The Wallops - Stories from long ago

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  1. [align=center]The Wallops – Stories from long ago
    A novel by JRRR Waltkien

    [align=center]Chapter One[/align]

    In days of old, way beyond the memories of our grandfathers who had Alzheimer’s anyway, there lived in the Wallops, a people called the Bobbits. The Bobbits were small folk, not human and in no way linked to any infantry regiments. The average Bobbit was only three feet tall and they lived in a shire called the Wallops. The Wallops was a wonderful land, fields of corn waved in the wind, babbling brooks sort of babbled and the birds sang from dawn to dusk in the woods and forests, which did make them unpopular so they were regularly trapped and killed. Bobbits lived in holes in the ground but with windows and doors and furniture. The Bobbits were extremely civilized and they lived a commune type existence where everybody helped everybody else unless they couldn’t be arrsed or it was the wrong time of the month.

    The Wallops was part of just left of centre earth and was nestled south of a great kingdom, The Keynes. They were ruled by a great king called Milton. Milton of the Keynes was a wise ruler and all his people were happy except about the extraordinary number of imitation cows in the kingdom. In Keynes they seemed to do everything in a roundabout way but basically they were a peace loving kingdom and all in all, very happy and contented. They were men folk or humans but they got on well with the Bobbits and traded with them on a regular basis. Bobbits loved pornography and the kingdom of Keynes was all too happy to oblige. The Bobbits provided the kingdom of Keynes with corn, wheat and timber though they did a mean sideline in wooden phallic symbols. They also couldn’t get enough of the Bobbit flat pack furniture that gave the Bobbits almost full employment, something to be proud of in just left of centre earth.

    To the south lay the kingdom of the Old Forest and eventually the sea. The main town in the Old Forest was Sowfampton, a trading port and the streets of Sowfampton echoed to the voices of a hundred languages as people from all over the earth congregated to trade, get drunk and just generally have a good time especially in Derby Road, the street of a hundred red lanterns. It was a boisterous place, an evil place but brilliant for electrical goods. The Old Forest did actually have a forest and it was coincidentally called the Old Forest. Rumours abounded about the Old Forest and some said that in its misty depths, man-eating ponies lived. It was all the stuff of myth and legend and actually, it had started when a sailor fed up with dried meat and ships biscuits had trapped, killed and ate a pony. He had been caught, the sheriff of the forest had caught him red-handed but the local newspaper had got wind of the story and the headline ‘Man eating pony’ had been published. The newspaper had been called ‘The Moon’ as it was printed at night but after a takeover by a newspaper magnate, a Mr Myrrh Dock, the printing had switched to daytime and the newspaper was thereafter known as ‘The Sun’.

    Between the Wallops and the Old Forest lay the town of Winchaster and while a happy and prosperous town; it was the home of one of the few armies in just left of centre earth. A barracks was in the centre of the town and the soldiers practiced and practiced. There hadn’t been a war for as long as anybody wanted to remember but the kingdom of the Old Forest retained the right to maintain an army as a deterrent. The soldiers were dressed in beautiful green jackets to blend into the forest so they were called the light infantry as the old forest was very dark and somebody had to carry a torch. Winchaster was a trading town and goods from Sowfampton would come up the road to be distributed from there as it had a massive trading estate. The flat pack furniture that the kingdom of Keynes didn’t take was sent from the Wallops to Winchaster and then on to Sowfampton as they had an Akea market there and Akea specialized in selling flat pack.

    To the west of the Wallops was a vast plain. It stretched for as far as the eye could see but as Bobbits had such bad eyesight that wasn’t that far at all. It actually stretched for many kilometres as Bobbits had gone metric many years ago. Well not totally, as a Bobbit was still considered to be three feet tall and the biggest seller in timber was 50mm x 25mm but it came in nine-foot lengths. Mythical creatures lived on the plain and while nobody had ever seen one, their footprints were left for all to see. They weren’t actually footprints at all but like two tracks and everything in the way of this mysterious creature seemed to be crushed in its path. On the edge of the plain were more humans who lived in a town called St. Windon. It was a new town but the people were bored as it all looked the same and everybody or almost everybody worked in the same place. A huge factory produced carts and the Honder carts were the dogs bollox as their advert used to say. The people were bored but they were civic, did things of their own accord and didn’t mind the acclaim.

    At the southwestern tip of the plain lived a strange people called Hippies in the Kingdom of Peace and Love. The capital was Glassonberry and it was a magnet for those that needed spiritual enlightenment or those that thought they could sell some. Courses in crop circles or how to run a pop festival in the mud were offered along with the entire stock of beads of just left of centre earth but you had to buy those, in fact you had to pay for the courses as well. Nothing was free here, everything had a catch and even free love was taxed by the kingdom. The Hippies or those that weren’t selling things used to climb hills and smoke a strange plant that they said helped them get in touch with reality. Getting in touch with reality is fine but falling to your death from a cliff brings you back to earth with a bump. Most of the Hippies’ lives revolved around hills, they either climbed them, made silly rude pictures on them or quarried them, hence coming down to earth with a bump. It wasn’t the Hippies that did the work in the quarries. Since the expansion of the common market, migrant workers from new member kingdoms had moved there to fill the vacancies that the Hippies were too lazy or too stoned to fill. They just smoked that strange plant, even during the interviews.

    The only scary part of just left of centre earth or the only bit that will feature in this epic lay in the east. You could travel to Handover, just half a day’s ride from the Wallops but Handover was too dull to be scary and it was just an insignificant market town on the border of civilization, as we know it. A bridge over the River Test was the gateway and it was locked at night. The last time they didn’t lock it, somebody stole the padlock, so it was always locked after that. In the east lay the real danger to just left of centre earth and all who lived in it, the kingdom formerly known as Mordor but now known as Crawley. Close by was the town of East Grinstead but evil work had been done one day long ago as the neighbouring town of West Grinstead had disappeared overnight. Bobbits used to scare their offspring to sleep telling stories of the horrors of the East, the large lump of wood that marked the border just by the bridge, the Eastern Block. Bobbits weren’t really that nice sometimes and they got a real kick out of scaring children but the worst, the most horrible story was about the rulers of the east, The Witches of Gatwick.

