Classic Canaries 19: Combined Ending

The crowd too, look nonplussed at these developments, as far as they can see, there are two fabulous looking canaries on display, and why this drunken young woman is talking about giving the prize to a plastic novelty bird is beyond them. A few boos are heard, and murmurs of disapproval, even Alphonso, who has crept back, covered in algae and pondweed is shaking his head.

Comte de B: “Now ah would not ‘ave done zat m’sieurs, ah ten zis kahnd of sing vairy seriously!”

Clancy and Bikle are up in arms about the whole affair, still magically oblivious to the fact that their prize birds are in fact nothing but crude caricatures of themselves.

Clancy: “Blplplp! Absolute outrage! Shall lodge formal complaint with remnants of committee! Blplblplp!”

Bikle: “Be too! Did as absolute travesty”Be too! Dis is ad absolute travesty, bide ad Cladcy’s birds are bagdificedt specibeds! You cad’t really bead to give de prize to DAT plastic bodstrosity!”

Yolanda hefts her shovel menacingly: “I’ve had enough of this bollocks. MORRIS!”

Morris: “Yes my little late Regency fish fork? How may I be of assistance?”

Yolanda: “You can take the spell off those two fuckers so Shitty and the Gobbler can see what exactly they are so proud of. Then I’m going home for a lie down.”

Morris: “Very well my little glaring anomaly, the glamour is removed! Which has left me feeling quite peckish. It is a shame that the cracker oven is burning so fiercely, but I shall instead treat myself to some candy floss.”

With which he wanders off again. Clancy catches sight of the grubby Mini Bikle and laughs out loud. Clancy: “Blplplp! Call that canary! Tiny shit man there! Blplplp! Prize mine!”

Bikle: “Ho dot so fast dere! I’d have a look at your exhibit if I was you!Piss stained grandpa Cladcy wod’t be widdig buch, udless dere’s a shortest bird I’d show category!”

Now the magic spell has been lifted, the audience see the two wretched cage bound homunculi and roar with laughter.

Alphonso covers himself with glory by shouting: “Ah wankairs! Ah thought zat ah looked stupeed, but you two look like a raht pair of Compte D’Bersineux!”

At this point Cutler sidles up laughing: “Ooh eeh, now that was, oo how shall we say, priceless I don’t like because everything has a price, as you know, bloody funny though wouldn’t you say. It tickles me just thinking it, when you came in earlier like cooing and froing over that homunculus, I’m acting the big ‘ooh I don’t know chummy, you can’t have that one’, oh it does me good” and he laughs and laughs and laughs. The Turkey takes some shared umbrage in the event , presumably having suffered a similar purchase

Clancy: “bbllblblblp won’t be laughing now, no trousers!” *whisk* and sure enough Cutler’s trousers are now removed and the turkey is away with them.

Clancy: “Blblblbp, embarrassment , village fair, improperly dressed blblblblblbp! Catch me if you can!”

Cutler: “you bloody poultry thief, you wait till I get hold of you ee oo!”

Clancy: “blblblblbp not likely, by the way trifle on you head!”

The constable seeing the paisley underweared, trifle soaked Cutler immediately feels the legal impropriety and sets off after him.

Constable: “Now come back ‘ere you sir, this nart be the place for no trousers and a trifle!” The turkey now appears at the constables elbow,”

Clancy: “Too true blblblbp, arrest that man constable! Help him out Thompson!”

Industrial tazer Thompson comes forward to sort the matter, sadly being less that technologically savvy only succeeds in tazering the constable who collapses in frothing heap clutching his chest.

Clancy: “Blblblbp stupid Thompson!” Cutler still isn’t faring well though and the crowd are split between confusion, disgust and amusement at his blundering around trying to clear the trifle from his eyes (which seems to continue to proliferate from the top of his head) staggering around in his pants wearing his trademark sheepskin jacket.  “Blblblbp! Time to leave I think Thompson!” Yolanda is sat on the floor next to LD Johnson staring in bewilderment at all of the madness. From the stalls area she can suddenly spy a familiar figure approaching with enthusiastic alacrity. Buckle, wielding a battered trombone is heading full pelt for the competition area.

Buckle: “Bikle Bikle! Wait for be! I’b combig to do de busig!”

Bikle, who has been standing around bemused, spies the figure with horror and makes to go:“Oh dear, we’d better get out of here! Cobe od pribrose pridcess!” evidently even after it’s disclosure, Bikle is somewhat attached to the manikin. He scoops up the cage to leave but trips over the tazered constable, which sends the cage flying and bashes it open, sending primrose princess flying out with a tiny ‘frouch!’ Pribrose pridcess crashes at the feet of the newly arrived Buckle who looks down with some confusion.

Buckle: “Bikle, what are you doig down dere!”

Tiny Bikle: “Dever bind about dat you dibwit, pick be up!” comes back the tiny voice. Buckle obliges and scoops up the tiny figure.

Buckle: “I don’t rebember you beig so sball Bikle, are you ballright?” and as he asks the question he spies Bikle lying on the ground recovering from his fall  “Hag od a bidute, a big Bikle and a little Bikle? A Ban with trifle od his head. What is goig od?” And then he realises “Oh it’s a party! Barvellous! I’ll play de busic!” He brings the trombone up to his lips to begin to play.

The characters look round in horror except for the baleful grin Mr Cutler from beneath the endless trifle onslaught. The whole scene takes on slow motion like feel as Les Dawson Johnson somehow perceiving the gravitas of the situation, lifts himself out of his drunken slumber and launches himself atheleticaly at Buckle, his wig flying into the air as he does so. But it’s all but too late as an unearthly mangled note issues forth from the dread device. Heroically LD Johnson catches the full force of the noise before the two of them collapse in a heap and the instrument goes flying. Sadly for LD Johnson a horrible metamorphosis begins to occur, his beak extends in a horrible equine manner and his flippers take on a phallic semblance, soon his torso too has mutated into something between a fleshy worm and his legs have become distinctly horse like. With a terrifying neighing sound he ejects a mass of viscous pallid goo from his flippers in various directions as the various characters flee. Buckle who was right at the heart of the matter seems quite pleased with the new creation, shouting from out of the chaos “Bikle! Bikle, look, don’t’ you think he’s cute!”

Bikle: “Dat’s dot bloody cute, it’s de worst combidatiod possible!”

Tiny Bikle shrieks. “Ho god do! Get dat thig away from be!” Thompson, who is nothing if not a tryer, attempts to take Cutler a second time but manages to hit the stamping, spurting monstrosity instead. With an agonised neighing screech and a final volcanic fountain of gobbets of slime, the hideous creature topples backwards slowly. Clancy, torn between fleeing Cutler’s wrath and gloating over Bikle’s horror, has dithered too long. Cartoon like, the shadow of the toppling semi equine blasphemy falls across him.

Clancy: “Blplplp! Gone dark! What’s happening?” He whirls round only to be struck by the twitching dribbling mass of pink flesh and scorched horsehide. “Blplplplp! Crushed! Covered in goo! Do something Thompson!”

Clancy: “Ho ho! Look at Cladcy dere Bidi BIkle!” Cries Bikle, “Why, he’s trapped bedeath dat bonstrous combidatiod! How marvellous!”

“Wakark!” Cries Thompson desperately and does the only thing that it is possible for him to do, namely let off the tazer randomly. “Ho ho ho oh day’s bost edtertadig*ZZZZZT!* *KRRACKLE!*

Bikle: “Frouch! By godads!” Sure enough IT Thompson’s final despairing shot has caught Bikle in the groin. With a shriek of pain he folds up and collapses as 900,000 volts course through him and his testicles begin to smoulder. Tiny Clancy emits a wheezing chuckle.

Tiny Bikle: “Ho you think dat’s funnydo you? I’ll bake you laugh id a bobedt!” Squeaks Mini Bikle, outraged, and attacks the tiny turkey. Yolanda brains IT Thompson with her shovel and slopes off towards the beer tent, leaving the homunculi struggling with each other. Buckle, oblivious of the chaos he has wrought is parping his way discordantly through his own very special version of “There’s No Business Like Show Business.”

Cutler retrieves his trousers from Clancy’s struggling form and kicks him viciously in the head.

Cutler: “Ooo wee, good ‘ere innit? Trapped under a toppled tool/horse combo are we? Most unfortunate. Still, where there’s a jizzy mess there’s a business, as Cousin Luigi used to say, god rest his filthy old soul, still been a lovely day out for all the family hasn’t it? Be a shame to end it on a sour note wouldn’t it? Still some things can’t be helped ee? Far from being a perfect world isn’t it? Oh well, on that note, if you were intending to get out from under that thing, I’d get a wriggle on, pun intended, as here comes Wouldn’t Harm A Fly When He’s Sober, But Give Him A Few Glasses Of Vino And He’ll Sodomise Anything He Can Get His Flippers On Johnson, and just between you and me, it looks as though he’s done justice to that impertinent Chateau Frondice that they had on in the beer tent, anyway, toodle oo, can’t stand here all day chatting while you get bummed by a dirty duck ee?”

As Cutler wanders off brushing trifle from his coat, Morris ambles over, looking around the scene with mild surprise. Scooping something up from the floor, he strolls chuckling across to the beer tent where Yolanda is guzzling down a mixture of white wine, sherry and chemical cider.

Morris: “Ho ho, all right there my little decorative bark chipping, what you up to then? Looks like there’s been some kind of festive event going on, have I missed Something?” She stares at him with eyes even wilder than usual.

Yolanda: “Missed something? Missed something? The bloody bird show Morris! The fucking bastard bird fucking cunting bastard show! The god awful, horrific, squalid and heartbreaking bloody bird show that you’ve been obsessing about for months! The bird show which has involved the hideous deaths, fiery or otherwise, of dozens of people!”

Morris: “Ho ho, that reminds me, look what I found…” He fumbles in his robe and brings out the novelty plastic canary. “Ho ho this is brilliant ‘Lands, look what happens when you press his head! Marvellous! Ho ho, who’s a naughty boy then?”

Yolanda drains her pint. “I can’t handle this. I’m going home.”

Morris: “Ho ho not surprised you can’t handle it, quite the saucy boy isn’t he? Come on then, I’ll walk back with you.”

Taking her arm, he leads her across the village green, strewn with litter, dead and unconscious Thomsons, fitfully smouldering cracker ovens and god knows what else. Buckle pauses from his rendition of “The Lambeth Walk” to shout across, “Cooee Bister Borris! Look! Buster Johdsod ad Cladcy are dadcig to by busic!” Morris ignores him and steps delicately over the brawling homunculi.

Morris: “Did you say there had been a bird show on Yolanda?”

Yolanda: “Jesus fucking Christ Morris, yes for fuck’s sake, yes!” He pauses and looks thoughtful.

Morris: “I do love a good village bird show Yolanda. Can’t think how I came to miss it. Must have been badly advertised.” He brightens, “I know! I’ll get Johnson and the boys to tidy this place up, stick a bit of bunting up, we can have another bird show tomorrow!”

