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Holiday 2006

Holiday 2006
 
       I spent a very pleasant holiday by the sea; however it was at the height of the bird flu scare and everyone was nervous about an epidemic. At the time I had a chest infection and on anti-biotics, it did not spoil my holiday, but the landlady of the small hotel carelessly wondered to a resident that Brian had caught bird flu'( she knew my forename as I had had breakfast some years previously and for some reason she remembered me; at one time she worked for MI5, hence her memory, a CCTV in the Bridal Sweet was a give-away; she wanted to give me this in lieu of a lost holiday which she had double  booked; I could have the room free...for a price, which I decided was too much. A reporter from a midland paper over-heard all this (he was having a weekend break . .and the boss's wife called Alice) he wrote up his report deciding to Fax it; however the Chief Constable called Mr.Richard Sole put an embargo on the news and tried to take  possession of the article. The reporter panicked asking the boss's wife to hide it on her person, she refused saying she was on holiday and told him what to do with it . . . . .this he did too enthusiastically. The Chief Constable had him arrested sending two men in white coats,to retrieve the report. The reporter found this process more exciting than the boss's wife's love making, later sending her back to hubby, who had not missed her being engaged in research with the reporter’s wife, a specialist in the recycling of rubber, having invented a process which shreds  tyres, making a substitute for which no one has found a use. The document, once retrieved, was not fit to forward to the midland paper, due to its smutty nature, ended up in the Star as did the news of his dirty weekend with the boss's wife.
      However the sum of all this was that a doctor was called and a vet. The doctor said he knew bugger all about bird flu' and was only prepared to enter me on his bonus sheet as a common cold. The vet recommended an injection and asked me to take down my trousers "Be buggered if I will" I ejaculated "No doubt" said the doctor who did not like the vet who had spade his Chiwawa  bitch who promptly produced a litter of six puppies which turned out to be crossed with a Great Dane.
      While all this was going on The Chief Constable set up an exclusion zone four miles wide and fifty miles long which embraced all of the town of Sweeting Next the Sea (a useful title enabling one to immediately find it by walking the whole coast of England until coming across the place. However, should the tide be low we are not "next the sea")Not only did this exclusion zone embrace the town it included the most part of the Wash, harbour, the local estate, belonging to an Earl who seems to own most of England and shoots, and part of Sandringham. The army was called in using fragmentation shells to kill the sea gulls; yachtsmen in the harbour were ordered to destroy their parrots which annoyed the millionaires who were fed up only having enough water twice a day to float their boats usually when there was no wind. Tanks were tried; however three disappeared into the quick sands. The Secretary of State for Defence has not been seen since. As luck would have it the Navy had two nuclear submarines searching the Wash for King John's treasure, using a couple of bombs, these found the jewels, scattering them all over the Norfolk marshes attracting all the didicoys from Essex. The crown however,now adorns the steeple at Cley-next-the Sea.
      All this played havoc with the fish, all being killed by the bombs putting the fishermen out of a job; now one would think that they would take the opportunity to spend more time with their wives, who were also out of work ,the local duvet factory having to close due to a shortage of bird feathers (Remember this area is well-known for its bird population, thousands visiting every year dressed in green wellies and woolie hats, no matter what the weather and draped with binoculars and cameras with long lenses),you have not seen the wives, adultery is unknown in this village.Men who spend all day bobbing about in boats no matter what the weather don't make good lovers; their hands play the devil with stockings and the wives prefering lyle does not encourage half soaked husbands coming home at low tide.
        There was in the village a prostitute rejoicing in the name of Monica Whipp. Monica is not the brightest crumpet in the patisserie. She came to the job by chance, a gentleman asked one day would she like to try fellatio, remembering her father collected stamps, she thought this a good idea agreeing to give it a try, she always liked the taste of the gum as she helped him stick the little squares into his album. He specialised in Colonials, the pictures of native Africans in all their splendour warmed her heart and renewed her admiration for Queen Victoria, coming to the village she'd been given a two bedroom flat above the fish shop,this had an entrance at the back so you did not need to wait in the queue for fish and chips. The wives liked her especially now their husbands had time on the hands and sex on their minds. Her charges were reasonable five quid, including full English for the last man lucky enough to be there at dawn. The only people to complain were the dozen sixth formers who have lost their Saturday night classes in the Life Boat.
