Mrs T-G Prepares for Nuclear War

 'I can't believe we're talking about nuclear war.'  The T-G paused to light his pipe.  A pipe that was fashioned in the shape of a Cruise anti-tank missile. 'Or were we talking about it?  Perhaps I nodded off and had a horrible nightmare.'

'Where did you get the pipe, T-G?'  asked Geoffrey.

'Mrs T-G carved it for me from an old ham bone that she'd boiled up for soup.  Do you like it?'

The smell of ham wafted through the clouds of Black Bogey as the T-G lit up.

'Not sure T-G.  I think I prefer your usual pipe.'  

His usual pipe was fashioned in the shape of the Trans-Antarctic Mountains, with the bowl as Mount Erebus, and it was nestled in a velvet-lined case on the mantlepiece, next to the T-G's skull-shaped tobacco jar and a letter inviting the recipient to have a fourth 'booster' vaccination.

'I see Mrs T-G's getting on with the bunker T-G,'  I peered through the mullioned window and watched a sturdy tweed-skirted figure pausing to wipe the sweat from her eyes as she stood leaning on a shovel waist-deep in a large hole just beyond the ha-ha, many feet below.

'Oh I'm sure, I'm sure,' said the T-G through clouds of tobacco smoke. 'She just needs to dig another ten feet, line it with concrete and put some corrugated iron sheeting over the top.  She'll have it done in no time and then she can get it stocked up with black sausage rolls, blankets, brandy, morphia, laudanum, playing cards, Canasta and the like.  We'll be perfectly safe from any nuclear strike.' 

'Do you think she could manage to tunnel another mile or two and link up with the smuggler's tunnel in the cliffs? Then we could have quick and easy access to supplies, like korn bif and such-like, without having to risk exposure to nuclear radiation or whatever.'

'Oh I'm sure, I'm sure', soothed the T-G.  'Best to wait until later though.  I find these things are best asked in the evening, when Mrs T-G has made our Horlicks and is settled in her housecoat with her curlers in and cold cream on her face.  Just before she chops up some logs for the next day's fire and takes the bins out.'

'What about toilet facilities?' asked Geoffrey. 

'What about them?'

'Well, will there be any?'

'You mistake us for fools Geoffrey.   Naturally, we've thought this all through.  Mrs T-G is hollowing out a separate chamber within the bunker to be used as a lavatory.  Within it there will be a seated facility below which yet another chamber will be hollowed, to contain any waste.  This in turn will be dealt with whenever we can think what to do with it, or when the smell becomes intolerable, whichever happens first.'

'Fantastic T-G.'

'Thank you.   Where is your nephew Tuppence by the way?  I haven't seen him for a while.'

'I'm afraid he's gone off to Ukraine in a Bedford van, ostensibly to play charity fund-raising gigs with his band but really, to steal weapons.'  I glanced at the T-G's pipe.  'He's always wanted an anti-tank missile.'

more later

Fat Smokers

 'You two are anti-vaxers aren't you.  Don't bother denying it.  Even if you weren't my uncle and pretendy uncle I could tell  you were just by looking at you.  You're worse than Van Bore-off-ison and Eric Crapton.'  Tuppence sniggered at his little joke. 'You know what - I bet if Crapton had found his brain cell and gone for his vaccination, he'd have said as he rolled up his sleeve - which would probably have been half rolled up already, as he would most likely have been wearing a 1980s icecream-coloured jacket with turned back sleeves over an Armani cap-sleeved T-shirt - ' and at this point Tuppence doubled over in fits of laughter - ' he'd have said 'will I be able to play the guitar after I've had the jab?'  'Of course' would come the reply, to which Crapton would reply 'oh that's good - cos I can't play it now!'  Ah-hahahaha!!!  Exit Crapton, pursued by a nurse waving a massive syringe full of extra strenf vax.'  Tuppence gasped for air, hiccuped and dabbed his eyes.  'Oh dear.  I've got hiccups now from laughing.'

'Got the time on you Geoffrey?'

'Nope.  But can't we get him to leave?'

'Doubt it.'

Tuppence was in full lecturing mode.  

'Anyhoos - I bet you both go down with the covid and have to get intubated and take up NHS beds and everything.  Especially you Uncle Tuppy, what with you being a fat smoker and all.  I bet you'll be on the TV news, crying into your oxygen mask and saying how sorry you are that you didn't take the vax.'

'Bore off Tuppence.  It's all over now, bar the shouting and the vast barren economic wasteland.  Maybe we can have a whip round for Stormy so he can open the Puff Inn again.  It's all boarded up and Stormy's living with his sister Gale on the cliffs.  It must be awful for him - he's spent all his savings and she's like Joyce Grenfell on crack, all cold showers, jolly hockeysticks and boiled cabbage.   We need to help him out.'

'Well I could offer to do a fundraising gig with my band and put out one of our charity singles but from a moral standpoint I don't think I should,' said Tuppence.  'After all Stormy was at that anti-vax protest at the tourist car park with all the nazis and old people driving trucks.  I couldn't possibly associate myself with him.  He deserves all he gets quite frankly.  Including the covid.'

'Dearie me Tuppence.  That's an awful thing to say.'

'No it isn't.  If he dies of covid it'll be all his own doing.'  Tuppence removed the pistol from his belt and twirled it in expert fashion. '  And if he doesn't die of covid,  I might finish him off myself.'