    The Witches of Gatwick were three sisters who getting the push from a theatrical production of ‘that play’ moved to the east and through much spilling of blood found favour with the then ruler and had risen quickly through the ranks. They were high flyers and from their humble beginnings, they had become advisors to the ruler of Crawley, David of Beckham. Originally, there had been four Witches of Gatwick, Emma, Scary, Sporty and Posh but Posh and David had fallen in love and after the marriage had just left the running of the country to the three remaining witches. Crawley and Gatwick didn’t have orcs or trolls but what they did have and in abundance were Chavs. They didn’t have cave trolls either but then there were the Disco Chavs. These strange creatures lived in a dark world of their own, usually only coming out at night but they were vicious creatures especially if plied with Alco-pops. Armies of Chavs and Disco Chavs were readying themselves for a fight and since the football wasn’t for another three years, they were ready, willing and able to cause a problem anywhere they were sent to.

    The bridge at Handover had kept the Chavs at bay but there were whispers of a full invasion of the Wallops and the other kingdoms. The Witches of Gatwick were not content with their own lands, it was the familiar theme of world domination. The Bobbits weren’t really capable of fighting, they were only three feet tall and did have a few swords, some bows and arrows and they could knock up a smart looking trebuchet in minutes few but nothing really significant. The Bobbits had paid a few mercenary humans known as Knight Riders and they patrolled the lands near Handover but even these highly trained human soldiers would be no match for an army of Chavs. But Bobbits did as they have done for centuries, got drunk, looked at pornography and hoped it would never happen as it usually never does and hadn’t so far. The Knight Riders were not happy as you can only have so many flat pack wardrobes and rumours abounded that even The Knight Riders would desert in the Bobbit’s hour of need, whenever that was going to be.

    It was at this dangerous time that Billy Cabbageleaf was due to celebrate his two hundredth birthday. Bobbits lived to a ripe old age, well into their three hundreds and Billy was just a youngster really and the worst possible age if you needed insurance for your cart. “Robbing fcukers” said Billy reading the quote he was got from the Gnawich Insurance Group. “Quote me happy, my arrse” he complained throwing the quote into the fire. The fire roared up and spat sending a red-hot ember onto the hearth, fortunately not burning his hearthrug. “That’s lucky” he exclaimed picking up the ember with the tongs and throwing it back into the fire. A dog barked in the distance and Billy repeated himself “That’s Lucky”. Lucky was the dog of his bestest friend in the whole of the Wallops, Fergal Raddishnose. They had grown up together, they had played football together, gone to school together and Billy remembered the first time he ever saw a porn book, it was with Fergal. “Happy days” he said to himself and rubbed his groin. “That’s lucky” he said to himself and walked along the corridor to the bathroom.

    “Fcuk off, I’m busy!” shouted Billy still in the bathroom and determined to be like on Mastermind. “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” he thought to himself trying to get back in the mood. “Open the door you tosser!” Billy jumped as somebody knocked the bathroom window and the booming voice put him off totally. He zipped up his trousers and screamed. “Get it off!” he screamed. The bathroom door opened and there stood Paul or to give him his full name Paul ‘the Grey’ Daniels. “You dirty little fcuker Billy” said Paul eyeing up the situation. “You do know it has to go down before it goes up? Asked Paul and Billy nodded still in agony. “Right here goes” and Paul whipped the zipper down and Billy collapsed on the floor holding his groin. “That’ll teach you, you dirty little shite” said Paul, not exactly brimming over with sympathy. Billy lay on the floor, his eyes full of tears and with one hand, he attempted to examine the damage. It appeared that nothing was missing so carefully and very slowly, he pulled up the zipper and rose gingerly to his feet. “Paul, how’d you like the journey?” asked Billy trying to regain some composure. “Not a lot” was the very, very predictable answer.

    Paul the Grey was a giant compared to the normal Bobbit. He was at least five foot tall and towered over Billy. That was really why he spent time with the Bobbits, he was a smug, vain sod who just liked looking down his nose at people but people were too tall so hence the Bobbits. Paul lifted off his wig, scratched his head and put the wig back on. He settled himself in a Bobbit size chair that broke so he threw it on the fire. “There’s evil about, Billy,” he said sitting on the table that fortunately took his weight. “Yes, it’s you, that was my favourite chair you sod,” replied Billy and not lying, he had knocked it off and knocked it up many years ago and even built it without the instructions and the little Allen key thing that had been missing anyway. “I mean in the East,” replied Paul looking serious. “What, East Wallop? Asked Billy as current affairs and geography had never been his strongpoint. “No fcuking miles further!” shouted Paul impatiently. “Is that the same as fcuking kilometres further?” asked Billy who did prefer the metric system to the Imperial one. “I fcuking mean in the fcuking East as in fcuking Gatwick or fcuking Crawley fcuking East!” exploded Paul in a rage and showing his skills at swearing. “Right” replied Billy trying to sound as though he had finally grasped the situation but his face was the perfect picture of a blank expression. “Magic” said Paul, again all to predictably.

    Paul ‘the Grey’ Daniels was a wizard and he fought for the side of good. He always paid his speeding fines and never told lies. He did swear far too much but everybody swore in the Wallops and there was every chance a baby Bobbit’s first words would involve sex and travel. Paul ‘the Grey’ Daniels had originally been Paul ‘the Black’ Daniels but he had washed his cloak in the wrong washing powder and at the wrong temperature and the colour had faded. He didn’t mind and have you seen the price of cloaks nowadays? Paul told Billy all about the Chavs in the east and Billy’s blood ran cold when Paul mentioned the Witches of Gatwick. “I think you are destined for a long and dangerous journey, my son,” said Paul rather sanctimoniously. “Am I fcuk!” replied Billy not mincing his words. “The future of all of just left centre earth will ride on your shoulders Billy,” continued Paul trying to install some sort of thought process in Billy’s slightly inadequate brain. “Will it fcuk!” replied Billy still not daunted. “It does matter what happens and it will affect you, your children and your children’s children and the whole of the Wallops will just be a passing memory if you don’t heed what I say Billy” continued Paul in the most serious voice he could muster. God, he wished Debbie was with him now in his hour of need. “Pardon?” said Billy who had been staring into the fire and trying not to listen. “It does possibly involve looking at pornography as well” Paul was playing his master card now and Billy pricked up which is allowed as long as its well after the watershed and he replied “When do we fcuking start mate?” “I’ll explain” said Paul and they talked long into the night.

    Hope you didn't mind but I thought I'd try my hand at something else. I would welcome any feedback.
    If it is shite, please tell me, at least then I won't have to write any more.
  2. Good effort.
  3. Your demographic knowledge is spookily accurate MS :D
    Are 49 Para going to make an appearance?
  4. MS do you have hairy feet?
  5. I thank my Veet that I don't have hairy feet.
  6. Thought you were a wax virg*n
  7. The candle burns the fcuking legs off you.

