Now then lads and lasses. What a weird old week it’s been down here and it’s all down to those chutney ferrets at the end of the village.It started with a phone call to Biff. Told him I had a “special storage place” for any unusually warm objects he had or anything especially dodgy that had to disappear. Seemed to please him though, said he may be able to put some business my way he just had to speak to a couple of friends up in Manchester.
Well a deal’s a deal and old Don is a man of his word - and don’t let any of the scrotes around the workies tell you otherwise, I had legitimate reasons to not do any of those jobs. I made my way up to Mincers Mansion. My Nicky Barmby Garden is looking a little over-run at the moment. At least there are gardeners of some sort living there to sort it out when spring finally kicks in.
Big ears opened the door to me and it’s the first time he hasn’t crapped himself when he has seen me. I think he had a couple of shots of Dutch courage before I came around and he was doing his best to hold it together for his other half’s sake. He told me that his other half had nipped out to Herr Mullers a few days ago and hadn’t been since since. Right, let Uncle Don sort this out, I know how to sort this situations out, like when that paediatrician moved into me mams roda, I went right round and knocked the kiddy fiddling perfert spark out.
So we trundle around to old Herr Muller’s and knock on the door. That old tart was hanging around which freaked me out a little but her and big ears soon started talking jam recipes and cross stitch, which just made me queasy. Still it kept her out of the way as they headed to the front room with tea and Chocolate Hob Nobs, I couldn’t help thinking that mincer had one or two chocolate hon nobs in his time. No sign of the Bavarian Bum Bandit though.
I wandered down stairs into Mullerswine cellar. It was a shambles, looked like a sweet shop after a bus loads of kids from Brambles farm had been in. Mice had knocked over  bottles, a wine rack had fallen over and his collection of 1983 Bordeux had come crashing down, yes, that right, Claret everywhere.
I had a mooch around and nothing seemed too out of place until I flapped at something that looked like a disposal chute for cans. Only no pipe and a bit of light. I am sure I heard a voice say “not again so quickly” so I looked again, nudged the wall unit slightly and there was a door behind. Feck me, it looked like Anne Franks holiday camp.
I kicked the door in and there was one of the camp chuckle brothers, obviously in distress.
“Don, Don, it was awful” he said, they’ve had me tied up down here for days now, these big hairy blokes kept coming in and doing things to me, It was terrible, they were wearing leather gear and had whips and stuff”
“Hang on, thought you were into that sort of thing” I piped up
“No Don, you don’t understand, those leather trousers just didn’t go with the belts they had, it was a crime against fashion, I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it”
Herr Muller poped his head round at this point to ask “vat vas all der noise about”, he looked like a reject from that League of Gentleman show the bloody students watch.
I made sure Muller was seeing stars before I left, giving him a few slaps, I did offer to give him a good fisting but at this point the chtuney ferrets said any chance they could have one too, perverts,  and a good old fashioned Grangetown handshake (like a Hartlepool one but from a REAL man, not one of theos monkey hangers)  and I’ll leave it to the camp brothers to call the fuzz, I don’t want to get involved, not with my track record.
A bonus of the week is the Jug Eared one has cooked me and our lass dinner all week. Nice of him and to be fair he’s not a bad cook. We just return the plates with a note saying “You Owe me”.
Got a bit worried when the desert came back with a post it pad saying “more than happy to give you one” on it……..
Right, best get back to business, Biffs just texted me, he’s got a load of top quality stuff he shoplifted from the Pound Shop that needs shifting.
Be lucky