MMM Part 2

'You've done WHAT??' screeches Mrs Miggins when I happen to mention in passing that Andy and I have signed on the dotted line to purchase Much Malarkey Manor. 'You are aware that things of a suspicious and ghastly manner have happened there, aren't you?'
'Yes I am,' I say, 'but luckily I am not, touchwood, superstitious about these things.'
'Well as long as you know what you're doing,' says Miggins. 'Put the heating on will you? My bum is frozen.'

Mrs Slocombe is still feather pecking. We've tried telling her off, sending her to cognitive behaviour therapy and spraying everyone's bottoms purple in an attempt to put her off but nothing is working so far. 'I can't help it!' she cries excitedly as she goes in pursuit of one of the others. 'It's like a mad compulsion.' 'Well,' I have warned her, 'if you don't stop you will leave me no option other than to get Paul McKenna involved with his 'I Can Stop You Pulling Out Other Chickens' Feathers' CD. ' Mrs Slocombe doesn't look remotely scared. 'I'm not susceptible to hypnosis,' she says. 'Ask Mrs Poo.'
'It's true,' says Mrs Poo who is also a poet and doesn't know it. 'I tried to hypnotise her once on stage but all she did was walk around flapping her wings and making a noise like a chicken.'
'Isn't that standard stage hypnotist fare?' I ask. 'Oh yeah,' says Poo. 'P'raps it worked after all.'
'Anyway,' I say, getting back to my favourite subject of the moment which is our impending move to Much Malarkey Manor, 'you'll like the gardens. They're much bigger than what we have here. They even have grass.'
'Is that old groundsman still there?' asks Miggins. 'What's his name now?'
'Versatility Peat,' says Mrs Slocombe through a beak full of feathers.
'That's the chap,' says Mrs Miggins.
'Any relation to Tango Pete?' I ask.
'No,' says Mrs Miggins, 'he's much grubbier.'
'Really?' I say.
'Yes. Just keep your begonias well away from him, that's all I'm going to say,' says Mrs Miggins. 'I don't suppose you could knit me some pants could you?' She has noticed I've got out my knitting needles in preparation for my next knitting project.
'I should think so,' I say. 'What colour and what type of wool would you like?'
Mrs Miggins looks at me. 'There' is only one colour and one type of wool for pants,' she says.
'Orange mohair it is then,' I say and take a couple of measurements.
'Oooh, can I have some?' says Mrs Slocombe. Now I'm all for bribery and here seems an ideal opportunity to employ some.
'Yes,' I say. 'As soon as you desist in this feather plucking habit.'
'Make 'em out of barbed wire,' says Mrs Poo, giving her own bald undercarriage a bit of a scratch. 'Then she'll appreciate how itchy we've all been feeling.'
'Now now, 'I say. 'Just think how happy we'll all be when we move to Much Malarkey Manor.'
'You reckon?' says Mrs Miggins.
'YES!' I shout.