    And do not, repeat do not attempt this with nasal hair.
  8. Hmmm...Mister soft, I hate to accuse anyone of plagiarism but have you ever read National Lampoon's Bored of the rings? Well, have you?? Still funny mucker...
  9. No I haven't read it but I do know there are spoofs about. No rings in mine (yet?) except the one Billy scratches. Barry Trotter's been done and I was going to do Gone with the Wind but as I said to my pet fawn. Frankly my deer, I don't give a damn.

    Plagiarism is the passing off of another person's work as if it were one's own, by claiming credit for something that was actually done by someone else. Deliberate plagiarism is an attempt to claim another person's work as one's own, usually by removing tell-tale evidence or changing words so the plagiarism is made harder to spot.

    If it is plagiarism then I had to change 2,500+ words to make it my own. Anyway I didn't write it, JRRR Waltkien did.

    Cheers Cuddles.
  10. On the night of June 23, 1993, Lorena Bobbitt cut off her husband's penis with a kitchen knife as he lay sleeping in their Manassas, Virginia, home. She then drove off with the severed appendage and flung it out her car window. Police performed a diligent search and located it, and it was then surgically reattached.

    I fully understood the possible significances of calling them Bobbits but I couldn't think of an alternative activity considering their love of pornography.

    I mean, you don't just read the articles.

    Do you?
  11. [align=center]Chapter Two[/align]

    The two of them sat round the fire and talked until quite late. Billy was tired but he took in every word that Paul said. There was to be a Council of War in Saulsberry, half a day’s ride from where they were and all of the kingdoms would be sending a representative to decide what to do about the threat of invasion from the Chavs. Even one of the Knight Riders would be there as they got double time at Councils of War or on Sundays or Bank Holidays. The two talked about the good old days, the days when men, Bobbits and even hippies had lived together peacefully much as they did now actually but the east had been a lovely place then before the influence of the Witches of Gatwick.

    It was saddening that things had come to this but Paul told Billy that he believed that even the Bobbits would play an integral part in what was going to happen. “But no fcuking elves” he said and Billy had to agree. Elves were a real pain in the arrse, little pointy-eared barstewards who did nothing but pout and sing stupid songs. They did have magical powers but by the time they had been through three verses of the latest Enya song, magical powers were too late and so were the elves. The elves lived in old tin mines in the far west, in a land called Eden. They always had some project on the go and sang about it until it bored the t1ts off you. Paul explained that they had contacted the elves but as yet, there had been no answer. “Probably writing a fcuking song about whether to come or not” explained Paul and Billy had to agree yet again. “Enya, more like fcuking Enema!” shouted Paul, pleased with the comparison.

    Talking of whether to come or not, Billy picked up his latest porn magazine ‘Dirty Debbie Does Grately’ and flicked through the pages. “You won’t be needing that my son” said Paul rather pompously and excused himself with the words “I need a dump”. “Fcuking will” said Billy to himself and slid the magazine into his rucksack. They were due to leave in the morning and Paul had instructed him not to tell anybody. He would be missing his own birthday party, which was a real bummer with all the radish beer that he had brewed. Gallons of the stuff and not a drop would touch his lips. “Fcuk that” he said to himself or maybe it was the hat stand but he walked into the kitchen and pulled out a flagon of the beer, uncorked it and had a few swigs. He could feel the warmth as the beer hit the spot and because radish beer doesn’t care which spot it hits, he shouted out to Paul “Don’t spend all fcuking night in there!” followed by the important but very necessary “And don’t forget to pull the fcuking chain this time!” The last time he had been forced to shovel it out and yes, the radishes had benefited but the house had stunk for weeks.

    Paul had finished in the toilet. Billy was relieved to have heard the chain being pulled several times but thought he would leave it a minute or two before he brushed his teeth. Paul came back pulling his cloak out from between the cheeks of his arrse and sat back down again. “Do you know why I have chosen you?” he asked Billy. “Fcuked if I know” replied Billy not exactly making it easy for Paul. “Billy, listen you little shite. The whole of the future of just left of centre earth could depend on you. You are the key to the possible success or failure of this mission and the others are there to help but primarily they are there to PROTECT you,” explained Paul in great depth. “What’s primarily mean?” asked Billy trying hard not to look stupid but failing miserably. “Are you taking the fcuking pish?” asked a now very annoyed Paul.

    Paul stood up; he was in a rage now and forgetting the low height of the ceiling, banged his head on a beam, which didn’t improve his mood. From a pocket in his cloak, Paul produced a small black bag. He shook it and something inside the bag rattled, it sounded metallic. “What’s in the bag, Paul?” asked Billy, finally interested. “Balls” replied Paul and he looked at Billy.” Fcuk you then, I was only asking!” replied Billy who sounded annoyed as well. “You t1t, I meant there are balls in this bag” and he pulled out three silvery balls and held them in the palm of his hand. “I always thought you talked balls,” Billy was laughing as he said it. Bobbits liked a good joke but they didn’t mind crappy ones either, which is probably just as well. “These balls are Elvish balls,” explained Paul and Billy crossed his legs and visibly squirmed. “Elvish Preshley?” joked Billy who was not taking this seriously. “Paul raised himself to his full height, banging his head on another beam but grabbed Billy round the throat and lifted him up. Billy’s legs kicked in the air but he could tell struggling was useless. “Do I have your FULL attention Billy?” asked Paul. Billy just nodded but he was definitely listening now. He gulped trying to draw in some more air and smiled a pathetic smile. Paul put him down gently and sat down on the table.

    “These are Elvish balls Billy but they are the ONLY way that the Witches of Gatwick can be killed. They don’t like it up ‘em you see. I’m now going to sing you a long but important Elvish song that explains it all” Paul finished speaking, coughed a couple of times and launched himself into the song. Three hours later, Paul kicked Billy as he could see him nodding off. “So you see that these balls are made of heavy metal and only somebody who doesn’t mind a bit of AC/DC can use them to their full potential” Billy tried to deny it but Paul added “Look tosh, I’ve seen you looking at your porn mags, you’re an AC/DC fan, no mistakes. Plus I can read minds so get used to it.” So the proud owner of two startling pieces of news, Billy tried to come to terms with the fact that apparently, he liked his radishes planted in both gardens. He had suspected it really, that time at the swimming hole but he had thought it was just part of growing up. It would have consequences, his monthly porn mag costs would increase but then he’d always liked a bit of variety. “It wasn’t so bad was it?” he thought to himself.

