Tunbridge Wells Smells of Cucumber Gin

 CHAPTER ONE

THE OUTER LIMITS

Come with me as we travel to the unknown corners (if the Universe had corners... “It doesn’t.” Oh, do be quiet, there’s a good chap) a billion (that’s a conveniently nice round figure) light-years from Planet Earth—a planet that’s the topic of discussion at Algernon’s seminars on the human species and why they’re worth saving... possibly.

His seminars also feature the Theory of Stupidity by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who argued that stupidity is not an intellectual defect, but a moral and social phenomenon wherein individuals surrender their independent critical thinking to group conformity and slogans.

Algernon, unsurprisingly for a planet that’s eighty-four percent water, is a tall, silvery octopus with an intellect not within the reach of humanity anytime soon. That’s if they survive long enough to form a superior intellect (not looking promising so far, to be frank).

Not all the population on Aegir resemble octopuses; that would be ridiculous and extremely odd, because diversity exists in all living creatures. As humans, we would recognise fish types such as dolphins, whales, sharks, turtles, jellyfish, and so on and so forth.

There are also multiple species who’ve evolved on the land, though these have no similarity to humans as they evolved from lizard-like creatures. Within themselves, they are diverse and of all colours; even eye shapes vary from one continent to another. But these lizard beings, like humans, are the only land-living intelligent species, alongside birds, bees, and many varieties not dissimilar to Earth.

Having said this, however, the lizard beings do not have the superior intellect of those who evolved from the sea; they are primitive, somewhat violent, and antisocial creatures, which is the prime reason for their stupidity.

Even humans (I know, I can hardly believe it myself) are more advanced than the lizards. Lizards haven’t invented anything that doesn’t kill, maim, or subdue their prey. They kill to eat, and that’s been the height of their evolution. Anything living is their prey, including others of their species. Even Aegirians are prey to them. A mean lot, and there have been discussions to remove them all and put them on another primitive planet like Earth, and this has been the reason for the Algernon Accords. He believes humanity is capable of change, and evolving into something the Aegirians could tolerate, at least.

Not all creatures of the sea evolved above eating and pooing in their own environment, and like humans, Aegirians eat the fish, especially on Fridays. For the convenience of your tiny minds, I will refer to Algernon’s species as Octogenarians (Right, laugh it up, you ageists amongst you; really, let’s keep some decorum).

The Octogenarians (Shut up!) are the peak of intellectual intelligence on Aegir; they’re the inventors, educators, and gin manufacturers (only Cucumber Gin, they’re not savages).

The Sharktens are a warrior class, handling law enforcement and judges (not a high percentage work for the bureaucracy). When required, they’re absolutely brutal in any conflict; they have a 100% win factor, as there isn’t an army within two trillion light-years who’ve ever had the upper hand. It’s like a flea taking on Bruce Lee; “Be water, my friends,” was his favourite quote because he’d met Sharktens in water and never forgotten it.

The whale and dolphin types are the workers and teachers (the working class), though some evolved to higher status, which is a natural progression of any species. They’re the politicians, artists, actors, and lottery owners.

I could continue to work through their entire social structure, but this story revolves around humans and Algernon’s Civilised Interventions.

Algernon: A Most Civilised Intervention

Favourite Son #ScruffyKid

 #TheScruffyKid             

Favourite Son

It was one of those hot lazy days of summer, where the heat rose in shimming waves from the pavement, and playground concrete, at the time these days seemed to last forever as the laughter of children filled the air, to compete with the bees, birds and butterfly’s as they filled the air to in ways only bugs and animals could, all joining the constant  buzzing, and chirps, giving the 60’s a natural acoustic soundtrack of life, on those lovely School summer holidays days.

I'm five and enjoying  my very first of these glorious days of summer. 

Down by the shopping centre there was an enclosed car park with garages, set in a dip that was made up with grassy slopes.

Without snow, it being july, the pleasure of sledging was made possible on grass with the aid of a torn piece of cardboard box. 

