Ye Olde English

Every light in the house was on. The fancy dress had spilled out onto the front lawn. Juliet was screaming expletives at a drunken Romeo. Thankfully they were drowned out by music that met us in the drive way. It was so loud that the garage doors vibrated like the skin of a steel bass drum. We pushed our way through the front door using the sharp end of a Pinot Grigio as a cattle prod. “Has anybody seen the phone?” shouted a beret clad French man heading off upstairs with a string of onions round his neck. I had, it, was heading off up the street with the answering machine, carried by some dodgy bloke in a stripy jumper and a mask. I thought it best to say nothing since I can’t speak French.

Oh sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. I should do some introductions. I’m Bruce and this is my partner Robin. We are stood in the extremely large kitchen of the biggest bitch that ever walked this earth. My ex, Marilyn Munro, she’s over there by the fridge shoving her tits up, so Zorro can leave his mark with a ball point pen. OK so it’s a bit weird, wanting to crash a party incognito, just so you can check up on your ex but….shit she’s looking over, “Come on Robin, to the Bat Cave! There's not a moment to lose. It’s payback time.”

Mission one…loopy juice.

We arrived at a large dining room that was the main source of the music. All sorts of famous people filled the packed dance floor. They moved like lava lamps to the psychedelic tune. A rather hefty Twiggy was dancing with Jim Morrison both with their eyes closed and looking like they had swallowed the sixties. Just beyond them was our primary target so we made our move. The Punch bowl had just been replenished. It looked quite sophisticated with sliced fruits floating amongst the ruby elixir. From inside my coat I produced a large bottle of Absinthe. With Robin as my look out I completed the mission.

Mission two was easy. The sound system was on random play. It had more hours of MP3’s than Romeo, on the front lawn, had excuses. I cranked the volume up to a, I’m phoning the police right now, kind of level. We were just heading out of the room as the throng went crazy, incited by the guitar intro of Mr Brightside. “Holy Killers Batman” said Robin “just look at them go.” “That will make them thirsty,” I replied.

I stepped outside onto the rear terrace of the house and headed for the shadows. I had sent Robin to conceal himself in Marilyn’s on suit bathroom. So far everything had gone to plan. The bitch would be sorry she dumped me. I‘ll show her who the looser is. I quickly became Bruce Wayne and walked round to the front of the house waiting for the Police to show up.

The Punch was having the desired effect and I had half the neighbourhood reaching for their phones. Party goers were wandering around outside staring at their hands as if some magical force was running through them. Two, man size Goldfish were trying to swim in the ornate fountain at the front of the drive. Another group had turned up dressed in green leotards. They had petals round their heads and yellow painted faces. They were now standing amongst the flowers gently swaying in unison. This group of would be sunflowers were all speaking in a strange, plant like language.

A large, fluffy green bird that went by the name of Orville, was trying to climb on top of the garage roof, announcing as he climbed, that he thought he could fly. Things were getting out of hand and I was glad to see the drainpipe give way, since his landing was cushioned by his large green arse.

I heard the crackle of a police radio and two officers appeared, both were on foot and responding to a complaint call. I sprang into action. “Hello commissioner Gordon can I help you?” ” Yes you can sonny, is this your party? And my name isn’t Gordon.” “Sorry officer, no it’s not my party but I can take you to the young lady whose parents own the house.” “Ok then Sir, lead on.”

Mission three…overnight guests.

“I think this is her bedroom” I said as I knocked and opened the door. Once I had the two cops inside, the lights went out. Thwack, Biff, Pow, Thud. The lights went on. Miraculously the two officers were tied up together. They had gags on their mouths and pillow cases over their heads. We quickly bundled them into Marilyn’s wardrobe and left the room.

The party was slowing down as I became Batman again. Miss Monroe had changed into a black leather one piece and was whipping Zorro up stairs to bed. The dynamic duo, exhausted from their covert activities fell asleep, sitting on the sofa.

I heard the doorbell and saw the blue flashing light. Upstairs, Miss Whiplash had passed out on the bed fully clothed and Zorro had vanished into the night. She had woken with a start and was now staring in disbelief at the carnage outside her bedroom window and the police car on the drive. “What the hell do you want at this time of the morning?” Just at that moment she heard a police radio behind her, she opened her cupboard door and screamed; sweet.

We stood in the morning sun as the police escorted her away, strutting in her high heels, hands cuffed behind her back. As they reached the police car she stood talking to the arresting officer and I’m not quite sure what happened, the sky seemed to darken for a brief moment and a cool breeze ran in through the front door as if it was bringing in a change. All the cats from the surrounding houses came out to see what was happening they swarmed around the roadside, brushing against legs, jumping on car bonnets and making quite a din. My focus returned to the show I had orchestrated. She was helped into the car and the officer had just placed his hand on top of her head. She turned struggling to break free and looked straight at me. ” I’ll get you Batman” she shouted. “I’ll get you.”

“Holy cats Batman this is a catastrophe!” “Oh I’m not so sure Robin; I think I may have found my nemesis.” “Holy nemesis Batman.” “For god sake Billy shut up and wave!”

I don't want to be kicked out.
My body spent £3.50p
on an advert.
Wanted:
a warm soul to fit inside
a fifty three year old shell.

I'm not really that bothered,
the place has got too big
for me, the plumbing's
knackered, I can't see shit
through the windows
and I've been growing cannabis
in the loft for years.

We've had a few to look around,
they all say the same thing.
It smells funny and needs too much work.
Well,
at least I have one more night in my own bed,
I better lie in it.