    So finally, he went to bed and briefly contemplated today’s news. The fact that everybody was depending on him worried him and he hoped he would be up to the job. “Fcuk it, I’ll do my best, can’t do any more” he thought to himself and drifted off into a troubled sleep. Giant radishes chased him in his dreams and his legs twitched like a puppy’s while he slept. He was just getting to the dream about three giant metal balls when Paul woke him. “Get up you lazy sod” said Paul pulling at Billy’s arm. Billy lashed out but Paul was long gone, in the kitchen sorting through the breakfast cereal. “Haven’t you got anything that doesn’t have fcuking radishes in?” shouted Paul, throwing a box of Special L with added radish onto the floor in disgust. Bobbits ate, drank and slept radishes, which is why they were never as popular as say, for instance Hobbits. A type of Hobbit with extremely bad breath, not a very pleasant manner and they swore like troopers. Plus this one was a cloak lifter, Bobbits were not sweet and cuddly and if a story about Bobbits was ever made into a film, the merchandising would be a real test for the marketing department.

    Billy walked naked into the kitchen and scratched himself in various places. “Cover it up you little fcuker, I don’t fancy you” said Paul quite truthfully. Billy grabbed a dressing gown from the bedroom and covered up his hairy body. “I like your slippers” said Paul making polite conversation. “They’re not slippers, they’re my feet” said Billy admiring the hair between his toes. “What time does the party start?” asked Paul eager to get away before he ended up looking after the whole village. There was a knock on the door and Paul and Billy looked at each other. “Get rid of whoever it is” said Paul and crunched on his snap, crackle and radish cereal. Billy strolled to the door and pulled the heavy wooden door open with a creak. He put the creak down and there was Fergal Raddishnose, his bestest friend with his dog Lucky. Lucky was having a dump on Billy’s radishes but it was too late to say anything even “That’s Lucky” but then Lucky never did anything Fergal or anybody told it to do. “Happy birthday Billy” said Fergal and Lucky tried to hump Billy’s leg. Obviously, some sort of canine birthday wish but with a shake of Billy’s powerful leg, Lucky flew through the air and landed in the radish patch. “You’d better come in,” he said to Fergal who followed him in. The door slammed shut and they both heard Lucky yelp. “Can’t be lucky all the time” said Fergal philosophically and followed Billy into the kitchen.

    “Hello Paul” said Fergal. “Hello Fergal” said Paul. So that scintillating conversation over, they sat in the kitchen staring out the window. Paul’s chair creaked as his weight was a bit much for standard Bobbit furniture. “Ready for the pish up?” asked Fergal and Paul and Billy looked at each other knowingly. Paul kicked Billy under the table and how he fitted under the table was a miracle but he had dropped one of his balls, as he hadn’t tied the bag up properly. “I might be bit late” Billy tried to explain. “Late for your own party?” Fergal was amazed and a bit suspicious. Billy was dying to tell him but he knew that Paul would give him what for so he bit his tongue but that was too painful so just tried to keep quiet. “You’re up to something,” stated Fergal knowingly, he had known Billy for years and he wasn’t going to take any old crap, there was something going on and he wanted to know. Billy tried to deny that something was going on and he looked to Paul for help but Paul just looked out of the window.

    “Can you keep a secret, Fergal?” said Paul, still looking out of the window. “If it’s to do with Billy, you can trust me,” said Fergal truthfully, as they had grown up together and he saw Billy almost as a brother. “Billy is a cloak lifter,” said Paul expecting some sort of reaction from Fergal but Fergal just smiled and replied “Known that for years and he’s not choosy where he shoves his tadger” “You mean, you’ve known all this time?” said an amazed Billy. “Why the fcuk didn’t you tell me? I seem to have been the only one in the dark about this” Billy was glad to get if off his chest not that he had much of a chest. Paul interrupted the conversation “Will you stand beside him, whatever the danger?” he asked Fergal. “Yes, yes of course, as long as he leaves my arrse alone,” replied a determined Fergal, if there was something going on, he wanted a piece of the action but he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his arrse, there are limits to a friendship and that was the limit in this case. So Paul explained it all to Fergal and he even showed him his balls.

    It was time to leave. Billy had packed his rucksack with all the essentials, radishes, water, porn, more radishes and more porn. Fergal had taken Lucky to a neighbour and was to meet them at Billy’s house in a few minutes. So as not to attract attention, they would be walking to Saulsberry, they could have borrowed some ponies or even rented some but it just would have possibly warned people they were going. So Billy oiled his feet, which is what any good Bobbit does before a long journey, went for a nervous pish and waited for Fergal to come back. Paul sat outside on the small patch of grass in Billy’s garden and did his yoga exercises. Fergal arrived back a few minutes later carrying a rucksack and he sat outside next to Paul who had just finished his yoga. “This is going to dangerous Fergal,” said Paul trying to warn him that this was not just a walk in the park. “You might even die,” he continued but Fergal’s spirit was not going to broken. “Could be worse,” he said though secretly his stomach was churning and even the butterflies had butterflies.

    So the three left towards Saulsberry. They took a roundabout way to avoid being spotted and managed to reach the edge of the village by one of the fields of Farmer Prescott, a fat, miserable farmer with a huge croquet lawn and two carts, when everybody else had just the one. He was human but only just and came from a human place far away, Billy couldn’t remember exactly but he thought it was the same name as part of a boat or ship. For years, Farmer Prescott had made their life a misery with his crop spraying and had chased them from his fields anytime they went near them. They were on the track but the field was on one side with the woods on the other. They heard barking in the distance and all thought immediately “That’s Lucky”. There was the sound of Lucky and also the sound of somebody or something crashing through the field with its crop of maize. The crashing sounds and the barking got ever nearer and the three waited with baited breath.

    Lucky appeared first followed closely by two other Bobbits and all five and Lucky fell into a heap of bodies. Billy was starting to like that but in the distance, he heard the voice of Farmer Prescott and he was getting nearer. They all picked themselves up as there was nobody else around to do it and they stood waiting for the inevitable appearance of Farmer Prescott. A large red-faced man crashed through the maze and collapsed onto the track. He wheezed where he lay and he did not look very healthy. Paul tried to pick him up but Farmer Prescott swung a huge arm narrowly missing him. He managed to dodge that telegraphed swing and ducking and weaving like a professional boxer, worked his way towards the lower torso of Farmer Prescott and with one swing of his foot, kicked him in the bollox. “You'll like it, not a lot, but you'll like it.,” said Paul and while nobody loves a stereotype, Farmer Prescott squirmed on the floor holding his injured groin.