Published in: on July 26, 2016 at 1:27 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 18: Princess Yolanda

Unfortunately for both Alphonso and the prospect of any immediate progress towards an even vaguely functioning Bird Show, who should stagger around the corner of the beer tent, but General Stonewall Johnson, and he’s not best pleased to observe this vision of old dixie preening himself at the judges table. Unlimbering his old cap and ball colt, he proceeds to blaze off a fusillade of shots towards the Comte, who, panic stricken, makes a beeline for the duckpond. Fortunately for Alphonso the General has been a fixture in the beer tent for some considerable time and a quart of Old Hupla’s Finest Whiskey has not done much for his shooting. The bullets however, are close enough for the Gallic buffoon, who, with a cry of “Aaaagh, fuck thees for a lark mes amis!” disappears into the thickly growing reeds.

The remnants of the committee and exhibitors look at one another in dismay.

Clancy: “Blplplp! Right pickle now! Need member of nobility promptly. Bird Show in danger of becoming farce blplblp! Terribly organised!”

The survivors of the committee bridle at this, and an acrimonious exchange breaks out, which is only prevented from becoming violent by the stalwart efforts of the constable. Eventually the protagonists run out of steam and a sullen silence descends. The crowd are growing restless and murmurs such as “A fine bird show this!” and “I knew we should have gone to the bird show at Little Mulching, now there’s a village that can organise a simple event!” Begin to be heard. Yolanda stops beating Hornby,’s smouldering corpse with her spade and looks up.

Yolanda:”I’m a princess.” Blenkinsop smiles in a manner compounded of equal parts fear and condescension.

Blenkinsop:”Yes dear, a lovely fairy princess I’m sure.” Yolanda looks at him thoughtfully, running her thumb along the keen edge of the spade.

Yolanda: “Not a fairy princess. Real princess.” In a sing song voice she recites “Her Royal Highness Yolanda Jasmine Falkenheyn und Mackemheim, I used to live in such a pretty castle, with pointy towers and a drawbridge and horses.”

Clancy shrugs: “Blplplblp! There we are then. Blplp! Problem solved. On with show. Busy man, places to go, people to see.” The committee also shrug.

Blenkinsop:”I can’t see any alternative, I mean, she’s as drunk as a lord…” *Clang* Blenkinsop collapses with a grunt.

Yolanda twirls her spade like a majorette’s baton. “As a princess. As drunk as a princess.”

Clancy: “Blblplp! Very good. Carry on your highness. Inspect birds.find winner.All go home. Nice glass of tawny port. Quickly now.”

Constable: “Mizter Claaancy ‘as the right idea if you was to ask me ma’am. There’s been a soight too much funny business about this year bird show, an oi’ll be glaaad when it’s by way of being over.” Yolanda staggers slightly and waves an imperious hand towards the remaining three cages.

Yolanda: “Very well, remove the cover of the first contestant. Whose sodding bird is this then?”

P Johnson”Mwaeerk!”

Yolanda: “Oh Morris’s is it? Let’s have a shufti then.” Johnson proffers the cage, in which is perched what is unmistakeably a cheap and vulgar novelty made from bright yellow plastic. Yolanda reaches into the cage and presses its head down. The canary’s wings fly open and a disproportionately large yellow phallus flips up. Plenipotentiary Johnson starts to sweat nervously “this isn’t a canary, it’s a canary tool combination! Eh SB?”

Bikle: “Don’t call be dat, it’s Bikle rebember!”

Yolanda: “All right tooly, keep your cape on!”

Clancy: “Blbblblbp, he is something of a chicken isn’t he!? Amusing joke blblblbp!”

Bikle: “What’s funny about dat?”

Yolanda: “A capon SB, it’s a male chicken with no balls!” and she looks pointedly at him

Clancy: “Really!” intones the Turkey and Bikle tries to ignore it.

Yolanda “Anyway…” she says swinging her head back to Johnson “…disqualified! Executioner Johnson!” Pleniponentiary Johnson trembles as EJ approaches “I told you I’m not reading that fucking triffid book! I have enough of that kind of madness, it’s going to be ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ or you can not bother turning up. EJ looks a little huffy, then glances questioningly at Johnson with the cage. “Nahh fuck it, leave him, go on beaky hop it, go grab a tato whilst you can” Plenitpotentiary Johnson doesn’t need telling twice, he deserts the cage and shuffles fairly speedily away from the scene. “Right so what have we got here…” She turns to look at Clancy’s cage.

Far away from this scene Buckle was wandering around aimlessly, he had gotten quite confused at the actual show part and when Yolanda and LD  Johnson turned up it, it all was a bit frightening to him. Still the colourful stalls and loud noises held his attention, though he was also a little unhappy, wishing that somehow he could make the birdshow better for his beloved brother, indeed as he thought this so he spoke also

Buckle: “Oh poor Bikle, I wish I could cheer hib ub a bit!”

At this moment Mr Cutler who, was also somehow back at the show itself, hollered him over to his stall Cutler: “Excuse me sir, I say sir more halfwit really, less than half really, but me words are wasted on you aren’t they, no wits, not a jot.”Buckle looked on interestedly “couldn’t help overhearing you wanted your freaky brother to happy, well who doesn’t eh? Families should be happy, happy families that’s what I say, not too happy though, not cock in  your crack happy, that’s not family friendly is it. Now cousin Mabel she was a bit of a devil, which bit you ask? That would be telling, but I’ll tell you this. Your brother would like a tune I’m sure, loves a tune does freak face, dances like a loon, can’t get enough of it.”

Buckle: “Oh busic, good idea, but what and how?”

Cutler: “Weeell sausage, might be able to help you out there, got this cd, Andrea Bocelli sings the blues, or maybe this Barry Bumblebee plays frank Sinatra’s favourites?”

Buckle: “Dat’s a Barvellous idea bister Cutler, but I’ve dothing to play it ode!”

Cutler: “Say no more, say no more, live music is best! What about this…” and rummages in his stall he produces an battered looking trombone

Buckle:“Oh look at dat, I’ve got ode of does at hobe!”

Cutler: “Not anymore sonny you haven’t”

Buckle: “Ho Barvellous, Bikle will be pleased, he’s always trying to throw it out, but den I get sad and beg to keep it and so he lets be!”

Cutler: “But you can have this one, long as you get your brother to pay me later!”

Buckle: “Ho defidately bisster Cutler!” And Buckle takes the distorted instrument with childlike glee, he is about to blow an enthusiastic note when Cutler suggests not.

Cutler: “No no no, not be doing that here, sound travels like a donkey! Don’t spoil the surprise! Go give your brother a treat up at the show area!”

Buckle: “Barvellous, thanks Bister Cutler, I will!” and off he scampers back to the judging area…

Back up at the show things are progressing nicely in line with all of the foregoing disasters and alarums. Fighting has broken out once more between  the two birdman groupings. At first the drunkenness of most of the Johnsons left them at something of a disadvantage, but before long their superior technical abilities and long history of committing acts of a dastardly and bloody nature in the service of Morris stands them in good stead, and those few Thompsons still capable of independent movement are driven from the field in disarray, bloody and bruised and demoralised, they flee incontinently, in the spirit of “sauve qui peut”. The victorious Johnsons celebrate their victory with more liquor and and by overturning and setting ablaze their erstwhile opponent’s cracker stand.The fleeing Thompsons appeal desperately to Clancy as they stream past him pursued by a hail of missiles, but, full of his impending triumph he turns his face away disdainfully.

Clancy: “Blplplbl! No time for you! Moment of victory! First prize at Bird Show! Blplplp!”

Yolanda: “Pretty confident there Clance pants? Reckon you’re in with a chance? Ha ha ha that rhymed! Must be pretty special that bird of yours eh? Bit of a prime specimen eh?”

Clancy: “Blplplp! Certainly is!    Fabulous creature! Surefire winner! All my expertise and skill, days and days of preparation, blblplpbl! Doesn’t clinch supreme prize I’m a Dutchman!”She whips the cover off the cage with a flourish. Clancy puffs himself up even more, chest swelling with smug pride. The crowd crane their necks as they try to feast their eyes upon this much advertised paragon of canaryhood.Slumped in the cage is an extremely small and elderly turkey, presumably some kind of dwarf breed, almost featherless, and wearing a stained singlet and boxer shorts. Despite its diminutive stature, the wretched creature bears an unmistakeable resemblance to Clancy himself, who stands, wings tucked into his waistcoat, simply beaming with pride”Blplplb! Very finest of canaries! Blplplp! Look upon my works ye mighty, and despair!.” Leering gloatingly at the loathsome specimen shivering in the bottom of the cage, he actually simpers. “Who’s a pretty boy then? Blplplplp!”

Yolanda and the others look at each other incredulously: “Erm Clance are you sure this is your entry?”

Clancy: He gazes swooningly again. “Blplplp! Certainly is! Isn’t she a dream?” There is clearly some kind of glamour on either the bird or on Clancy himself, as he is clearly not only under the firm impression that this wrinkled and foul smelling creature cowering in a pool of its own filth is a prize canary, bit is also quite smitten with it.“curious expressions? Blbllblbp, something wrong?”

Constable: “Err no Mr Claaancy sir, she be a roight beauty” the constable chimes and it sounds like he actually means it.

Yolanda snorts derisively “A ‘roight beauty’ if you think a miniature geriatric piss stained Turkey is a beauty anyway”

Clancy: “Blblblblbp don’t know what you mean, prince primrose finest canary in the land.”

Strangely Bikle seems to be under the same impression

Bikle: “By god he’s right, look at dat handsobe bird, I though primrose princess was beautiful! Dat bird takes de biscuit and do bistake!”

Yolanda: “fuck..” she slurs, “I don’t know, lets take a look at yours tooly, and I mean the canary!”

Bikle: “Right though I don’t do dat I can do a lot against Clancy’s entry!” The cage is unveiled to reveal what appears to be a miniature version of Bikle himself, complete with cloak. There is a tiny bucket in the bottom of the cage into which the figurine has been relieving himself whilst a plate of tiny French bread pizzas serves as food and an upside down attached to the cage bottle of cocoa cola for hydration. “Pribrose pridcess! Isn’t she a dreab! Still a rud for you boney Cladcey!”

Before Yolanda can say anything, Clancy gushes  in surprise.

Clancy: “Blblbllblbp, take it all back, trophy is yours, pribrose pridcess , blbllblp most beautiful bird possible!”

Yolanda is confused, she looks down at the tiny fucked off looking figure, who in turn stares back stonily before squeaking “let be out of here!”

Yolanda: “Ohmygod what the fuck is going on? I bet it’s that bastard wizard!”

Clancy: “Bllblblblbp don’t know what you mean, two fine canary’s, blblblbp, Bikle’s better though, bblblblbp, best man won blblblblp!”

Bikle: “Oh doh Cladce, dat cadary of yours is by far de best and do bistake, you take de trophy!”