     Now all this immorality upset the vicar who held a special Evensong to bring some form of normality to the parish. The village was not the most pious of communities (you try to being pious bobbing about in boats or stuffing duvets every day, but Sunday)The organist cannot use the pedals which have now been used to fence off a gap in the church yard wall which was being used as a short cut to 'Monica's'. The only hymn sung at Evensong was 'O God our help in ages past' demonstrating the introvert nature of fishermen with no hope for the future. However I digress. The vicar's choice of sermon was sex.Having been a missionary in Africa he explained his position, this intrigued the congregation who had only watched the rabbits . . .this looked cosy. The Vicar felt this was one of his most successful sermons,everyone listened and stopped chewing tobacco;the local WI congratulated him for his foresight,it was a refreshing change from sermons about the rhythm method, which was alright if you could count.
     All this had attracted a lot of world-wide attention (which in Norfolk is Norfolk). Friends of the Earth, Greenpeace RSPB, RSPCA Friends of the Elephant (who complain that Elephants have not been recorded in Norfolk since Bertram Mills Big Top caught fire in 62 and Save the Tiger(who tell us that the tiger is under threat of extinction there being only 40,000 left) all turned up.Greepeace had parked their boat in the Wash and forgetting to leave their cockatoo behind had to destroy the poor thing. Now add all these to the population and the thousands of didicoys from Essex you may imagine the pressure this placed on the tourist trade; pubs ran out of beer the fish shop ran out of sausages and Cornish pasties, there being no fish apart from imports from Scarborough. Hotels were at a premium,sharing became unavoidable,money not always necessary to find a room. This was the making of Monica Whipp.
      Life was never the same again for Monica who,as a result of the extra business (these conservationists are a randy lot, most had come from Glastonbury eager with unrequited love) had bought an hotel,offering al a carte and table service all year round. The menu was up to London standards there was even a Bridal Suite complete with CCTV; honeymoon couples being presented with a DVD of their stay, copies being kept by the hotel for ten years in the event of divorce, none consummation being difficult to prove.
       Village life settled for a while. The Chief Constable, who according to rumours in the police canteens was a close relation of Himmler and trained at a leading police academy in South Africa, passing with the lowest mark in history having been funded by an obscure organisation based in Bavaria. When asked about Mandela he thought it was a Spanish dance. Until the time of the bird flu' scare the Chief Constable was known as Mr. Richard Sole however the fishermen having lost their lively hoods for at least a year but not their keen sense of humour now call him R.Sole. He has been promoted to the Met.as Head of Terrorism,changing his name to Eric.
       Finally, the village held a festival every Easter.,this entails a parade,all the businesses decorating floats. There is a Beauty Queen who must be under twenty-one single and,in the old days a virgin, a term which even in the forties had a loose interpretation. Today it was decided to forego this definition and in any case none of the girls (yes the same from the Life Boat school) wished to be seen as virgins,times have changed. The auditions for the Beauty Queen were held every Saturday during Lent in the school holidays. The Churches entry this year was an extension of the Vicar's sermon (now known as the Sermon on the Mount) but did not actually join the procession due to an unfortunate incident,it was a tableaux of the Crucifixion; however one of the thieves fell off his cross,the ties round his wrists coming undone depositing him into the lap of Monica Whipp who had assumed the mantle of Mary Magdalene. The ropes were tied by the Bosun of the local life boat,Garry Nott; now know as Granny Knot.
       It was a lovely holiday really.I am told life is back to normal.The fish shop now sells kebabs, sausages, shepherds’ pie and Cornish pasties. The duvet factory has reopened,the feathers coming from China which, as a result of its extermination programmes,had a surplus of feathers. The Secretary of State of Defence is now Prime Minister.The two nuclear submarines are trapped in the Wash since Energy Gone the international generation company had built a turbine field before the Navy had time to excavate the submarines buried to the conning towers in mud disturbed by the bombs which killed all the fish and changed the shape of the Wash until the next North sea surge which, according to the University of East Anglia was due sometime. The County Council hire out metal detectors instead of deckchairs to treasure hunters. King John's Crown remains wedded to the steeple of the parish church in Cley-next the-Sea and is subject to negotiations between the Her Majesty the Queen and the Church of England,(‘I want my fucking Crown back’) having posted a battalion of the Blues and Royals around the church facing farmer George Crippin with his tractor and muck spreader.
•      
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published
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