Well that's what the sensible kids used like me; my twin however decided his short trousers could provide adequate slid ability on these grassy fun activities.

As the days wore on the grass was quickly developing into dust bowls, it hung in the air so thick you could taste it, some dry stony patches were now the result of all that joyous activity, where bum gouged tracks now left there streak in the sunburned former above mentioned grassy slopes, the sliding kids were followed by a trailing dust cloud, you could see fit miles, and it's here someone was about to lose the back of his trousers.

Well as you’ve no doubt guest that someone was my twin Michael who was blissfully unaware the entire back of his shorts was replaced by the sight of his soiled pants.. soiled by soil thankfully. 

Well he soon became aware due to the friction burn on his Butt Tocks (child speak). 

It was a few days later Mother presented me with these Holeyer than thou Shorts… I say holey not holy as in the saintly; you now have the power of Gods in your pants kind of way. (which would have been cool as the parting cheeks would allow a golden streak of sunshine, to shine from my blessed trousers, to the sounds of singing angels)

In fact there was literally no material on the rear of these trousers at all. nadda not a shred

This is when you realise you’re in no way the favourite son.

I was incensed, and innocent of the crime, to which these shorts were so tattered, in one outraged cry, I said, “What?....Why do I have to wear those? I didn’t do that!”

“Michael is going to your grandmothers, with Steven and Loraine so you have to stay here!... he can’t go out wearing those.” Mum replied, as if  this was obvious to everyone. 

“But he’s wearing MY Trousers!...... MINE!” I protested emphatically. Even at 5 I know this is injustice personified. 

“Well you’re not going out so you have to have these.”

“But I want to go out!”

“Well you can’t in these, so quit you’re moaning and put them on.” Mum insisted. 

“FINE!" I said, slumping down heavily onto my chair, which sighed, ‘What did I do?’ As chairs are sometimes inclined to do, especially on weekends. 

There's no use arguing with these giant adult parent types. So I just busied myself with my constant companion, my trusty scratch book. 

So there I was condemned to stay home, until my friend from the bungalows across the road, near to our home, called. (These were what I thought at the time, as Posh kids, as their parents owned their own home.)

So my posh friend asks, “Are you coming out to play?”

It took me a nanosecond to consider the consequences of being seen with my backside hanging out of my shorts to say, “ why of course, Yes.”

And out I go, and soon we are opening the gate to his driveway to walk round his home into his family’s rear garden.

All this time I’m conscious of keeping by backside out of view, and all gardens at this time had a coal bunker, a concrete rectangular box, that sat about 4 feet high.

So jumping up I plonked myself down on it…. Now satisfied my hide was hidden.

“Lemonade?” My friend’s mother enquired. 

“OHHHHHH yes please.” (Posh kids had the greatest mothers) I say to the smiling face of my friend’s mother.

Brilliant! And my friend asks, “Can we have cake too mum?”

“Of course, I’ll bring it out to you.”

What can I say… with my bottom hidden on the slightly warmed concrete, with Cake and lemonade! I was convinced I was in the garden of heaven.

The garden was well kept, with roses and other flowers in full bloom, and that lovely familiar buzz filled my ears, and I felt truly happy.

We joked around, playing word games and such, then his sister joined us, she had beautiful blonde hair that shone like corn.

We were laughing away and eating cake when suddenly... As most things that happen when you’re least expecting  them are… I was stung by something in my throat… This was like Owch! But three octaves higher, and much more painful.   

I was starting to get hot and bothered, my throat felt tight, so with one hand to my throat I jump off the coal bunker, then the concerned face of my friends sister changes to concern to confusion as she saw my backside hanging out of my trousers, with no so much as a hello,  and  I can see she’s wondering if I ripped them as I jumped.

Totally impossible of course, holes like this take time, and patience, and the empty headedness of a stupid brother. 

Her mother runs to me saying, “Oh My Goodness! Are you alright? Did you rip your trousers?”

“I’m feeling giddy and say... “Bluuuuuuh.”

“Mum he’s been stung by a bee!” My friend shouts in horror. 

