You call me Satins other child, and said I’d burn in hell
Well, Sugar Plum I know you’re just a liar
'Cause God gave me his blessing to keep you people guessin’
‘Bout everybody messin’ with fire
Messin’ with Fire – Claire Teal
News reaches One of a number of injustices abroad in our quiet little market town…
Somewhere in a darkened cellar are the cadavers of vile old care-worn, grey skinned, buttoned-up women.
They hang on giant meat hooks awaiting their activation back to humanity to keep order and stamp out any innovation or fun.
Like a washing line hung with grey, boiled mice they dangle in quiet solitude until the High Priestess cuts one down into the copper and boils it back to life.
The finishing touches are added…
A lump of black Withey slate for a heart, a pre-permed, grey acrylic wig, a pair of awfully unattractive spectacles, a hideous grimace and enough loose change for a cup of tea…And they’re off…
There is a special division for assaulting and general aggression. They are reserved for the removal of anyone making music of any kind.
The one’s with faces like slapped arses are put the closest to the entrance of any gathering to put off the young/young at heart/happy/carefree/socially acceptable and their offspring.
And then there’s the Panza division. Brought into active service when a member of the community attempts to book the Community Hall and thereby come into active competition with ‘The Pickled Egg Mafia’
What utter, ridiculous rot! We all pay for the, in this instance, poorly named, ‘COMMUNITY’ centre, yet ‘twould appear not all persons are able to avail themselves of it’s advantages.
The boiled mice have all and sundry in a strangle-hold.
It should be noted by all that a certain Painter of this Parish has been deployed to capture the true likeness of the good burghers of Wiv on the outside wall of aforementioned community centre…
Mrs Holier than thou, look who’s got the matches now!
Everybody’s Messin’ with Fire - Claire Teal ( OH and Claire Rice)