Showing posts with label lyrics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lyrics. Show all posts

Friday, May 21, 2010

With a Texas Tommy Wiggle


Part twenty-three of “A Couple of Tenors Short” arrives after a short break caused by a rather busy week. With my support garments now firmly in place, I am able to pick up the threads and try to knit a ski mask for my gecko. 

Remember boys and girls, this is a serial. Any new-joiners should attempt the standard loin girding and start with Part One.    
Should you be rejoining the story, or do not have the inclination to read the previous parts, allow me to recap. Disclaimer: There has been so much going on that this summary is proving very difficult to keep to reasonable length. It could be that I miss important facts!

The world has gone mad, but Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. After finding the man from the State Security Services in his kitchen dressed in a green lycra body suit, he tried an experiment with the engraving on his wedding ring and discovered that it mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was on the ring.

Although he had no recollection of any marriage, he found himself hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, in an arrangement he is enjoying. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, and a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames.

Since the case started, Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius works for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

It turns out that the missing author, Archie McRamie did not write ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil, another of Adkins employees, were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. The State Security man has also suggested that he does not believe the book is the cause of the defamation case.

See, I told you about the need to start from the beginning.

Now read on...

Jo Schooner fanned herself with one hand, her face flushed.

“Are you OK?” Jones asked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Jo reached into a fold in her voluminous red dress and withdrew a handkerchief which she dabbed on her brow. “I seemed to lose the plot there for a moment.”

“I’ll get you a cup of tea.” Jones patted her elbow.

Jones got up slowly and went out to the office. A constable was sat at his desk conducting an imaginary orchestra while studying some sheet music gave a start when Jones tapped him on the shoulder and barked out an order for two teas. Jones gave a chuckle as he watched him scurry off towards the canteen.

When Jones returned to the interview room, he caught Jo studying his notepad. Jo’s head snapped round when the inspector entered and hurriedly replaced his notepad. Jones raised his eyebrow and gave her a stare.

There was no apology from the agent. Instead she started to talk about how she first met Archie and started on a stream of anecdotes of his antics on the literary circuit. Jones found himself laughing, which served to encourage Jo to continue.

Jo suddenly stopped mid-anecdote. “Archie is alright, isn’t he?”

Jones gave a cough and straightened himself in his chair. “We’ve got nothing that suggests otherwise.”

“Oh.” Jo examined her hands. “Something has happened to him, Inspector. I know it. He just wouldn’t abandon Elspeth without a word. He would find a way to contact her, let her know he is OK.”

“Look, we will find Archie; you have my word on that.” Jones looked Jo directly in the eyes with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Thank you.” Jo grabbed one of the Inspector’s hands and squeezed it tightly. “That means a lot to me.”

They were interrupted by a constable in full dress uniform entering the room with a tray. The constable set the dray down on the table and poured two cups of tea into flowery bone china cups from an ornamental teapot shaped as a country church. After serving, the constable stood to attention, saluted and then did a short soft shoe shuffle before turning and leaving the room.

Jones shook his head slowly before picking up a plate of biscuits and offering them to Jo Schooner.

While they drank their tea, Jones had Archie’s agent run through the dates and locations of Archie’s various escapades. He carefully noted them all down on the notepad. At first glance none matched up with the dates and locations mentioned in ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’.

The interview ended with Jo enveloping Jones in a hug and thanking him. Jones blushed as he rubbed lipstick from his cheek, but promised to keep Jo abreast of any news and progress.

The two of them walked together in silence to the entrance of the station and exchanged a handshake. Jones watched as Jo hailed a luridly decorated llama carriage and climbed in. As the carriage pulled away, narrowly avoiding two boys carrying a large wedding cake on a litter, Jo gave the inspector a wave. Jones instinctively started to return it, realised what he was doing and hurriedly clasped both hands behind his back.

When the carriage was out of sight, Jones went back into the station and started to walk back to his desk.

“Sir, Sir!” the uniformed constable who had promised to review the CCTV footage shouted at Jones as he reached the stairs.

Jones stopped and turned.

“I have found something on the CCTV footage, sir.” The constable pushed out his chest in a way that threatened to make lethal weapons of the shiny buttons on his tunic. “I think you might want to see this.”


Monday, March 16, 2009

I woke up this mornin'


I had this wonderful idea that I would kick off today's entry with a little rhyme in the style of the blues. I'm sure you know what I mean....


"I woke up this mornin' and my little doggy was gorn.


I woke up this mornin' and my little doggy was gorn.


There was a wet patch on the carpet, and a big one in my shoe."


You know how my mind works, I had something I wanted to eventually get round to writing about, but I didn't want to provide too many clues.


It will come as no surprise to learn that I do not own a dog and therefore it couldn't have scarppered after leaving a calling card in my footwear. (see Note 1).


It is probably no shock to my voluminous yeomen that I was to get a little sidetracked while looking for examples of blues verse and I found this particular diity describes as 'salacious'




See that spider crawlin' up that wall 


See that spider crawlin' up that wall


He's crawlin up there to get his ashes hauled.



Let me be your little dog till your big dog comes 


Let me be your little dog till your big dog comes


And when the big dog gets here, tell him what the puppy done done



Rebecca, Rebecca, get your big legs off of me 


Rebecca, Rebecca, get your big legs off of me


It may be sending you baby but its worryin' the hell out of me.

So I have been sat here staring at that rhyme and wondering about the salacious content. To begin with, I thought I must have got the meaning of the word salacious wrong, but the dictionary confirmed what I thought it meant. 


sa·la·cious Pronunciation: \sə-lā-shəs\ Function: adjective


Etymology: Latin salac-, salax, from salire to move spasmodically, leap — more at sally

Date: circa 1645 arousing or appealing to sexual desire or imagination lascivious, lecherous, lustful; sa·la·cious·ly adverb sa·la·cious·ness noun

The first reading left me cold. I turned the lights down low and tried again with the same results. I tried lighting a few candles and touch of Mantovani on the hifi and my loins failed to even twitch.



Reading it fast or slow made no difference. Imagining it sung to a classic blues backing track just had me scratching my head. (See Note 2)



In an act of singular desperation, I even tried to sing it myself (see Note 3)



I have to admit defeat. I thought I was a man of the world, a man with an euphemism for every occasion, but this lyric has me well and truly stumped. What on earth does it mean by 'ashes hauled'? Would I enjoy it?



It looks like song lyrics, especially blues song lyrics, hit the same dark hole in my Psyche as poetry.



Perhaps I should just write about my original topic, if only I could remember what it was....



Note 1 : We do have a psychotic cat that although being an absolute model of virtue in all matters pertaining to the toilet, finds numerous other ways to amuse herself. Her current favourite is waiting until you are asleep then pushing herself under the bottom of the duvet to slash and bite your toes.



Note 2 : Mainly about how the waiters could dance like that without spilling any of the beer.



Note 3 : Sadly, if the microphone on my computer wasn't a bit dodgy before, after a couple of bars it had well and truly raised the white flag.