Yolanda: “You’re both fucking mental, I’m the fucking royalty and they both look shit to me! Leaving me no alternative but to award the prize to plenipotentiary Johnson’s entry purely because it actually resemble a canary…”

The two look on apoplectically at her in outrage at the decision…

Published in: on July 26, 2016 at 1:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 17: Yolanda’s Return

Bikle:      “Buckle? Buckle? Ho god, where’s he got to dow?”This time however, Bikle does not have far to seek for his sibling. He is standing forlornly at the Johnson’s baked potato stand. “H’what is it dis tibe you ditwit? I’ve got to get back to by cadary!”Buckle points disconsolately to the laminated menu. “Yes yes, de bedu, tuda ad sweetcord, chilli cod carde, hubbous, baked beads, what of it?”

Buckle: “Ho I dod’t dow Bikle, it just sobehow seebs idcobplete, as if sobethig is bissig. Earlier today you dow, I said to byself, Buckle, I said…”

Bikle: “Give be stredth! Look! Look! There id big letters! De side fradvertisig today’s special!”

Buckle: “Ho! Dow dat’s fuddy Bikle, because, do you dow, I thought there’d be…”

Bikle glances wistfully at a nearby fire extinguisher. “I dod’thave tibe for dis! By cadary! By god, look at de tibe! De show starts id ted bidutes! We’d better get our skates od!” Seeing the worried look on Buckle’s face, he qualifies hurriedly, “I dod’t bead actual skates, I bead we’ve got to get a bove od!”

Again Buckle’s long face brightens: “Ho dat’s good dews Bikle! Because I’b dot very good at skatig, do you rebember dat tibe dat I wedt skatig wid playschool, ad I hurt by dees ad broke by Astro Bikle therbos flask, ad you had to cobe ad get be ad de dice doctor gave be a lollipop?”

Bikle: “Ho Bary bother of god! Dat was last Tuesday, cobe od you bloody edcubradce! If by cadary has cobe to bischief by all dats holy I’ll bloody burder you, you see if I dod’t!”

Grabbing him by the hand Bikle sets off at a headlong runback to the registration tent. As they career past Cutler’s stall he hoots with derision.

Cutler: “In a rush are we? Can’t wait for a bit more freak on freak action can yer? That Hornby had your number, that he did. Bloody perverts!” and shies a pixie boot at them for luck.

Arriving back at the tent, they find a large and expectant crowd has gathered, eager to view the prize canary competition, always the highlight of the bird show. The judges, namely the Constable, The Duke of Croy, and somehow, Mr Cutler, are gathered behind the Judges table. The coveted trophy can be seen to one side, glistening in the summer sunshine. After all the chaos and mayhem, it appears that some kind of bird show may actually be on the cusp of taking place. The covered cages have be enplaced in a neat row, with the exhibitors name on a card pinned to each. Leonard it transpires, has been forced to withdraw his entry, as no other conscious or breathing aristocrat can be found for the judging panel. From his cheerful mien it appears likely that he has negotiated a substantial increment to his judge’s honarium to make up for his potential fiduciary disadvantage as an exhibitor. This supposition is supported by the fact that he is now swigging from a bottle of Scotch rather than the Gold Label he had been guzzling previously. Bikle scurries into line alongside Plenipotentiary Johnson, and a suspiciously smug looking Clancy.

Clancy: “Blplblp! About time! Keeping us all waiting! Very poor sportsmanship! Augurs badly!”

The Constable wags a kindly finger, “Now now Mr Turkey, as a statement of faaact, we be waiting for our Mr Hornby afore the proceedings can rightly begin.”

Clancy: “Blplblp! If you say so Constable! Sure he’ll be along promptly! Reliable chap!”

The officer smiles indulgently, “Thaat he be zurr, a fine upstaanding man is our Mr Hornby.”

For a moment, all is peaceful and calm, then, from away on the fringes of the village green comes a sound of a distant commotion. A raucous voice is yelling something incomprehensible. At first, the crowd ignore the row and keep their attention on the bird show finale, but as the hubbub grows louder and nearer, a few heads begin to turn as people seek the source of the commotion. Something orange and pointy can be seen bobbing about over the heads of the crowd, and the shouting grows louder and louder. More and more people are turning to look now, and a murmur of alarm and disapproval runs through the crowd. “Shocking!” “Disgraceful!” “Shouldn’t be allowed!” Interspersed with the outraged remarks and the yelling, come several yelps of pain. Finally, the mass of people parts like the Red Sea, and a most disreputable tableau presents itself. Yolanda is laboriously pushing a wheelbarrow, with which she is ramming people painfully if she deems that they are not getting out of the way rapidly enough. Lolling helplessly in the wheelbarrow is a massively drunk Les Dawson Johnson, his wig hopelessly askew. Johnson, who for some reason is sporting a tarmac stained yellow hi-vis workman’s jacket, is playing an old shovel as if it was a guitar. Yolanda’s stockings are torn and muddy, her dress rumpled and stained with vomit and tar, and the whole ensemble is topped off with a traffic cone which she has jammed onto her head. Pausing every few steps to take a swig from an ornate bottle of bright green liqueur she is shouting in a drink sodden voice at all and sundry.


Shocked silence falls over the crowd, broken only when Leonard steps unsteadily forwards from behind the judge’s table.Clutching his whiskey, the Duke of Croy, who is incidentally now back in his normal attire, leers at her in a suggestive fashion.

Leonard: “Eh cherie, magnifique! Ah ‘ave been ‘opeeng to see you! Ah was just wondering, seeing ‘as ‘ow ‘eets a bird show, if you will be displayeeng zose “Great Teets” of yours? Eh?” The drunker of the Johnsons laugh raucously. Yolanda looks at him blankly, showing no sign of recognition. Then very calmly takes the shovel from LDJ, and while the Duke of Croy is still sniggering at his own witticism, almost casually swings it two handed, smashing it into his face with a “CLANNNGGG!” dropping him like a sack of potatoes. She peers owlishly at the unconscious hooligan as he lays stretched on the grass.

Yolanda: “Woooo! I will burn YOU to death.”

She continues before retrieving a swan lighter from her pocket, kneeling down near the outstretched aristocrat and attempting to set fire to the cuffs of his sleeve. The wind blows the lighter out and Leonard is saved from a nasty burn. Then seemingly forgetting about this incendiary activity she heaves herself to her feet, staggers over to the wheel barrow and slowly wheels it next to the other contestants, taking her place next to Bikle, whom she smiles whimsically at. The constable tries to return order to the disgruntled crowd but can see nothing to be gained from removing Yolanda, as she is now slumped happily next to LD Johnson humming along to an imaginary tune that he bashes out on the workman’s spade.

Constable: “Noww then lady and gentlemarn, be calming yurselves darn, their be nothing wrong here, ah oi sees Hornby coming now, then we can get this judging started!”

There is some kind of mumbled assent from the mob. No one is quite sure where Hornby has come from, but what they are sure is that there is something not quite right about him. Sporting a near identical hat that was seen on Piers Johnson’s head earlier he staggers towards the judging area, with his eyes sometimes rolling right up so that nothing but white can be seen. Clancy’s head can be seen to turn and as he watches the spectacle a kind of disappointment drifts across it, he shoots a scowl in the direction of the two Johnsons from the beer tent who are hidden behind a near by tent, they seem to fiddling with some kind of device and they look back at him hopelessly as if to intimate that what they are trying to do is outside of their remit. Hornby draws closer and the horror on peoples faces is not difficult to see. The constable either doesn’t spot it or is determined to make a good fist of what is on offer.

Constable: “Naarr then Mr Hornby, we be needin’ you to oificiate loik.” Horby’s eyes roll up again, then back down. The crowd gasp. The he starts to speak: “Good show!” comes the strained, bizarre enthusiastic response. Then his arm raises and he begins to point to Clancy’s bird and grin insanely.

Hornby: “this one!” he starts to say. Clancy looks furiously across at his unwilling helpers who shrug and look anxiously back, suddenly he spots another figure behind them, the dark looming presence of executioner Johnson grabs them each by the shoulder (a copy of ‘Day of The Triffids’ can be seen poking out of his pocket). In a scene that brings back memories of Piers’ antic earlier, Hornby, grin fixed and eyes rolled back lurches towards Clancy and his bird. The Turkey flicks his hand and a trifle lands squarely on the approaching figure, but of course the top hat stays its ability to stop him, aside from which the zombie is clearly not functioning by ordinary sight. “This one!” he cries happily, staggering inexorably on.

Clancy: “Blbllblblp! Constable! do something!” The constable is not quick to act, and begins to huff and puff over. The Turkey though does seem to have an ally in the inebriated Yolanda who using the same spade again somehow leaps to her feet and brings the tool down on Hornby’s head. Hornby crashes to the floor and his hat flies off revealing a strange mechanism that seems to be plugged into the back of his skull. He foams and froths, lying on the grass, before Yolanda brings the spade down again, and again until he moves no more.

The constable finally arrives:”Narr then miss, that’ll do, we’d best be callin’ an ambulance for poor Mr Hornby here!”

Clancy: “Blblblblbp wouldn’t bother, too late, will be a furnace around here somewhere! on with the show!”

Constable: “That’s all very well but now, we be short of an Aristocraat on account of miss Yolanda ‘avin knaarcked the other out!” At this moment who should stagger by but the scraggy, near naked figure of Alfonso de Bersierneax.

Comte: “Ah fuckeeng ‘ell, ma ‘ead, where am a?”

Clancy: “Blblblp serendipity, this man is an Aristocrat, constable!”

The constable looks back at Clancy

Constable: “You be sure of thaat Mr Turkey sirr, woi, he looks like a proper juggins, one moight say the very comte de Bersierneax himself!”

Clancy: “blblblblp! on the money! It is the comte Bersierneaux himself!”

Constable: “Well well, then the prarblem be solved! If we could just make a him a bit less noiked, aah this be the thing!” and the Constable finds a dirty confederate flag from somewhere which he wraps around the confused Comte’s shoulders.

Clancy: “blbllblblp excellent on we get…”

Published in: on June 16, 2016 at 5:37 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 16: Mr Cutler’s New Clothes.

Of course Buckle’s blow is rather less efficient than the others and serves to only knock Bikle over onto the two other unconscious persons.

Bikle: “How! what de fuck?” And turning round he spies his brother gingerly wielding the fire extinguisher “Buckle! What de dickeds are you doing?!”

Buckle: “Ho Bikle! Ab I glad to see you, I just stopped de bonster frob eating dese two Bikles! I wonder where he could have god? Lawredce obdivore said he was round here subwhere.”

Bikle looks on dumbfounded. Suddenly Cutler walks up.

Mr Cutler: “Afternoon gents, havin’ a time are we? Oo ee, bodies piling up a bit there, well here really, look at at that eh?”

Buckle: “Is dis cousid lobdivore? Dere’s a bonster around you dow! He’ll gobble you up if your dot careful, he was trying to eat dese two Bikles!”

