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Tuesday, 8 March 2011

That "Terrible Misunderstanding...."

Good tidings. Another missive….PO, Flad and MO have been in deep discussion about many things. You human types do seem to complicate things to an entirely unnecessary degree. However, we have gone undercover and can explain some of the strange events which have occurred in the past couple of days….

The “terrible misunderstanding” as mooted by Mr Hague re the SAS mission to Libya.

What really happened according to reports (the standard prefix for reporting anecdotal made up stuff as fact) was that there was a Parliamentary Canteen Staff day out organised. A phone call from Mrs Bathsheba Grimes, the head cook, to her son revealed what had actually occurred.......

“We met at the door of the Foreign Secretary’s office as arranged. There was a big bus arrived and we all got on. Shirley Sykes, the sandwich maker, had booked a Mystery Tour so when we arrived at Brise Norton we were not perturbed. There was a big sign up saying “SAS this way”. Naturally we assumed that this was for the Soup And Sandwiches as agreed in the price. We were ushered through and offered a selection from the Buffet. I did wonder what was going on as there was no sign of any food, but Shirl is such a joker. Now in mitigation of the lads there, my hearing aid battery was running low so I just nodded when offered items.

They offered us what I thought was Russian coleslaw - Kalashnikov and a salt and pepper. Strange buffet I thought, but I was sure that the rest would follow as we worked our way along the line. Mind you, you wouldn’t get off with that in our canteen. You practically have to spoon feed our patrons…I was finding the bags of food pretty heavy, but then I saw the sign for “Desert” I was off like Linford in full running kit. You know me and me sweet tooth….anyhoo, we found ourselves in the belly of a troop carrier. Shirley was looking a bit concerned but I thought she was keeping the Mystery going and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking…she’s a right superior cow sometimes.

We were strapped in and all of a sudden the engines started and we were off. I alerted one of the lads that I had to be home for 5 as I had to make something for my Bert’s tea. Usually I just take sommat from work, but as we had been out I was going to have to cook something. I had got in a nice bit of tripe from Mr Cleaver, the butcher. I had put it in to soak the night before. He smiled at me and slapped me on the back. I thought that was a bit odd so I asked him where the pudding was. He replied “We are not going to Moscow.” I gave up then as I thought he was just being silly. He looked young enough to still be in short trousers. Young folk today I’ll tell you, it’s like they speak a different language.

Now by this time it was half past 4. I knew I couldn’t get home to get Bert’s tea on. And the dog would be needing out for a pee…I was just about to get up and give Shirl a piece of my mind when we started to descend. We had a bumpy landing, but as there were no windows we couldn’t see out. I thought the pilot had landed in the field next to the airstrip. “Welcome to the dessert” said the cheeky youngster. About time too. I had had nothing to eat since breakfast time and I had paid £10 for the tour which was supposed to include Soup And Sandwiches and I was bursting for a pee! I was first at the door.

Imagine my surprise when I looked out onto sand and dust storms. We had landed in Southport. The youngster then said he had to debrief us. This was too much. I slapped him hard! He fell backwards down the plane steps and knocked himself out. We got off the plane ourselves and began to wander about looking for somebody in charge of a Dessert Trolley or even an ice cream van. We had been looking for about an hour when we were approached by a group of bearded individuals. “Good afternoon” I said in me best hinglish, “do you know where we might find the dessert trolley?” They did not look Southportian I have to say. They stared intently at me….” WHERE IS THE PIER?” I said, thinking we could find a phone box or something. I would have to phone Bert and tell him I was in Southport. One of the bearded men said “Kalashnikov.” which was the Russian coleslaw. I said “You can have the Kalashnikov when you give us the dessert trolley.” “Assault weapons” he responded…now as I said before I thought the boys back at Brise Norton had said salt and pepper… Anyhoo, I stuck with my guns (arf arf) and only handed them over when the bearded peeps presented us with a nice cup of hot tea and a trolley full of baklava. They were very nice lads and once we had finished and everybody had had a toilet break they loaded us all on some lumpy looking donkeys and sent us on our way to the pier.

When we got to the pier, there was a nice boat waiting there for us to take us home. Apparently it is going to take a week or so. I didn’t know that Southport was so far away…Could you tell your dad to stop huffing and answer the bloody phone. None of this is my fault and if he has got a problem he should speak to Shirley about it. There is a big cottage pie in the freezer which should keep him and the dog going until Wednesday and if you could see to them on Thursday and Friday then I should be back Saturday afternoon. Any news from home?"

However, the Ossas now know the function of our esteemed royal family. We must say that none of us were particular royalists but they now have our full support. Given the embarrassment of the above “misunderstanding” on a world stage, good old Price Andrew leaps into the limelight, taking the heat of the UK’s latest cock up. Trade Envoy to convicted sex offenders and volunteer for trainee 17 year old masseuses. There is a selfless man. Apparently he made an error of judgment. We would not care to see him make a real arse of things!

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