My diamond collar was clipped on around my furry neck, then I hopped into my wicker basket and snuggled on the comfy cushion as Skrowte carried me out to Roger the Roller. He placed me on the back seat beside Lady Fanny who was settled on the leather seat and off we drove to The Archbishop Cardinal ASBO School in Lower Sozzlebury for the concert to raise funds for a plaque to commemorate Sir Teddie, which would be hung in pride of place in the ladies loo.

We met up with Chulls and Flip. Sadly, Izzy and Cami-Knickers Park Your Bowler Hat couldn’t make it. They were washing their tiaras and very regretfully couldn’t fit this highly esteemed social event into their social diaries.

Our party sat down on the rickety little wooden seats at the front of the school hall. My basket was placed on a seat with ‘reserved’ on it next to Lady Fanny. The clatter and chatter of parents and siblings in the audience gradually petered out as the concert began.

Due to the credit crunch and swingeing budget cuts, and as this fund raiser wasn’t part of the national curriculum, the children had no instruments and had to do something called ‘improvise’. The young Headmaster was introduced with great pride and much blushing by Mrs Curmudgeonly, The Right Reverend, Reverend Curmudgeonly’s wife, as having been to the Quacky Duck University of life.

Mr Smallbone, the Headmaster, went on to extol the ’virtues’ of the decrepit school and his no-hope pupils who came from such a deprived area. He knew he was onto a losing wicket with his lot.

The concert began. A cacophony of painful noise began as homemade instruments were banged, twanged and thrumped. Lager cans, filled to varying depths with urine which sounded, if you strained your ears considerably and used a considerable stretch of the imagination, a little like a steel band. An upturned old porta-potty was used as a drum and a pair of false teeth were clattered away maniacally like maracas. A few verses of Aga Doo, The Chicken Song and My Ding a Ling got the audience, the ladies mainly, hair scraped back, dressed in lycra leggings, with acres of cleavage on display, clapping along and singing out of tune with a half smoked fag dandling from their lips as their darling offspring gave the songs great gusto and enthusiasm.

The old plastic potty was handed round for the collection in memory of Sir Teddie, but not much dosh was forthcoming from the swollen benefit filled purses of the residents Lower Sozzlebury.

Flip turned round to make small talk with a rather large sweating lady in a skimpy sleeveless shirt tee-shirt with a tattoo of a cross eyed kangaroo all down her left arm and asked:

“One supposes that living in Lower Sozzlebury is all Macburger’s and Corrie?”

“Nope darlin',” she replied cheerfully. “With the credit crunch it’s all turkey twizzlers and Emmerdale, now Guv.”

Chulls tried to make conversation with a young lad, called Spatula, whose sister, Flannel, was having a whale of a time on stage playing a flute made of an old toilet duck bottle.

“Do you have any pets?” Chulls enquired.

“Oh yes,” replied Spatula cheerfully. “Lice.”

During the interval Prongles were handed out. Chavs love Prongles; in fact they can’t get enough of them. They are part of their staple diet and come in all sorts of flavours. One child reached his grubby hand into my basket and offered me a half sucked Prongle. I politely refused so he crumbled it then dropped it in the basket for me and wandered off.

Then the horrific din began again. At the end of the evening Mrs Curmudgeonly, counted up the few coppers and odd buttons which had very generously been donated by the kind people of Lower Sozzlebury.

Chulls stood up and thanked Mrs Curmudgeonly and the very talented children of The Archbishop Cardinal ASBO School who had shown great insight and depth with their interpretation of such classic renditions of  ‘Whoops outside my head’, and  ‘I’ve got a brand new combine harvester’ which shows a compelling in-depth socio-psychological ethereal knowledge of inner city deprivation combined with…….

Suddenly a very bored and irritated Flip bellowed:

“What a load of bollards. Never heard so much drivel in my life,” as he stood up and made rather briskly for the door. Skrowte quickly gathered me up, still inside my basket, surrounded by Prongle crumbs and we made a dignified dash along with Lady Fanny for the exit leaving Chulls to continue his rambling acceptance speech for £3.50, two frayed buttons and a bogey which will contribute enormously towards the plaque for Sir Teddie who was so beloved by the school. (The fact he never set foot in the building was discreetly overlooked).

Out in the car park Flip, now quite thunderous at a waste of an evening without booze further postulated:

"Bloody glad Iz didn't come, what a waste of make-up this night would have been for her."

A Cats Prayer

Lead me down all the right paths,
Keep me from fleas, bees, and baths.
Let me in should it storm,
Keep me safe, fed, and warm.

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