Mr Cutler: “Monster you say! Gobbling you say! Weeell can’t be having that can we sausage, do you mind if I call you sausage, you look a bit like a sausage, well sausage features, sausage head, you know what they say sausage by name, sausage by venture, do you mind to get those clothes of those bodies, they look awfully untidy don’t you think?!”

Bikle: “What do you bean?”

Mr Cutler: “Christ on a bangle! Shall I be a bit clearer!” At this point Cutler points a 45 at the brothers “Strip the bodies down to pants, no need to be dirty, give the clothes to Uncle Dennis, everyone’s happy. Savvy?”

Bikle: “Berr yes bister Cutler, berr straight away!” says the worried looking Bikle and starts to, disrobe the out of action figures.  Buckle readily joins in, believing it all to be some kind of marvellous game. As people walk by they look on with some disgust and bemusement but to reassure them Cutler shouts.

Mr Cutler: “It’s alright ladies and gents, they’re just perverts in a controlled environment, it’s new program!” Bikle bristles at this  but can do little, whereas Buckle seems to like it.

Buckle: “Ho look Bikle, I’b a pervert id a controlled edvironbent, Barvellous, cousid lawredce will be pleased, what tibe is he gettig here, is he a pervert too?”

Bikle has really has nearly had enough of the whole day, and reflecting on the current moment he realises that disrobing gangly long haired men in broad daylight at gun point is not really how he thought it would go. As the process is completed the wig falls off Alfonso leaving him naked save for his gaudy stained pants, Euro Bikle has a much more presentable bright yellow satin pair of boxers with the European insignia emblazoned thereon.

Mr Cutler: “Fold them neatly, there that’s better, less the crease the more the lease as mama used to say!” At length, two piles of folded garments are handed over to Cutler “Nicely done gents, you’ll like them better like that I shouldn’t wonder anyway, here’s your cards stamped!” and he produces two plastic cards with ‘Pervert in a controlled environment Program’ writ large, both of them have Bikle’s name on it, and like a kind of coffee loyalty card, there are some spaces, one of which is now stamped with a small potato insignia “That’ll be £2.49 for each one chummy, come one now, me stall won’t run itself!” And so seeing the immediate futility of quarrel, Bikle hands over a £5 and takes the cards. Cutler marches off back to his stall with the new outfits.

Buckle: (enthusiastically) “Ho what dow Bikle? Dis birdshow is Barvellous?!”

Bikle: “Ho God! Birdshow! Fuck Buckle?! What tibe is it? Pribrose Pridcess, we deed to ged back!”

When Clancy Butterball Turkey left the tent, he was not pleased, he had been caught out badly by that sneaky bottle of 2020 to the noggin and was not in the mood to let the matter rest. After unfurling the rugs, he glanced at the cages, all seemed to be in order (though he peaked under none of the covers) and so he left the tent. He wandered around a short  while before ending up peering in the beer tent. He looked disdainfully in at the lairy Johnsons and duly pronounced “Really!” At this moment some of the Thompsons hollered for him to come over with their characteristic “Wakark!” sound. Not really, wanting to get involved he partially feels he should see what’s up. Once over there they tell him of the travails of big chief Thompson and how they think maybe they would like to be back on the island and then it begins to bore him. “Blblllblblp, serious concerns, want to listen, back in a moment, small Bersierneaux, chin up Thompson!” and off he waddles to the bar with no real intention of returning. At the bar he sips his Bersierneaux cocktail and scans the scene for ‘Euro-Bikle’, but then spies something more interesting. Hornby is sat, just, on a seat, bright red face talking animatedly to two Johnsons. Clancy sidles over.

Clancy: “Blblbllbp hello Hornby, Johnson, blblblbp, enjoying a drink I see.”

Hornby: “Ah Clancy, Clancy, come and have a drink, me and Johnson were just about to…” and he falls into uncontrollable giggles “Mwaaerk!” Johnson joins in. Clancy notes that of their number at least Hornby is really pissed. “Sorry Clancy, Clancy. Oh Clancy the nancy, have drink of wild Turkey!” and he falls about laughing again, this time the Johnsons look perturbed thinking maybe they have overdone it on him with the sherry.

Clancy: “Have you seen blblblblp Euro-Bikle anywhere?” Clancy ventures anyway. But all Hornby can manage is to kind of ape Clancy’s gobbling noise before sicking all over the table a mass of peanuts, crackers and sherry-bile. The Johnson’s look at one another in a kind of ‘oh fuck’ type way, which tells the Turkey everything he needs

Clancy: “Blblblblp, you two seem to be in a spot of bother here blblblbp, Morris sees him like that, furnace for you blblblblblbp! Am I right?” The Johnsons nod sheepishly. “BLblblbllp come along with me quickly, bring him too, can help you with this blblblblblp!” And so seeing that down one path of existence their fate is sealed they decide that maybe the Turkey can help them, so slinging the groaning Hornby over one of their shoulders they follow Clancy out of a previously unseen exit of the beer tent which miraculously leads back to the van with the monicker “vance Cuddenhall’ on it, he bustles them inside and the door slams behind all four characters.

Published in: on April 15, 2016 at 3:24 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 15: Les Dawson Johnson’s Good Idea, Hornby’s had enough, and Bikle Escapes.

Meanwhile, back in the registration tent, Bikle has regained consciousness and is desperately trying to think of a way out of his confinement.

Bikle: “Frelp be! Adybody? I’b id here! Get be out of dis! I’b suffocatig id here!” Muffled by the carpets and Melanie the lemon however, his voice is inaudible above the noise of the fair, and he is thrown back on hisown resources. “Ho dow, dis is bodstrous! Dat Euro Bikle, I dever liked hib! How ab I goig to get out of dis bess? Hi dow! Bagic, it worked barvellously earlier whed I bade by wee idto fralcohol! I’ll just do sobe bagic ad be out of here id a trice!”

Unbeknownst to Bikle, Clancy has also recovered from his clobbering, and is also thinking along similar lines. The Turkey’s magic, whilst limited, is more than enough to undo the cords that bind the carpets, so as Bikle utters the somewhat muffled words of the incantation: “Wig of bat, ad legs of bugs, free be frob dese pesky rugs!” the confining carpetry unrolls. Clancy, being quicker off the mark, and the true source of the magic, frees himself more quickly and is off to seek revenge, leaving Bikle to struggle forth on his own, and moreover, under the illusion that his mystical powers are the reason for his deliverance, leaving him even more convinced of his invincibility than ever.

Bikle: “Ho, dat was pretty difty of be! I would dot like to be id dat Euro Bikle’s shoes whed be ad by bystical bagics get hold of hib! I’ll teach hib a thig or two about cripplig bitches you see if I dod’t!”

With this thought in mind, off he limps in search of revenge, all thought of canaries temporarily erased from his addled brain.

Elsehwere Yolanda struggles outside, to find LDJ eagerly sitting in the passenger seat of FIJ’s milk float.

Yolanda: (groaning)”Oh god LDJ, I don’t think I should drive, I’m still really pissed. I feel like shit.” LDJ nods in agreement, but gestures that she should hop in and he will drive. Shrugging hopelessly, she climbs aboard as he shuffles his bulky form over behind the wheel. The cart whines piercingly as it accelerates away, and Yolanda winces in pain. LDJ nods again understandingly and takes a left at the end of the street. “LD, the bird show is on the village green, that’s the other way.” He nods again and winks. Yolanda is far too hungover to care much, and collapses back in the seat with her eyes closed, trying to catch a moment’s sleep. In what seems scantseconds however, there is a screech of brakes and a triumphant “Mwaerk!” Yolanda peers groggily out of the cab, only to see the tatty neon sign of the karaoke club.

Yolanda: “What? Oh god no Johnson, I couldn’t.” LDJ lets loose with a voluble string of mwaerking meaning roughly:

LD Johnson: “Look love, you and I both have to attend this sodding bird show farrago, and there is a strong likelihood of me going up in a column of flame at the merest whim of your boyfriend. You, like me, are cripplingly, sickeningly, hungover, and believe you me, there is no way on earth that I am making it through the next half hour without a hefty livener or two, and with a bit of luck a quick line of snort off of Dodgy So Called Peruvian Johnson Who Is ActuallyFrom Just Outside Daventry, now don’t be a piker and get in the bar, mine’s a Harlem Mugger.”

Yolanda considers for a moment, remembering past adventures, and the awful day which without the slightest doubt awaits her, then comes to a decision.

Yolanda: “You know LDJ, you do actually make a very good case for taking a quick sharpener on board. Last one to the bar is a mucky duck!”

And so, we leave these two disappearing into the murky interior of the bar, from which already comes the sound of Old Soak Johnson attempting to croon along to an old Bachman Turner Overdrive number. Back at the bird show, some kind of fragile order has been restored.

Thinking quickly Hornby shouts: “Happy hour in the beer tent ladies and gentlemen!” ensuring a rapid migration in thatdirection by the drunken Johnsons, and also by the ersatz Euro Bikle, leaving the distraught committee to try to mollify the genuine article, which is difficult as he is still lying moaning on the floor clasping his groin.

Haverstock: “What were you thinking Hornby? That clearly wasn’t Euro Bikle! There was no finesse, no comic timing, nothing! You are a disgrace to the committee man!”

Hornby:(bridling): “Listen here Haverstock you bloody fool, I’ve just about had it with you and this whole shebang. Who is it that has been deluged with misfits, imposters, perverts and oddballs, many of whom are well nigh indistinguishable from one another? Who has dealt with exploding avian aristocrats, fire alarms and birdman race riots? Is it you? No, is itheckers like, it’s been yours blinking truly, whilst you’ve minced about the place straightening a sign here, adjusting a tablecloth there, stuffing yourself with complimentary cream teas. Well I’m warning you sunshine, don’t push it.”

So saying, Hornby stalks off in the direction of the beer tent, leaving the scandalised Haverstock and the rest of the committee to drag Euro Bikle off to the First Aid tent. Back in the beer tent, and a couple of sherries to the good, Hornby has got convivial with a couple of the more sober Johnsons and is pouring out his resentment.

Hornby: “I organised the marquees, arranged for the catering, did all the hard work, while that lot justsat about looking pleased with themselves. They think that they can push me around just because they are the cream of village society. Hah! Cream, a bunch of clots is what they are.” Johnson mwaerks appreciatively. “Oh yes, cream, clots! I say, that was rather funny, I hadn’t realised. Another? Well I shouldn’t really, oh go on then, that’s awfully kind of you. Cheers! It’s just that I sometimes feel so unnappreciated, what? Yes I suppose you do at that, I’ve heard that Mr Morris can be very demanding. Same again? Well I don’t know… Well I suppose one more couldn’t hurt could it? But I must say I’d like to show that stuck up mob that Hornby’s his own man, indeed I would! If only there was some way to make them sit up and take notice! Oh no, I’ll get these, there we go, bottoms up! I say, I do feel better for a couple of sherries, marvellous thing isn’t it? Shall we have another? Cheers! Well I suppose I should be getting along really, lots of organising to be done. What’s that? Well yes, I suppose it would teach them a lesson if I left them to clear up all the mess, oh thanks, good health! Yes see how they like it! Do you know Johnson, you’re absolutely right! You’re a good man Johnson! Lemme buy you a drink old friend! You too Johnshon! What a great pair of palsh you two are! ‘scuse me a minute, need to visit the gents…”

So saying, Hornby wobbles off towards the portaloos. Morris appears at the bar and hands over another wad of notes.

