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Saturday, 24 March 2012

image for The Mystery Of Puddleby Cove - Featuring The Spiffing Six - Episode Seven A Cheap Tawdry Representation Of Lesbian Love - A Last Ditch Attempt To Sex Up This Sad Saga

The story so far:

It's still quite dull really. It's just a load of old toss about a bunch of upper crust kids who drink a lot and do drugs occasionally. It seems at this point that it has no idea where it's going, much less what it wants to be. All that's really happened so far is that The Spiffing Six - of whom there are only four (five if you include the priapic dog, Stiffy, who we hardly ever see, anyway) - have seen a light on the clifftops above Puddleby Cove. And that's about it really. Perhaps there'll be some explicit sex in this episode, but then again, probably not. Disappointingly there hasn't been any sickening violence, or even the odd dead body yet. Nor will there be, I would have thought. Probably better if you just hit the back button and read something a bit more interesting instead...

EPISODE SEVEN

Aunt Peg did the chums proud when they got back to the cottage. As they'd been out for the most part of the day she laid on a sumptuous spread, designed specifically to replace all the calories the chums had burned off in the course of their day spent adventuring and exploring.

The kitchen table was piled high with an eye watering stack of fish and chips, pies of various varieties with chips, burgers with chips, sausages and chips, pots of mushy peas, saveloys, spring rolls, curry and chips, fried chicken portions and chips, and all manner of similar chip shop related delicacies.

Plus, of course, the ubiquitous stack of canned Headbanger beer, and as a special treat, a couple of bottles of 'Oul Gobshoit' Irish whiskey for sharing.

The chums became fagged out quite early that night, and elected to turn in well before midnight, despite Spanky's offer of a spot of Billy to pep things up a bit.

Within minutes of their turning in, the sounds of snoring and farting filled the dormitory, turning the air quite toxic.

Shortly, the chums were all sound asleep.

With the exception of Abigail.

Abigail couldn't sleep because her mind was in a whirl, working overtime, crashing through the gears and functioning with ever increasing rapidity.

Stiffy the dog obviously had energy to burn too, if the way in which he was vigorously (but to his credit, quietly) pumping up the draught excluder in the corner was any indication to go by.

The trouble was that Abigail wasn't at all satisfied by the way this holiday was turning out. All this business with mysterious figures clambering about on the cliffs, flashing lights in the night - it was all too much. There had to be answers out there somewhere, and - loath as she was to admit it to herself - The Spiffing Six's progress in getting to the bottom of the mystery had hardly been earth shattering.

In truth, they had achieved precisely nothing. Not a jot. Zilch. Sweet Fanny Adams. Zero. Not so much as a fucking sausage. And a shitty sausage at that.

Apart from a great deal of arsing about on the cliffs, almost literally chasing shadows, which, quite frankly, at least as far as Abigail was concerned, simply wasn't good enough.

It was time to grasp the nettle, to take the bull by the horns, to nail the jelly to the wall. So to speak. Time to get things done.

Which was a major part of the problem, Abigail reasoned. As they'd grown older, The Spiffing Six seemed to be more interested in boozing, scoffing grub, and doing drugs - all to vulgar excess - than they ever had been in the gang's initial objectives of adventuring, crime detection, and righting wrongs. Sure, they were growing up - but, sadly, in different directions.

She quietly got up out of bed, and padded silently over to the window, peered out over the moonlit cliffs, and saw...

Nothing.

It was terribly frustrating, because Abigail really felt like she needed some action, something to immerse herself in, some excitement, but, as usual, there was nothing happening.

"Oh, bloody piffle and poohsticks!" she cursed, in a soft yet strangely vehement whisper, as a wave of demoralisation washed over her, and as she turned, resignedly set to go back to her bed, she saw...

The light!

Heart hammering, adrenalin flushing through her veins, breathing shallowly yet rapidly through clenched teeth, Abigail squinted out into the night.

It was no trick of the mind, nor was it an optical illusion. The light was there, and it was real enough. Exactly as it had done before, it flashed on and off, and waved around in an apparently random fashion in the air.

"Yeah, right! A bloody UFO!" Abigail whispered to herself with heavy irony. "UFO my bottom!"

She moved silently across to her bed and quickly dressed.

That was another thing about growing up that really ticked her off - her bra size had seemingly overnight expanded to a stupendously healthy 38DD - and the flipping things could be a bit of a blithering nuisance, getting in the way and stuff.

