Or does it?
Hope you like it, and this could well be the first blog to wish you a Happy Christmas!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE MOVING MOON WENT UP THE SKY
Messed
up at work today? No matter how much of a berk you end up looking in
front of your colleagues, you can always console yourself with the
thought that at least you're not the police officer who called for
back up after spotting the moon.
The Huffington Post
Dear Mum,
Sorry I’ve not been
in touch for a bit, me and PC Disney from down the nick has been on a
secret mission, all very hush hush, but it looks like one of us at
least come up smelling of roses!
It all started when the
Super calls us in, and said as how we was being transferred to the
Royal Protection Squad, only we wasn’t to tell nobody. Security,
like. Couple of months in and the closest we ever got to a royal was
a bloody corgi, but even so, a bit of a feather in the cap, something
to big up when it comes to the Promotion Board.
After a bit, with
nothing much going on, we was called in again and told we was being
seconded to Persia, three kings off on a bit of a journey, not much
protection of their own, could we go and help the local lads out?
Course, nobody had no bloody idea where Persia was, or wouldn’t say
more like, somewhere in the East they said. We thought maybe
Barking, Dagenham, even Margate, but the Super just looked at us
funny like.
What a turn up when we
gets there! First thing we noticed when we gets off the boat is a
load of geezers trying to sell stuff, and PC Disney goes all weak at
the knees about what the bloke said was a genuine Persian rug, very
cheap, what he thought would like nice in his Mum's conservatory. He
can be a bit wet behind the ears sometimes, young Disney. Then he
wonders if we ought to feel the collars of a load of women in skimpy
clothes shaking their hips and bellies around. Since they had no
collars though, nor nothing much else for that matter, I said we'd
better turn a blind eye, so to speak. You get to know a bit about
discretion in this job.
Anyway, little bloke
bustles up, was we Sergeant Hopkins and PC Disney, come over for the
Royal Protection? We says yes, and gets bundled into this basket on
wheels. The bloke nips round the front, gets in between the shafts
and tows us away! Straight off Disney was on about how this basket
wasn't going to meet the licensed taxicab Conditions of Fitness, but
I stamped on his foot, so that was OK. Discretion again, but
honestly Mum they just start them too young these days.
We gets to this big
palace and climbs out of the basket to be met by some top brass,
before we gets whisked off to meet these three kings, all medals and
big hats and sunglasses. Bloody hell, says young Disney, they don’t
look like kings to me, you expect battledress, helmets, you expect
them to shout ‘God for Harry’ and that half the time, if you want
my opinion they look like...
I give him the hard
eyes. Leave it out, PC Disney!, I instructs, authoritative like.
When you've sat through as many bloody equality and diversity courses
as I have you get a feel for what's going to land you in strife.
He'll learn. Please God he'll learn. Then he says hang about, have
you clocked what they’re carrying, that looks like gold to me, and
that perfume smells a bit posh, like what the Mrs puts on for foreign
invaders, only dearer. God knows what that other stuff is though.
Much bowing and
clapping of hands, these three introduced as Kings Gaspar, Melchior
and Balthasar and I notice my youthful colleague sucking his pencil
like a primary school kid and looking long and hard at his pocket
book. Me, I have enough trouble spelling kings’ names like
Æthelstan. They tried and tried when I was at training college, but
I never could get the hang of the diphthong.
Anyway, you won’t
hardly credit this, but the gold and the perfume and the other stuff
was presents for a baby what had been born bloody miles away in
another country, and this lot was planning to find the baby by
following a star in the sky, with us protecting them and the
presents. Have you ever heard the like of it?
Funny sort of set up,
it must have been that perfume addling our brains so we says OK, but
we’re not sure about that other present, the third one. Is it a
Hazardous Substance within the meaning of the Act? Does it need a
Safety Certificate? What about an Export Licence? Don’t worry,
they says, its myrrh, and me laddo stares hopelessly at his pocket
book again.