“Oh NO!.... we must get you home.” And she plucks me from the ground like I was a feather and runs with me in her arms to the rear of my home… and with my friend banging the door like the klappers it's soon answered by my mother, who hadn’t even noticed I was gone to the loud knocking noises only a duel washing could do. 

“He’s been stung by a Bee! And he’s ripped his trousers jumping from our coal bunker the poor boy.”

 I’m rushed in and sat on a chair where I wobble, feeling sick and dizzy.

“I’m terribly sorry I hope he’s alright?”

“I’ll fetch him some water, he’ll be fine.” My mother assured her, hiding her annoyance, that I’d gone out, “Thank you for bringing him back.”

“Is he going to Die MUM?” My friend asks. 

Am I going to die? I’m thinking as my throat tightens even more.

“No! He’ll be fine.” My friend’s mother, replied easing his fears, and mine at the same time.

When all the fuss dies down and I’m alone in the kitchen with my mother she says, “I told you to stay indoors, this wouldn’t have happened if you listened.”

I was finding it hard to talk, I was slightly scared bee poison might be the end of me still, but I manage to say... “I didn’t want to stay in mum.” but in my head I'm saying, shouldn't you be feeling guilty? if I wasn't attempting to hide my Hide I may have been standing and running about like a normal child... Bees would have looked and thought, 'Na, he's moving to fast to be a flower, curse you boy with your sweet cake.'

“Well we can’t go to the Doctor’s, not with you dressed like that so drink this water and rest.”

She looked worried which worried me, but she would never give me trousers with holes in again, that was for sure, so in that way I won a small victory for my kiddy freedom.

After a while my swollen throat did die down and when my siblings returned home I was able to tell them how I escaped the icy cold grip of death, armed with a holey pair of trousers and true grit… “and my Twins a git!” I added, which is apparently a rude thing to say, but true.

The Gorilla Incident

The Gorilla Incident

 

The sun was in a good mood as the family and the other jolly adventurers queued to board the Coliseum coach.

 

"All aboard!"

 

Window seat, window seat, window seat, out the way lady... WINDOW SEAT!

Sorted.

There I am, halfway down, on the left hand side, nose pressed to the glass, first win of the day.

"Did you go to the toilet?"

"Yes mum," sigh.

 "Well you better had."

I'm three of four of the sibling collective, the fourth being my little sister, beside me is Jess, our Gran (as we were the first grandchildren, (Jess wasn't ready to be called Gran, so she insisted on being called Jess)

 Jet black hair like my siblings, and hazel eyed, like my siblings, Jess was a formidable woman, she never suffered fools, and her word was law, so deal with it.

All us kids were skinny in the 60's, which when you look back was amazing, considering the amount of fat and sugar we consumed.

You could literally buy a bag of sugar by the Ib and add a red sticky lolly pop, on it's sticky stick, that you used as a shovel to get that sherbet down you, it came in all colours and flavours, and by far the cheapest form of sweets you could get for your money, and Wow, they knew nothing of the increased energy boost causing hyperactivity.

We could run all day on one packet, the main safety feature on most play ground areas was concrete, the lesson being, don’t fall down, it hurts, most boys, had scabby knees, and elbows, and you’d always get to a point where the edges of the hardened blood, would lift, you had to be patient, pull too soon, and it bled all over again, get it right and you had a nasty old scab to chase the other kids with.

“Ohh, get off with that smelly scab,”

RUN!   

I guess it was all the running that made us so skinny.

 

 

Back on Board the coach, it wouldn’t be long before the singing started, once we were underway.

My old man said: "Foller the van,

And don't dilly-dally on the way".

Off went the van wiv me 'ome packed in it.

I walked be'ind wiv me old cock linnet.

But I dillied and dallied,

Dallied and dillied;

Lost me way and don't know where to roam.

And you can't trust a "Special"

Like the old-time copper

When you can't find your way ‘ome.

Oh yes, we can’t beat a song about being thrown out of your home, for missing the rent, to get things started, and everyone would be singing, especially the elders among us, who’d really put some oomph into it.

