Monday, 3 February 2014

Screw Loose

Hello you lot, Leroy ‘ere. How’s it goin’? 

Ay, I had quite the week last week. Sen quite a few odd things on mi’ travels. But none took biscuit like gettin’ back and finding them two loppi’ squatters in mi’ bedroom. I’ll never eat a cucumber again, I tell you that for nowt. They’ve gone now mind. Think I scared ‘em off, and good ridden’s too. You see I've this shotgun... Oh aye, mi’ travels. Well, t’other week I found a screw while we were clearin’ up the place. Tell you what, it looks rather empty now. Might have to fill it up again. 

Oh, the screw, we’h found it under mi’ rug in’t living room. Couldn’t for the life of me think of where it could’ve come from, was doin’ mi’ nut. Din’t come from any of the stuff I got shut of, I knew that much. Cos I don’t think any of 'em cem fixed wi’ screws. 

Anywe’h, first I tried everything in’t flat, but everything sempt to be screwed up, or as much as it usually is. That in mind I went for a trek round t’estate. But nowt cem to fruition. Not even in’t Cleggs, the cafe in’t shopping quarter. And’t chairs, and’t tables are alwez on ‘t wonk there. Many a cuppa fallen victim to the kackeyed table five. But view’s much better from there than any of t’other tables. 

Caught the 52c bus. Only bus to run through Fakemoor it is. Comes once a week, every Mundi’, at eleven thirty seven. Went all’t weh t’edge of Derbyshire. Din’t mean to mind, but I got distracted testing t’screw out on’t all t’seats and talkin’ to the bus driver ‘bout climate change bin’ cursed by the amount of tea wastage there is goin’ about these days. 

When we got to the last stop, I told the bus driver I were gonna stretch mi’ legs, you know, so he din’t leave wi’out me, but the bumbaclot bleedin’ went! So there I were. In’t middle of bleedin’ nowhere. Nowt but mi’ long john’s on under mi’ slacks to keep mi’ warm.

Found one of them ramblers while I were trudging through’t wildlife. Said police was after him. I could relate at the time, cos the local Fakemoor bobby, PC Bobby, has been after me to play Santa in the yearly Christmas Sports and Social bash for weh’, years. I’ve never fancied it mind. 

Oh aye, the rambler told me that I should come wi’ him, then showed me his gun. He were putting it right up to mi’ face so  I could get a better look. Which was useful as I’m short sighted. We got in his car but he sempt to of lost his keys while we were runnin’ cos he smashed the window wi’t gun instead. Sempt a bit rash for my liking, but it worked, I’ll give him that. Oohf, but the breeze while we were travelling. Brisk, you don’t know the meaning pal.

On’t journey to Matlock, where we ended up, I told him ‘bout misen. ‘Bout mi’ years workin’ in the Bassett factory in Hillsborough, and mi’ Mum, oh and Major, TONE. and the rest of them. He wasn’t a good listener though. Kept tellin’ mi’ to shut the “F” up. Very rude. 

We got to Matlock, but we din’t have chips and fish, or go on’t them cable cars, or go in to any of them antique shops they have there. No, we got a room in a hotel instead. It was nice. Bit pricy though, but the rambler said he had a group-on, so it cem to less. Which is right enough in’t it ay.

We din’t move from that room for days, and no matter how many times I told him mi’ name were Leroy, he kept referring to me as “hostage”. Like “hostage stop lookin’ out of the winda”, and “shut up talking hostage”.  He let me eat the ginger biscuits that the maid left each morning though.

I woke up yesterday morning right early. The rambler was still sleepin’ next to the door, and I din’t have the heart to wake him up for a natter. He’d left his gun on’t the floor next to him, so I had a look at that instead. I remember thinking it sempt a good weight, and it sempt in good nick for its age. Then I thought, weh’, he dun’t want summit like a gun kickin’ about. Looks quite suspicious. So I took it to one of them antique shops, first thing. They din’t want it though, said they don’t teck ‘em without some kind of license. 

Just before I got back to the hotel to ask mi’ new friend if he had his firearm license wi’ him, a police woman stopped me. She asked me about the gun, so I told her ‘bout my friend, the rambler, who was in the hotel. The police woman looked surprised and called for backup on her fancy walkie talkie thing. Minutes later we were outside the hotel. I waited in the car while she met up wi’ her police friends. Then that awful feelin’ that I’d forget summit in’t shop cem over me. I’d left mi’ pen! So I got out the car, picked up the gun from’t front seat (cos you shouldn’t leave things on show in the front of a car, someone might think to steal it), and walked back up the road. As I left there were all this hubbub going off. Shoutin’, and bangin', and such. Quite the racket, believe me. I was glad to leave that behind. Mi’ tinnitus is bad enough thanks.

After I got mi’ pen, I caught the bus back to Sheffield and because it’d been a week, the one back into Fakemoor. Funnily enough, it were the same bus driver that’d picked me up, but he ran off when he saw me wi’ mi’ new gun, so I had to drive. You know, I reckon he must’ve thought I was a bit peed off at him for leaving me in’t middle of Derbyshire, but you know what, I had a nice time.

Right, next thing on mi’ list is to sort mi’ room out. 

Best regards, 

- Leroy Craddock

P.S. Turns out screw cem from a box of screws just meters away from where I found the loose one. What am I like ay!

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