Arthur (78), one of our valued and extremely keen and athletic members, has started up an exciting new society, with our blessing. The SAAT Society, or Spot an American Tourist Society. Members will walk around the main and back streets with hand held radios (bought with cash from an undisclosed source), and when an American tourist is spotted (usually by the accent, the Stetson, or the man’s blinding white suit), they will be followed, and the shop(s) which the family head for, will be very quickly pre- warned and therefore pre-armed.
The family will then be greeted with a large medium sized stars and stripes flag, which will be made by our tapestry and sewing expert, Mary (75). The flag will be stood flapping next to a fan, and a large sign which says, “Welcome! We, the people of Alcester love America and its People!”
We have also had an idea for a ‘star spangled planner™’, a kind of ‘what to do in Alcester’ the town in nay Wakespeare country. It will have coloured stars stuck to it; but maybe not all 26, as they are quite dear in the stationery shop (75p each!). We could put on four stars, and write X 9 on it! (We hope they don’t mistake that for lager, or is that OZ?)”
WELCOMING THE ‘MERRY CANS’ PROPERLY
“The FAT Bs decided that speedy civic receptions could hopefully be held in one of the pubs (please God!); and if the Lord Mayor can be quickly located in one of them (all we need do is ring the landlords, our CPW scheme, (Civic Pub Watch), that would be fantastic! And we will hold it there.
By the way, one of our valued members, Gladys (72), has completed an internet –SRCU- course and qualified to grade one standard in Speed Red Carpet Unrolling. We think the interactive course was legit (?) as she has only rolled out one pixel carpet using drag and drop, with a dodgy mouse, on her son’s old laptop (under his supervision of course, as she doesn’t understand computers); but, her certificate, which she downloaded and printed out, looks pretty darn impressive if the FAT Bs do say so themselves! So, well done Gladys! Lovely! Gladys was given a free strip of raffle tickets and has the chance of winning this month’s top prize, a toy compass that really works, for her walking frame.”
KEEPING OUR SHOULD BE (ALMOST) FAMOUS POET AT REST, PROPERLY
“Us FAT Bs have had a meeting with the council. We told them that it would be a great idea to have another headstone made for the grave of our great and beloved artiste Gillian nay Wakespeare and her husband (down there with her) Stan Stashaway. This is by no means a way of attracting rich multinational tourists of course, but the fact is; why shouldn’t we have a gravestone at which we can lay flowers and little notes of respect?
Here’s how and why we lost the original.
Stratford Council, in a fit of jealous rage, which was triggered when a bus of American spondulix drove right through their town and into ours ... well, ok, this was because the passengers had seen us FAT Bs standing on the road into Stratford, waving several banners saying things such as ‘Forget this place!’ and: ‘Carry on to Alcester and discover a clean river ‘and’ Gillian nay W’ And: ‘Our river’s clean, not like this one!’ AND: ‘At least our river has a ‘proper’ NAME’.
In the resulting fit of jealous rage, they came to Alcester one night a couple of years back, and pinched the original headstone in order to ruin ‘our’ tourist trade! So, the proposed new headstone will be put at the ‘deciding mercy of locals’, who can vote whether they want one or not (like the X Factor). After they have voted, we FAT Bs will have the final decision; we believe in democracy you see, but, we also believe in politics, which, if not mistaken, is Dictatorship (if not, then how can civil disobedience exist?).
A bit of bad news …
Fulke Greville, from Stratford (?), thought to have written Shakespeare’s works. Ha! Rubbish! Well, he can’t of, of course can he, unless that son-of-a-bitch was onto OUR Gillian as well? Naaaa. She would never have gone for his haircut ... pic coming up.
