Following the sad demise of the best, fattest, gingerest, viciousest pussy in the world, One briefly entertained the idea of having his whiskers fashioned into a bracelet or some such. Only briefly though, since on reflection, how would he be able to get through the gaps in the fence of cat heaven? After all, cat heaven is full of holey fences leading to overgrown gardens full of mice and cosy sitting rooms with roaring fires and brand new Chesterfield sofas ripe for the clawing.
Lovely One heaven, however, is much different: upon arrival One will be ushered to a plump fluffy cloud where One will take up the position and be fed Pickering Pies washed down with quarts of Pinot Grigio, by the Greek God for all eternity.
Any road up, Whitby was a little treat to savour, but not for longer than a week in this inclement weather. And as for fish and chips – NO MORE THANK YOU – well, not for a while anyway.
Lovely One scoffed them hither and thither, even in the world famous Magpie Cafe, which always has a socking great queue outside. But, it has to be said, Lovely One is a social outcast, not part of the crowd, a veritable Pariah, in fact.
I DON’T LIKE CHIPS
I know, I know, Lovely One is the physical embodiment of the answer to the question ‘Who ate all the pies.’ But, ‘tis true, don’t like ‘em! Chips, that is, not pies!
Well, following the Magpie Cafe scampi and chips (barf, barf, yuk) biffed onto ‘Elizabeth’, the only steam bus in the world.
Driven by the singed and blackened Vernon, assisted by the equally charred offspring of Vern and his devoted wife Maureen, off we set at a bone rattling pace around Whitby. Maureen, a slip of a bint, be-decked in soiled maroon overalls, brandishing a pre-war ticket machine and sporting a likewise ancient, pin-curled hair-do, made her way up the aisle taking the money before sitting at the front and keeping up a Vernon based monologue, at a level of decibels usually associated with a foghorn, from start to finish.
Clearly devoted to Vernon, we were assaulted by Maureen, with the entire tale of the life of ‘Elizabeth’, both before and after she came into Vernon’s possession.
Apparently ‘My Vern doesn’t have the words ‘no’ and ‘can’t’ in his vocabulary,’ and following an actual change in the law, no less, Elizabeth was able to have an MOT and begin life as a tourist attraction in Whitby.
‘If you just look into the front cabin now, you’ll see something that no one else in the world can see…’
Being a Lovely One of a nervous disposition One clamped One’s hand firmly over One’s eyes and peeked through me fingers, just in case.
Lo and behold, a fecking great flame shot out twixt Vernon and the Vernonette.
‘Stap me vitals,’ One thought, ‘I’ll wager he doesn’t need nose hair trimmers!’