brakehorsepower.net

He woke the next morning and realised that it had all been a bad dream but the reality was even worse.

There before him was a troll on a bicycle brandishing an ancient tennis racket without any string...

The rather naive Troll had answered an advert in an 'under-the-counter' mag of dubious reputation, wherein appeared in the For Sale Section the following;

For sale ex-Lord Bullox tennis racket, in good order throughout PVT, FS, 1CO, LHD, P/e possible. Sold 'as seen' with no strings attached.

The nightmare continues, and this point we must introduce a new character to our story, a large lady of suspect morals called Annabelle, often referred to as that 'ore Big Ann.' (With apologies to any with sensitive feelings). Big Ann was infatuated with the 'Lunchpack pf Bow', who when not tugging his rope, was reading about a stupendous bell in Ger many, that could out chime his own clapper.

None of this, of course, had any bearing on the travails of young Dickon still grappling with the guttural language of the Oop Northerners, a weird tangle of dipthongs, and innuendo. Calling in at a branch of Tesco's, he found they had a special offer on basic foods any single ton of any Staple; ton or more, buy-one-get-one-free.Eggs new laid law fully obtained, and not doctored in any way.

Just outside of Nottinnmybackyard he stopped to get his moggy reshod and soon found an 'andy smith who could do the job cheaply, but feeling stressed decided on a round of golf at a nearby course. Paying the green fee he played around with a girl called Nell. She had no handicap, he was on par, Nell off scratch. (I don't play golf so excuse any terminologic inaccuracies). She spoke with a west country accent, an odd burr y ou could barely understand, and wore a strange two coloured dress with a whiteside and the other side blue. In a nearby field two horses were looking over the fence as they played. Hi GG's he cried.

Back in Bow Sally was getting anxious about the bell ringer, it is not is dalliance with Big Ann she worried about but the size of his ever expanding Lunchpack caused by too much tugging on his rope. (remember, bells are hard to toll, they require a lot of strength.) Suggestions of double entendre should be dismissed you would have to be blind say, to miss the purity of my prose.

Anyway enough for now, but how many Mogs can you spot?

Realising that he had been dreaming again Dickon decided to offer the Troll some money for the tennis racket as he thought it might come in handy when he next went to an autojumble...

Mrs. Lindsay, I must point out that this farrago of double entendre, dubious allusion and suspect euphemisim was YOUR idea in the first place, but despite my own valiant efforts to progress the narrative to a satisfactory conclusion, you appear determined to de-rail the plot at every turn.
I, for one, would be most grateful if you would turn your undoubted talents to furthering the yarn as it plods toward it inevitable denoument.

Poor Dickon never knows whether he is compos mentis, comatose or comprehensive. Take pity on the bewildered buffoon, and help him toward his destiny as Lord Mayor of London. Or whatever.


Thank you.

The director.

Having rested from his endeavours for a day, Dickon once again set out on his journey heading for a small village in the wilds of Middle England where a gathering of Oddmogs was gathered. The Oddmogs were a a barbarous people, charioteers constantly engaging in ritual contests trying to prove who was the best and bravest of the tribe. Even he women folk joined in the scrum that inevitably developed when ever they met to joust. Daubed in brightly coloured paint the contestants were a sight to be hold,as they jostled for position around the specially constructed stadium.
To the innocent bystander the whole affair was a mystery, but a complex set of rules governed each person's behaviour. Should anyone transgress the Grand Panjandrum would shout "Loo k at Y ou", then with charcoal and papyrus write, an drew a full report for the local scribe. Only a God dared contradict the Most High Personage. The tide s ebb a nd flow with the winner awarded a Golden Pear ce lebrating the Fruit Festival of Zummerzet. This annual event for small carts was organised by Bev an d Jill in order to keep restless spirits occupied during the long winter solstice. Awarding of points was difficult as any sum, ner vously, calculated was always open to challenge by the Blac k Night committee. Anyone incurring the wrath of this lot had best f lee S outh. Numbere d ix on Smith field market stall, a Scot, t errible to behold would tend to cru sh ears and wrap rope r ough pieces on any one causing him upset, and cry 'Don't be a t wat son', do y' le ave us any option?
Meanwhile a pirate from last year's panto was intruding into the latest production with Silver's tone giving rise to anger. Got to the Mall or y ou will regret it, he was advised, and shut the gates on your way out, as you may get stuck in a rut ter minally.

At this point it may be helpful if we mention some of the artists filling the major roles in this jamboree, but that may have to wait for a while, but I can reveal that the part of Mad Mog is portrayed by the Angeline Jolie of the Morgan world.

Now you're just being silly

Ah! Ha! The Muse of Essex has awoken from her slumbers.

Mary Lindsay wrote:Now you're just being silly

Come! Come, Mary, it's what I do best.

So Dicky boy was still looking for the streets that were paved of GOLD ( by now he was on his hands and knees begging to get away from the foreigners up Norf) (they cant speak engkish) all he found up there was Black Pud ( and that tastes Cr**Pp) Then he had an Idea of how to seek his fortune !!!
Ill start drawing pictures or racing Carts (cameras havent been invented yet)(Nor had cars) And post them up on a tree somewhere ...
There,s got to be a few Quid in that .( cos now everybodies doing it ) even a Tailor swapped jobs. Mind you I have to anmit some Drawings are better that others .. I suppose it all depends on how much Leads in your Pencil

and then started on his master PIECE ................

And to the amazement of a passing reindeer this is what he came up with

Dickon confused by the conflicting advice given by assorted contributors decided he would need a Royal Charter if he was ever to become Lord Mayor of London, so he sought approval from the King of Zummerzet;



King John of Jedward was well know to his consort who kept him on a very tight rein or should that be reign? Either way he was not allowed to go out drinking with rough Oddmogs in sleazy taverns. Would His Royal Lowness be able to help our hero?

We shall wait and see, as further luminaries of the carting fraternity prepare to enter stage left ..........................

luminaries of the carting fraternity

Would that be the dustcarting fraternity by any chance?

Blimey Peter Sellers is appearimg in out Panto I didnt know it was that famous !!

So dear Dicky boy looked up to the King and said " Your so rich and famous How do you do it ? Give us a Clueso we all be like you ".............

[quote="
So dear Dicky boy looked up to the King and said " Your so rich and famous How do you do it ? Give us a Clueso we all be like you ".............[/quote]

Well! Replied the pompadoured Monarch, hie ye awa' to the Eest, and follow ye signs to ye BRDC, where may ye seeketh advice from ye Eddie and Robin, thay art competent artisans who hath maketh wonderful amounts of golden coin with thay business Beautifully Restored, Dirt Cheap carts. Why I myself hath such a cart in ye olde barn ye see yonder, come lets us disport ourselves on ye open road.

Soon Dickon and his Mog were bowling along in the King's Royal Cart. (as seen below)



The picture was probably painted by Piet Van Taller, Northern artist of no little fame ( in Manchetser at least.)

Note to Mad Mog of Essex; Do you refer to Refuse Disposal Vehicle Operatives?

Note to Mad Mog of Essex; Do you refer to Refuse Disposal Vehicle Operatives?

Nah mate, wot I mean is the sort wot old Lonsdale Donovan used ta sing abaaht