    So while Farmer Prescott wished his balls were made of heavy metal, it was time for introductions. Paul of course already knew Lucky and Lucky was making his presence felt by trying to hump his leg. It didn’t last long as Lucky flew through the air and landed somewhere in the field of maize. The other two Bobbits who had supposed to look after Lucky were not known to Paul but Billy of course knew them both. The taller one, by half an inch was Nathaniel ‘Nat’ Beanpole and the fatter one by half an elephant was Cubby Broccoli. They both had rucksacks and it appears that the secret of Billy had not been as secret as was first thought. “We followed you” said Nat brushing the dust off himself. “I’ll protect you” said Cubby who was a bit of a mauler after too much radish beer. “My word is my bond” he said needlessly and spitting on the ground, in fact he was quite an expert on phlegming. “Well you can’t go back now I suppose” said Paul shaking his leg to try and get a persistent Lucky off it. “I think we’d better make tracks for Saulsberry” said Paul and after a swift kick in the nuts for Farmer Prescott, they started off on again on their travels. Lucky bit him on the nose and how they laughed. “That’s Lucky” said Nat and they walked on towards Saulsberry.
  12. [align=center]Chapter Three[/align]

    “This isn’t the way to Saulsberry,” said Nat looking at his Reader’s Digest Book of the Track that never left his side. “We have to make a slight detour,” said Paul wondering why it took the Bobbits so long to notice. “Thick little shites” he thought to himself, somewhat ungraciously but fairly accurately. They walked along the track, the sun was shining and the birds would not shut up. Cubby threw stones at them but they just sang all the more. You would not have thought that just left of centre earth was in such grave danger, it was a perfect day or it would have been if they hadn’t have been walking for hours. The Bobbits were both hungry and thirsty and insisted on stopping for a bite to eat. So umpteen radish sandwiches, a few bottles of that famous radish beer later and the Bobbits were happy again. They wandered along the path intoxicated with the excitement of the task in hand, plus the fact that Bobbits really can’t hold their drink. Billy tripped over a tree root and the other three Bobbits almost wet themselves laughing. Bobbits are also not naturally sympathetic especially when half pished.

    Finally, they came to a large track, almost a road and they were surprised at the amount of traffic on it. The road was almost at a standstill with the amount of traffic. A few hundred metres down the road, a gypsy wagon had overturned and what seemed like hundreds of small children played around the overturned wagon dodging the traffic.
    “Fcuking caravans” growled Paul hoping that this would not hold them up. “This is the Lee Enfield Way,” announced Paul. “Lee who?” asked a rather perplexed Cubby. “Lee Enfield Way” repeated Paul, he who was all knowledgeable. “Why the fcuk?” asked a confused Cubby. “Show him, Nat,” said Paul leaning over Nat’s book and trying to find out their location. “There” said Paul pointing to the red line that was the road they were now looking at. “It’s the 303,” stated Paul but the Bobbits were none the wiser. The Bobbits stared at the map and smiled, not knowing whether to laugh or not but the effect of the radish beer had not diminished so they did have a little chuckle to themselves. Honour satisfied, Paul led them down onto the road.

    They made their way past the overturned wagon and headed onwards. The road was still busy but they made good time. They passed the village of Bulford and Paul warned them to keep to the road. “Bulford is a strange place with strange people living there. Camp by name and camp by nature” he told them and they looked at him with mouths wide open except Billy who was feeling strangely excited. Paul forced them onwards and Billy made a mental note to visit Bulford one day. He just hoped there would a chance for him to experiment with his new found sexuality. “We’re almost here,” said Paul as the Bobbits were grumbling, Nat had a blister and Billy was limping slightly due to treading on a cats eye. In fact he had trodden on the entire cat and the cat had not appreciated being trodden on and had reciprocated with its claws. “Claws for thought” joked Cubby but nobody was listening. In the distance, the traffic was backing up and they could see a huge stone block being dragged across the road. Directing this and less successfully the traffic was a tall figure dressed in white. “Fcuk a stoat!” shouted Billy. “It’s a fcuking Druid!” Billy was small even for a Bobbit but he had shouted so loud that the Druid had swivelled right round and was staring directly at him. Billy hid behind Paul but the Druid continued to look in their direction. “Paul, you old fcuker, how’s it dangling?” shouted the Druid and Paul waved a greeting in return.

    It took them a couple of minutes fighting through the held up traffic to reach the Druid. The Druid was even taller than they had first estimated and was resplendent in his white robes. Paul and the Druid embraced each other, they obviously knew each other but there were no tongues so not quite that well. “How’s it going you old scrote?” The Druid asked Paul, still almost squeezing the life out of him. “Great mate, just great” replied Paul trying to break free, this was starting to restrict his breathing. “Gentlemen, this is Stone, Oliver Stone” Paul introduced the Druid to the Bobbits. The Bobbits stood in awe of him especially as he was still squeezing Paul who was now starting to turn a shade of blue. Stone dropped Paul and the colour slowly returned to his face. “So what you up to Olly?” asked Paul looking round the huge site. “Just building a henge,” replied Olly not sure, if the rest knew exactly what a henge was. “Stone’s henge?” Paul played around with a possible name for this mammoth construction project. “You putting a roof on it?” asked Paul quite seriously. “Maybe later” replied Olly glad he had shelled out the extra for a project manager. So many questions, so much to do and he had been particularly bad on the Henge Phase at Druid’s College having just scraped through with a very low pass.

    They sat on the grass and Olly explained all about the henge, how it was all being constructed, how the rock was sourced and how it got here to just left of centre earth. “Got the rock from B&Q Carmarthen branch but the fcukers don’t deliver” explained Olly. A human dressed in a donkey cloak came up to them and whispered something in Olly’s ear. Olly replied and the man rushed off back to the main construction site. “Had to get the Paddi in,” he explained. The Paddi were a fierce warring tribe from far, far away but had excellent construction skills as long as they were kept at least one kingdom away from any alcohol. The Paddi wore heavy cloaks called donkey cloaks and they had red faces to match their red hair. Olly showed them all the architect’s drawing which did explain exactly where each room was to go and even showed the bedrooms with two of them en-suite.