'Can we have our tea now?  haven't you somewhere to be Tuppence - like an online meeting or a virtual disco or something?'

'Yes I do as it happens.  I have to meet Alexa at the gender neutral toilets behind the tourist car park.  We've been hired by the government to watch out for truckers, steal their wallets and shoot anyone who feeds them.'

IN OTHER NEWS - WORLD WAR 3 IS BREWING and vaxxing and anti-vaxxing is so last year.  They aren't even talking about 'boosters' any more.   How quickly the world moves on.

 

The Vaxing Yurt

 

Fortified by large helpings of sausage and tomato casserole with extra sausages and no tomatoes we sat uncomfortably on the Morocco ottoman by the mullioned window and awaited further thoughts from the T-G.  

'Would you look at the nick of that roaster with the cattle prod in the hi viz jacket - who is it Geoffrey - I can't tell what with the mask, the safety goggles and the balaclava helmet.'  I rubbed at a diamond-shaped pane of glass with a corner of my plaid scarf and peered at the grassy knoll far below, where a tall, rangy figure stood waving his arms and gesturing with a cattle prod towards a newly-erected yurt.

'Of course you can.  It's Dave Nark.  Who else would it be?  He's rounding up stragglers who won't take the vax.  People won't go into the yurt now because they're saying they've seen others go in and never come out.  That's why he's using the cattle prod.'

'Cripes.  Can't we nobble him?'

'I'm sure that's not beyond our wit and skill Tuppy.  But we'll need to be careful.  Oh - settle down.  The T-G's on the starting blocks again.'

We moved towards the roaring fire and sat gingerly on the fender seat.  The T-G sat on his customary leather armchair beside us with his long sea-booted legs stretched before him, a Meerschaum pipe gripped between his teeth.

'Is there at the core of Man such a limitless darkness that can never be apprehended by the human mind?' he began.

'You know Val Nark's selling heat logs made from compressed sawdust,' said Geoffrey, sotto voce.  'They're meant to burn quite well and are much more eco-friendly than normal logs.  Perhaps the T-G...'

'Don't be stupid Geoffrey.  They wouldn't do on a fire this size.  You need proper logs three feet long to fill this fireplace, not Chad Valley rubbish.'

'Well I was only saying.'

'Fine, but don't bother next time.  Did you bring the hip flask?'

'N-nooo,  I left it on the - '

'Oh for pity's sake.'  I needed that hip flask, and I needed it badly.

'We are the void.  We are blackness.  We are the manifestation of the type of evil that results from sheer ignorance - our actions driven by wilful blindness to our own faults and a vainglorious belief in our superiority as a species.  At best, we are egregiously foolish, at worst, deliberately wicked.  Or is it the other way round.  I'm not sure.  Anyway,  in short, we should never be allowed out on our own.  None of us!'  The silverware on the oak monastery table rattled as the T-G thumped his sword stick on the floor.

Many floors below there was an unearthly scream as Dave Nark cattle-prodded another quivering victim into the vaxing yurt.

'We're going to have to do something aren't we Tuppy.  How I hate it when things get to this stage.'

'Afraid so Geoffrey,'  I said, stifling a sausagey belch.  'Fetch the blunderbuss and limber up.'

more later

Reflections on a Monastery Table

 'I blame Eve,' said the T-G.  He shifted position in his green leather armchair as he reached for the skull-shaped tobacco jar on the gleaming oak monastery table which stretched from the door, across the fireside to the tall mullioned windows at the far end of the room.    

'That's rather striking,' said Geoffrey.

'I always think it's good to be reminded of one's own mortality,' replied the T-G. 'The wife gave it to me for my ninety fifth birthday, which wasn't yesterday.  In fact,  I believe it was thirty five years ago next Saturday.'

'What do you blame Eve for?' I asked.  I didn't really want to know - I could hazard a guess, myself.  And hazarding a guess was about as far into it as I wanted to go.  I just wanted to get whatever it was, over and done with without being overtly rude so we could all move on and get our teas without a row.  Geoffrey had made a sausage and tomato casserole with extra sausages and no tomatoes and I was starving after only having had a triple black pudding and bacon sandwich for luncheon.   I could only hope that the T-G would exercise some self-control and keep any exposition to a minimum.

'The Fall. And every disaster that's happened as a result of it.'

Oh no, I thought.  Here we go.  'Surely you don't believe we're all tainted with original sin T-G.'

'I wouldn't go that far.  But there's certainly something there that needs looking at.  Something profound Tuppy.  Even you, with your tiny cholesterol-beset brain and your preoccupation with sausages and greasy snacks must understand that.  Human beings have made such an almighty mess of everything, despite the best efforts of some.  We can't help ourselves, it seems.  Therefore I must conclude that we should never have been allowed free will.  It's like a cosmic credit card, and most people can't handle it.  Especially Mrs T-G by the way.' 

'Aren't you saying all this just because you've - how shall I put it - had a row with Mrs T-G?'

'Certainly not!  If Eve hadn't picked that apple...well, we'd all still be living in the Garden of Eden and everything would be fine and dandy.'

'T-G - I'm sorry to stop you mid-flow but there is a sausage casserole with my name on it simmering on the back ring of our kitchen stove.  It will have reached the perfect consistency in approximately ten minutes, so I'll need to get a shift on.  Can we continue this later?'

'I look forward to it.  Genesis, by the way.  Have a gander after your tea.'