Local man, Martin Shuttlecock, today firmly put his foot down with an iron fist and a rod of chrome vanadium, after being presented with a Chinese takeaway chicken curry for dinner, and half a bag of chips. The reason for this abomination remains unclear, but Shuttlecock apparently holds his grandchildren responsible.
Adding that it's small wonder that long suffering wife, Anne, is long suffering, given this week's performance in the spousal stakes, which apparently amounted to the marital equivalent of two out of ten.
On the Richter Scale, or the Beaufort Scale, or the weighing scale, or whatever it is that they measure such phenomena in.
It seems the problem surfaced on Thursday, when Shuttlecock awoke from a much needed nap, only to find that a barbecue and birthday party, held in honour of his grandaughter, yielded little in the way of sustenance.
"They scoffed the fucking lot, the greedy fuckers," Shuttlecock complained. "All that was left was some poxy cocktail sausages, and half a scotch egg. The greedy gets had scoffed all the pies, all the Ali Bullo kofte kebabs, all the Singapore style chicken, all the steaks and all the crisps. I had to go to work the following morning fortified only by bastard cocktail sausages and half a scotch egg."
Then, on Friday, the situation deteriorated even further, when a ravenous Shuttlecock emerged from his nap to find...only bastard cocktail sausages.
Again.
At which point, Shuttlecock vociferously rounded on long suffering wife, Anne, complaining that he had hardly had a decent bite to eat in two whole days, and that he was, in effect, Hank Marvin.
Anne explained that she had been kept unseasonably busy, scoffing cream cakes, double cheeseburgers, fries, kofte kebabs, tempura prawns and fish and chips. In her defence, she did apparently make Shuttlecock a fried egg sandwich with HP sauce for breakfast on Saturday.
Following which, the situation deteriorated rapidly.
Following a much needed evening sleep, a malnourished and frighteningly frail Shuttlecock emerged from his pit. to find family members tucking in to a Chinese takeaway. Long suffering wife, Anne, presented the grumpy old bastard with a chicken curry, and a bag of chips, whilst grandchild number three playfully kicked the living crap out of his shins.
"I thought the grumpy twat would appreciate it," Anne later remarked.
"Well I fucking didn't," Shuttlecock countered. "She knows that I like genuine Chinese food, but that takeaway crap leaves me cold. Except possibly king prawn mushroom - I can live with that. But she presented me with a curry, the likes of which I've never before tasted. It was fucking shit. All it was, right, was mushroom soup, with a dessert spoon of white pepper mixed in, and a few bits of chicken. And the grandkids had eaten half of me chips! The greedy sods. I wouldn't have minded so much, but Ali Bullo's kebab shop is just a few doors away. I'd have been much happier with a nice chicken shish. Still, there's always tomorrow. I'm still bleedin' Hank Marvin though. The bastards. I'm sure they do it on purpose."
"Course we don't!" Anne winked. "The dopey daft bastard."
More bollocks from the Shuttlecock tribe as we get it.
