The Night of the Film Stars to raise funds for the Snottingham Periwinkle‘s hunt arrived. The run down wooden village hall, which had been hastily thrown up during the First World War was awash with badly costumed fake film stars. Lady F swathed in red tartan with an old sporran someone had left behind at one of the Gripers Hogmanay bashes went as Bravetart. Chulls, wearing a loin cloth went as Ghandi-Pandi, Cami Knickers Park Your Bowler Hat made no effort at all. Everyone thought that she had come as Mrs Doubtfire and what a marvellous impersonation she had done at looking so dumpy and drab, she must have spent an age achieving the look.

Izzy plonked an old tiara on her head which had belonged to her mother Queenies Mom, and went as a monarch. Flip went as a very convincing Agnes Brown; certainly the amount of ‘fecks’ that tumbled out of him as he tripped over one of Izzy’s corgis were absolutely spot on,

Skrowte went as Luke Skywanker.

Mrs Curmudgeonly, the vicar’s wife, told everyone she had come as Elizabeth Taylor, all her fat and bingo wings squeezed into a very cheap, very tight ball gown, and dripping with costume jewellery from ‘Everything’s a Quid’ shop. She was mortified when she discovered that the chavs all thought she had come as Dawn French’s grandmother.

I joined in the fun in my outfit purchased from ‘Everything’s a Quid’ shop as ‘Randy Rachael never says no Naughty Night Nurse’ costume, complete with two plastic love-balls shoved down my chest to give me a rather fetching cleavage, albeit bald. I certainly attracted a lot of attention and tickles from the two ladies of the village who rolled up as ‘Chewing Bacca’ ‘Yodeller’ and other characters from Star Warts or Grandelf and Gollop from the Habit.

The village hall was packed as I reclined on the silk cushion in my wicker basket. Clarissa Snottingham Periwinkle dressed as Marilyn Monroe but looking more like a very bad Lily Savage after 20 pints and a festering vindaloo, stood on stage and congratulated all the chavs who had turned out as their film heroes. No one was listening as they jostled at the subsidised bar for plastic glasses filled with various coloured alcohols, embellished with paper umbrellas, cherry tomatoes (the Kwop were right out of Maraschino cherries) and bits of twigs and leaves for colour and artistic effect to give the cocktails a more upmarket feel.

As it was a ‘bring your buffet bites’ type of a do, Izzy took a plate of canapés, vol au vonts and hors d’ouvres which were viewed with great suspicion by the chavs who seemed quite content with prongles and things on little sticks like bits of pork scratchings with pineapple, and sugar coated bacon strips which they dunked into little bowls of ketchup or brown sauce.

Skrowte had arranged a delivery by Greenland on behalf of Lady F. Pork pies, sausage rolls, beef and ale pies, pasties, pork scratchings, pasties, crisps and popcorn. All staples of a healthy chav diet.

Flip, who was quite clearly bored out of his mind, asked one of the local lads, Griffalo what he thought of mange tout.

“It’s one less than menage at trois guv innit,” replied Griffalo, knowledgably.

So Flip asked him what he thought about Izzy’s plate of food as he popped another salmon vol au vont smothered in a cress foam into his mouth.

“Well,” replied Griffalo scratching his head then having a good excavation of his left nasal passage.

“I tried them horses doovrers, canned apes and voles with vents in 'em. OMG. I'm going to hurl they is sooo disgustin! And what is so depressin for old wrinklies like that Izzy babe wot bought that shite is, I bet she hasn’t got a single prongle in the house. No packs of pork pies or pizzas or no emergency packs of pork scratchings neither. That is like, well starvation like how can she be alive eating crappy stuff like this – freak”

“No. I guess not,” Flip looked quite horrified. “Now that you put it into perspective, my young man.”

“That Iz babe, she should get herself down the food bank fill herself a few carrier bags of decent scram,” Griffalo instructed knowledgeably as he winked at Flip.
       
Flip tried to make light of the situation.

 “I bet if the local kebab house did Hors D'ouvres, Canapes and vol au vonts dipped in chilli, then curry, then beer flavoured batter and deep fried then coated with crushed prongles and chicken tickers with jalapeno accompanied by a red hot salsa dip, you chavs would think you'd died and gone to heaven eh?!”

“Yeah” Griffalo brightened up “That is well wicked ……  has we got some here?!”

Flip, looking quite perplexed, muttered, “and I suppose you think zebra meat is striped,” as he downed his pint of warm flat ale and headed out into the night muttering to himself.

One Cat is Company

"One cat is company.
Two cats are a conspiracy. 
Three cats is an attempted takeover.
Four or more cats is a complete coup!"

Shona Steele (Australia)