Chwiss' task...

The month of May was approaching rather fast and the weather was warming up nicely. Not only had the buds been bursting, the birds been a-twittering, the bees a-buzzing and the skies a-brightening but, for another very different reason, it was a dreadfully exciting time for Chris. He’d volunteered to chair the next meeting of the Stratford-upon-Avon Wordsmith’s writing group. My gosh! Some ruddy great responsibility that! What! This meant that, chairing the stinky old meeting itself in April aside, he’d have the vitally important job of dreaming up some jolly good and inspirational ideas for the dear old writing group to scribble about and post on that batty old blog of theirs over the following month. But, dash it all, what to do?

Putting on his thinking cap, Chris, agitatedly, strode around his room.  He’d had several sleepless nights about this already and, crumbs, ought to have come to some sort of witty, genius, conclusion by now! However, the challenge sort of got to him and oops, crikey, poor show so far. Can’t let the side down though. Gosh, this really was a task that required some pretty hard thought... and he had to get it right. But how? 

It was one of those occasions he really needed some extra solid grey matter for help. A bit of intelligence and learning wouldn’t go amiss either, what! Picking up the old dog and bone he dialed a number. There was a brief ringing that was casually answered by a man both of gentlemanly conduct and responsible voice. “Hello”, it enquired, with an upward intonation. 

“Ah! Oh! Ah! I say, Chris here. What! Is that you, Andy”? 

“Christopher! My dear Old Tin of Fruit! Indeed it is. Dear sir, how may I help you”?

“Oh, it’s like this”, Chris continued with a slight stutter and nervous lisp, brought about by the headiness of the moment. “D... d...d... Do’you know I thort of, well, v...v... volunteered to d...do that chairing thing for the old W...w...w... Wordsmith’s this Apwil”? 

“Yes, Dear Boy. I do recall you made that sorry, sorry, crew that most generous offer”. 

“Well, you kn... kn... know they have that thort of wr... wr... write your own th... thingie thing eveweh month”?

“Yes, dear Boy. I do recall they do”.

“Well, sorry to s... say but I’m a tiny bit st... st... stumped for ideas. You know. The th... th... thort of thing that gets them all w... w... wound up and jittewy and jolly ex... ex... excited. So I’m out to k... k... kind of p... pick the old bwains. What? If you don’t m... m... mind”.

“Christopher! My dear fellow. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. May I suggest we discuss the matter over high tea... on the lawn? Tomorrow afternoon at... ah... shall we agree... three. Hang on a mo’... I know. We’ll invite Beth along as well. She’s a jolly, jolly, bright spark and is sure to have something tucked away in that cavernous mind of hers. One thing though. May I suggest we all arrive in disguise. It wouldn’t do for the other motley lot to come spying about and know there’s been a bit of mutual collaboration. Do you agree”? 

“Oh, I say. What! Oh”! Chris could hardly, hardly, contain himself! 

This really was just so very, very, exciting! He’d even just had the idea of taking along a lot of old photos. “Blimey! That might just work!” he exclaimed aloud and shot off to give some scrofulous youth a bit of a driving lesson, relaxed and untroubled in his mind for the first time in several days.

The following afternoon was all it promised to be. More. Although the disguises had proven a tad confusing for them all. Andy had appeared cunningly attired as a hirsute Vivian Stanshall, complete with trilby, baggies, tweed jacket, brogues and a rolly rather gauchly drooped, chain-smoker style, from his left hand. Chris had dressed almost entirely as he used to do, all those many, many, years ago when a mere strippling of a boy. Halcyon days! When learning the rules of the road. By bike. He even had and retained, his favourite old bicycle clip, gripping the right trouser leg in the traditional style throughout the entire event. 

But as for Beth. By jingo! She’d really pulled out all the plugs and excelled herself. “Golly gosh! What a stunner!” the boys agreed and, admiringly, “Oh, I say...” That sweet little black bob and cunningly cut mid-calf cotton skirt with matching blazer and trim, sort of suited her perfectly! She was as she was meant to be, a of goddess of the Avon. She had even brought her own punt pole, all twelve feet of it. “Made out of hardwood, By Jove!” a few onlookers and by-passers had remarked, in starry-eyed awe of the gracious and glorious spectacle.

Yes, indeed. What a success that day was, and such wonderful, wonderful, memories! They sat on deck-chairs and cushions in the sun, drinking tea and enjoying the excitement of picking out all the photos they would give to the Wordsmiths at the next meeting. Beth had even brought along one herself, that of a little cat and dog sitting, together, in a basket, on a rainbow cushion! “It’s my dark side, you know. When things get sort of, well, you know... saucy and risque” she giggled. “Oh rather, What!” The boys agreed. 

That had made the day, and Chris just knew his idea was sure to bring such happiness and joy to all his friends at the next Wordsmith’s meeting. They’d even had their portrait taken together by a passing cameraman and added it to the photo collection. “That’ll fool ‘em, eh? What!” they joked together.

Absolutely! What? Oh!  Ding dong!

(Please... No offence intended! It's just what came out.  J.B.)