Posted By Bizzywig on April 6, 2009

My Dear Friend,

Wrong side of the Sleeping Bag.

“A nice cuppa?”

Today did not get off to the best of starts.

I woke with an aggravating crick in my neck to the truculent sounds of an argument. Carstairs and Dervish were embroiled in a considerable altercation. I eased myself from my sleeping bag and poked my head from the tent to see my companions almost at the stage of fisticuffs.

“It’s slotted!” Carstairs was yelling. “A slotted spoon. There’s no such word as slatted!” He was brandishing his utensil much too close to Dervish’s face for any-one’s comfort.

“What’s all this chaps? Steady on!”

“Ah, Bizzy!” (I do so hate it when Carstairs calls me Bizzy. Reminds me too much of the games master at Ridley Comp. Urgh!) “Ah Bizzy! Tell Dervish he’s an idiot.”

They both stood over me, scowling and waiting for me to take sides.

“I think you’re both idiots,” I said. ”That’s a fish slice, not a spoon.”

They were not impressed.

“Why’ve you got your ear stuck to your shoulder?” Carstairs asked, turning from me and returning to his pan of frying eggs. “You look a right chuff.”

Dervish sat with his back to Carstairs and myself and performed his customary nasal-trumpet reveille in such a way to leave no doubt he was not in good humour.

“My ear is thusly because my neck is locked. And why is my neck locked you ask?” I paused. Neither of them asked. ”My neck is locked because someone slept with his feet on my pillow.”

“Ask Lord High-muck-a-muck why that is! Slatted spoons, Pah!”

Now I do believe there is such a word as slatted. I’m sure I’ve a Piccalilli recipe at home which calls for the use of such a spoon, but I was in no mood to get into a debate about it.

In these days since The Pill was welcomed back into the manly bosom of her family, things have been a little tense. Dervish, it turns out, had decided to write some kind of thesis based upon The Pill’s unusual behaviour, and was disappointed to have his subject removed before his observations were completed. He didn’t mention it at the time, because he was ‘shy’, he said. Also, as his foot towel had been ‘contaminated’ he’s been more obsessed with his feet than ever. I suspected this had something to do with my crick, though have avoided questioning him further.

We ate a sullen breakfast of fried egg and Piccalilli sandwiches, which on better days would have been a meal fit for a king. Today, unfortunately, Carstairs was far too reckless with the shell and after the fourth piece inserted itself into my gum, I remonstrated with him. He grinned at me in an unfriendly way and said

“Perhaps if I’d used a slotted spoon it would have been better…?”

Dervish stood at this and cast his buttie to the floor. I felt sure violence must follow, but no. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose again. It really was most vexing.

No one spoke for 27 minutes.

After we’d got ready and started packing away the tent I bent to pick up Dervish’s discarded breakfast (it took several attempts as I was still crooked about the neck) and when I straightened, a button flew from my waistcoat and smacked Dervish right in the middle of the forehead. He fell backwards from the concrete bollard he was perched upon and the upswing of his foot caught me squarely on the shin. The shock straightened my neck, but I’m embarrassed to say I emitted a rather girly scream. Carstairs exploded.

After a short while, once I’d re-arranged the dazed Dervish and retrieved my button, Carstairs did manage to stop laughing.

“Fancy a nice cuppa?” he asked and whistled as he re-lit the fire and put on the kettle. Of Course! We’d not had our morning tea – no wonder we were all so discombobulated.

So now, after a plastic mug full of pure heaven, we are all very much more human.

To make things even better we have only another day of walking and we’ll make it to the bus stop on Havenwood Avenue and from there we’ll be in town by this time next week.

I do hope the doctor had some useful suggestions about your nail clippings when you saw him on Friday. It’s not right to keep so many in a carrier bag.

Kindest Regards,

B

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PS. Do you think I need to diet? Please let me know if you hear of any celebrities who’ve lost a few pounds on the Piccalilli Plan…

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Categories: Bizzywig, Gentle Humour
Tags: Bizzywig, Funny Letter, Handkerchief, Piccalilli