The story so far - what precious little there is of it - the Spiffing Six have travelled to Aunt Peg's cottage on the Cornish coast, for the summer hols. Nothing really noteworthy has happened thus far. The Six, (Of whom there are really only four.) appear to have done nothing much, other than get drunk, smoke some weed, overeat, and pissball about trying to follow some chap who was larking about...
When I opened my eyes I saw red coals, licking flames. My left leg was burning. Above me, giant faces loomed; they were contorted hideously. Had I truly descended to hell? I had not. I looked about me. I was in the sitting room at 221b Candlestick Maker Street. The faces were those of Inspector Stanley Livingstone Stanley and - my God! - could it really be my friend Shylock Humes? I moaned, an...
Falling, I fell forever into fathomless blackness. Tumbling, I was helpless. Into what, I could not know, only that plunge I must, and for eternity. Was this Hell itself, was it Pandaemonium through which I plummetted? And yet, there were glimpses, terrible, desperate fleeting visions, of a world so dear. Of a world forever closed to me. Our bedroom, at home, the smell of lavender. The lovely f...
My friend Shylock Humes and I were crouching on the lawn of the villa of Colonel Clavicord, late of the Bengal Dancers, waiting for our friends from Scotland Yard to gather their forces for the final push into the villa, where it was my fervent hope that we would at last encounter the denouement of The Adventure Of The Missing Christmas Goose. Shylock Humes turned to me. In order to do this, he...
Update - The story so far... The Spiffing Six (Of whom there are four, and a somewhat priapic dog,) have arrived at Aunt Peg's cottage at Puddleby Cove, and have encountered a mysterious figure, flitting about amongst the rocks in the cove, in a highly suspicious manner. The Spiffing Six attempted to pursue the suspicious character, but - hampered by overindulgence in food, Headbanger beer, and a...
Consumer watchdog group, 'Stop It! Now!' (SIN) today released a strongly worded statement, attacking the internet publication of what has been described as 'an Enid Blyton parody' which is currently available for anyone to see, free of charge, on sat...
French police today appealed to Scotland Yard for urgent assistance, following reports that a Calais woman has apparently vanished without trace. Mariette LaVache was last seen berating neighbours and howling at the moon in her native Calais, but...
My friend Shylock Humes and myself were sitting in a London growler, in the inky-shadowed street outside the villa of Colonel Clavicord, late of the Bengal Dancers. This villa was, I hoped, to be the scene of the great denouement of our adventure, in which all the various skeins, threads and loose ends gathered so painstakingly by my friend, would at last be tied, tidied and secured in lots of lov...
EPISODE ONE It was a gloriously sunny, bright and stiflingly hot day, at the very beginning of the school summer hols, and fifteen year old twins, Tugboat and Martina Browne were busily packing cases in their bedroom. Even though the huge 16th Century manor house they inhabited had eleven spacious bedrooms, they absolutely insisted upon sharing. They shared everything; they were extremely cl...
My friend Shylock Humes and I sat in the four-wheeler, in the inky-shadowed street outside the villa of Colonel Clavicord, late of the Bengal Dancers and host of the Annual Convention of Not-Quite Correct Things. We waited on the arrival of Inspector Arbuthnot Williams of Scotland Yard, who ought by now to have been relieved from his vigil at 345 Bombay Road by Inspector Stanley Livingstone Sta...
My friend Shylock Humes, Inspector Stanley Livingstone-Stanley and I were jogging through the suburbs of Norwood in a London growler, bound, as we thought, for the villa of Colonel Clavicord, late of the Bengal Dancers, who was there hosting the Annual Convention of Not Quite Correct Things, for there it was, according to Humes, that we should, at last, attain the longed-for denouement of the Adve...
Inspector Stanley Livingstone-Stanley and I sat silently, as we lurched along through the winter evening streets of London. We were sitting in a two-horse brougham opposite a Bolivian admiral who was on his way to the Annual Convention of Not Quite Correct Things, which is an event hosted by Colonel Clavicord, late of the Bengal Dancers, and is a veritable Mecca to those with a penchant for the re...
Inspector Stanley Livingstone Stanley and I stood in the sitting room at 221b Candlestick Maker Street, waiting for Shylock Humes to emerge from his bedroom. I had donned my Littlehampton waterproof coat with detachable 24 inch cape, in navy worsted serge. I was forced to wear the worsted one. My bestest coat had been at the Chinese laundry for a week or two, along with my Harris Tweed duck-sho...
Having clambered down from the scaffolding, I made my way to the window, where my friend Shylock Humes was looking out onto a wintry Candlestick Maker Street. "Yes, doctor", said Humes, "this is the carriage I was expecting." "But there is something amiss here!" I ejaculated, and immediately regretted it. Mrs Dudson was away visiting her cousin Effie at Ecclefechan. How would we clear up in...
It was upon the second morning after the first Christmas since my first marriage that I had called upon my friend Shylock Humes in order to wish him the compliments of the season. There had been a hard frost overnight, which had given the fresh snow of Boxing day the character of sugar icing. The vile alleys were full of frozen drunkards and perished prostitutes, and the urchin children begged...
Cumbrians have been left with a mammoth clean up operation as The Mysterious Jelly returns, this time to the hills around Cumbria. "Two years ago," said lead scientist, Theo Rea, "we investigated the blobs that struck Scotland. At the time we had...
My friend Shylock Humes sat by the fire, subjecting the cardboard box Inspector Arbuthnot Williams had brought, to the most intimate and discerning scrutinies possible to man. I say man. I could not speak for woman, apart from our housekeeper, Mrs Dudson, whose scrutinies were generally limited to questions of domestic order, and were far from intimate or discerning. I say order. What I should per...
Get Spoof News in your email inbox!