    “You know why I’m here,” said Paul, now in serious mode. “Olly nodded and threw a stone at one of the Paddi, hitting him neatly on the temple. “Stop shirking!” he shouted at the poor Paddi who was now on the grass nursing a gash on his temple. “I fcuking told you this was a hard head environment!” he shouted at the Paddi and two of the poor Paddi’s mates rushed up and dragged him away out of range of Olly or so they hoped. “You have to keep on top of them,” he told Paul and Billy’s ears pricked up which was quite painful but he was having feelings elsewhere so hardly noticed it. “You can come with us?” asked Paul and Olly nodded looking serious. “I have to go,” said Olly and they all clapped and danced around with happiness except Paul who just smiled, very smugly. “I said I have to go” Olly repeated and pulling up his long white cloak, let go of a curly one onto the grass. He wiped his arrse with some nettles that took any hint of a smile off his face but finally finished he held out a hand for Paul. “You can bollox” was the fairly predictable reply to this gesture and Olly rushed off to wash his hands. “You won’t get a finer man than that,” Paul told the Bobbits and they moved away from what Olly had left on the grass. Even the Bobbits were looking a bit green and a diet of mainly radishes can produce some serious smells.

    So they left the construction site and headed for Saulsberry. The traffic did get back to normal once the Paddi had erected that stone and even the gypsy wagon got righted as they had called out breakdown assistance. The intrepid six now, headed for Saulsberry just stopping for something to eat in a roadside eating establishment run by dwarves. “You can’t beat little chefs,” said Billy as they all tucked in to a hearty meal. So the meal finished they continued their journey and soon, the huge spire of Saulsberry could be seen in the distance. It was a bit posh for a hotel and conference centre to have a spire but it was a five star facility. They followed the river towards the hotel and soon they were stood by the ‘No Elves” sign at the entrance to the hotel grounds. They checked in, the rooms had been pre-booked and the Tidworth Suite was ready and available for the Council of War. They each made their way to their respective rooms and Olly even chose one with a roof. So washed, dressed and after a quick snooze, they assembled in the Wiltshire Bar for a cocktail before dinner. As they sipped their respective cocktails, they heard a rumpus at reception. Paul stood up and walked purposely towards reception. The hotel security staff were trying to throw out somebody and this somebody was not too happy on going. Tall, pointy eared and only on verse sixty-seven of “The Ballad of the Hotel Lobby”, it could only be one thing and it was. It was an Elf.

    The rumpus in the hotel lobby had calmed down a bit and the hotel manager was there trying to talk the Elf into leaving. Rather than singing, the Elf was using human speak and had already told the hotel manager to ‘Fcuk right off’ three times. Paul asked the Elf whom he was but was told to ‘Fcuk right off’ as well. The Elf still not singing which has to be a record for an elf introduced himself. “I am Legoland, son of Arafat, son of Borrowmore, son of Peters and Lee, son of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich” Paul suddenly realised that he knew this Elf or had known him when he had been much younger. “Dave?” The Elf looked at Paul and you could see he was either struggling not to sing or trying to remember where he had seen Paul before. “I knew your father, Dave,” Paul explained and you could see the recognition growing on Dave’s face. They embraced each other, again no tongues and the hotel manager was a bit pished off as he got caught in between. Extracting himself, the manager pointed to the ‘No Elves’ sign behind reception. “What if he signs the no singing clause?” Paul asked the hotel manager but the manager had his jobs worth hat on. “Either he stays or we go,” stated a very determined Paul. Elves were a real pain in the arrse but if you stop them singing, they can be quite useful. So after a few minutes of persuading and signing the no singing clause, Dave was booked into the hotel. The clerk at reception asked his name for the records. “I am Legoland, son of Arafat, son of Borrowmore, son of Peters and Lee, son of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich or just plain Dave,” said Dave, happy to get a room for the night. “Dave” confirmed the clerk “That’ll do nicely sir” he said with a very wide but false smile and handed over the key.

    They all ate in the John Constable Dining Room and made their way to the Tidworth Suite for the Council of War. Present were of course was Paul and the four Bobbits, Olly the Druid who they had picked up on the way and the latest member, Dave the Elf who still got dirty looks at reception as while he didn’t sing, he did whistle a bit too much for the hotel’s liking. They sat themselves down around a huge oblong table. They could have had a round table but the Arthur Suite had been already booked so they had settled for the next one down. Two of the hotel security staff were on the door and announced all those that entered. The next to enter was announced as Hugh Ferninglystall-Whittingstallworthy from the Hippy Kingdom, a master chef, martial arts expert, keen fisherman and expert on square crop circles who greeted all in the customary Hippy way “Peace”. Chubby was heard to say “Peace off” but very softly and only Billy managed to hear it. The next to enter was announced as David Hasslehuff of the Knight Riders who was relishing the double time. He had left the border near Handover under the capable hands of his deputy. Not much was known about him as the Bobbits had hired him thanks to an advert in a newsagent’s window.

    The next to be announced was the champion of Milton of the Keynes and a mighty warrior. He stood a good head taller than anybody in the room and even the ripples on his rippling muscles rippled. He was dressed in leather from head to toe which was really a fetish but nobody would have dared mentioning it. He carried a huge axe that had already totally pished off the hotel manager as he had scratched the laminate flooring and left some nasty scratches on some of the chairs. His name was Tarquin but nobody made a comment, nobody even dared. The last to enter was a Captain Tom Sharpe from the Light Infantry in Winchaster. He was an expert in tactics, logistics and the parlour game of charades. He had brought his torch and had already produced a three hundred page risk analysis on the current situation but had unfortunately left it in the barracks. Apologies had also been sent from the people of St. Windon but Honder were introducing a new line and they didn’t want to miss out on the overtime.

    So with all seated, Paul addressed the chair but as the chair was totally unresponsive, he addressed those seated. “Gentlemen, these are grave times” Paul went on to tell of the three heavy metal balls, how Billy was now a bit of a cloak lifter, that his hotel room wasn’t that good and that food was pretty damn good here. He again warned Dave the Elf against singing and to maybe cut down on the whistling a bit and that they ALL would have to head eastwards to kill the Witches of Gatwick. Nobody spoke, they all just looked at each other but Billy didn’t fancy anybody so contented himself by blowing kisses at one of the security staff. “Billy, stop mincing!” shouted Paul and everybody looked at him. The Knight Rider asked if the double time extended to the killing of the Witches of Gatwick and Paul assured him that somehow he would be paid. The Knight Rider, David gave them all the assurance that he would now carry out the task in hand to the best of his abilities but especially at weekends and bank holidays. “I’m in” he said and they all looked at him. “Mercenary fcuker” thought most of them but Billy looked him up and down a bit and thought he had particularly nice arrse.

