Welcome dear reader to the alternative conclusion to the saga of the Major and Mrs Percy's epic charabanc day trip. Of course, the story came to a natural conclusion at the close of Part 7, so this additional episode is purely optional. It is for all the blood-crazed sadists out there who demand a violent conclusion to their entertainment. It contains bad language, flashing lights, scenes of extreme violence, and one extremely angry individual.
The Major is a little bit sozzled. It's ten pm precisely, and he's eaten Mrs Percy's home made spaghetti and meatballs, drank two large brandies and three quarters of a bottle of Chianti Classico.
Being sozzled, he's in combative mood.
"I'm going to sort the buggers out," he declares.
"Can't we just go to bed?" Mrs Percy pleads. She's exhausted. She's been up for eighteen hours, and she just wants to go to sleep.
"Go to bed?" the Major gasps. "When the buggers who have been ripping us off all day are down at the Grapes Of Wrath, laughing at us? Drinking away my bloody hard earned army pension? Bugger that, the wife. I want retribution!"
"Can't we talk about this in the morning?"
"No we bloody well can't. Those robbing buggers will be off out of it tomorrow, taking advantage of another charabanc load of gullible day trippers. They have to be stopped."
"But Major, everybody seemed to enjoy themselves. I know it was all a bit extortionate, but nobody really seemed to mind all that much."
"I bloody mind. Somebody has to. For God's sake woman - don't you see that we can't let them get away with this? We have to make a stand. Somebody has to stand up to these unscrupulous scumbags..."
"So what are you going to do?"
The major takes a long drink of Chianti.
"Go and get me the gun," he says calmly.
"The gun? Don't you think that's going a little bit over the top? They're only spivs. They haven't killed anybody..."
"Go and get me the bloody gun wife!" The Major explodes. "I will see justice done if it bloody well kills me!"
"Get it yourself."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Get it yourself. It's all the way up in the attic. I'm tired. I can't be bothered going up there after a long day. Go and get your own bloody gun."
"I WILL NOT TOLERATE INSUBORDINATION!" the Major yells. "NOW GET YOUR ARSE UP TO THE ATTIC RIGHT NOW AND BRING ME THE FUCKING GUN!"
Mrs Percy is taken aback. She hasn't seen the Major this livid in years. Although she just wants nothing more than a good night's sleep, she complies, and goes off upstairs to get the gun.
Five minutes later, the Major is striding towards the Grapes Of Wrath public house with a gun in his hand. He has changed into combat fatigues and he is wearing army issue boots. Mrs Percy walks beside him, trying to talk him out of it, but he's having none of it.
"Can't we just go home and go to bed?" she pleads.
"Shut up woman. Stop waffling," he says through tightly clenched teeth.
They enter the saloon bar of the Grapes Of Wrath, and the Major pauses (mainly for dramatic effect) gun in hand.
The charabanc driver, Ali Bullo, Alan the tour guide, the Eric Idle impersonator and the three big blokes in black suits and sunglasses are gathered around the bar.
They are knocking the drinks back as if they're going out of fashion. They are laughing. A lot.
"What a bunch of mugs," one says. "I couldn't believe how stupid they were!"
The Major doesn't make any sudden moves. His military instincts have taken over - he completely understands the importance of the element of surprise. He moves slowly, almost imperceptively, into the saloon bar, and stealthily moves into position behind the group at the bar. He is standing a mere fifteen feet away from his intended victims.
Gun in hand.
He knows that sooner or later, they'll sense his presence. He tightens his grip on the gun.
Seconds later, the charabanc driver turns, and his eyes briefly flash as he recognises the Major.
"Hello mate!" he says with exaggerated cameraderie. "You was on the trip today! Come and join us for a drink!"
"I didn't come for that," the Major says.
"What did you come for then, mate?"
"I've come to hurt you."
The room goes silent. A middle aged couple suddenly get up from their seats and scuttle outside. The men standing at the bar turn to face the Major. They look mean.
"Watch it, he's got a shooter," one of the suits says.
"You mean this?" the Major holds the gun up, pointing at the ceiling.
The Major smiles.
"Don't do it. Please Major..." Mrs Percy entreats.
"Listen to the lady mate, innit," Ali Bullo, the chap from the burger van says. "You don't wanna be using that innit. Somebody might get hurt. Come and join us for a drink innit. Shootin' guns is no bladdy good."
"That depends on who's holding the gun," the Major says.
"Look mate," Ali Bullo says. "We just having big laugh. Come join us. Put the gun down. We buy you drink or three. Maybe you join team. We can always use a good military man. Money very good. Maybe you like. You no want shoot nobody."
The Major does not yield.
"Come on mate," Ali Bullo cajoles. "Put the gun down and I introduce you to my boys. Them good boys. Little bit mean and nasty sometimes, but they good. Is all good, man."
"You're just a bunch of thieving bastards," the Major snarls. "Taking advantage of innocent, gullible people. I'm here to collect their dues."
Ali Bullo is getting nervous. Beads of sweat form on his forehead,
"Okay mate. You've had your fun. Now give me the gun and we say no more about this. Give me the gun or we mash you up innit..."
Ali Bullo advances towards the Major, hand outstretched, fingers making jerky little movements...
He gets too close.
The Major fires. A big red stain blossoms on Ali Bullo's chest as he lurches backwards.
One of the suits makes a move, but the Major shoots him in the chest too. His white shirt sprouts a huge red rose.
The Major is on a roll.
He keeps on shooting until he has hit them all.
The only sound is that of groaning.
"Bladdy fuck mate!" Ali Bullo groans. "That hurt like bloody big fuck!"
"There's plenty more where that came from," the Major snarls.
"You've fucking ruined me shirt! You big bell end!" one of the suits wails.
"You want some more?" the Major asks.
"Nah! No more mate. Please," the charabanc driver groans. "Look, can we make a deal here?"
"We no make bloody deal with him bastard!" Ali Bullo growls. "Get him!"
"Sod that," one of the suits says. "Give him his fucking money back before he finishes us all off!"
"How does ninety quid sound?" the charabanc driver croaks.
"I think we can agree on that," the Major says. "Hand it over. Any funny business and I'll shoot you all again."
"No!" Ali Bullo wails. "No more bladdy shooting. It hurt like bladdy fack. Give him the money."
One of the suits hobbles forward, and offers the Major some banknotes at arm's length.
The Major takes the money.
"If any of you bloody clowns come chasing after me, you'll get more of the same," he says.
"Is okay," Ali Bullo gasps. "We not glutton for punishment. Just take money. Go away. Leave us in peace. Please."
The Major nods. He doesn't say anything else.
With the paintball gun still trained on the stricken men, he backs out of the door...
Later, at home with Mrs Percy, as he finishes his bottle of Chianti, he says:
"There's a moral to all this, the wife."
"What's that then Major?" Mrs Percy asks.
"You don't fuck with the Major. Especially when he's carrying a paintball gun."
"Very good Major. Can I go to bed now?" Mrs Percy is yawning..."It's been a long day, and I really am tired."
And that's all folks. Probably not quite what you expected, but there you go. It didn't cost you anything, and if you've suffered through each individual episode in sequence, you're probably as daft as I am. If many more people read this, there'll almost be enough to fill a charabanc...