I shall refrain from razing the house to the ground. As you suggest, we can have tea party instead, I shall invite Johnson and maybe Herbert Jackson too.” “Who the fuck is Herbert Jackson?” “He is the nephew of the deliciously departed Albert Jackson. He popped round to borrow a spanner the other day and we engaged in a reverie upon his late uncle, though I naturally refrained from mentioning his uncle’s comestible properties. He is particularly fond fine teas and no doubt will bring a selection with him for us to try. You had better get baking some scones, and potatoes for that matter. Eh Johnson!” “Mwaaerk!” pipes up LD Johnson and Dr VS Johnson (from behind his curtain) in agreement. “Ooh you’re right, I can try my new recipe book out ‘Scone! How to makes Scones vanish from the table’” She says it with the intended comedy intonation but Morris looks non-plussed. “How to make scones vanish from the table? Why would they vanish from the table? Unless of course I disappeared them, or burned them, though the latter would not be commonly considered a mode of vanishing. Please elucidate the matter!” Morris has pronounced scone to rhyme with bone as opposed to Yolanda’s ‘gone’ rhyme which clearly isn’t helping. “No Morris, Scone! Like ‘it’s gone’, as in people have eaten them!” “Already? But you haven’t made them yet?” “No that’s the name of the book! It’s a joke, that the scones have vanished, because people have eaten them because they were so good.” “I’m not sure about this Yolanda and I am unable to vouch for how good they were as I didn’t get a look in, secondly, just as with burning things, eating things does not constitute the usual rendition of vanish. ‘This’ is vanishing things.” And the recipe book disappears from the table. “Morris bring my fucking book back!” “ho ho Yolanda, I’m afraid its scone for good!”

 

Published in: on January 20, 2017 at 4:48 pm  Leave a Comment