Then key change please while we start our next little ditty, Daisy Daisy… I thank you.

Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do.
I'm half crazy all
for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish marriage,
I can't afford a carriage.
But you'll look sweet,
Upon the seat,
Of a bicycle made for two.

 I think you’ll find poverty features a lot in the old songs as we were all living on the edges of it, the 60’s wasn’t long passed the rationing from World War Il, just 10 years after that I was born in 1956, that makes you think, doesn’t it, 10 years just flashes by these days.

And another maestro please.

I'm getting married in the morning!
Ding dong! The bells are gonna chime.
Pull out the stopper!
Let's have a whopper!
But get me to the church on time!
I gotta be there in the mornin'
Spruced up and lookin' in me prime.
Girls, come and kiss me;
Show how you'll miss me.
But get me to the church on time!

We must have sung a few hundred songs on our way to Bristol Zoo, and there was one song I could jump up and start, and the rest of the coach would all join in instantly…

There she was justa walking down the street singing?

Then you put a hand to the ear, and await the reply..

do-wah diddy-diddy down diddy-do.
Snappin' her fingers and shufflin' her feet, singin'

do-wah diddy-diddy down diddy-do.
She looked good, LOOKED GOOD

she looked fine, LOOKED FINE

she looked good, she looked fine and I nearly lost my mind.

You’re all singing it in your heads now aren’t you? I’ve still got it baby, I’ve no idea what It Is! But I’ve got it, what ever it is.

 

Bristol Zoo

 

If it smells of hay, and smells of poo, you must be at?

 

BRISTOL ZOO!

I thank you, I’m here all week, try the fish.

So here we are all entering said Zoo, and there would be a donkey or elephant going by, and then head over the fencing was a camel, there’s one thing I learned at Southampton Zoo that lead me to be cautious  of these humpity lot... So I stand back and wait, and sure enough, the Camel tips its head back and spits right in my big brothers face, yea this boys learnt nothing... Nothing! It’s a Camel they hate you!

So the rest of us are all laughing, tears in our eyes doubled over, and mum offers my brother a tissues, and I say,

“Mum it’s too late, that Camels gone.”

Unamused my brother takes the tissue and wipes his face, then chases us with the disgusting contents.

Well let me tell you, no one ran a sprint faster than I, in this family, so I’m pretty much untouchable but my sister, with her short little legs, she’s easy meat and she’s going to get it.

“Eww Mum! Steven has rubbed spit in my face!”

“Get away from her, give me that! Now give this fresh tissue to your sister, or you’ll have a thick ear? “

 

Believe me, no one wants a thick ear, so my brother obeyed.

We’re walking around for about ten minutes, so you know what it’s time for right? Yes Icecream.

“Dad dad dad dad… Icecream!”

“No!”

What did he just say? Because I don’t think I’m hearing right.

“DAD?”

Mums first to cave, YESSSSS, so she says, now would be a good time for a cup of tea before the trouble starts…

“What trouble?” says dad, like he didn’t know.

“Your Bloody kids, I don’t need them yapping all day so come on, the café is there look.”

“You’re too soft on these kids.”

“Your head will be soft in a minute, so move it.” Mum says, “You and dad want a tea Mum?” she asks Jess (The Boss)

“That would be lovely, right Jim?” she replies, bringing my Dad back into the conversation.

Dad groans, in that way we all do when we don’t really agree, but it would be rude not to.

Now I’m going to teach you lot, the #ScruffyKid ice-cream eating technique formed by years of skilled training and dedication.

First you take your Icecream in a cone, At this particular time, rectangular cones, tapering to a point at the end, were the norm, as ice-cream came in blocks, and the manufactures, made separate segmented, ice-cream   ready the fit the cone.

“Would you like Hundreds and Thousands?”

“I certainly would like Hundreds and Thousands my good man, dip away, and I maybe counting that I have a thousand, so no tricks Mr I’m watching you…” and two fingers to the eyes, and pointing with those same fingers adds enthuses to the task at hand.