I don’t suppose
you’ve ever ridden on a camel, have you Mum? You don’t get many
round Leytonstone, anyway, they’re horrible animals, not easy to
ride and vicious buggers into the bargain. Ever vigilant, Disney was
wondering if we could do these kings under the Dangerous Dogs Act,
but I spotted the flaw in his thinking straight off and neither of us
knew whether there was a Dangerous Camels Act, probably not. But
after a bit these kings decide the star has led them to just exactly
where they want to be. Don’t ask me how, but they had found a baby
all wrapped in what they called swaddling clothes – in a stable of
all places – and quick as you please they’re down on their knees
offering it these presents. What a baby’s supposed to do with that
lot was beyond me, but there was a load more bowing and chanting and
hand clapping so they all seemed happy.
What with the long
journey and all, we decides to get a bit of shuteye, me first with
himself on watch for a couple of hours, then we’d change over. We
thought his rug might come in handy, but when he unrolled it it kind
of fell to bits. Anyway, useless bugger, he couldn’t have stayed
awake more than five minutes after me, and then we was both asleep
for ages. I woke up to find him shouting and hollering at the kings,
seems he was trying to tell them the star had moved away somewhere
else, they must have the wrong baby, and we’d better all saddle up
again quick, we might need back up. Well, they don’t take kindly
to that, they got a very nasty look in their eyes, and there’s big
trouble brewing. Funny thing was, when I have a good look at the
sky, I think the boy wonder could well be right for once, perhaps it
has moved again, but diplomacy and quick thinking is something else
you pick up in this job, bloody sight more useful than knowing the
far end of a diphthong.
So I walks up to the
group, and one of the kings turns to me and starts mouthing off about
PC Disney. I decides not to pursue a foul and abusive language to a
police officer rap, and adopts what I hopes is a calm and persuasive
tone of voice. PC Disney only trying to be helpful, but in a foreign
country, touch confused after long journey and a bit of kip, wakes up
after two or three hours, the moon has risen, confuses the moon with
their star, easy mistake, no harm done. I kick him to let him know
he’s to fall in and go along with what I say, he does so, they calm
down and we’re all mates again.
When we gets back home,
we gets called in again. Super pleased as punch, kings happy with our
work, feather in the force’s cap, all that. Then he hums and hahs
a bit, shifts in his chair and we wonders what’s coming. Strictly
off the record, he says, just you and me like, was it the moon or
their star then? Only we’ve all got a few quid on it at HQ.
Search me, I says.
Probably the moon, but could have been a planet, a star, a comet, no
bloody idea really. I see, says the Super and he comes over all
confidential like. You see, he says, I already got the first two
bits right on a three part accumulator. I knew what swaddling
clothes was, and I knew what myrrh was. It would be good if it was
definitely a star. I wouldn't forget how you knuckled down to this
job. Finest traditions of the service, all that. See what I mean?
At this point Deadhead
Disney gets a rush of blood, thinks he's being offered one of them
fast track promotions, God help us.
I see, he says, and
takes a deep breath. Well, he says, when you wish upon a star your
dreams comes true.
The Super looks at him
hard. You're learning, lad, he starts, but then the boy
interrupts him.
Unwisely, as it turns out. Does that mean that anything my heart
desires will come to me, he asks.
The Super winks at me,
then turns heavily to young Disney who's looking very full of
himself.
…....only you're not
learning the right things, he says. Your
heart may very well be in your dreams, and nothing wrong with that.
But don't get clever with me son, I'm not bending no rules for you,
makes no difference who you are.
Have a good Christmas,
Mum, mind how you go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ANAGRAM CORNER
Not a very Christmassy anagram, I'm afraid, but perhaps one for all you celeb watchers.......
NIGELLA LAWSON, CHARLES SAATCHI
AHA! CLASSICAL WOES! ENTHRALLING!
