Chulls, one of Lady Fannny Fart Trumpington Trubshaw's friends,  has a bit of a farm shop where he makes a bit of pin money to keep his wife in dreadful frocks, flogging off orgasmic produce which he makes himself.

I can imagine Chulls and his wife Cami-Knickers Park Your Bowler Hat in pinnies knocking up the mince pies and jams they make from the farmland down in the Douche of Cordwalls.

This morning, Chulls personally popped over to Gripewater Towers to take Her Ladyship’s order for coloured turkeys, bronze, gold and black. I cannot understand why he colours his turkey, must be a fad for the Chrimble, huntin’, shootin,’ or fishin’ season.

Things must be getting hard with the credit crunch if he has to come round knocking on doors to sell his wares. As Lady F wasn’t in Skrowte dealt firmly with the matter, as he later put it. We will not be having any more coloured, orgasmic turkeys this year; we will be having a frozen butterball from Greenland, where chavvy moms in Lower Sozzleury go to shop (although Nobed will not be putting in an appearance in Greenland as he can purchase his catering requirements over the interwebnet thingy and they will deliver in a van, rather like Fartnums currently do with the weekly shop).

In previous years when we have had a coloured orgasmic turkey, they have arrived perfectly bald. And dead. Apparently they are ‘oven ready’ when all their feathers have been wrenched out but I suspect that they are bald as Chulls collects the feathers for his wife’s hair, she always has a bunch of feathers on the back of her head, rather like a startled bird’s bottom.

Chull’s parents, Izzy and Flip, occasionally grace Gripewater Towers with their presence which results in Nobed Skrowte going into a frenzy of cleaning and flower arranging. Most odd. Normally when extremely old people come calling you cover the chairs in polythene in case they are incontinent and hide the teaspoons in case they nick them.

Iz always brings her tiny doggies with her, snappy-yappies that look like little fat mobile foot stools, and a white leather lavatory seat which Skrowte has to fix in the guest loo when she is at Gripewater.

Chulls has a sister called Princess Pam. Lady F and Dame Drusilla Ponkington Pipsqueak, her bestest chum in the world were at St Rhubarbs School, with Princess Pam. Drusilla had a  stonking crush on Pam. Heaven knows why, Princess Pam looks like she eats hay and farts a lot.

Izzy had a mom called Queenies Mom. Skrowte used to lock up the Boobs London Gin when she came round as she used to do something called ‘sloshed’ whenever she got her hands on a bottle.  I think she must have been allergic to Boobs London Gin as her behaviour would become quite bizarre the more she shipped down her wrinkly neck. She did ‘sloshed’ very well, quite the professional!

She also loved cocktails. Milk of Amnesia was her absolute fave.

Iz used to have a sister, Maggot. ‘Quite dreadful,’ was the opinion of Tiger. She must have been dire for Tiger not to have had a pop at her. Always dressed in bathroom curtains and shrouded in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Tiger used to think it was great fun to give her what he called a ‘goose.’ Heaven know what she needed a great honking bird for, but whenever Tiger gave Maggot a goose, she would shriek like a schoolgirl and come over all coy and giggly.

Anyway the butterball arrived from Greenland all shrink wrapped in plastic and is currently residing in the fan oven at 180c. Skrowte has muttered something about scraps being wasted on me when a perfectly good kinky curry, such as a Korma Sutra can be made from them.

One does hope he is jesting.

Carol Lake

Illustration by the terrific Anthony Smith of 'Learn to Speak Cat' fame.

A Cats Purr

"Cats make one of the most satisfying sounds in the world: they purr ...

A purring cat is a form of high praise, like a gold star on a test paper. It is reinforcement of something we would all like to believe about ourselves - that we are nice."

Roger A Caras

Sponsored Advert