Morris: “Good work Johnson! Remember, we need him alive and walking, he’s the key to this whole business. Anyway I’d best crack on, sure that there was something I meant to do.” with which he is gone again, just as Hornby returns, ready for another round of sherries.

Back meanwhile at the first aid tent, Euro Bikle is recovering well as the committee hover around him solicitously. Haverstock particularly fawns over his wounded idol.

Haverstock: “I’ve brought you an ice cream Monsieur Euro Bikle! It’s got strawberry sauce, a flake, and er, er…” his voice falters.

Euro Bikle: “Ad what bonsieur?”

Haverstock: “Er, and crushed nuts.”

Euro Bikle: “Crushed duts! Are you tryig to be fuddy? Dat is id de worst possible taste bonsieur! Dow ‘elp be to by feet! I bust be revedged upod by dastardly assailadt!”

With much whimpering and wincing, Euro Bikle regains his feet and limpspurposefully from the tent in search of his prey. The first person he claps eyes on is the hapless Comte, who having been driven from the beer tent by the cruel abuse of Leonard and the Johnsons, is sulkily wandering around checking unbroken beer bottles for dregs and muttering to himself. Seeing him in his Bikle outfit and hearing his gallic tones Euro Bikle not unreasonably believes that he has located his erstwhile tormentor, and seizing the nearest object, (a portable fire extinguisher, with which the event is, for some reason, rather generously supplied.) deals him a stunning blow to the back of the head.

Euro Bikle: “Take dat you fwretched hibposter! Hah! Dat’s crip, I bead dat’s taked care of hib!” At this point, who should limp around the corner but Bikle himself. Spying a French accented facsimile of himself in the act of dealing another Bikle-a-like a blow to the head with a blunt object, he too not unreasonably assumes that he has tracked down his quarry. Seizing a nearby fire extinguisher he brings it down on the back of Euro Bikle’s head with a resounding clang.

Bikle: “Frolé! Dat’s raised a budiod od your Spadish odiod ad do bistake!”

Of course, as luck would have it, who has just left the merry go round in time to witness this last act but Buckle, who comes round the corner of the tent, sees the two unconscious Bikles and the third triumphant Bikle, and instantly leaps to the not unreasonable conclusion. “Dat Bikle is burderig dose other Bikles! It bust be de bodster dat by cousid obdivore warned be about!”

Wielding a nearby fire extinguisher he takes immediate action.

Clang! Thud.

Buckle: “Take dat dasty bister bodster! Ho, look! Bikle WILL be pleased!”

Published in: on April 15, 2016 at 2:58 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 14: Morris is Not Best Pleased and Neither is Euro Bikle.

Morris: “I am not best pleased Yolanda!” he announces as he suddenly appears in the bedroom at home. The curtains are still drawn and Yolanda is sprawled under the covers.

Yolanda: “What is it Morris?” comes the feeble reply “Christ my head, oh god” she hauls herself into a semi sitting upright position and looks at Morris through the gloom

Morris: “Bad headcold my dear? Maybe a lemsip?”

Yolanda: “Oh god I couldn’t, no it was that cocktail bar and that awful Les Dawson character.

LD Johnson: “Mwaaaerk?” comes a similarly feeble reply from the room

Yolanda: “What the fuck?” she asks of the world horrified. In truth Les Dawson Johnson is not in the bed with her but is lying on the floor near the bottom of the bed, he sticks he head up and looks around weakly, his wig seems to be shoved in the top of his crumpled shirt giving a rather curious beard like effect.

Morris: “Ah there you are Johnson? Good night out?” Johnson also looks a little green round the gills “Anyway as I was saying I am not best pleased, bloody monstrous pelican Johnson faffed it up after I swapped to plan B, now all the effeminate Johnsons are drunk so I cannot use them. What am I to do for a pelican?”

Yolanda: “A what Morris?”

Morris: “A pelican Yolanda, are you deaf?”

Yolanda: “Oh god, don’t shout Morris? What do you want a pelican for, isn’t it a canary show?”

Morris: “I do not need four pelicans Yolanda, just one would suffice, maybe a canary would be better though?”

Yolanda is already beginning to wish she was back in the Karoake bar, but tries to be helpful

Yolanda: “Why don’t you just magic one up dear? do the old ‘I am a powerful wizard’ thing”

Morris: “What do you mean?”

Yolanda: “I mean just magic up a fucking canary!”

Morris: “Yolanda this is a family show, not one your bird on bird action festivals that you seem to like so much, eh LD?”

Johnson is amused by this and laughs but it clearly doesn’t please Yolanda.

Yolanda: “I haven’t been anywhere near that thing Morris, give me some credit!”

Morris: “How much credit would you like my sweet? I can offer you a good deal on balance transfers with a new Telly Savalas credit card, 15.9% no interests for the first 18 months,  a small charge applies!”

Les Dawson seems interested in this deal and wants to know more, but Morris has already moved on.

Morris: “I suppose I could always magic up a canary, these ruined cushions and pillows look like good prima materia to me, no use to us now my dear anyway!”

Yolanda: “Oh he hasn’t? My good waitrose pillows?”

Morris: “I’m afraid so my sweet, anyway I’m offski with the pillows remnants, must remember to turn them into birds, now out of bed you two! see what I did there, I’ll leave the milk float round the front, I’ll see you at the bird show, apparently Euro Bikle is coming, so zat will be a laugh. Not!” and in an instant he is gone. Les Dawson however is clearly something of a Euro-Bikle fan and quickly gets to his feet, removes the wig from the front of his shirt and goes to splash some water on his face. Yolanda looks on, and heaves herself up slowly.

Outside the registration tent a large crowd has gathered. The committee and Euro-Bikle are making there way across the show to this exact venue, but now their way is barred by the group of humans and avians. Raucous laughter can be heard emitting from the hubbub. Closer inspection reveals that there is a figure in the middle of the crowd that seems to be supplying the entertainment. Hornby can be clearly seen at the periphery laughing at the spectacle.

Leonard: “Zat’s crippled ze bitch!” he shouts again and more laughter ripples through the mob. Hornby turns to see the approaching committee and greets them enthusiastically.

Hornby: “Oh my goodness, you lot are in for a treat, did you know who’s here, it’s non other than Euro-Bikle! and he’s doing the catchphrase.

The committee look horrified and embarrassed and turn to Euro-Bikle.

Haverstock: “Umm I don’t know what he could mean”

Euro Bikle: (the real one) looking less than impressed “What de fuck is dat? By badager will hear about dis bake do bistake! Ged dat buffoon out of here dow and shut hib up, I’ve licenced do Euro-Bikle frimpersonation act, oh except dat bloke up in glasgow, but he doesn’t look like dat!”

Hornby who has now seen the real Euro Bikle looks confused.

Hornby: “Who’s that, it looks like Euro Bikle?!”

Haverstock: “It is Euro Bikle! Who the dickens is that!”

Hornby: “It’s one of the bird show contestants, he said he was Euro Bikle and he’s got the accent, I just thought he was in his day clothes!”

But Euro Bikle can stand it no longer.

Euro Bikle: “Out of de way, I’ll deal with dis!” and he pushes his way through the crowd to the centre “Frola!” he says with a flourish “You b’sieur are a frimposter! En garde!” and Euro Bikle whips out a rapier from his belt.

Sadly for Euro Bikle, his flourish is little to the Duke of Croy’s street fighting days, who with a shout of “zis should cripple ze bitch!” lashes out a vicious right foot to the groin of Euro Bikle who folds like serviette and crumples to a heap clutching his gonads, a palid agonised expression on his face.

The crowd think it’s more of the same and laugh and laugh. Bottles and potatoes fly in the air in the Dionysian fervour. The committee are more than aghast. Haverstock in particular is mortified but dare not go near his felled hero for fear of the psychotic snarling ‘Euro Bikle’.

Leonard: “Any wan for some more eh fuckairs!?” The crowd roar an tumultuous incomprehensible response. “Are we ‘aveeing a good fuckeeng birdshow mes amis?!”

It’s a disaster frankly, none of them know what to do. Inside the tent, though Bikle is starting to come round…

Published in: on March 21, 2016 at 12:42 pm  Comments (1)  

Classic Canaries 13: Idiot Outfit Exchange and Other Nonsense.

The reception committee gather round the vehicle expectantly, the door opens, and a by now very familiar figure steps out. This Bikle is dressed in a stylish Italian suit, marred somewhat by the fact that it is partnered with clogs, a matador’s cape and a spiked Kaiser Wilhelm era German helmet. In addition, he is carrying a baguette, some Swiss cheese and an alpenhorn.

Euro Bikle: “Bodjour, guted tag, buedas dias, boudgiordo ad dzied dobry to you bird fadciers ode ad all! Euro Bikle est arriveé!” There is a smattering of applause, led by Haverstock, who is waving some tulips and a pair of castanets. EB, nods and waves graciously. “Dadke schöd beid liebligs! Dow, let’s see dese feathery abigos of yours, muy prodto!”

Haverstock: (jumping up and down excitedly) “Euro Bikle! Euro Bikle! Go on! Say it!”

Euro Bikle: “Err say what exactly senor?”

Haverstock: “Your catchphrase! Go on! Do the catchphrase!”

Euro Bikle: (looking embarrassed)”Oh dear. Didn’t by badager have dis codversatiod wid you over de telephode? Oh dearie be, dat is bost udfortudate. I’b afraid dat I dod’t do dat catchphrase ady bore. I bead, cobe od, dat was twedty odd years ago! Dis is de twedty first cedtury, you cad’t go around de place talkig about “cripplig bitches!” dat’s bunbelievably bidappropriate! Bisogydistic dodsedse! I’b ashabed of byself as it is, let alode carryig od like dat dow, I’b a reforbed character you dow!”

Haverstock: (looks crestfallen) “But, but…”

Euro Bikle: “Do, do. I’b sorry, but it’s off de agenda. Besides, dis is a fabily evedt surely?”

Haverstock: “Well, er yes. I suppose.”

Euro Bikle”Well ded, let’s hear do bore about it. Where’s dese prize birds ded? I’b quite de keed abateur ordithologist you dow!”

