It was another of those things that my Father failed to tell me about, like washing your clothes in a bucket after caving to avoid mud and grit being distributed evenly through the wash rather than being got rid of.
I had been invited to my Godson Stuart's fourth birthday party and had been told that it had a pirate theme. After digging through my extensive wardrobe I liberated some likely materials, packed them in my trusty backpack and set off to have a walk through the Chilterns prior to arriving at the party, where I would change and appear piratelike in the back garden having climbed through the hole in the hedge. Well, I nearly managed all that, I got off the train at Chorleywood, where I procured a suitable present and card, then headed off up the Chess valley, keeping a weather eye out for fungi on the way (like you do). I failed miserably on the fungi (well on any edibles) but managed to navigate quite successfully until I emerged out of the woods at the back of Chez Lewis. After checking the surrounding area for pedestrians of a sensitive and potentially litigious nature or, in fact, an existent nature, I got changed, swapping my shorts for three-quarter lengths, pulling on my bright red knee socks to set off my well-trimmed calves, tying my kerchief firmly round my muscular neck and dropping a button or two to expose my hirsute but manly bosom, donning my brocade waistcoat to emphasise my breadth of shoulder and trim waist (you're correct this is fantasy but nevertheless that's what I did), and finally tying a red silk scarf pirate-fashion to conceal my luscious, but greying, locks. I then delved for the face paints, and knocked up a couple of scars and the odd tattoo before dirtying my face with gunpowder residue to highlight my three day beard, then I was complete!
I eyed (aya ayed?) the hedges. Nope couldn't recognise a bloody thing. I walked the row of hedges - nope. I walked back - no. Forward-no..... "BUGGER!" So there I stood in piratical flagrante, I produced my jolly roger mobile and phoned,
"Umm Steve.
Hi.
I'm somewhere near the back of your place.
Yeah. Umm can you come out and show me which is yours?
Ta."
Nothing for several minutes, then Steve appeared at the wrong end of the row, I hurried towards him, watching his eyebrows furrow as he took in my garb, he led me through the hole in the hedge (now moved to the other side, no wonder etc, etc.) and from thence into the house.
"Hi Ettie I .....oh."
"Stephen you left the pizza and now it's BURNT!"
"I... Oh. I.. Umm.. Sorry."
"Well, NO, it's aaaaAAARRGGHH!"
"Sorry Ettie it was my fau..... I'll just go and say hello to Stuart."
The actuality of the situation:
Steve is left in charge of the veggie pizza.
I phone and he pops out and hovers around the end of the garden expecting to see me, meanwhile I am at the other end of the row a scant 100 metres or so away.
Steve battles through the hedge having given up waiting, at the same time, the cheese on the pizza first crisps and then burns, blue curlicues of burning fat buoyed on the rising heat, head for the ceiling and the smoke detector.
Steve looks up and down the path and sees a somewhat panicked pirate waving and hurrying towards him, Meanwhile the alpha-particles leaving a small source of Americium 241, and hurrying across a small gap to complete a circuit, are interrupted by an emulsion of cheese and carbon. "Cripes!" says the Smoke Detector, "There's a fire! I'd better go off!" Which it does, with some stridency.
Next door, eight small children who have just settled down to await pizza after an orgy of dipping crudites, react to the urgency of the alarm as only eight small children can - stark terror and incomprehension.
Ettie flies from the living room to the kitchen and mutes the alarm as with one masterly, motherly sweep of her eyes, she takes in the smoke, the blackness of the pizza and the absence of her husband, who drifts in a few moments later with a bedraggled tramp of some sort. She is not in the mood for excuses.
The tramp moves next door, eight small pairs of eyes turn in his direction as do four or five adult pairs, he drops to Stuart's level and, in the tradition of all pirates (and trolls as far as he's concerned) adopts a West Country accent and roars, "HA, HAAAARRRRR!" Several of the boys roar back. On the other hand, Amber flies from the chair to the nearest bosom and breaks into inconsolable tears of fright after a fit of the conniptions. Some of the others, including parents are left wondering which of the three is the best reaction.
Pirate Nick, rather taken aback, adopts Amber's height for a chat, she retreats, bosomward, Ettie comes in and says,
"This is not an Entertainer, this is Stuart's Godfather."
Stuart's Godfather retreats to the sofa, out of Amber's eyeline, should she ever emerge again, and slumps, after a few minutes, Steve slips him a glass of Grog (red from Chile) before removing himself to the far end of the room where he slips himself one.
