The ‘Everything’s a Quid’ shop in Sozzlebury where everything is just one quid and ‘The Pound a Pop’ shop where everything is a pound are well frequented by the resident chavs of Sozzlebury with their benefits filled purses. The two shops seem to trade quite amicably as there are a lot of quids and pounds to be had from the village chavs as benefits and credits are poured into chav families to be to be spent solely on rubbish and rubbish food.
But the equilibrium had been shattered by a price war when The 99p Emporium moved into Sozzlebury with a great fanfare and trumpeting.
The pound shops dropped their prices to a mere 98p and a vicious price war instantly waged, much to the delight of the shoppers of the village.
The crunch came when multi packs of prongles were selling for 95p and the chavs filled their trolleys as they stripped the shelves eager to stock up on their staple diet food. Fighting broke out and bags were torn apart in the shops as the chavs stocked up with prongles as if the world was about to end. The artic lorries couldn’t get their loads of prongles into the shops quick enough, they were almost queuing up to get into town with supplies.
The new flavour, ‘Chorizo with a fusion of pickle and a mist of caramelised raspberries hand finished with goat hairs’ created by Heston Bloomingbollards himself was particularly sought after and panic bought by the trolley load. The chavs called the new flavour ‘Prongle’s Promise’ as with a pint or two of Goats’ Gizzard real ale from The Bleeding Sheep’s Intestines on a Saturday night, they really were onto a promise!!
PC Tommy Truncheon, an old-fashioned policeman with old-fashioned policing methods waded in to sort the aggression out. Tommy was known to dish out clips on the back of the head to resolve issues. The residents of Sozzlebury accepted this form of punishment as PC Tommy Truncheon was over 30 stone and one of the lads of the village, so if you hadn’t out run him and he caught you for a clip round the ear ‘ole then it was your bad luck.
But PC Tommy Truncheon had had enough. A fat pension and the fact that the discount shops stocked the meat and lard pies which had just come onto the range had fast become a drool-over must have in his daily diet, several times a day. This meant that retirement was on the very near horizon so he could indulge his vast epicurean habit rather than work.
His replacement, WPC Tracey Mingeworthy had been fast tracked through the police academy, she was enthusiastic and she took no prisoners. It wasn’t for nothing that she was known in her previous town as ‘Tazer Trace.’ She was quicker than any cowboy when it came to the draw.
When The 99p Emporium dropped the price of prongles to 94p, a near riot broke out in Sozzlebury. Fists flew, punches thrown and a jolly good time was had by all in the quest to grab as many packs of packs of Prongle’s Promise as possible.
But one chav, Tequila Trotbottom, was caught shoplifting - again. Never having worked a day in his life, the only thing between his ears were nits. Renowned for his sticky finger and wonky tattoos, sixteen bumper family sized packs of prongles were found nestled in his hoodie. WPC Tracey Mingeworthy saw red.
To her mind, as a law abiding, upright citizen of the world, the law was black and white there was no grey area. Whilst her taxes were funding the benefits, cigarettes, scratch cards, tattoo and lager of Tequila Trotbottom’s lazy lifestyle, stealing was a no-go area. Especially when prongles were selling for such a ridiculously low price.
And so it was when WPC Mingeworthy caught Tequila Trotbottom coming out of The 99p Emporium with more packs of prongles and six meat and lard pies, and no obvious receipt, she saw her duty as a police woman to arrest and take off the streets of Sozzlebury this persistent scabby little crim.
Skrowte was just parking Roger the Roller outside Stamens the flower shop to collect the weekly flowers order for Gripewater Grange. I was on the back seat in my basket next to Lady F who had fancied a run out and spot of fresh air from the back seat of the car.
Tequila Trotbottom swaggered down the street towards us as Taser Trace yelled.
“Armed police, put them purloined prongles down or I’ll shoot.”
Tequila Trotbottom winked cheekily at Lady F and carried on walking, chewing gum in his open mouth, new tattoos on his arm covered in a grotty plaster.
Taser Trace was as good as her word as she coolly cocked the Taser, aimed and fired, straight at Tequila Trotbottom’s bottom. He stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. He then shuddered, dropped his cache of meat and lard pies and packs of prongles as he fell to his knees trembling with the shocks. A smile played round his mouth.
Taser Trace walked forward, the taser still discharging at full pelt until she was standing over the prongle poacher.
“Did you see dat, old man? Tequila asked Skrowte who was standing by the car. “Police brootality, that’s what dis is, police brootaility. You saw it, didn’t you geezer. You can be my as God is my witness. I’m seeking compensation for my injoories as I is innocent and 'as been assaulted.”
Skrowte casually leant into the car and turned the radio up. “You may find this pertinent, young lad,” he grinned as “Please don’t lock me away” a line from the song ‘A world without love’ blared from the car radio as the local radio SozzleburyFM crackled through the ether.
“And don’t even think about Thin Lizzy’s ‘Jailbreak’,” chortled WPC Mingeworthy as she handcuffed Tequila Trotbottom and hauled him to his feet.
WPC Mingeworthy smiled at Lady F and Skrowte. “Human sacrifice and executions. Shame the trend has dropped off recently,” she hissed through gritted teeth and with that she dragged Tequila Trotbottom off down the high street.
Carol Lake
A Cats Purr
"Cats make one of the most satisfying sounds in the world: they purr ...
A purring cat is a form of high praise, like a gold star on a test paper. It is reinforcement of something we would all like to believe about ourselves - that we are nice."
Roger A Caras