Feeling somewhat chastened and obscurely ashamed of themselves, the committee members lead their guest off in rather a subdued fashion. As they pass through the event a couple of them notice that knots and groups of lairy, drunken Johnsons are becoming both more prevalent, and more rowdy. Big Chief Thompson has so far entered into the spirit of things that he has deigned to have a go on the “Aunt Sally” stall. The sight of their rivals’ leader sticking his head through a hole in a board decorated with a painting of a stout lady in a bathing costume and having wet sponges flung at him by his followers is just too much for the Johnsons,a group of whom gather round and begin jeering and hooting abusively at him. Soon enough, the damp sponges are supplemented by a hail of half eaten baked potatoes and empty beer bottles hurled by the rambunctious birdmen. Big Chief Thompson comes out from behind the Aunt Sally to remonstrate with them, but immediately finds himself surrounded by a ring of intimidating, truculent figures who begin shoving him around the center of the circle and mocking him. One or two Thompsons make an attempt to break through the ring and rescue him, but the mild mannered parrot / penguin combinations are no match for the burly, tanked up Johnsons. Eventually, provoked beyond endurance, Big Chief Thompson shoves one of his tormentors back. Unfortunately for him, he picksYou Wouldn’t Want To Meet Him Down A Dark Alley Johnson to push, and is swiftly rendered hors d’combat by an expertly thrown right to the beak. The rest of the Johnsons begin cheering and jumping up and down, their predatory racial instincts by now thoroughly roused. Hornby, still engaged on his thus far fruitless search for trouble, observes the fracas and hurries to intervene. As he does so, he stumbles over a grotesque figure, and nearly falls. Clutching Hornby’s legs the figure drags itself upright. To his shock he recognises it as being the missing Antwerp. The normally neat and businesslike publican is pale and wild eyed, scorched at the extremities, and lightly coated in semi digested tuna and potato.

Hornby: “Antwerp? Where the hell have you been?”

Antwerp: Seizing Hornby by the shoulders and staring him in the eyes. “If this is your village bird show, no, if this is your village, then you can keep it mate. You can have it. In fact, you can shove it right up your arse. Chuffed I was, being new here, oh come and be on the committee for the bird show! Antwerp, I says to myself, these kind people have accepted you, taken you, as it were, to their bosom. Touched I was, and proud. Nobody however mentioned the getting swallowed alive by a giant man / goose / penguin / pelican combination and then regurgitated by said abomination as it is engulfed in a pillar of unearthly fire did they though? So, to reiterate, you sunshine, can stuff your bird show, your committee, your cursed village of insanity and sudden violent death, I’m getting my wife and kids and getting out of here!”

With that, he breaks free of Hornby’s grasp and hares off through the crowd as fast as his legs will carry him, leaving his erstwhile committee colleague staring after him in amazement. Walking past this scene, munching on a bag of toffees, and oblivious to it all, is Buckle. One thing which does catch his eye however, is the Comte in all his tawdry finery.

Buckle: “Ho! Hello dere hadsobe! I do like dat houtfit! Bost stylish I bust say!”

Alfonso: “Ah do you really sink so M’sieur? Zat Leonard was quat rude about eet!”

Buckle: “Do, do, dat’s a super look dat you have got goig od dere! Hi wish dat I had a suit of garbedts just like deb!”

Alfonso: “Really M’sieur? Well we can alwaz swap clothes eef vous want?”

Buckle: “Bodestly?really ad truly ad bodestly? I’ll gib you dese toffees!”

Alfonso: “It’s a deal! Dat Leonard, ‘e nevair lets me ‘ave sugar, ‘e says ah get ‘ow you say, ‘eyperacteeve!”

Buckle: “Barvellous!”

And so without any further ado, the two idiots strip and exchange clothes. Buckle hurries off to find Bikle in order to show off his new wardrobe, and Alphonso sets off, mouth stuffed with toffee, to find Leonard, to do likewise, thus adding yet another layer of confusion to things, inasmuch as now not only is Bikle wearing a rented Bikle costume, albeit one consisting of his own stolen clothes, but Buckle is now rigged out in a rented Buckle costume, borrowed from a man now wearing a Bikle costume magically conjured by the Turkey, again from Bikle’s wardrobe, whilst his associate is sporting yet another rented Bikle costume, consisting of the clothes that Bikle discarded at the costume hire stall when he changed into the Bikle costume he rented, which as has previously been stated, was actually his own clothes, stolen by the unscrupulous proprietor of said costume hire stall. Anyway, here comes Morris, and he doesn’t look best pleased…



Published in: on March 21, 2016 at 12:32 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 12: Alfonso’s Entry and a Celebrity Appears!

At this moment who should come into the tent but another Bikle like character, but wait on a minute, this one is different. Sure enough there is the long black hair and glasses but the cloak seems to be an old curtain in dark grey and beige, the shirt a kind of yellow smock and the trousers a vicious purple velvet. In his hand he clutches a cage, inside which something scurries around at the bottom

Alfonso: “Ah Leonard! There you are, look mon amis, ah can join you in your plan!”

Leonard looks with derision at the figure, then starts to laugh

Leonard: “Why you fuckair Alphonso, it’s you, why you look like, you look like… the very Comte de Bersierneaux himself!” (for those who do not know this level of the joke, Alfonso is the Comte de Bersierneaux whilst owing all his ancestors being a right bunch of idiots, to say ‘did you see so and so, he looked like the very ‘Comte de Bersierneaux himself” is to say he looked a proper Charlie)

Alfonso:  “Do you lak eet! Mr Cutlair said ‘e as sold out of ze sheet Beekle outfits but ‘e made this one just for me and said it was a sheet Buckle outfit, and zat zat was bettair as ‘e’s the smaat one of ze two enyway.”

Leonard: “Ah don’t know about zat, Alfonso, you look a proper cunt anyway, and what is zat in your cag?”

Alfonso: “Eh? Oh zis is ma canary, princess mouse! Mr Cutlair sold it to me aussi!”

Leonard: “Fuckeeng  ‘ell Alfonso! Ah can’t believe you sometams, zat is a mouse you fuckair! Look at eet! Actually no time for zat, quickly wa’ll is attention is distracted, let’s ‘ide these bodies while zere out cold! ‘Ere elp me with zese rugs, and bring zat tape over ‘ere!”

Leonard then rummages in the different bird cages until he finds Melanie, takes her out and shoves her in Bikles mouth, after which he uses some tape from Hornby’s desk to tape up Clancy’s beak, then using two helpfully placed rugs, the Frenchmen roll up the unconscious contestants. The rolled up rugs are then placed to one side of the room with a handy throw chucked over them so they look very much like a makeshift seat. Leonard then takes Alfonso’s cage, grabs the mouse out of it, shoves it in Melanie’s empty cage, hits Alfonso over the head with his cage and insists that he leave the tent in strong language.

Over at the show entrance there is some excitement. The mawkish Mr Havestock has arrived and is excited to tell various organisers of something particularly amazing he has arranged for the day. The string of onions around his neck tells the others something of what it is likely to be about for they are well aware of his obscure fandom.

Haverstock: “Listen up! Listen up! This is the best thing! Where is Hornby? Oh hello my dear at least you can hear of it? Where are the Richards, oh over there, come hither come hither!” Various village bigwigs and committee members gather round “You’ll dever, I mean never guess what I have arranged today, as a special Judge and figurehead for the birdshow?!” They look on expectantly. “I have arranged for a small passport fee, for non-other than Euro-Bikle himself to come to our little show today, isn’t that just the best!?”

There are some polite eyebrows and smiles and some enthusiasm, possibly less though than he hoped for

Richards: “Err that’s brilliant Mr Haverstock, what time will he arriving? The show is in full swing already and the show itself is scheduled for 2 o clock.”

Haverstock: “I believe Richards, that he’ll be along any moment, in fact what’s that I can here now?”

Sure enough from the car park area can be heard a gaudy car horn version of La Marseillaise followed by the sound of car door slamming and a loud

Euro-Bikle: “Frole! Bind ze paintwork froo fricha!”

Haverstock: “We’d better go and greet him!”

The others not wishing to miss out on this minor celebrity visitation make their way over to the entrance. Hornby of course, who is still on monster, napoleon, ghost check on the far side of the show, knows nothing of this yet…

Published in: on March 21, 2016 at 12:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 11: Catchphrase Connundrum.

Before either can speak, up ambles Plenipotentiary Johnson holding a covered cage. Planting it firmly on the registration desk he airily indicates that Hornby should register it.

Hornby “Your name?”

Johnson: “Mwaaerk!”

Hornby: “But you aren’t Mr Morris.” answers Hornby, who is clearly a linguist of no mean accomplishment.

Johnson: “Mwaerk. Mwaaerk!”

Hornby: “Oh, I see, busy is he? Very well I think that we can see our way clear to let you register then. Just let me find one of our er, abnormal entry forms.” With this last, he shoots another glance of sickened loathing at Bikle. “Right. Now name of the bird?”

Johnson: “Mwaeerk!”

Hornby: “Prim Princess Rose? Really?”

Johnson nods affirmatively and Hornby goes to stamp the card, narrowly missing being covered by a bowl of trifle which appears from nowhere. Johnson places the cage next to those of Bikle and the Turkey and wanders off for a baked potato. An uneasy silence prevails between the two antagonists until suddenly Clancy leaps to his feet, a horrified expression on his face.

Clancy: “Blplplblp! The monster!” he cries, pointing to the doorway of the tent. As Bikle’s attention is distracted, there is a “Whisk!” as Clancy switches the cages, replacing Bikle’s cage with his own.

Bikle: “I dod’t see ady bodster!”

Clancy: “Never mind! Gone now! Blplblblp! All clear on monster front!”

Bikle: “Ho dat’s good. I wouldn’t want a bonster to get by little Pribrose Pridcess.”

Clancy: “Blplp! Certainly not! Keep close eye on her! Wouldn’t want unscrupulous rival to swap her for a vulgar plastic ‘Flashing Canary’ novelty that they purchased from MrCutler, under your very nose for instance?”

Bikle: “I should say dot! De very idea is frappallig!”

Clancy: “Blplblblp, yes yes, I thought so too!” responds the Turkey, turning his head to conceal a smug look of triumph. A cheerful voice greets them genially.

Morris: “Afternoon Shit boy, Turkey Bastard, here with your loser birds eh? Ho ho ho, looking forward to enjoying your humiliation at the judging, when they clap eyes on your shabby specimens?” so saying, he takes a quick peek under the cloth of his cage, and his face darkens. “Excuse me a moment.” Morris stalks angrily from the tent, Clancy and Bikle exchange confused glances. From outside comes a WHOOOSH and a despairing “Mwaaeeerk!”. As a cloud of distinctly avian scented smoke wafts into the tent there is the sound ofan electric motor whines to a halt outside, a moment later Fire Inspector Johnson rushes in excitedly. “Mwaerk! Mwaeeark!” Hornby leaps to his feet.

Hornby: “You heard him gentlemen, everyone out! Fire alarm!”

Bikle: “Dow wait a bidute!”

Clancy: “Blplblblp! Really!”

