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!

Nasty Things

Hello, TONE. typing, erm, again, 

Awful things have happened! Leroy still isn’t back for one! Major, Em, Minor and Trevor were out looking for him all last night and today. While they were out, erm, two people came round and, well, the door must have been unlocked cos they let themselves in, but they didn’t steal anything, no, they, erm... they moved into Leroy’s bedroom!

They’d already unpacked all their bags when I’d realised what had happened and... I was, er, sleeping you see.

The worst bit of it was what woke me. And it wasn’t the sound of them unpacking, or moving all Leroy’s stuff out of the room and into the landing, or them painting the, er, walls, or putting up some pictures up... guess I was, er, sleepy. 

No, what woke me was the sound of a whip being cracked and the, erm, scream that followed. I thought the worst, so I scurried into Leroy’s room only to find the strangers doing, well, er, nasty things to each other. 

Luckly, at the, erm, at the same time, everyone minus Leroy, came back and heard all the nasty things happening, so ran upstairs.

There we all were, watching the nasty things through the, er, crack in the door. They stopped doing the nasty things when Minor took a photo. The flash dazzled them to, er, say the least. 

Afterwards, we and the couple talked around the dinner table, with a cup of tea and biscuits. I had a sugar cube. 

Oh yeah, the couples names are Terry and Bob-ra. Terry’s quite a small man. A bit, er, meek I think the word is. The woman, Bob-ra, is Terry’s opposite. Big, and loud, and hairy. She gulped her tea down while it was still boiling. I guess that’s where her hairy chest comes from, maybe. Terry didn’t have tea. Terry had pop with a straw. He had a jam sandwich with the, er, crusts cut off too. Oh, and a Munch Bunch yoghurt. They’re his favourite apparently. 

Between us we figured out that Bob-ra and Terry were supposed to move in next door, but because Leroy had swapped our door numbers with next doors, they thought we were next door!

Leroy swapped them round because he worried that he wouldn't be able to get to his post after his old neighbour, Mr. Briggs, mysteriously disappeared. You see, I think, the, erm, post man always used to deliver Leroy's post to Mr. Briggs, and Mr. Briggs' post to Leroy.

But the, er, swap didn't quite work, cos days later a, erm, new post man started. Leroy did think about explaining all this to the new post man, and swapping the numbers back again, but he told me he quite likes reading Mr. Briggs letters.

Anyway, erm, Terry thanked Major for the sandwich, saying it was the best he’d ever had, and went to bed. It was only half seven! Bob-ra assured us that they’d be gone as soon as they’d sorted it out with the council or something. She also asked Minor if she could get his photo of them doing nasty things framed. Minor charged them way too much, like £50 or something, but she didn’t seem to mind. Then she went to bed.

I think they're doing nasty things again.

I miss Leroy.

- TONE.

Wobbly

Erm, hello, it’s TONE. typing. 

While I’ve been recovering in my matchbox bed all weekend, from my, er, box related incident, the others have been taking all  Leroy's hoarded stuff to the tip. 

This is the first time that I’ve been downstairs since it’s been cleared, cos I’ve been a bit wobbly. But anyway the, er, flat feels massive now. Plus, Leroy’s even got around to taking the Christmas decorations down. Thought he was going to leave them up like he has done for the last few years. 

Erm, talking of Leroy, I haven’t seen him all day. I mean I heard him leave this morning, but he doesn’t like being out for longer than a few hours. Says fresh air makes you age faster.

I would normally go out looking for him, but er, like I said, I’m still a little wobbly. 

Come to think of it, there was something. Before he left he shouted something about a screw. Don’t really know what that means, but, I'll er, ask the others what they heard. 

Okay, I’m going to do that.

Keep safe till the, er, next time we talk,

- TONE.

Shag Pile

Hello sweets,

We finally confronted Leroy about all his dreadful hoarding last night. Finally right! 

It all came to a head after a box filled with boxes fell on TONE., flattening him on the shag pile. Awful I know. I mean who even has a shag pile these days, I ask you! And before you say, Emily wait, shag piles very retro, very now. Wrong, they gather all sorts of rubbish, you can't get them clean, they smell something chronic, and for what? So your floor can have a bit of chest hair. No thank you. 

Anyway, he was there for a few hours apparently, you know, 'til like, Major and I found him. We went for a walk to the bypass and back to get out of the flat. Claustrophobic, you have no idea. Oh, but he’s fine now sweets, don’t worry. Think the shock was worse for him than anything else. He’s going to rest for a bit. He’ll be fine.

We called a “flat meeting”... Oh, hang on, that was like a joke wasn’t it. Like, to do with TONE. getting flattened. But anyway, OMG, the thought of “group meetings” makes me itchy. Awful, but it had to be done I'm afraid. 