 OK Ice Cream connoisseurs, this is how to eat a coned Ice cream, start licking all round, savour the thousands, then every so often push down with the tongue, you keep going until you’ve forced as much ice cream as you can down into the cone, when the top is flat to the top of the cone, you’ve made yourself an ice cream sandwich, bit off the bottom and if you’ve done your work, it will be full of ice-cream, yum, eat at your leisure.

 

Well now all refreshed, we continue our adventure round the Zoo, soon a monkey cage appears, and one fact I can tell you is this, my twin is a monkey, as soon as he gets to the cage a monkey will run up to the cage opposite, so he starts swinging his arms and running up and down the side of the cage, with the monkey following him, like a reflection from a mirror, a crowd soon gathers and they notice the similarities…

“I’m not sure that’s even a boy!  Run monkey boy run!”

 

As exciting as that is, we continue our walk and ahead is the Gorilla cage, I can’t say enclosure, because in the 60’s these cages had very little and not that roomy, I’m about four paces behind Jess at this point, and even from my position, I can see this Gorilla isn’t happy, its pacing and growling at the crowd, and it began rocking side to side, then quick as a flash, it poops into one hand and flings it with all his might straight at my Gran Jess (The Boss)

Everything is silent for a fraction of a second as everyone’s jaw drops, then I point and say “Hey Mum, that Gorilla got Jess!”

My Mother is shocked, and now those spared the poop hit, start laughing, and Jess isn’t happy.

“That dirty little devil.” She says indignant.

Then Granddads at her side laughing and handing her his cotton hanky, Jess takes it and tries brushing off some before attempt to wipe it off, but that poo’s stubborn, so those relieved it wasn’t them move on, much to Jess’s relief  as she was embarrassed by the attention,     

Granddad laughs, “He didn’t like you did he,” He grins.

    “No the little sod.” And despite the shock she starts laughing, and a Zoo keeper came over to apologise, and offered to hose Jess down, but she went to soap it off in the nearest Zoo Loo… get it ? Just me then.

Doing my best Michael Caine voice I say, “Hey Mum, where are the Zoo Loo’s?” Not a lot of people know that.

What a day, not many people can boast a Gorilla picked them out from the crowd, that made the trip even more memorable.

Then as light started to fade, we made our merry way back to the coach, for the return journey and more singing…

 

 Back at school teacher asks, did everyone have a good weekend?

I had a great weekend Miss, a Gorilla threw Poo at my Gran!

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

 

A personal story... The #ScruffyKid

 A personal story... The #ScruffyKid

November, the light rain was full of icy intentions, the sort of rain to lazy to be sleet...but determined to be cold.

We all set out to take our place, saying our farewells to family as we lined the street. 

You could feel a air of excitement so intense, at that moment you could hear a pin drop, it was the focus to what was to come, it muffled the buzz of chat, as everyone took their position.

At the front and centre was a drummer I knew as my elder brother. 

We waited for the signal, the wind felt bitter, but ignored, as a hand is raised, and the drummers lift the sticks, to be held just under and in front of the nose, in white gloved hands. 

As the first beat strikes we march as one, and the music of a 50 strong marching band of the 23rd Division heads down hill, from the road centre. 

At first it’s just the drums with the rat-a-ta-tat-tat and the booming of the bass drums, then my moment comes as I raise my bugle in unison with my fellows players, and a familiar tune known as the theme to Top of the Form  begins.

Oh,  the cold really bit in during the downwards March, I start losing all feeling to my fingers, as the thin white cotton glove is for looks only, and provides no thermal barrier. 

We beat and tooted our way to the Church, providing Remembrance service, where all the main kids military units were to gather, the cubs, scouts, sea scouts, air cadets, brownies, Girl guilds, Boy’s and Girls Brigade, Who all marched and froze their way on foot. 

After the March releasing my grip on the ice cold bugle proved impossible, and the brigade Band leader hurriedly rubbed heat back into my hand, until I could let go. 