Hornby is in no mood to argue, seizing the pair roughly and propelling them towards the exit. They go to grab their cages, but FI Johnson flaps authoritatively.

FI Johnson: “Mwaerk!”

Hornby: “Quite right!” agrees Hornby, “No time for that, besides, remember the rules, no birds to leave the tent until judging!”

FLJ and Hornby usher the protesting duo outside, then FLJ ducks hurriedly back under the tent flap, stares confusedly at the 3 identical cages, and then with a shrug swaps them around at random, before going back outside togive the all clear. Whilst this charade is taking place, Leonard is walking into the beer tent in his Bikle costume. Alphonso looks at him confusedly.

Alfonso: “Ehh Leonard mon ami, what are you doeeng in that get up? You look like zat Beekle fellow n’est pas?”

Leonard: “Zat’s ze idea you wankair. Do you know ‘ow much ze winnair of zis sheet theeng walks away weeth? Two ‘undred an’ feefty fuckeeng smackairs! So ah plan to sneak in to zat tent, knock zat bony cunt over ze ‘ead and stuff ‘im into a been, zen nick ‘is canary an’ turn eet into cold ‘ard cash!”

Alfonso: “Ah fantastique mon ami, an’ zen we get drunk eh?”

Leonard: “Not fuckeeng lakly wankair, zen ah get drunk, you can ave, ow you say, ze steam off mah peess! Now, ah ave a second ‘and cage ‘ere, ah just need someseenk ah can passoff as a canary unteel ah get mah ‘ands on zat bird of Beekle’s.”

Unsteadily he looks around the beer tent, until his eye lights on a yellow object on the bar. Grabbing it, he stuffs it into the cage and heads for the registration tent. Arriving amidst the confusion of the fire alarm he manages to sneak in under the canvas, only to be confronted by three cages. He can hear the disgruntled competitors returning, so on the entirely reasonable grounds that anything in those cages is more likely than the contents of his to at least resemble a bird, he grabs at a cage at random and does the old switcheroo just as Bikle and Clancy return. Noticing an extra person in the tent, Hornby drags him and his cage to the desk.

Hornby: “And who might you be then? Another of those perverts?”

Leonard stands as straight as his prodigious intake of alcohols will allow.

Leonard: “How dare you M’sieur? Ah am err, err, ah oui, ah am zat Euro Beekle off ze telly, ah was vairy populaire for a vairy brief period in ze nahnties. Ah ‘ad a commaircially disastrous action figaire an’ everyseeng.”

Hornby: “Oh I am sorry, I didn’t recognise you. Name of your bird? It is a canary I assume?” “Zat’s correct, oui, an eet is a lemon. Lemonie, err, ah mean Melanie, zat’s raht Melanie. Ah apologahse, ah am ‘ow you say? a leetle beet deeslexeec no?”

Poor Hornby, ordinarily an abstemious man, throws  a longing glance towards the beer tent.

Hornby: “Yes yes. Here’s your badge, move along, move along.”

Bikle does a double take at the appearance of yet another lookalike.

Bikle: “Ho god, dot adother ode! You’re dot a bodster are you? I dod’t dow whether I’b cobig or goig wid all dese pesky Bikles!”

Leonard: “Ave no fear M’sieur, surely you remember moi, Euro Beekle?”

Bikle’s face brightens.

Bikle: “Oh yes! I used to watch you od de televisiod, you were barvellous! I bought by brother ode of your fractiod figures! Go od, say it!”

Leonard: “Er, say what mon ami, I mean bod abi?”

Bikle: “Your hilarious cadtchphrase frof course! Ho dat used to bake us laugh!”

Clancy peers suspiciously at the self proclaimed Euro Bikle.

Clancy: “Blplblp! Certainly! Most humerous! Come along. Trot it out. Quickly now!”

Leonard looks around a little desperately.

Leonard: “Er an’ wheech catchphrase would zat, I mean dat be bes abis? It was a long tahm ago.”

Clancy: “Blblplp! You know! Only one catchphrase! Be mostsuspicious if you don’t do it! You might be monster! Intend to gobble us up like poor cousin Laurence!”

Leonard glares at Clancy balefully.

Leonard: “Vairy well M’sieur, leesten vairy carefully, as ah shall say zis only once,”

Clancy: “Blplblplp! Wrong show! Not your catchphrase!”

Leonard looks at him confusedly.

Leonard: “Ah ‘aven’t said eet yet, come closair M’sieur.”

The Turkey waddles nearer, the look of triumph again on his face, only to be felled with a vicious swipe of a half empty bottle of kiwi fruit Mad Dog 20/20 around the back of the head.

Leonard: “Et voila fuckair! Ha, zat’s crippled ze beetch!”

Bikle: “Ho dat’s de ode! Oh barvellous! Dat’s crippled de bitch! Ho dat brigs it all back, good old Euro Bikle!”

The Duke of Croy looks even more confused for a moment, then decides to playalong.

Leonard: “Oh you lahked zat did you? Should I do eet one more tahm?”

Bikle: “Ho go od den! After de weekend dat I’ve had I could do wid a bit of fud!”

Leonard:”Very well M’sieur, you asked for eet!” *SMASH* *THUD*

As Bikle hits the floor, Hornby starts to protest, but then decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Leonard looks thoughtfully at the felled competitors, neither of which is moving for the moment, then looks at Hornby fiddling with his phone at the desk, studiously ignoring the result of the violence. Suddenly Leonard strikes a dramatic pose and stares out of the tent before shouting

Leonard: “Eh ‘Ornby, zere’s some trouble outside, fucking ‘ell it looks bad, you ‘ad better go quick, do not fear m’sieur ah will guard ze tent!”

Hornby gets up, looks worried, looks at the felled competitors bleeding heads, looks out the tent, can’t see anything, looks back at Leonard’s now snarling visage, and decides maybe a quick check is in order.

Hornby: “Err what did you see?”

Leonard: “Ah’m not sure fuckair, maybe Napoleon, maybe a ghost, you ‘ad better go and check!”

So off Hornby goes, not quite sure what he’s checking but doesn’t fancy the alternative of tangling with ‘Euro Bikle’ much…

Published in: on March 14, 2016 at 12:26 pm  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries 10: Monsters, Disguises and other Nonsense.

He brings him to a colourful stall where he buys him a lolly

Clancy: “Blblblbp, there you are, prize juggins, lucky you, blblblblp, anyway important things to tell you, come closer!”

Buckle: “Ho imbortant things, how Barvellous!”

Clancy: “Blblblblbp, may not think so when I tell you, your brother has been taken over by a monster!”

Buckle: “A bonster!” Buckle’s face is captivated

Clancy: “Blblblbp yes, blblblbp terrible business! Monster looks like Bikle blblblbp, is trying to get his canary, so blblblp your brother won’t win the show!”

Buckle: “Dis is awful bister Turkey?! Does Bikle dow about it?!”

Clancy: “Blblblblp, unsure, monster may have taken him somewhere, been trying to help, searching for him blblblbp, but beware! If possible blblblblblp get the bird to safety!”

Buckle: “A bonster! Ibagid dat! I bust go and tell Bikle about dat!” and off he tries to hurry before the Turkey catches his arm

Clancy: “Blblblblp! Best not to, blblblbp, might be the monster instead, might eat you blblblbp, cousin Lawrence once eaten by large omnivore you know!”

Buckle: “Ho really?”

Clancy: “Blblp, dangerous business, best to stay away but bring bird to me if possible, blblblblp will see it gets to the show safely, replace it with this clockwork bird, blblblbp, monster won’t know the difference!”

Buckle: “But bister Turkey, Bi can’t get to de Bikle’s bird!”

Clancy: “Blblblblp, not as you are but blblblbp, a few adjustments…” and with a sudden whisk and whirr of his feathery appendages Buckle suddenly looks much more like his brother, indeed there is only now the more idiotic expression to tell them apart “Blbllblblbp! No time to lose, blblblbp, watch out for the monster, rescue the bird, if anyone asks, blblbp, say you’re Bikle.”

So Buckle hurries off with a clockwork canary and no real idea what he’s been asked to do, or much of a clue about any of it really, one feature though does persist in his enfeebled mind ‘Bikle’s been taken over by a monster’ and the cautionary tale of cousin Lawrence and the ‘large omnivore’.

Back near the tent, the emergency services have been called and various Johnsons are dragging the decapitated mechanically adjusted corpse of Piers Johnson out of the duck pond, whilst nearby Morris is surreptitiously speaking to monstrous pelican Johnson.

Morris:  “Right Johnson, so here’s the plan, I will cast a glamour over you so you look like old shit bean, you then go in the tent and get the bird by whatever means, anyone bothers you, you know what to do” Johnson mwaaerks thuggishly, then opens his enormous gullet wide and makes a swallowing motion, “That’s right Johnson, you’ve got it. Now off you pop.”

And so off pops MP Johnson who suddenly looks a facsimile of Bikle to all onlookers. Buckle wandered on with the clockwork bird twittering in his pocket, thinking it quite marvellous. Unsure now as to what he was supposed to be doing and bereft of his toy car and various sweets he decided to go and ask Bikle for more money for sweets. So after a small amount of confusion he found the bird registration tent where he had last seen his brother. Sure enough there was Bikle, perched on as many cushions as he could borrow, next to the cage of primrose princess.

Buckle: “Bikle! Bikle dere you are! Have I god dews for you!”

Bikle: “Ho god! What is it dow?! Wait a bobent what are you wearig?”

Buckle: “What do you bean?”

Bikle: “Your clothes Buckle, what are you wearig? Dis nice black cloak, pixie boots, sbart shirt, what is all dis?!”

Buckle: “I don’t dow what you bean Bikle, but forget about dat, did you dow you’ve been taken over by cousin Lawredce!”

Bikle: “What de fuck are you talkig about Buckle? Who is cousin Lawredce?”

Buckle: “He’s a large, berr subthig, he’s rather large yes dat’s it!”

Bikle: “By don’t dow about dat brother bine! I’b largest at de party rebember!”

Suddenly one of the officials comes over.

Antwerp: “Excuse me it is bird owners only in here I’m afraid!”

Bikle: “Yes Buckle you heard hop it!” but to Bikle’s dismay he realises that it is Mr Antwerp from the Lion’s Arms  who has changed shifts with Hornby is in fact talking to him

Antwerp: “I’m sorry mate, can you wait outside please?”

Bikle: “But I’b de bird owder! Pridcess Pribrose is bine!”

Buckle: “He’s a bonster really! You dow!” Buckle helpfully chimes in, “He’ll gobble you up, frif your dot careful!”

Antwerp, has had enough and weighing the scene between the smartly dressed fearful looking one and the distressed skanky looking one with the padded bottom, the choice seems clear.

Antwerp: “You out now!”

Bikle: “But by bird!”

Antwerp: “Out!”

Buckle: “Watch out bister Antwerp, don’t get too close!”