Abigail had to wear baggy sweaters, in order to conceal her ample assets - or obstacles, depending on how you look at it.

She wasn't at all sure how to cope with the onset of imminent womanhood. In some ways, she was rather fond of it, and yet in other ways, it remained a mysterious curse. Emotionally, she was in a state of eternal internal conflict.

On the plus side, she discovered within herself a whole new spectrum of feelings, like for example how she found herself staring at men's bottoms and getting that delicious squidgy feeling down there.

She'd discovered that all of a sudden, boys started paying attention to her, and they insisted on helping her to things which she was perfectly capable of doing for herself, thank you very much!

She also noticed that boys liked to touch her - surreptitiously - a friendly arm around her shoulder, a spot of friendly play wrestling, a little peck on the cheek when she did something funny or clever.

That kind of thing.

She enjoyed all of this attention, to a certain extent, apart from when old men tried it on, with their disgusting leering, slobbering, and foaming at the mouth. That was utterly revolting. She was very careful though, because she knew from reading books and stuff at school that in most cases, the boys weren't just being friendly. They were after something, and Abigail knew exactly what that something was, and what it could lead to.

She had no ambitions towards motherhood herself, and similarly had no respect for those loose knickered types who inevitably wound up living in council flats with four or five kids by different fathers, with their sole income coming from the state. With a smackhead boyfriend, usually named Jason, who wasn't above giving them a good slap on a regular basis.

Abigail would never have countenanced such a fate for herself, and had zero sympathy for those who did. She considered people like that to be totally lacking in any modicum of self respect, and unworthy of even one iota of compassion. Womanhood, in Abigail's opinion was not a toy to be trifled with willy nilly, but something to be gradually grown into, and so she played down the fact that she was rapidly developing into an Amazonian sex goddess by keeping her hair short and boyish, and by wearing baggy, shapeless clothes. She figured that such tactics ought to keep the wolves away from the door, at least temporarily, until such time as she was ready for those wolves to come a knocking.

She was determined that her life, her womanhood, would develop strictly in accordance with her own terms and conditions.

The down side to all this was that at times Abigail felt isolated from her peers, and worse, that she had nobody to confide in. Being a gypsy orphan girl, her parents were unavailable - for obvious reasons -and her closest girlfriend, Martina, still seemed to be firmly entrenched in childhood.

Abigail reasoned that Martina had probably undergone a puberty bypass.

She was, however, still quite happy to be a founder member of The Spiffing Six, but even with that, as time went by she had developed a nagging feeling that the Six's days of adventuring and stamping out crime were numbered. Sometimes it seemed to Abigail that the kind of things The Spiffing Six got up to were terribly juvenile, and she got these awful prickings of self consciousness which kept telling her that she was being an arse, whatever she did.

Maybe this holiday jaunt would prove to be The Spiffing Six's last stand, before they set their sights on mapping out meteoric individual careers in politics, banking, or big business. She felt a twinge of regret about that - they really had enjoyed some excellent times together. It seemed such a pity that it would all have to come to an end.

"But if this is to be our last stand," she whispered to herself. "I'm going to enjoy it to the max."

That particular train of thought suddenly sidetracked, and Abigail focussed completely on what she was about to do. She donned jeans, sweater, boots, ski-cap and combat jacket, packing with her a powerful flashlight, a pen knife and a box of Swan Vestas. (That's twice she's got dressed. You made a bollocks of that - Ed)

Erm...yes, anyway, after getting dressed twice...

(Get on with it! - Ed)

All right! Fucking pedant...

Creeping out of the attic dorm, Abigail could hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs. Aunt Peg's voice could be heard quite clearly, conversing with a man whose voice Abigail did not recognise. Abigail found it unusual that Aunt Peg should be keeping male company at such an ungodly hour, but then again she was a grown woman, and at least she had the good grace to keep her liaisons discreet.

Good for you Aunt Peg, she thought, smiling understandingly to herself.

She crept stealthily down the stairs with Stiffy by her side (who appeared to have taken a break from frenziedly pumping up his draught excluder/lover) and slipped silently out of the front door.

It was cooler outside than it had been throughout the day, but still, quite comfortable. The moon was almost full, and provided ample light to move by.

Abigail headed for the clifftops again.

Alone...

Save for Stiffy...

**********

COMING NEXT - Will something actually happen? Probably not. It hardly ever does. Or maybe you've been lulled into a false sense of security stroke mind numbing boredom dear reader. Tune in next time for more crushing disappointment.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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