 

Those were the days my friends, we thought they’d never end, because Mary Hopkins told us so.

We will remember Them, as they fought so we would learn not to.

A Bus Ride For One To Winchester Please!

Dear Diary 📔 #ScruffyKid aged 5 

Ah, there you are, it’s been a while hasn’t it, well sit down and get comfortable and my story will begin...

A Bus Ride For One To Winchester Please!

I remember my mother stooping over me, while she brushed off, what ever it was, off my Duffle coat...
“There, that’s better.”
With a safely pin from her purse, she added the final touches to my finely brushed down coat.
It was to anchor the parcel label, made from a rough brown card, which was arrow shaped at one end, where a hole punch allowed a tatty piece of string to pass through it. Thus secured it read:
‘ I’m Paul, and I’m going to Winchester Station to be met by my Great Grandmother. Please make sure I get off at this station.”

“What’s that Mum?”
“Oh, it’s just a note so people know where you’re going.”
I look down at the blue biro’d scribble, now firmly secured by the pin through the string.

‘ lovely.’ I thought, ‘I look like an idiot, on auction to the first village I come to.’
“Why?” I say, in that way children do.
“Just so people can see you’re travelling alone, and to look out for you.”
‘Oh, cricky!’ I though some more.
Don’t worry Granny Gardner will be there to greet you.
And this did comfort me, I loved My Great Granny Gardner, and more importantly, she loved Me!
The day was fairly sunny as I remember, it was the start of the schools summer holidays, so there were quite a few crowds gathering around each bus, all destined to different parts of Hampshire. and I remember in one corner of the station they had Quart milk machines, that would drop a quarter pint of milk in a carton, for a few pennies.
But I was given a bottle of orange juice, made by Jess, from another bottle of concentrated juice. How long it concentrated for, I have no idea, for I was all ready to go!

I was lifted up to the rear seat, that sat longways down the aisle, and had its twin facing me on the opposite side. These were the first seats you’d pass boarding the Green Hampshire and Dorset Bus.

Mother stepped down, brushing her finger through her wavy dark hair.
“Bye! And you be good! Don’t start running about!”
Ding! Ding!
And we were off.
The Bus made a grouching sound, as it turned out of the station into Bedford place, as if it disagreed with the direction taken. This made me rock from side to side until the bus settled on its route, but it wasn’t long before it turned again, with its same complaint.

I was going past the Park now, with the sun dancing through the trees.
A woman sat opposite read my label and smiled.
Now this label could have said anything, like Please do not make eye contact, he bites, or for 2'6 this child can be yours, and for a small down payment, you can take him away today! we hardly notice him most of the time anyway. PS no returns or refunds after midnight.
The Conductor walked over to me and said, “Don’t worry Sonny, this bus stops at Winchester station, so I’ll let you know when we arrive.”
Great!
It was a bumpy spring screeching ride to Winchester. But I was headed to a place, that even now, gives me a warm feeling, because my Granny will be there, and we will have Great fun.
I’ve no idea why I’m on my own on this journey, because I’m one of four siblings and even my Twin was with the rest of the family. But I didn’t care, the best woman on the planet will be looking after me.
Sure enough as we passed King Alfred, who had nothing better to do. I saw my Granny waving at me, wearing her pie shaped hat.
I jumped off the bus and run up to her and gave her a big Hug!
“Granny!”
“Steady on, you’ll have me over!”
“What are we going to do Gran?”
“Well, first, lets go to the park, you can feed the ducks.”
“Brilliant!”
I spent the whole of my summer holiday with Gran, in the day time we’d go for walks, and she would point out the wild flowers, and tell me there names, and the birds, and the trees, my Granny knew Everything! She was a genius.
We would play cards or make up puzzles in the evenings, starting from the corners, naturally.
And the smell from the lamps had a scent where fond memories would stir if I ever come across that same smell.
It was the smell of warmth, the smell of Comfort, the smell of Love.

