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} Dear Your Grace,
}
} Baron, Baron, Baron, how many times do I have to tell you?
} The aristocracy is congenitally unsuited to doing household chores.
} You'll always end up with disasters of this kind. In future, leave
} it to Perkins.
}
} Oh, Perkins handed in his notice six months ago, did he? As a result
} of the little baronettes spiking his eggnog with Viagra? Yes, I can
} see how that could create something of an uncomfortable situation.
} The only thing one wants stiff in a butler is his upper lip.
}
} Look, I've got a lot on here just now, Baron, so I don't have time
} to pop over to the Old Country and clear up your little difficulty
} for you. But don't worry, I've contacted a couple of excellent
} fellows who are experts at dealing with this kind of situation.
} They should be there any minute... Ah, that sounds like them now.
}
}
} "Evenin', squire! My name's 'Arry, an' this 'ere's me partner Syd.
} Say 'ello ter 'is nibs, Syd."
}
} "Wotcher, yer 'onnerable worshipfulness."
}
} "That's right, Syd, lay it on wiv a trowel, why dontcher?"
}
} "I was just tuggin' the old forelock, 'Arry. Yer got to do that wiv
} nobs, dontcher?"
}
} "If yer says so. Nah lissen up, yer Baronetcy. I been 'earing from
} me old mucker the Hinternet Horicle that yer got yerself a bit of
} Barney Rubble wiv a big 'ole in yer allotment wot is - an' I quote -
} spoowin' up lumps of barsilisk an' gobs of molten vulver."
}
} "Can we say gobs of molten vulver in a fam'ly noosgroup, 'Arry?"
}
} "It's a jam jar, innit?"
}
} "Nah, that's a Volver. I fink a vulver is sumfink rude."
}
} "Well, we can edit it aht after. Anyway, yer dukedom, dontcher worry
} yer inbred little Uncle Ned abaht that there 'ole. It's 'ist'ry.
} It's already sorted."
}
} "Already sorted? We hain't even started fillin' it in yet, 'Arry!"
}
} "Oo said anyfink abaht fillin' it in? I sold it, dinni?"
}
} "Don't be doolally! Oo'd be daft enough ter buy an 'ole wot just
} keeps gettin' bigger?"
}
} "Sellerfield, that's oo."
}
} "Wot? That noocleyer power plant fing?"
}
} "The same. They dumps all their radieractive waste in our 'ole, then
} they fills it up wiv concrete. An' then they pays us! 'Ow's abaht
} that fer a bit of cushty, ey?"
}
} "That's brilliant, 'Arry!"
}
} "I hamaze meself, sumtimes."
}
} "Wait, it's not gonner work. Wot abaht them little barrernettes?
} They'll be stuck dahn the bottom of miles of radieractive gunk an'
} concrete."
}
} "I thort of that."
}
} "Yer thort of a way ter get the tiny toff tots aht?"
}
} "Nah, I thort of gettin' sum replacements. So I rahnded up sum of the
} hurchins 'angin' rahnd our street in East Cheapside. They're ahtside
} in the van."
}
} "Oi! Me little Albert's in the van. 'Er indoors'll kill me if I lets
} yer give away our little Albert!"
}
} "Oo said anyfink abaht givin' 'im away? 'Is lordship 'ere's 'andin'
} over a parcel of lolly fer 'im, aintcher guv? An' yer tells the
} trouble an' strife yer sent Albert away ter get a proper heducation.
} 'E'll prolly go ter 'Arrow or Heton, meet that Prince 'Arry wot they
} named after me, come back all snooty an' lardidar."
}
} "Them god-forbids in the van don't talk posh, 'Arry. The Barrerness'll
} suss 'em straight orff!"
}
} "I gave 'em all 50p not ter open their traps, ever. Seen an' not
} 'eard, see? Clean 'em up - not wiv that lefal shower stuff, mind!
} - she'll never know the diff. No bovver! Lumme, strike a light, Syd,
} but yer don't 'arf winge on at a feller sumtimes. It's a dead cert,
} I tells yer."
}
} "Yeah, just like them dead cert inside tips yer's always gettin'
} fer the 3:30 at 'Aydock."
}
} "Don't lissen ter 'im, yer 'ighness. 'E's 'avin' a male mennerporse,
} the silly J Arfer Ranker. Nah, it's all sorted, 'cept fer the Beecham's
} Pill of corse - that's the bill, case yer wond'rin'. Lessee nah -
} that's one 'ole fixed up, one dozen little nippers of dahtful origin,
} freedom from gobs of molten vulver..."
}
} "The marrers! Yer forgot the marrers, 'Arry!"
}
} "The marrers?"
}
} "See! See! I knew it wern't gonner work!"
}
} "Okay, so we got a bit of a prob vee-ar-vee next week's show. But,
} if yer can wait till next year, yer 'onner, I can get sum unemployed
} miners rahnd ter dig yer marrers up. Wiv all the radieractivity,
} they'll be height feet long an' glow in the dark. Yer'll win first
} prize right orff, long as yer don't let 'em eat the judges. An'
} the miners can dig aht the little barrernettes at the same time -
} yer missus can 'ave 'er little Albert back then, Syd."
}
} "But all that radieractivity'll 'ave made the little barrernettes
} height feet long too, wiv 'orrible red eyes an' big, long droolin'
} fangs an' fings!"
}
} "Just stick 'em in the 'Ouse of Lords. Oo's gonner notice in there?"
}
} "Yer a genius, 'Arry! Yer finks of everyfink!"
}
} "White man's burden, me old China. Right then, yer uppercrustitude.
} 'Ere's yer replacement barrernettes - don't get too close ter 'em,
} yer don't wanner catch nuffink. The blokes from Sellerfield'll start
} dumpin' their 'azzerdous waste this pee-emmer, so keep indoors if
} yer don't wants yer 'air ter fall out an' yer skin ter peel orff.
} Tell yer old lady yer layin' the fahndations fer a croquet pitch
} or sumfink. As fer wot yer owes us, I'll let the gaffer tell yer.
} Come on, Syd, time we was dahn the battle crooser."
}
} "It's yer rahnd, 'Arry."
}
} "Tommy Rollocks, it is!"
}
}
} You owe the Oracle and his subcontractors half of your winnings
} at next year's vegetable show, and all of your leftover Spilwinex.
} I want to see if it'll work on Bill Clinton's private life.
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