Think we were mean’t to have it in the kitchen, but it was far too crowded in there, filled with those dreadful barrels of cooking oil, so we had it in the bathroom with Mr. Howler's TV blaring below us. I tell you what, the walls are so very thin in these maisonettes.

We stood there for a while, in a state of awkward silence. Noel Edmonds muffled under us. We were all so quiet, that even Noel's shirt was audible. Though aren't they always, especially that purple floral one. Oh dear.

Leroy started telling us about the great awkward silence of 1986. That went on forever, 'till I eventually pushed Major to butt in with *deep voice* 

“That’s all very... interesting, but Leroy, can we talk about this stockpile of salvaged stuff in the flat please?” 

“We’h, aye. It’s all good stuff in’t it. Oh, din’t show you lot mi’ latest find did I ay... Look, here it is...” pulling out a flannel from under his jumper, “I only need a small one.”

Minor clapped sarcastically while Trevor, I think, swooned for that flannel a little bit. 

Well Christ, I’m blabbering now. The top and bottom of it is, Leroy agreed to sort through and get rid of some of his clutter. So looks like we’ve a weekend of lugging around boxes and cleaning up. 

Fun fun *shudders and cries inside*.

Love, 

- Emily Quinn

FIDL

Here's one of the FIDL posters I was using as a duvet the other day...

...In case you were wondering, it was of little or no toggage.

- Major Gubbins

Right Crispy Bit

Hello,

My oh my, not only does it still smell like an infected skunk sphincter round the estate, but Leroy’s passion for hoarding the neighbourhood's uncollected rubbish is getting out of hand! 

For instance, I woke this morning underneath a pile of promotional posters from the newly opened Fidl supermarket. One of which screamed,‘the price of Viagra is staying down, so you don't have to!’. 

When I queried Leroy about it he told me “We’h, they might need ‘em next year. I’m just doin’ my part for the environment by holdin' on to 'em. Ay, you gonna ‘ave some breakfast pal?”

Incidentally, breakfast was an uninspiring bowl of UHT milk, because it was the only thing A) I trusted and B) I could reach for over the dozen or so barrels of used cooking oil from 'Munchies', the pizza drug den down the way. “I reckon it in’t as used as they say it is...” Leroy proclaimed after I’d submerged my rear in a open barrel, mistaking it for a chair. “Aye, plenty more use in it yet. And, occasionally, you get a little surprise in it. Oh aye, like a right crispy bit.” I tried to tell him that he could use the oil to fuel his farty moped, but he just talked over me.

The rest of the day was wasted trying to get to the computer so I could start recording a new batch of tracks. By the time I'd moved the pile of overflowing foraged crap it was teatime. Which for me was vegetable tempura with some left over salsa dip. Guess who ended up with the "right crispy bit".

- Major Gubbins

Perfectly Good Sausage Rolls

Hello, Leroy here,

  

So, went out for mi' usual mosey round't local shops, doin' me shopping and such, you know, and weh’, everyone I talked to were complaining ‘bout bin men bin' on strike.

I say, it’s all the bleedin’ council’s fault. Always is in’t it ay. Last year, they wasted all’t money painting them streetlights fancy greys like ‘Elephant’s Breath’ or ‘Engraved Pocket’, or something along them lines. Dun’t sound a lot I know, but put into consideration that Fakemoor has more streetlights per square inch than anywhere else in’t county, and that they used that right minty Barrow & Fall paint, ay, must’ve come to a right packet. And’t daft bleeders din’t think to change the bulbs while they were at it. So it’s pitch black between Cos Grove and Dobson Passage now. Luckily, there’s only really t’wirly’s at the Nursing Home on that stretch. Most of them ‘ave probably got cataracts, so I guess it dun’t really bother them does it.

Anyweh’, it’s bleedin’ typical in’t it, first bin collection after Christmas and they decide to go on strike, all cos the council can’t afford to pay ‘em. Meanin’ the place stinks like rotting turkey meat, mini quiche and puppy. Which is probably, exactly what it is. Anyw'eh, I'm just thankful it in't Summer, cos it'd be really ripe then wunt it.

It’s not all bad mind. There’s plenty of tidbits for ol’ Leeeroy. In fact, this morning I ‘ad a quick rummage through Mr. & Mrs. Cornfoot’s sweaty pile. Weh’, they’d thrown out a right load of perfectly good sausage rolls, still in date, still in their packagin’, nowt wrong wi’ ‘em. Folk are odd to say the least. 

Found a dress in another neighbour’s bin too. Weh’, again, don’t know what’s wrong wi’ people, I really don’t. Could they not tek it back t’shop ay? Nice lacy number it is. Reckon you’d have to wear summit under it like. Mebbi' a bit revealing around the all over body area. Would look spot-on wi’ a nice shawl. I gev’ it to Emily, but I don’t think she liked it much.

That’s all from me anyweh', I’ll be in touch.

Regards, 

- Leroy Craddock