This is a mardy little attack in retaliation for grabbing that bus-full of American tourists from right under their noses. They have actually picked on an innocent to overshadow our own Genius. Sir Fulke Greville (founder/provider of the world’s greatest expletive, through slip of drunken tongue, and also the founder of cool haircuts), who died in 1559, had, with his Baroness wife, Elizabeth Née (not nay) Willoughby, fifteen children (two died). Because of these 13 (unlucky for some) children, who bred and had let’s say, 26, who all bred … etc., etc., the world is populated to the extent that it is now, and most of the Fulkers have got cars and factories … hence, he must be partly guilty for the Greenhouse effect, not Shakespeare’s bloody works.
We think this is unfair, as some of the Fulkes may work from home on computers and therefore only leave small carbon footprints. So, at the moment, we are discussing our course of action (if any), in local pub with the Lord Mayor when we manage to find him that is, which we always regret, as he always manages to cadge a drink out of each one of us … that’s power!
Interestingly, Fulke called himself, Master of Shakespeare, claiming to have written at least some of his works. You can now dismiss that piffle, as how would he have nicked Gillian’s work? Maybe she gave him it in confidence, for what? Or, maybe she fancied him and wanted him in her hemp knickers and she gave him it willingly, as he valued it so highly and gave it to Shakespeare to ruin? Or worse still, did the dirty job himself! (See below). Mind you, Stan would have kicked his sorry ass if he found out, as Stan was six foot six of muscle, so it’s doubtful Fulke got a sniff.
The Fulkes were obviously early predecessors to the Fockers, and Stratford locals may have joked about ‘meeting the Fulkers, and all the little Fulkers’. Who knows? History is contrived bollocks anyway, and so, what I’ve written is exactly correct ... what does it matter?”
Author AWL Saunders wrote:
"I compiled a profile of Greville and compared it to the folio profile and was amazed to discover that he was an exact, one could say quite perfect, match with the profile of 'William Shakespeare'."
And I the author say ... The West Midlands is famous because of a ‘woman’.
There’s one for women’s lib, or rather, lib-eratum.
Fulke Greville (?).
What a haircut!
As they had no photography, this statue was carved very quickly by a statuographer from Chiselblock Statuography (a local Midlands business at the time), just after he was told of the new ruling at school, i.e. six whole weeks summer holiday for all his kids. But not only that; his stressed wife (you would be with all that washing and ironing, especially with no washing machine) had discovered that she felt much better after a long shopping session (and she liked shoes). Or … it could have been just after the barber showed him his haircut in the mirror?
Actually, since I began asking about Fulke, I can’t seem to find the statue, and so, I’ve used only the hair from a picture shown to me by a stranger, via e mail. The haircut will therefore suffice.
If anyone comes along with a proper picture, or, if I find where the tomb is, I’ll add it, plus I’ll stick it on the website (FL, Author).
***
And now, A SONNET, by ‘OUR GILLIAN
© Stan Stashaway.
THE RIVER ARROW
The river Arrow is bothe, wide and thinne,
It looks so very refreshing, so fully clothed, don’t jumppe in,
Or thou wilt gettest thy clothes, all wette!
And maybe then, a chill you’ll gette.
Idyllic bridge, and duckes a floating,
Maybe thou, with thou lady, wouldst go boating?
Or sitteth on the bank, with thous lovest onne?
And stareth into their eyes, until the daylight hath gonne.
Then, as the evening meltts in, and the midges do humme,
And you bothe arise, each with a grassy bumme,
Forth onto the tavern, for a cuppe of fine ale,
A good day to have in Alcester, thou can-nottest fail!
Cometh then to Alcester! A quaint Hamlett so fine,
Now tha
t it hast been a tempted, the soul, it will pine,
And although we have rivers, no lakes wilt thou findest here,
And this sonnet challenges all blurbbe, by William Shakespeare. (She must have been in a bad mood with him to say that ... PMT??)
The River Arrow. There is a prize for anyone who can spot a plassy bottle, or a can thrown in by a jealous Stratfordian.
