Friday, 18 November 2016

Rhonda’s unexpected trip to Epsilon Bootis or Panic at Rickmansworth Young Ladies College.




Rhonda’s unexpected trip to Epsilon Bootis.
Or
Panic at Rickmansworth Young Ladies College.


Rickmansworth Young Ladies College is a very expensive boarding school for genteel young ladies, from well to do privileged families whose allegiance is to England, the flag, the English way of life, its traditions, customs, history, the King and the empire…......... well when we used to have an empire that is.

A place of learning for  the daughters of Captains of industry, representatives of the Judiciary and influential Political figures, a number who had managed to escape the courts. Patience my very best friend's father had been bankrupted twice and on another occasion found not guilty of fraud. He had reserved a half dozen QC’s and informed the press that he would defend the slanderous, malicious, trumped up charges vigorously but if he were found guilty he would throw his reputation on the line and plead leniency, even plea bargain and show grovelling remorse hoping for a reduced sentence. 

He is now a well-known politician, high in government whose position is something to do with the Treasury.


Rhonda was my third best friend until she un-friended me from Facebook just because I criticised the colour of her lipstick which her mother forbid her to wear anyway and it was Rhonda who unfriended Phaedra because it was Phaedra that accused Rhonda of being a loose tart. It was getting out of hand. By the way Tamzin is now my second best friend.  Patience my very best friend never joined in these spats, Phaedra put it down to breeding.


So this event one could say was timely. It was the day the science teacher Mr Crisis accidentally took Rhonda off to Epsilon Bootis. I suppose you are going to ask where Epsilon Bootis is. That’s precisely the question Miss Pringle asked when we broke the news that one of her students was missing. 

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

Mr Crisis our Science teacher was a most strange looking man; he had a large oval head, long skinny arms and large oval eyes. Rhonda my third best friend said perhaps he is an Alien. I asked why an Alien would be teaching science at our school. Rhonda suggested maybe he is seeking asylum.

Mr. Crisis had been warned repeatedly not to hypnotize the girls, which was a pity as it was always the highlight in the science class watching stuck up Madeline Carter-Brown behaving like a chicken. Incidentally it was Madeline who was caught skinny dipping in the canal at Chorleywood by Pastor Dickie and his wife,  Madeline's  mother would have had a fit.

I suppose at this point I should make mention of the gardener, Cripps. Rumours would spread like the bubonic plague at RLC. One of the older girls speculated he was Miss Sefton’s illegitimate son, sired by the village lock keeper. Another rumour was that Cripps was a German spy who got left behind when Germany lost interest in last war.

The rumours got wilder as each intake of new girls entered the school.


What the girls did not take into account was if Cripps was Miss Sefton’s illegitimate son she must have been eight when she had him. But the speculation of this event was far more exciting than fact.

My mother’s words again reverberated in my ears “children can be so cruel”


One evening in the dormitory Rhonda told me that on a trip to the seaside when Millicent Martin made it to France on an inner tube she had seen Cripps signalling with his torch to a German warship off the coast.

I reminded her that Germany had surrendered and the war was over long ago. Rhonda pondered this conflicting anomaly for a moment then suggested maybe the warship people had not been informed of this. She had a point of course, but being of a late hour I was not about to get drawn into a conversation about the matter, because I was well aware of Rhonda’s fixations on silly fantasies and that she would not let the matter drop.

We broke the news to Miss Pringle.

This is the conversation I had with Miss Pringle ad verbatim or as best as I can recall.


“Miss. Miss. its Rhonda she’s gone.’


“What do you mean she’s gone?”


“Well she’s not here, Miss”


“I can see she is not here, where has she gone”?



Miss. Pringle was getting inpatient, and I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to break the news that the parents of one of her fee paying students would not be tending any more cheques.

“Well Bridgette I will ask you once again...., WHERE-IS-RHONDA?”

There was a moment’s silence.


“I think she has gone to Epsilon Bootis Miss”


This conversation was going to hit a dead end very shortly.


Miss. Pringle regained her composure, paused, leant forward and in a quiet, measured voice repeated the question.


“Now then Bridgette, for heaven’s sake where-is-Epsilon Bootis, is it the flower shop in the town?”


This was the dead end I was referring to a little earlier.



“No Miss, it’s a star system about 210 light years from earth. We discovered that Mr. Crisis comes from a planet that circles the star Epsilon Bootis”  he has returned home accidentally taking Rhonda with him,  I gushingly replied.

I would have also liked to have added his home Planet circled Epsilon Bootis which  was the second brightest star in the constellation Bootis with a visual magnitude of 2.35. But I felt the information I had already given her was going to keep Miss. Pringle’s attention focused for quite a while, without adding any further irrelevant information

It was all too much; Miss Pringle decided to seek a higher authority.

“Bridgette come with me, you can try and explain this to the headmistress”


I repeated to Miss Sefton what I thought had happened, again with a little embellishment about a bright flash of light, the smell of cordite and a whooshing sound.

“So what on earth was Mr. Crisis doing in charge of my science class?” asked Miss Sefton.