    The Council of War drew to a close and they headed towards the Wiltshire Bar for a well earned drink. They were to meet again in the morning and then they were all going to leave on the life or death mission of killing the Witches of Gatwick. They all sat in the bar, some talked, some drank, some drank too much and one annoying one wrote a song but fortunately didn’t sing it. “Will you stop that fcuking humming!” shouted Billy, suddenly feeling brave after three radish beers and the fact that all assembled there were to protect him. Some stayed in the bar but the Bobbits made their way to bed, pished as usual. Billy blew a kiss goodnight to the hotel security guy and headed up the stairs to his room. He suddenly felt very safe but after undressing, reading his porn mag and brushing his teeth, he lay in bed and his heart felt heavy and a shiver ran down his spine. Somebody or something was watching him and it was talking to him. He lay there now very frightened and then it dawned on him. He jumped out of bed, turned the TV off and went back to bed. Morning would come soon enough and he needed some sleep. He drifted off and had a lovely dream about railway engines going into tunnels.
  13. Just finishing off the follow up to Bravo Two Zero - An Alternative? and then I can knock out a bit more here. If anybody is still interested.
  14. [align=center]Chapter Four[/align]

    Billy lay in bed, it was a warm night and he had thrown the duvet off. He looked at the clock and noticed it was ten minutes since he had last looked. It was the middle of the night and he now couldn’t sleep. He tried counting sheep but there weren’t any in the room and Bobbits don’t have particularly good imaginations unless its sex and then they’re pretty hard to beat, mainly as they won’t stand still. Billy listened but all he could hear was silence, that loud silence when all you hear was your own heartbeat. Of course, he was relieved he could hear his own heartbeat as if he couldn’t, he’d either be deaf or dead.

    Suddenly there was a crash and the window to Billy’s room exploded into a million pieces, he didn’t count them but he guessed there must be a million, give or take a million. Something jumped through the window and Billy felt hot clammy breath on his skin. He didn’t mind that but the breath smelt of Pernod and Bobbits hated anything with aniseed. Two more bodies jumped through what had been the window and he could feel them whatever they were on the bed. He was too scared even to shout “Fcuk off!” but did manage a rather wimpy “Get off my bed aniseed balls”. There were hands all over him which he secretly enjoyed but when he felt something sticking into his chest and it was a bit pointy compared to what he had imagined, he was now genuinely petrified.

    The door burst open and there stood Tarquin, dressed in a hotel dressing gown and wearing a shower cap, as he seemed to have rollers in his hair. Tarquin flicked the light switch and there they were, two Chavs and worse still a single solitary Disco Chav. Tarquin didn’t ask if the Disco Chav was single and nor did Billy but he couldn’t see a wedding ring. With one swing of his huge axe, Tarquin decapitated the first Chav with the comment “He needs to get ahead”. Another swing of the axe and the Chav that had been just about to skewer Billy was minus an arm with the very corny comment of “That’ll stop him biting his nails” as the axe swung again and the Chav lay dead on the floor bleeding profusely over a disgusting hotel carpet. The Disco Chav muttered something that neither of them caught and threw itself out of the window forgetting they were just above the ornamental garden and on the third floor. The Disco Chav wrestled in agony as it had speared itself on a plastic heron. Tarquin looked out of the window as Billy couldn’t reach and added his comment that the Disco Chav “Should have looked before he leaped” which seemed just a bit obvious to Billy.

    The others had been woken by the commotion, even the hotel manager who was extremely worried about the bloodstain on the carpet. A horrible scream came from the ornamental garden and they all tried to look out as the Disco Chav wrestled its last wrestle and went to meet its maker whatever that might be. The room was getting a bit crowded and Billy who was very tired after the ordeal was scratching his back using the Chav’s arm and suddenly realising what he was doing, he threw it out of the window in disgust. “You’ll have to sleep with me,” said Tarquin and Billy didn’t complain, he was dead on his feet or would have been had he been standing up. Tarquin picked up Billy, tucked him under his arm and strolled to his room. Billy was a tad disappointed as he was told to sleep in the bed while Tarquin kept guard sat on a chair. Billy drifted off into a troubled sleep and dreamed he was being chased by giant radishes with arms. They say you can analyse dreams and if Billy’s was anything to go on, they were all in big trouble or up shite creek without a paddle as Billy’s mum used to say.

    Morning came soon enough or too soon for Billy as he didn’t want to get up. The rest except Billy and Tarquin were sat round the breakfast table and tucking into a hearty breakfast. Tarquin finished in the bathroom and told Billy to join them soon or else he would be back up to get him. Billy was extremely grateful to Tarquin but he wasn’t about to cross him, so he finally dragged himself out of his pit and made the effort. He washed, dressed and finally made it down to breakfast for a nice bowl of radish muesli. The rest had already finished and were chatting about the events of last night. “They know you’re coming Billy and I’ve written a song especially for you” said Dave the Elf but the glares he got off the others made him rethink and he just hummed a few bars. More glares managed to stop the humming and Dave the Elf sat in silence much to the other’s relief. “We have to go Billy and soon” said Paul and the others nodded in agreement.

    So, it was time to leave and they all stood in the lobby arguing who was going to pay. The manager was there and was insisting that the damage to the window be paid for but there was still the matter of the rooms to pay for. “Ah fcuk it, I’ll pay. I can get the Hair Miles,” said Paul mopping his brow with his wig. He paid the entire bill, which was a tidy sum as the manager was on the fiddle and had added a bit on for himself. He used his Lord and Master credit card and they were ready to go. “Thank you, please come again” said the manager without much feeling. “Not fcuking likely mate” replied Fergal with enough feeling for the both of them. They walked up the long winding drive and Dave paused to rip off the ‘No Elves” sign at the entrance to the grounds, swearing to be back with a long and boring song. “No fcuking Elves, I’ll fcuking teach ‘em” he said most uncharacteristically.

    They walked along the lower road to Handover as Paul had once seen a lynx near to a place called Hairfield and hoped to show them it. Hairfield was a strange collection of buildings close to a large grassy plain. He went on and on about the lynx, of course a large ferocious cat that preyed on anything that hung around long enough to be preyed upon. Hugh the hippy was on something, actually a small tree stump but he was smoking something strange as he had resorted to hippy-speak and just sat there with glazed eyes and double vision or perhaps double-glazed and repeated one word over and over again. “Cyclic” he went on and anything and everything was ‘Cyclic”. “Mark, one knows they are secretive animals,” said Paul as they had seen absolutely bugger all. “Mark, nine people only have ever seen it,” he continued. “Mark, seven of those were pished” he concluded which confused Fergal so much that he had to ask it. “Who the fcuk’s Mark?” Billy laughed and so did some of the others.