Month 3
“Hello again from me the Mole (an ME), and of course, indirectly from the FAT Bs. In this edition, a LITTER special, I’d like to tell you about the FAT Bs undercover trip to Stratford, which we took after we got the news that they’re getting a large amount of money from ‘Advantage West Midlands’ to help clean the place up. We discussed this, and decided that the body awarding the cash are treating an effect and not a cause, or in other words, they are putting a ‘bandage on a corpse.’
Clean the town up and the ‘chavvy’ residents will muck it up again, and therefore waste money that would be better awarded to Alcester Council, who could stick it in a high interest account, and use it to save us making phone calls, and hire an expensive detective to keep track of the mayor (usually found either singing or table dancing, or both, in a pub), should he ever be needed at short notice for a civic reception for some rich tourists from any rich nation you like.
We could even use some of the money to open a camera shop to attract Japanese tourists too! Of course, the shop will have to have a digital processing facility, so this will mean several expensive computers and a large plasma screen or two for viewing the shots on a large format; and also a machine to process large format.
An Olympic size swimming pool! A multiplex cinema! Our RWC theatre! (A country mansion for the mayor was voted down. Anyway, don’t Lord Webber and Elton John own them all?)”
***
We then thought it a good idea to make a ‘DECLARATION’
We, the FAT Bs, are prepared to (if awarded a load of cash to S-P-E-N-D), give up our label of ‘Quaint’. And are, if the sum of cash be large enough, prepared to go a little cosmopolitan metropolis, and then Neapolitan. We feel sure that the people of America, Japan, China, and other cash rich places would agree. We could then hire some massive billboards like in Las Vegas and Tokyo for instance, and have VISIT ALCESTER, THE TOWN IN WAKESPEARE COUNTRY visible from miles … maybe even outer space?
Imagine this being seen from outer space …
OUR GILLIAN! THE BARD OF ALCESTER ON ARROW
(At least OUR River has a ‘PROPER’ name … not flaming ‘River bloody River’!)
***
UNDERCOVER LITTER SPOTTING TRIP TO STRATFORD
“So, one fine Sunday lunch time in August, four of us dressed in overcoats, plastic noses and false moustaches took ourselves on a ‘Spot the Litter’ trip. We parked on the outskirts, and walked into town using the Stratford ‘Prominent’ Litter Trail, in order to take some pictures, and make it clear that if this litter was cleared at great expense, it would soon appear again (the subject of, ‘it takes a tired mind to drop litter’ came up, but we decided not to print what was said, in order to fend off possible yet weak slander cases). Laura, one of our more ‘dynamic members’ suggested that Stratford guide dogs could be trained to follow litter trails to the town centre, and that way, even if certain roads are closed, they would still be able to find the way! (We are prepared to sell that idea to Stratford Guide Dogs society; for a price).
It didn’t take long to find rubbish, and the first three pictures were all taken within a 100 metre stretch of posh road. Pics appear after the next little paragraph.”
THE PESKY CRISP PACKET
“As our streets are as good as polished, we don’t really need a litter patrol, although three of our members, Edwin 75, Edith 81, and Gertie 86, do take the odd stroll to hunt down any pieces that have escaped the hands of the unaware-don’t cares (dropped deliberately). Last week, the team, eager as ever, set off out to hunt the elusive stuff, but unfortunately, chose a very windy day. As they were walking up the high street, a crisp packet blew past them and they gave immediate ‘passionate’ chase. They gave up after several feet, just outside one of the pubs. They had a quick vote, and unanimously settled down for a cappuccino and a buttered scone each (drinking alcohol in the daytime and then chasing crisp packets is not recommended for pensioners). The wind then changed, and alert Edith sounded the alarm; off again up the High Street, at much speed went our team of litter enemy FAT Bs. The wind then changed again, and another ‘emergency’ vote was taken.
Five hours later, ten coffees, ten scones, and fifteen loo visits, the team had to wave goodbye to the crisp packet (which they watched blow past the pub a few times as the wind changed). Exhausted with all this observation, they went home for lie down. A freak wind then picked up the packet, lifted it over trees and across fields, and conveniently placed it on a Stratford street (where it must have felt cosily at home).