I tried to explain briefly “Well he got left behind after being on a sabbatical, Miss”



I didn’t quite understand why it was I that was being quizzed; it wasn’t MY fault that Mr. Crisis accidentally took Rhonda off to Epsilon Bootis, it was just his carelessness. I asked myself, was I the patsy here?

“Well. I am now forced to call in the police” said Miss Sefton crossly.


I could also foresee problems ahead for the local police as regards how they intended apprehending Mr. Crisis as their hands were already full finding the culprit who tied helium party balloons around the neck of a swan on the village pond, a news story that the Rickmansworth Bugle managed to carry on its front page with pictures for over a month now. Know-all Madeline Carter–Brown said they would probably call in the Yard.

It goes without saying, Mrs. Little; Rhonda’s mother was beside herself with worry. I did my best to console her by putting my arm around her trembling, quivering  shoulders and gently reminding her that Mr. Crisis was by nature a kindly, gentle, considerate, careful and responsible person; well apart from Rhonda’s disappearance that is and had a lovely and carefree disposition, but it didn’t seem to help very much.

At each religious lesson Pastor Dickie would remind us to keep Rhonda’s safe return foremost in our prayers. There was some reluctance by the girls to start a collection after the last debacle of Millicent Martin’s unscheduled 3 day trip on an inner tube to France, besides Rhonda’s parents were not actually on the bread line as her father was an Industrialist so how 2 pounds fifty pee or thereabouts in small change was going to lessen Mr. and Mrs. Little's grief was beyond me.

However there is a happy ending  to this story. A few days later there stood Rhonda in her crumpled school uniform, glasses askew, looking slightly flushed, one sock at half mast with her arm outstretched confronted her parents,“On behalf of Mr. Crisis, please accept this small gift and a letter of apology for any inconvenience he may have caused”


Sunday, 13 November 2016

The Nigerian Sex Scam


Lucius

The Nigerian Sex Scam

Replying to the mail was his first mistake. A mistake that would cost Lucius more than the amount he gave to Mr Bandabaloobi.

"Mr Bandabaloobi said he was from the Nigerian Bank" said Lucius "We first met when he wrote me an email explaining he needed me to transfer 3 million dollars out of the country because a rich old guy had died and the government was going to keep the money unless I could help and for this I would receive a percentage."


"I gave them my account details and bought a plane ticket to Nigeria to meet Mr Bandabaloobi and sign the transfer papers."


"Once I arrived I was beaten and taken to a small hotel room on the outskirts of town. I was stripped and kissed by dark and very hairy men. One of the men, named Carl, was very gentle and told me he loved me but the others were rough. So very rough, I struggled and told them I was a friend of Mr Bandabaloobi but they tied me up and took turns kissing my beautiful body, touching me and making me do things I had sometimes thought about and imagined, but had never expected to really happen because I am straight."


"The fact that one of the men looked like a black version of my dad kind of freaked me out and Carl turned out to be huge but like I said, he was very gentle and we just took things really slow. He's cool, we have swapped emails since. Nothing gay though, cause he knows I am straight."


"Having survived the ordeal and returned home, my only regret is that I missed my meeting with Mr Bandabaloobi and didn't get to see any African animals like giraffes and lions and those little things that peek up really quick and look around and then pop back down really quick. They are really cool. They are like those little dogs that live on the prairie. Can’t remember what those ones are called.


I do not want to go overboard being over-patronising and that, but David’s Internet site is the very best Internet site in the whole world. I agreed to give him credit for this wonderful article of his and asked him if I could include a recent family photo, the only family photo he said he possesses is one of his Uncle Bill.


David’s other name by the way is Thorne…That’s David Thorne.


www.27bslash6.com (PS.what size font did you say David?)


Wednesday, 2 November 2016

The Wedding Party Principle


The Wedding Party Principle.

There have been times in the past when my wife who had been endeavouring to sleep ignores my attempts to discuss the basic flaws I have discovered in Einstein’s theory of Relativity. I explain to her it is not that I disagree with his theory per se and yes I am in agreement with him that it does hold true on this nondescript planet in an outer whorl of a Galaxy in a backwater of one of an unknown number of universes but it does not necessarily hold true everywhere else. I do not get a lot of feedback from my wife in fact I would even go as far as to say I have been met with downright hostility.

Talking about theories not many people have heard of the “Wedding Party Principal” either or the Georgia Guide-stones which I will come to shortly which will then take me seamlessly on to tins of Spaghetti and Baked beans.

My wife is a cavalier of chance. When she explains to me how she is going to spend her Lotto winnings, I explain to her the “Wedding Party Principle”

It goes like this. My wife is getting married and has invited 8,000,000 or so of her relatives, workmates and Facebook friends to the wedding, oh and her sister Beverly. During the festivities Beverly who is still single at aged 69 is in the middle of these guests when tradition demands the bride tosses the bridal bouquet over her head into the crowd. Beverley is hoping to catch the bouquet as it could be her last chance of happiness, matrimony and motherhood.

