The following is merely intended to be a fictitious, humorous story.
Most stories in this blog carry something of a ‘social message’.
No story is intended to be judgemental.
Some readers may find content offensive, but there is little that one wouldn’t find in a post-watershed sitcom.
Barty and I walked into the Dog and Donkey at one o’clock.
Barty hadn’t spoken a word during the journey back from the PCSO training centre.
I asked Gertie for a large whisky.
“What are you having, Barty?”
He didn’t reply.
“Barty,” I asked again, “what do you want to drink?”
“eez, is Barty alright?” asked Gertie.
“Yeah, he’s fine, but he can’t takes his eyes of his PCSO certificate.”
“Barty’s passed?” she enquired in amazement.
“He certainly did. In fact, despite his final exam paper being upside down and all the questions being written in Urdu, he scored top marks. Now, give me an ashtray, please.”
“We’re down to the last half dozen, eez.”
“I’ll get some more, just give me one.”
Gertie passed me an ashtray and I broke it over Barty’s head.
He looked at me.
“Why do you keep doing that, eez?”
“Because, Barty, you keep ignoring me. It’s very rude.”
“Sorry, eez.”
“Right, what would ‘Top of the Class’ Barty like to drink?” I asked for the third time.
I was too late. I’d lost his attention. He was back to the certificate.
“I’m not giving you another ashtray, eez. I’m the one who has to clear up the glass.”
“Okay, Gertie, point taken. How are we off for chairs?”
“Just leave him eez!”
I gave her a stern look. “Gertie, I would remind you that I own this pub. With the exception of the stockroom (Gertie’s blowjob boudoir) I give the orders around here.”
“Piss off, eez. Now, how much did it take?”
“Eh?”
“How much did you bung the instructor?”
“Five hundred quid: Barty came last, but don’t tell him. He feels like king of the world at the moment.” I took a step back from her, “The instructor might be round later to, er, see you.”
“I want twenty quid, eez.”
“What?”
“That’s the rate. I want twenty quid.”
“Hey, the favour’s not for me, it’s for Barty! Can’t you give the instructor a freebie?”
She crossed her arms. “No.”
Blinky walked in as I gave Gertie twenty quid.
“Blinky!”
“eez!”
I noticed that Gertie was wearing a very low cut top—it probably makes for easier access when performing one of her ‘extras’.
“Blinky, go straight to the toilet.” I told him.
“Why?” he asked, and then he, too, noticed Gertie’s well-exposed cleavage.
His right eye started to blink rapidly and his head began to jerk violently to the left.
“Gertie, get me some tissue. He’s going to pop.”
I shoved Blinky into the loo and passed him a handful of super soft Andrex.
“eez, do you think he’ll ever get his problem sorted out?” asked Gertie.
“Nah, he’s been shooting ‘em out for over forty years now. He’s had more ejaculations than the entire male population of Bogton. Apart from castration, I can’t see anything helping him. He’s harmless, though.”
Blinky returned from the loo and joined me at the bar.
“Is Barty alright?” he asked.
“Yep.” I replied.
Blinky waved his hand in front of Barty. Nothing happened.
Blinky asked Gertie for an ashtray.
“Don’t bother,” I said, “we’ve already tried that.”
“What’s he staring at?”
“That,” I told Blinky, “is Barty’s PCSO certificate.”
“Barty’s a PCSO? Are you shitting me?”
“Nope. I’m a PCSO as well.”
“Why would you and Barty want to become a couple of half-arsed coppers?”
“Well, “ I answered, “I feel partly responsible for the destruction of the police station. Also, some would say that I could be blamed for the town’s police officers running away. So, I have decided to do my civic duty and put things right.”
I took a swig of my drink and continued, “furthermore, I have been granted planning permission to convert the old bomb shelter out the back into Bogton’s temporary police station which, by the way, will be officially opened by the town’s mayor this evening.”
“There will be coppers at the back of the pub?” he asked, with a worried look on his face.
“Indeed there will, Blinky; Barty and I will be manning the station.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Yep, just the two of us. The annual budget was completely used up by the last police chief.”
“Oh, by the way,” said Blinky, “how is your daughter now she’s no longer a corrupt police chief?”
“She’s fine. She’s decided to leave the country for a year or two, to let things settle down.”
“Oh, good. Nice girl.”
“What about you, Blinky? Have you got over being trapped in the rubble of the police station?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t that bad. I’ve had worse weeks. The fortnight flew by. When it’s pitch black you sort of lose track of time.”
The phone rang.
“eez, it’s for you. He says he’s a tailor.” Gertie called out.
I took the phone and listened to the tailor. He thought that I’d made some mistakes with the measurements that I’d given him for the PCSO uniforms.
I put the phone down. “Gertie, have you got a tape measure on you?”
“No.”
“No? I thought all women had a tape measure in their handbags or wherever they keep them.”
“Why would I carry a tape measure with me?”
“Well, to measure curtains or something.”
“Sorry, eez, I don’t have a tape measure.”
“Where can I get a tape measure?” I asked her.
“Don’t know.”
“You’ve never bought a tape measure?”
“No, eez, I’ve never bought a tape measure.” She answered with an air of impatience.
“How do you measure things, then?”
“I don’t measure things. Why would I measure things?”
“To see how big they are.”
“I don’t care how big things are.”
I looked at her.
“You know what I mean, eez.”
“So,” I said, “you don’t have a tape measure?”
“No! I don’t have a sodding tape measure!”
“And you don’t know where I can get a tape measure?”
“No!” she screamed.
“Jeez, I only asked; no need to get all uppity.“
“I’m not uppity!”
“You sound uppity. It’s not my fault you don’t have a tape measure.”
“It’s nobody’s fault that I don’t have a tape measure!”
“Yes it is. It’s your fault. Who else could be responsible for you not having a tape measure?”
“Aaargh!”
“You’re getting all uppity again. Don’t go around blaming others because you haven’t taken the time to get a tape measure.“
“I don’t want a tape measure! I can’t think of a reason why I would want to carry a tape measure about!”
“But, they’re handy to have.”
“Shut up! Just shut up! Give me an example when a tape measure would be handy!”
“Well, if you did have a tape measure on you, it would be handy right now. You’d be able to just lend me a tape measure rather than get all upset.”
“Right! You look after the bar and I’ll go and get a bloody tape measure!” she shouted, storming out the pub.
“eez,” said Blinky, “next time, just ask her to go out and buy a tape measure.”
“Nah, where’s the fun in that?”
“Hey!”
We turned to look at Barty.
“Hey! Can I frame it, eez?”
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