We all had a vote on a proposal by Geoffrey (55), a plumber, that ‘sometimes nature shows favour to those that deserve it’, it was carried unanimously.”
And now! The part you’ve all been waiting for!
THE LITTER TRAIL INTO STRATFORD
(ME again!) These pieces of discarded rubbish lead the way into Stratford town centre. Our journey ends at the River River. (There were another 5 photos that we could not use on here due to restrictions of electronic publishing, and also we i.e. them and I, didn’t want to bore you with too many.)
Keep going you are nearly there. NO fouling? What about Canning?
Waheyyy! There you go! Who needs a map?
And let’s not forget the River ‘River’ …
I wonder if the fingerprints on the bag are from a local or a tourist? “Forensics!!!”
Etc …
All images are available as framed prints.
***
ANOTHER GREAT WORK OF
Gillian Wakespeare i.e. OUR Gillan.
(We don’t think she gave him this one, this one was deffo private and was found in her underwear drawer)
A sonnet on litter
Dedicated to Stratford ‘Apon’ ‘River’
Gillian Stashaway née Wakespeare
© Stan Stashaway.
I walk the pathe throughe Stratfordde town
Looking for handsome, ‘dinky bummed’ William Shakespeare!
Yet have to dodge discarded mucke
There is a lotte of untidyness here
My mind doth burn with seething anger
As I step in something left by a wandering dogge
Its owner wrist slapped and stocked by authority shouldde be
And made to carry the stuff, in hand, to the stinking sewer bogge
And there I see a used hempe sacke
Discarded by a trader rude
No values or cares have these ‘common working’ folk
What will happen in the future, when quicke becommes food
And so I leave the towne, without kissing slowly a playwright fair
And still see refuse laying dead in muddy gutter
Glad am I to return to merry Alcester
Where wrapping stuff in, the windy trees dost not flutter
***
ROMAN AND JULIA
A SYNOPSIS ON A PLAY, BY OUR Gillian.
© Stan Stashaway.
Apparently Shakespeare made this masterpiece commercial too, and of course ‘ruined’ it.
The Montalets and the Capogues arre two local welle to do families. The Capogues whom arre alwayys atteth ‘it’ hath a daughter called Julia, who also liketh sexxe while the other has a sonne called Roman, who was a shyye, secret artistte (his escappe). Shall it be said that the families gette on notte welle, notteth welle att alle. Even worse it should be said, that the Montalets are Christian and liketh not ‘that girl’ because of her attemps to introduce their sonne to sinne. The children, who falleth in lovve have to meet in private alliance to lovveth each other in bushes at the side of the river Arrowe, yette it should be stated
that Roman, affected by parental guilt trips, be prepardeth only to cuddle and kiss without tonggue, much to the displeasure of Julia, who was onllye sane because of toysse of wood (Lovve be a strangge and compromisingge thingge).
Both families do thereforre scrappe, especially after drinking fine ale. The landlord’s do get angered by this constant bickering and swordplay, as it ruins pleasures such as ‘prize for mostte correct answers night’, and musicce and pockerre nights, mentionin notte darts by localle archers and table skittles. Also, out on the street at throwing outte time, the fighting disturbes horses, which make them throw their owners, causing un necessary claimes for compensation throughe no winne no groats in payment deals. Thisse, couppled with the amorous daughter, only made the families try and separate the couple. However, after a warning from the courts, that, if the families didde not want to resolve issues, longge prisonne sentences would be doled out until Wintery blizzarde temperaments were quashed.
The heads of the families talked with the help of a third party (a psychologist for Roman’s parents), and hands were shook. Roman and Julia duly married in a plushe wedding, and alle was goodde for several years, until she, stille unsatisfiedde (Roman’s conditioning ranne deep) ran off with a local milkke producer, swapping marriage for the bliss of churning butter and havingge, amongste other nice thingges, havingge her teats pulled in the early morning, late afternoon, and eveningge.
The Darling Buds of June Page 2