Beverley stretches valiantly for the posy as it flies tantalisingly close but not close enough as the bouquet disappears toward other 4,000,000 million or so guests at the back of the hall all jostling to catch this floral tribute.

It is not by coincidence the odds of my wife’s sister Beverly catching the bridal spray are exactly the same odds my wife has of winning the Lotto.

Now this was the principle I was discussing with my wife while we were wandering aimlessly around the supermarket being subjected to an infernal racket masquerading as music. We paused at the Pasta section where I offered to lift my wife up whom being small in stature was unable to reach the top shelf to retrieve two tins of discounted baked beans and spaghetti, discounted due to their being past their use-by date. I could not help noticing a young lady scavenging at my feet like a Beaver laying the foundations of her dam, or was it a Badger building her Sett?

Doesn’t matter. She had a stroller filled with a young child with tattoos covering her arms; No, no the tattoos covered lady’s arms not the child’s, the price of the tattoos would have fed a Third World child for a number of years, maybe more.

As I was In charge of the shopping trolley I had time to ruminate over this. As we moved on and headed for the brown sugar section I put it to my wife in this world of Apps if say a lady of the night were to have a bar code tattooed on her arm and one was to download a special Apps on their mobile phone then all a prospective client need do is to swipe the ladies arm with a mobile phone to get a price on her favours, he has no need even speak to her. My wife’s eyes briefly closed, she sniffed as she inquired “what’s yer point?”

“Well think about it for heaven’s sake” I replied “it’s a win, win thing; it saves time in patronising, pointless dialogue which in turn would cut into a client’s valuable time to indulge in a productive endless variety of recreational sexual activities, do you follow me? “

I paused and looked at my wife, I have to admit I was certainly not expecting a massive reaction like a English Premier League footballer might expect on scoring a goal, pleading for God-like exaltation from the adoring crowd by taking off his shirt sliding on his knees, arms outstretched like the statue of Jesus atop the mountain of Corcovado pleading for deity-like adoration from a hysterical manic crowd, resplendent in their woolly hats and scarves emblazoned in their teams colours, waving little buntings, writhing and rolling like disturbed breaking waves on a deserted beach. ……..iss good innit.

Instead my wife’s eyes glazed over and she looked at me vacantly, shook her head and walked on, confirmation which cements my belief that if two people are in love and have absolutely nothing in common they already possess the basic fundamental building blocks for a long and happy marriage.

At this point some of you might ask what’s has this got to do with world politics. Well frankly nothing but it would IF when putting the tins of spaghetti into the trolley my wife and I were to discuss Merkel’s handling of the German economy, Boko Harams disgusting forays in Northern Nigeria, Berlusconi’s latest girl friend or friends, the illuminati, Bilderbergers or the worlds looming food shortage it might have brought me to the subject of culling the world’s population. Stay with me on this one!

I asked my wife if she had heard of the Georgia Guide-stones, she said she hadn’t……. I sometimes wonder why I even bother.

Google tells me that the World Population in 1900 was 1,650,000,000. In the year 2000 it was 6,122,770,000 and by the year 2100 it will be 10,124 926,000. For Europe in 1900 its population was 408,000,000 in 2000 it was 726,777,000. By 2050 that figure is expected to reach 2.8 Billion a figure that might interest you if you are one of these people.

Anyway back to the Georgia Guide-stones. It is a granite monument much like an enormous monolith but much smaller. It appeared in 1979, strangely enough in a field in Georgia USA. No-one is sure who was responsible for this erection but a cryptic message might give one a clue, it reads Sponsors: A small group of Americans who seek the Age of Reason.

There are a set of TEN guidelines or principles engraved onto the stone. I was a little concerned if one of these sponsors might be a Mr Rothschild because he has publicly ‘reasoned’ in the past that 500,000,000 people is an ideal number to continue to sustain life on this planet and he usually gets what he wants, he has a lot of influence and clout.

The ten guidelines or principles are engraved in English, Spanish, Swahili, Hindi, Arabic, Chinese and Russian. A shorter message is inscribed at the top of the structure in four ancient languages’ scripts: Babylonian, Classical Greek, Sanskrit, and Egyptian hieroglyphs. The world’s population on Monday @ 2219 pm on the 30th June of this year puts the world’s population clock, with the last three figures changing like a crazy stopwatch every second as 7,475,926,690.

Thus according to the Guide-stones and a quick cross mental calculation puts the world population as being over-populated by 6,675,926,690. Now I suspect this mysterious heap of granite, this American Stonehenge heralds an omen, no a dire warning. I am keeping my fingers crossed I am not one of the millions of souls destined for the cull list because I am not all that old



James Albion., Author of many books, many that have not been published……..yet.
The London Times waxed lyrical pointing out ‘The Wedding Party Principle’ is an example of the finest writing yet to come from the pen of Mr. James Albion and described Albion's new novel as soul-searching and poignant; and a ‘statement of the times’.

In contrast the Guardian literary critic Baker Walker-Brown described Mr Albion's work as utter drivel; he added “quite frankly I cannot see a vast difference in the discourse from his first novel ‘The Awakening’