Moral: If you are going to dress as a pirate make sure you know where you are, and don't be too convincing.
I had been invited to my Godson Stuart's fourth birthday party and had been told that it had a pirate theme. After digging through my extensive wardrobe I liberated some likely materials, packed them in my trusty backpack and set off to have a walk through the Chilterns prior to arriving at the party, where I would change and appear piratelike in the back garden having climbed through the hole in the hedge. Well, I nearly managed all that, I got off the train at Chorleywood, where I procured a suitable present and card, then headed off up the Chess valley, keeping a weather eye out for fungi on the way (like you do). I failed miserably on the fungi (well on any edibles) but managed to navigate quite successfully until I emerged out of the woods at the back of Chez Lewis. After checking the surrounding area for pedestrians of a sensitive and potentially litigious nature or, in fact, an existent nature, I got changed, swapping my shorts for three-quarter lengths, pulling on my bright red knee socks to set off my well-trimmed calves, tying my kerchief firmly round my muscular neck and dropping a button or two to expose my hirsute but manly bosom, donning my brocade waistcoat to emphasise my breadth of shoulder and trim waist (you're correct this is fantasy but nevertheless that's what I did), and finally tying a red silk scarf pirate-fashion to conceal my luscious, but greying, locks. I then delved for the face paints, and knocked up a couple of scars and the odd tattoo before dirtying my face with gunpowder residue to highlight my three day beard, then I was complete!
I eyed (aya ayed?) the hedges. Nope couldn't recognise a bloody thing. I walked the row of hedges - nope. I walked back - no. Forward-no..... "BUGGER!" So there I stood in piratical flagrante, I produced my jolly roger mobile and phoned,
"Umm Steve.
Hi.
I'm somewhere near the back of your place.
Yeah. Umm can you come out and show me which is yours?
Ta."
Nothing for several minutes, then Steve appeared at the wrong end of the row, I hurried towards him, watching his eyebrows furrow as he took in my garb, he led me through the hole in the hedge (now moved to the other side, no wonder etc, etc.) and from thence into the house.
"Hi Ettie I .....oh."
"Stephen you left the pizza and now it's BURNT!"
"I... Oh. I.. Umm.. Sorry."
"Well, NO, it's aaaaAAARRGGHH!"
"Sorry Ettie it was my fau..... I'll just go and say hello to Stuart."
The actuality of the situation:
Steve is left in charge of the veggie pizza.
I phone and he pops out and hovers around the end of the garden expecting to see me, meanwhile I am at the other end of the row a scant 100 metres or so away.
Steve battles through the hedge having given up waiting, at the same time, the cheese on the pizza first crisps and then burns, blue curlicues of burning fat buoyed on the rising heat, head for the ceiling and the smoke detector.
Steve looks up and down the path and sees a somewhat panicked pirate waving and hurrying towards him, Meanwhile the alpha-particles leaving a small source of Americium 241, and hurrying across a small gap to complete a circuit, are interrupted by an emulsion of cheese and carbon. "Cripes!" says the Smoke Detector, "There's a fire! I'd better go off!" Which it does, with some stridency.
Next door, eight small children who have just settled down to await pizza after an orgy of dipping crudites, react to the urgency of the alarm as only eight small children can - stark terror and incomprehension.
Ettie flies from the living room to the kitchen and mutes the alarm as with one masterly, motherly sweep of her eyes, she takes in the smoke, the blackness of the pizza and the absence of her husband, who drifts in a few moments later with a bedraggled tramp of some sort. She is not in the mood for excuses.
The tramp moves next door, eight small pairs of eyes turn in his direction as do four or five adult pairs, he drops to Stuart's level and, in the tradition of all pirates (and trolls as far as he's concerned) adopts a West Country accent and roars, "HA, HAAAARRRRR!" Several of the boys roar back. On the other hand, Amber flies from the chair to the nearest bosom and breaks into inconsolable tears of fright after a fit of the conniptions. Some of the others, including parents are left wondering which of the three is the best reaction.
Pirate Nick, rather taken aback, adopts Amber's height for a chat, she retreats, bosomward, Ettie comes in and says,
"This is not an Entertainer, this is Stuart's Godfather."
Stuart's Godfather retreats to the sofa, out of Amber's eyeline, should she ever emerge again, and slumps, after a few minutes, Steve slips him a glass of Grog (red from Chile) before removing himself to the far end of the room where he slips himself one.
Moral: If you are going to dress as a pirate make sure you know where you are, and don't be too convincing.
