Sunday, 9 October 2011

Pamplemeece

'Ssssssshhhhhh!'

'If you tell me to 'ssssshhhhhh!' one more time, so help me Lord of Double Gloucester, I shall drop this suitcase on your foot, turn around and head straight back to Much Markle, tout de suite, pronto and immediately.'

'Myrtle, for the last time, if we had set off when I'd wanted to set off, we'd have arrived on time, in the daylight, and we wouldn't have to be sneaking around in the dark like a couple of criminals...'

'Don't you be bringing my Uncle Migsy into this. He didn't do it, no matter what the police said.'

'Did I mention your Uncle Migsy. I never said a word about Uncle Migsy...'

'You didn't have to. I saw the look in your eye. Just because there's one bad apple on the toffee apple stand...'

'Myrtle! Just knock on the door, will you? Hopefully, someone will be waiting up to let us in.'

Myrtle drops the suitcase on Monty's foot. 'There better had be,' she says.

Luckily, the door opens quickly and the glow of the porch light reveals a round figure wearing a floral housecoat and a hairnet.

'Ah! Here at least,' says the figure.

'Hello, yes...sorry we're late. Monty and Myrtle Pamplemeece,' says Monty, removing his hat and sweeping a low bow.

'Are you the Much Markle Pamplemeece or the Marseille Pamplemeece, or the Melbourne Pamplemeece?' says the figure.

'We're the Much Markle Pamplemeece,' says Monty. 'And we're sorry we're late only we didn't leave Hereford when I'd have liked and the train was delayed because of a water otter on the line.'

'Oh, you won't have problems like that here in Kent,' says the figure. 'We only get leaves and snow on the line. The only otter here is Mr Kettle, our plumber and handy man. He's our water otter (boom! boom!). I'm Mabel Pamplemeece, by the way. Welcome to Much Malarkey Manor. Come in, come in. I hope you enjoy the Pamplemeece Family Get-together.
And Mabel Pamplemeece picks up the heavy suitcase, flings it over her shoulder because she did body-building in her youth and never lost the touch, and shows Monty and Myrtle Pamplemeece to their room on the East Wing of the Manor.

'Breakfast at 8,' she says, 'sleep well.'

And there the story of the Pamplemeece family reunion must pause for the day because the chief writer aka me is being unably assisted in her typing by apprentice writer aka Kayleigh who is insisting on writing the story via the letters B, V and P only, which is a bit of a pain.

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