    The relatively happy bunch finally reached the outskirts of Handover and they stopped for something to eat in a restaurant made of links of metal joined together. It was a chain and the owner was now Mac Donald as he had stabbed his brother Ronald to death but had got away with a light sentence because the judge had called it a crime of passion and plain common sense. It wasn’t everyday you heard a judge agree, “He had it coming to him”. They ate heartily however you do that but they actually did eat most of what had been put in front of them. That did include most of the packaging as well but they hadn’t noticed the difference and would have to use alternative methods for recycling. So with full stomachs and something to play with as most had chosen a kiddies meal, they continued towards the gate and towards the horrors that might lie beyond.

    The gate stood before them with Knight Riders alert to any danger. In fact they had to shout to get them out of their hut as a couple had been asleep and the rest had been playing Uckers, a strange game that they had picked up somewhere on their travels like most of the anti-social diseases they suffered from. The key was obtained from the key press and inserted into the lock and with a large clunk, the door was unlocked and the gate squeaked open. “Could do with a bit of fcuking oil there,” remarked Cubby ever attentive. ”After you” said Billy. “After you” said Nat. “Cyclic” said Hugh. “After you” said Dave the Elf, as Elves are boringly polite, ok just boring. “For fcuk’s sake!” shouted Paul and walked through the open gate. Tarquin strode through with the confidence he just oozed and the rest finally followed. “Bye chaps…” said Billy but the gate was already shut, they heard the key in the lock, not long afterwards the sound of the hut door slamming and then silence. “Guess we’re on our own now” said Billy and the rest looked at him. Actually, he had a piece of radish stuck in his teeth but nobody wanted to tell him.

    They walked on in comparative silence as Lucky barked at anything in sight, which wasn’t much, so he barked at nothing instead. The silence was occasionally broken by Fergal telling Lucky to “Shut the fcuk up”. There was no traffic on the road and it was deadly quiet everywhere, the odd bird would sing and sometimes even one that wasn’t odd but there was a strange feeling to this land. They reached a large junction in the road and roads went off east, north and south. In the distance, they heard the rumble of cartwheels and they waited nervously as it got ever closer. The cart was now in sight but looked innocent enough but Tarquin suddenly shouted, “Hide!” They dived into any cover they could find and Tarquin was left stood standing there on his own. The cart stopped and Tarquin, still alone talked to the driver. Gradually the braver ones broke their cover just in time to see Tarquin taking a large cow skin from the driver and draping it over his shoulders. “Fcuking wimps” he said stroking the cow skin. “I said hide didn’t I?” he asked and they looked at him inquisitively. “That cart sold hides,” he explained “I’ve been after a nice cowhide for years,” he concluded and the rest looked at him rather sheepishly.

    “I think we should split up here,” said Paul ‘The Grey’ Daniels” and they all stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Well except Nat who was having a crap in some bushes and he carried on regardless. “The enemy are expecting us and we are rather a large group” he continued and most made valiant attempts at holding their stomachs in. “I meant large in number, you fcuking numpty” he shouted and clipped Cubby round the ear who gasped loudly and there was suddenly the smell of radishes and second hand radishes as well. “Dirty little fcuker” exclaimed Paul and clipped Cubby round the ear again. Nat finished in the bushes and walked over to join them just as Paul spoke again. “Right, that’s settled, we’re splitting up here. I’ll take Billy and Fergal” he said and Lucky striving for attention tried to hump his leg. Paul kicked his leg and Lucky flew through the air landing very close to where Nat had just had his dump.

    “Yes ok and Lucky” continued Paul as Lucky wrestled through the bushes to get back to join them. “But one more hump and I’ll be wearing his balls as earrings” he warned Lucky who cowered behind Fergal. “So that’s Billy, Fergal and fcuking Lucky and Tarquin and Dave the Elf and the rest of you can fcuk right off” Paul was laughing now as they all looked at him. “I’m joking” he said trying to reassure them. “ You fcuking lot can go via Winchaster as there is a direct road from Winchaster to Crawley and you can see if you can pick up some reinforcements, can’t you Tom.” “Yes fcuking sir” said Tom and saluted a nearby birch tree. Everybody laughed except the birch tree and Lucky as he had tried Tarquin’s leg this time and he had gone so high and far that he was worried he might burn up on re-entry. “Fcuking intelligent dog that” said Fergal to Billy and if only he knew HOW intelligent Lucky was, it was the humping that annoyed him or lack of in his case so he was sympathetic.

    So they said their goodbyes and Nat, Cubby, Olly, David Hasslehuff, Hugh F-W and Capt Tom headed off due south but didn’t see anybody vaguely Canadian on their way to Winchaster. They reached Winchaster just as night fell and Tom led them towards the barracks where they would be spending the night. He disappeared to discuss things with his superiors while the rest got bunged in the transit room, which was better than nothing but only just. Still there was no shortage of radishes on the menu for the evening meal, so Nat and Cubby pigged out and didn’t the rest of them know it that night. Tom joined them later on and explained that there had been no definite promises from his superiors but a few definite maybes, which was as good as he could get and actually more than he had expected.

    They all met later in a small cosy bar just round the corner from the barracks, Nat and Cubby had a quart of radish beer each and all except Hugh just settled for the local brew. Hugh had recovered from his special tobacco and suddenly seeing reality and not liking it had started smoking some more. At least he had stopped saying “Cyclic” now but he wasn’t much help sat in the corner staring at a wonderful set of fake horse brasses either. Nat still had his trusty Reader’s Digest Book of the Track with him and they looked at the route they would have to take. “Piece of pish” exclaimed Cubby, not really knowing what was going to happen. “Could do with a polish” said Hugh but he was still staring at the horse brasses and they just ignored him. They had a pleasant evening and headed back for the barracks leading Hugh on a piece of string that Nat had found in his pocket. He was totally out of it but they didn’t want to lose him. “As much use as t1ts on a bull” shouted Cubby and woke up the guard at the barracks. They made their way to the transit room and all fell into their respective sleeps. Some dreamed, some didn’t and Hugh pished the bed but then it wasn’t really his fault. They all wondered what the coming days would bring.