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Thursday, 31 July 2014

The Prehensile Underpants, and the Tale of Uncle Funkle's Cirumnavigation of the Wintry Isles

'They're clinging on lads!  I can't get them off!'

'Of course you can't.  They have a mind of their own.  They have preternaturally strong hands that can grip preternaturally strongly - that's what preternatural prehensile strength means...' I snapped, before going back to my paper.  I didn't really know what I was talking about, but I didn't care.  I had not a shred of sympathy for the T-G and his underpants problem.  Serve him right for encouraging Val Nark by buying her latest 'wares'. 'Look Geoffrey - it says here they're building a community centre up at the tourist car park. What a sodding nightmare that will be.'

'Yes Val mentioned that last week when I booked us into her Positive Mind, Positive whatsit class.  She's going to be in charge.'

'You what?  Why ever didn't you tell me?'

'I thought you wouldn't be interested.  You don't like that kind of thing.  You're not community minded.'

'Who says?'

'Everybody. You as well now I come to think of it.  You don't like village life.  You think it's claustrophobic and unhealthy and full of nosey-parkers and crass bores who like being big fish in small ponds.  You say it every time you look out of the window to see what's going on.'

'Val Nark's got a finger in every pie that's going,'  I replied briskly, folding the paper and placing it on the packing case that served us (very well, as it happens) as a table.  'And it's the community-minded types among us who have to put a stop to her appalling megalomania.  I should oil these,' I added, picking up one of my several pairs of high-powered binoculars and polishing the lenses on my dressing-gown sleeve.

'Excuse me for interrupting,'  interrupted the T-G, 'But can you two stop gossiping about the community centre - which I fully intend to torch by the way, so do stop fretting Tuppy - and help me get these dreadful underpants OFF MY BODY?!  I need to go to the toilet rather urgently.  In fact I've been needing since half past three this morning.'

'Fetch the blowtorch Geoffrey,' I said, relenting. 'Let's see what we can do.'



The Underpants
The underpants emitted an earsplitting shriek.  'Leave us be!  We're not doing anyone any harm!'

'Yes you are.  I need to go to the jiminy-cricketing toilet.  My late uncle Funkle became faecally impacted after spending three weeks in an open boat when he was circumnavigating the Wintry Isles.  I've never forgotten the horror of what he told me.  I had nightmares for years I tell you.  Years.  And it isn't going to happen to me. Get off me.'

'You only had to ask,' huffed the underpants, sliding to the floor. 'Hi everyone!  Pleased to meet you!  Can we stay?  We've got biscuits.'

next time - the underpants move in, and refuse to move out until they hear the Wintry Tale of Uncle Funkle....

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