And so Bikle was removed from the registration tent whilst Buckle sat down to take his place.  Removed from the tent Bikle resolved to wait near the entrance so that at least he could see anyone coming and going and interfere with any nefarious happenings. From the opening of the tent, he could see Buckle and Buckle could see him. Buckle waved, but first Bikle looked angrily at him which made Buckle look terrified and hide behind the cage.

Bikle: “Ho god!” thought Bikle “By need a disguise…”He stands there pondering the matter, “Dow where cad I ged a disguise frob at such short dotice?” when his eyes fall on an adjacent stall: Cutler’s Novelties, Hours Of Fun Or Your Money Back!* A second asterisk heralds a disclaimer beginning “Well not your actual money back as such…” and continuing for several hundred words in small print. “Hbbb, I wonder, Bister Cutler, do you have ady fadcy dress costubes? I deed a disguise prodto!”

Mr Cutler: “Ooh eeeh? Want to change our appearance do we? Can’t say I’m surprised looking at you, not a handsome man really are you? Nature not been kind has she? And that outfit doesn’t help does it? Seen better days frankly, and even then not exactly what you’d call fashionable I’d of said, but only if pushed, still they say weshould be happy as god made us, although let’s be fair he must have been having an off day in your case eeh? Still suppose it can’t be helped, or rather it can, with a disguise perhaps?”

Bikle: “Berr yes yes a disguise, dat’s what I wadt!”

Mr Cutler: “Of course, of course, say no more, no really don’t say anything more, the mere sound of your voice sickens me. I mean certainly sir, and what kind of disguise would you be wanting? Something voluminous? Or not? Something daring? Risqué? Some hot pants and a disco wig perhaps? Really get people talking? Well I say talking, I mean throwing up and then hurling stones at you, and no bad thing if you ask me, not that you did, or had need to, but I stand by it, anyway what about a duck suit? No I don’t think you fit the bill.Fit the bill geddit? Ooh eeh good ‘ere innit? You’re tall and thin, I could dress you as a pencil? But then you wouldn’t see the point would you? So I suppose it’s not 2b. Good them weren’t they? Still this isn’t getting us anywhere is it? All joking aside, you are ugly, no no, let’s not get carried away, dog ugly. How about a bag for your head? Not as a disguise mind, thinking you might want to end it all, can’t say as I blame you in your shoes. Especially those shoes, so what about it then? Nice plastic bag, slow asphyxiation, not a bad way to go eeh? No? Prefer to drag out your disappointing and unsatisfying life a bit longer as a figure of mockery and ridicule? Your call chummy I suppose, now what was it you wanted again? How about one of thesenice jester’s hats? Got bells on it see? Jingle jingle? Add a bit of much needed fun to your dreary existence, also give parents a bit of warning, let ’em get their kids inside when they hear you approach, not that I’m saying you’re that way of course, far from it, but if the cap fits as they say, and there! Fits you like a glove, very mediaeval, call it a tenner?”

Bikle: “Do do do! I dod’t wadt a bloody jester’s hat, or ady of your dovelties! I wadt a disguise!”

Mr Cutler: “Oh a disguise is it? Up to no good are we? Can’t say it surprises me to be honest, well let me see, a disguise, a disguise, a disguise, what do we have for you that I won’t mind having to burn when you bring it back? Now now, be fair, couldn’t ask anybody else to pay good money for a costume that a wrong ‘un like you’s been wearing can I? What with the sour, mildewy, slightly faecal stench that seems to cling to your ungainly form eeh? Here it is, well I’ll be, if this isn’t the very thing! What do you think to that then sunshine?”

Bikle: “H’what’s dis? A shirt, black jeads, cloak ad pixie boots? But dat’s what I’b already wearing! Dat’s what I always wear!”

Mr Cutler: “That’s right, that’s the ‘Shit Bikle’ costume, been a surprisingly popular rental item lately, all things considered, funny the way things work out eh? That’ll be, oooh eeh, let’s just say whatever you’ve got in your pockets shall we?”

Bikle: “But dat’s dot a costube! Dat’s just by bloody clothes! Id fact, dey are actually by bloody clothes, you cad see de labels dat by bum sewed idto deb wid by dabe oddeb!”

Mr Cutler: leaning forward conspiratorially, “Now listen bumfluff, we can stand here all day arguing about this, more than happy to, but correct me if I’m wrong, you’re in a rush eeh? Every moment that you are away from your little yellow chum is fraught with peril eeh? Time is very much of the essence?”

Bikle: “Ho god yes, dod’t rebide be! By poor Pribrose Pridcess!”

Mr Cutler: “Exactly, alone,  unprotected, vulnerable… Normally just your sort of thing eh sick boy? But it’s different when it’s one of your own eeh? There she is, surrounded by ruthless, scheming rivals who wouldn’t flinch at canarycide in order to grab the top spot at this prestigious event, their fiendish machiavellian schemes weaving a web around her, yes a web, a web of DEATH! And what do you do about it? Nothing! You stand here, bandying words with me, arguing the toss about some old clothes, which I may or may not have stolen from your wardrobe, while that little ball of yellow fluff stands naked before the forces of evil!”

Bikle: “But but but Bister Cutler, I deed a disguise! Ad dose are just by clothes! I’d just look like be!” Cutler slams his fist down on the counter,

Mr Cutler: “Exactly! Exactly! And WHO IS THE LAST PERSON THAT THEY WOULD EXPECT YOU TO BE DISGUISED AS? Think man! Think!” Bikle’s eyes widen,

Bikle: “By god you’re right! Dat’s de last thig they’d be lookig for! Dat’s brilliadt!” He starts to strip off his clothes.

Mr Cutler: “Oooh eeh, not so fast sonny, aren’t we forgetting something?”

Bikle: “Ho of course! Dere! Dat’s all by bodey!”

Mr Cutler: “Thank you kindly, now go! Savethat poor canary!”

Hopping on one leg as he tries to put on an identical pixie boot to the one which he has just taken off, Bikle nods vigourously,

Bikle: “Ho I will, I will, thagk you Bister Cutler, thagk you! Hag od Pribrose Pridcess! Daddy’s cobig!”

Cutler watches him rush back to the registration tent and gathers up his discarded garments. He takes a long contemplative draw on his cigar before turning to a small brown creature perched on the till. “You know Coco old lad, in my game you don’t half meet some right tommy danglers, but that one there, that one is without doubt the biggest bloody idiot that I have ever encountered.” He turns and beams welcomingly at the next customer.

Mr Cutler: “Yes sir, and what can I do for you?”

Leonard: “Ah, ah would lak a Sheet Beekle costumesilvous plait M’sieur Cutlair!”

Meanwhile, Bikle bursts into the registrations tent at the same moment as MP Johnson. Buckle looks up, pleased.

Buckle: “Ho Bikles! Ab I glad to see you! Buncle Lauredce told be dat you’d beed rud over by a large obdibus!”

Antwerp is up again like a shot,

Antwerp: “Right!” he begins “Both of you, out!” but this latter part is lessened by the fact he clearly cannot tell who is the real Bikle, as the glamoured monstrous pelican Johnson looks of course identical in the minds eye and the real Bikle’s attire is now less shabby and more like that of Buckle. Antwerp does not have to worry about the matter long though as MP Johnson turns to him and with an action utterly incomprehensible to the glamoured eye makes him disappear with a muffled scream. Bikle and Buckle look at each other as the other Bikle turns a menacing eye upon them.

Buckle: “Yikes! A bonster! Just like de turkey said!”

Bikle: “By god you’re right Buckle, dere’s subthig dot right about dat fellow!”

In his fearsome flapping though Buckle now drops the clockwork bird out of his pocket (as of course he has utterly failed to remember the swapping instruction). The mechanical marvel twitters and hops in an impressive but not entirely realistic manner, however to poor Johnson’s impoverished notion of his aim, this appears his quarry. With a hearty shove, this other silent Bikle dispatches Buckle, who crashes straight into his brother and scoops up the mechanical canary before quickly disappearing out of the tent entrance from which he has come.

“Bohhhh!” goes the brothers, collectively as they land in a heap, with one of them positioned unfortunately to the rear of the other, all cloaks, hair and pixie boots, they huff and shout as they try to untangle themselves at which point Hornby returns and looks with disgusted dismay at the scene

Hornby: “Hmmph, this is not really appropriate behaviour for the birdshow Mr Bikle you know!”

Bikle: “H’what, I was just trying to get by brother off!”

At this comment Hornby appears even more revulsed.

Hornby: “I don’t care what you two get up to  in that flat of yours, but you should leave those antics at home, this is a family show!” At which point Buckle helpfully says

Buckle: “Bikle just gobbled bister Antwerp up you dow!”

Hornby looks at Bikle.

Honby: “And where is Antwerp now?”

Realising that to say he’s been mysteriously disappeared by a clone of himself is hopeless, he says the only thing he can think of.

Bikle: “he’s berr, gone to de toilet, yes dat’s right!”

Hornby now looks even more disgusted than previously as if his bathroom visitation is sordidly tied to the whole tale, but leaves the matter there

Hornby: “Right well I suppose I shall have to keep watch until he returns, I shall have to ask your brother to leave  though.” and turning to the correct sibling he gestures to the exit.

Bikle gives him some more coins and off Buckle goes, all the while issuing warnings about monsters and cousin Lawrence. Bikle settles himself back down next to primrose princess and has chance to review the matter. What was the mechanical bird that the other Bikle took away? Who was the other Bikle? Disturbed by the events but unable to fathom them in any kind of meaningful way he gives up and simpers over his canary some more. Suddenly there is a bustling noise and who should come in but Clancy, replete with cage, which he takes to the registration desk.

Hornby: “Ah Clancy, good to see you, I’m so sorry about Piers, he was a good friend of yours was he not?!”

Clancy: “Blblbllblbp yes, terrible tragedy, head blown clean off, never recovered from scaffolding incident properly, however bequeathed large collection of antique trousers blblblblblblp!”

Hornby: “Mm yes errm that must be nice… for you, do you have a bird to register?”

Clancy: “Bllblblbllbp certainly do, particular beauty, sure to win blblbp!”

Hornby: “Oho well I don’t know about that, I’m sure there’ll be some stiff competition” but then is sickened by his own words thinking of the compromising position he found SB brothers in upon entering the tent, he coughs to displace the discomfort “name please?”

Clancy: “Prince Primrose! blblblp!”

Hornby: “Really?!” The Turkey eyes him in a watch it sonny type way “it’s just we already have a Primrose Princess ”

Clancy: “Really!?” he repeats with deep perfect tones, to show how it is done “Blblblp coincidence, blblbp stranger things have happened, blbblblp like for instance, blblblbp mouse in your ear!”

And whilst Hornby struggles to remove the scrabbling mouse, Clancy takes up a seat near Bikle and places his covered cage down on a pedestal adjacent to ‘primrose princess’.




Published in: on March 11, 2016 at 4:54 pm  Leave a Comment