The Colonel's After Us!!!!

Shit! Monty tells me that we have really pissed off old Colonel Hampton (that's him, there).

He's the old duffer who lives in the Hall at the back of our Shack. He's a right miserable fucker, always going on about our noise; our "mess"; our weeds - and, especially, the laughter. Not only that, the tweedy derelict old bastard hates Sylvanian's. Calls them "little devils", and blasts his twelve-bore at them, indiscrimately. Whenever he sees me out in my bikini he shouts out "Communist! Faggot!" and the like. Perhaps he is also a little riled seeing as an entirely sober Dan thieved a pair of his tweedy underpants in a moment of clarity...

This could spell trouble for us. I'd better tell Dan!

BACK to front of Shack.

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Monty's Transgression (cont.)

Completely out of the blue, Monty let out a cowboy cry of, "YEE-HAH!" There was silence... followed by further silence; which, after some considerable time, was crowned by... silence (of the stunned, not stoned[!!], variety).

I don't know how he summoned up the power of speech in the shadow of such an appalling transgression as this, but then Dan - still lying prone on the floor of The Shack (and bleeding from the corner of his mouth) - spoke.
"Oh no - no, no, no Monty. That won't do at all - not at all! We won't have that kind of thing here. You see, we are English and that kind of thing really isn't part of our cultural tradition. Isn't that right Wee Davy?"
We waited for a second as Wee Davy lay down his blood-stained hatchet and composed himself to speak.
"Click, clickerty click click clickerty. Cli-ick, clickerty click click click... clickerty!" (for, following our friendship dating back to days of school, the evil axe-weilding muchkin speaks in a language of clicks, which, strangely, only I understand).
The assembled folk looked to me to translate. So, lactating nervously, I did:
"Hmm, very true Wee Davy. He says that Monty's attempt at a rodeo shout is merely a pale cultural pastiche, akin to English white boys in rural Norfolk wearing baseball caps and speaking street jive in their country accents. He posits the opinion that, although we welcome diversity, it is important that this is done with integrity and authenticity. Furthermore, he feels that Monty's position is akin to that of the inflatable boy who, attending an inflatable school with an inflatable Head teacher, brings a pin into school. This scenario reaches its inevitable conclusion with the Head Teacher saying to the boy,
'You have let me down; you've let the school down - but most of all, you've let yourself down Son.'"

Suddenly going all dyslexic in a homage to Dan, let me say that all kinds of kayoss ensued in the wake of this here pronouncement - shear mayhum!
Such extraordinary scenes, my only remaining memory of this night are the cries of, "be true to oneself - true to the YOO!" which echoed long into the night from our Weedy Shack.

(I swear to you that I am not currently taking any drugs whatsoever. All of this is the fruition of a lifetime of applied irrelevance - the power of the MYND!)

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