Dreams are something I seldom remember, least of all childhood dreams, but on my first night with Gran I had a dream I can still remember quite vividly; I was stood outside Grans house in Colden Common, and it stands close to the main road that leads to Winchester, and it had a slight bend and a rise there, and for some reason I fell into the road, and I couldn’t get up, Gran screamed at me to get out of the road as a car was coming, but all I could manage was to Rock from side to side while my gaze was fixed  on the car baring down on me with horn blaring and dust flying from its wheels....
Gran woke me and handed me a glass of water, she said I was shouting in my sleep.
That’s the only dream I’ve ever had where I felt helpless.

After I told Granny, she said, “Well next time that happens, stop being silly and just get up and step to the side.”
It’s never happen since and I’ve no clue as to what had set it off.
But I still remember it.
Thank you Gran...

My Father, written after he died.

Here's a Story I Wrote in memory of my father... I can't even remember writing it, such was my state of  my mind I guess... This is similar to my Scruffy Kid Stories only this one features my father rather then me...
Have a read you may like it. 

The Day I Met My Father…Possibly

 The April rain that shone as gold in the late evening was nowhere to be seen as it was now October.
 In fact it was The 19th October 1956.

 Jim Xxxxxx had made his way home in the knowledge he was now the proud owner of two Twin boys, hardly used and straight out of their wrappers.
 I suspect I need to point out at this juncture that the boys are unidentical Twins, produced from separate eggs. This is like A billion and one people saying, "What are the Chances?"

 Michael was born first and was duly slapped by the Midwife for his impudence… Paul having seen these events dodged and slapped his Dad for being cheeky.
In fact after my jazz hands entrance to the world followed by "Ta Da!" The nurse thought, this ones too cute to slap, so she slapped my dad for being cheeky too. 
 Now at home relaxing after helping with all the pushing involved with moving the furniture During birth, Jim sipped his Tea, then jumped bolt upright to the sound of knocking on the door, this knocking was the result of someone’s hand being made into a fist, and tapping the door with its knuckles.
 By the time Jim put down his tea… nibbled on his bourbon the door was knocked again.
 “Are you Mr Xxxxxxx?” the man said muffled from behind the door? 
So Jim opened the door to a young reporter from The Southern Evening Echo. (of course Jim didn’t know he was a reporter at the time… that would just be spooky!)
 “Hello I’m from The Southern Evening Echo.” The young reporter said, quite unnecessarily for us, as I’ve already mentioned it but very necessary to the Proud Father.
 “Are you happy about the triplets Mr Xxxxxxx?”

 When Jim recovered some time later he told the reporter he was unaware of a third child, so he rushed by walking back to the hospital.
 Lying peacefully in her bed June Xxxxxxx, Wife to Jim remarked on his arrival “What do you want? I’m resting!… all that pushing takes it out of you you know, and I’m still not sure the wardrobe looks good in the middle of the room.”
 “Forget that!! Where’s this Third baby?” Jim replied anxiously. 
“What Steven? He’s home with you and your Mother you Nut!”
 “No, Not him the other one?”
 “What other one? Have you been out celebrating with the falling over juice?”
 “No… the Man from the Paper said…”
 “A Man made of Paper?”
 No… Not a M…… What? That would be ridiculous; he’d get soggy every time it rained… No I mean from the Echo?”
 “Pardon?” 
“From the Ec…..Ho very funny… anyway he said we had Triplets!”
 “Na… your having a laugh… I’d know if we had three!”
 “How?”
 “Because cubby chops, I can count!” June said emphatically.

 Well what a palaver, someone had reported a women had  given birth to triplets… and the Echo keen to get to the story that would have been front page news, had a big let down…
 “No we only had Twins.” My Mother later told the reporter… “But one is rather Gorgeous if that’s any good?”
 “Na…. you’re  alright.” The reported said with that Huff sound people make after Huffing.
 And that was it! 
This is actually a true story but the words might not exactly be those used by the above mentioned participants on the day… Now That Would be even Spookier! 

 My Mother told me about the mix up and the excitement it had cause at the time. Poor old Dad must have fainted in shock.

Yours Truly The Scruffy Kid.