Frank The Peacock is one of my closest friends. It
has been quite a shock visiting him at the vets with him looking so ill. I have
had to pretend to get on with Mad Harry The Vet and warn him politely that he
will extend his visiting hours or I will catapult another one of his boarder
terriers into the farms slurry pit using one of his wives bras. I’ve done it
before and I will do it again.
I need to deal this magpie situation. This dude is
not small fry. You could hire the deadliest of all animals to take him on and
he would some how overcome the situation.
I had an idea in mind but I wanted to run it
through with a wise one on the farm first, to see if what I was on about made
sense or was fucking ridiculous. It always helps to discuss options fully and
have a back up plan.
So I spoke to Jerry The Adder to see if he new of
any poisonous snakes held in captivity in the local area that I could pay off
somehow to kill knuckles The Magpie. He said he only knew of three, Metal face Mitch; A
deadly Taipan, Discount Dennis; the Black Mamba and Big King Tom - A King Cobra with a real fucking attitude. Jerry said they would probably be
fair game and up for an assassination attempt, but they don’t come cheap and
they are really not to be trusted.
“if you are
vying for revenge, eliminate as much risk as possible old boy”
Fuck me adders talk sense. So I told Jerry my plan;
as we chilled out with a cucumber cocktail under a make shift tin shack at the
edge of the farmyard, with the late afternoon August sun gently protruding
through the rust holes.
My plan was to find a female bitch of a magpie, get
her to move onto the farm - And jobs a goodun.
Jerry sat back in surprise blowing air through his
mouth like a plumber just about to price up a job for a vulnerable old age
pensioner.
“Risky - you
are going to need a lot of bangtastic bling to entice a female magpie me old
fruit”
Jerry went on to say that he knew of one a farm
over yonder, on the Purbeck Hills. He said if I went there, with a proposal,
something to entice the situation and spoke to her advisor; I may have
something to negotiate with, as there was a female magpie in situe.
We had decided that I wasn’t risking anything just
going there for an initial meeting to find out. Ok I was struggling for a plan
b and if this went wrong it would be back to the drawing board, but I trusted
that wise old snake, stooped in middle class sloanish remarks with a penchant
for cucumber cocktails.
Jerry went on to explain that there is a legend in
these parts, which depicts seven deadly magpies. They used to torment the farms
and villages in the local area. It is said that individual magpies used to jump
out in front of motorists on the country lanes for evil thrills, forcing them
into a phase of bad luck. They would sometimes venture into the nearest town
and do ritualistic tribal dancing on the roundabout too.
The issue became so bad that Knuckles had to be
drafted in to exterminate them and restore balance to the countryside. He
hunted down and killed all but one of the magpies. A female. He thought he
delivered a fatal blow to her one moonlit evening on top of a Giant Haystack,
in the meadow field. She must have played dead for hours that night, before
flying off in the direction of the Purbeck Hills. Jerry witnessed the take off
on her journey of freedom with his own eyes, as she stealthily flew like a jet
possessed out of the area. When Knuckles retuned to Giant Haystack in the
morning, there was no body, but a simple sentence scorched into the hay saying:
“Where warriors rise, Kings and Queens rise higher.
I have a nest and there will be blood”.
It didn’t faze him at the time and his arrogance
clearly has stopped him from putting two and two together.
So at sunset I busted out: Stole a tractor
(remember I can drive and fit in tractors – but only John Deere’s as they are
amazing) and headed to the Purbeck hills, which were a good ten miles away. All
I knew was that there was a farm there with a magpie that could revenge Frank’s
honour.
I got to the Purbeck Hills an hour later. It was
pitch black by now and proper eerie. Everything was silent. There was a farm that
was secluded with woodland all around it, at the foot of two hills. It was a
small farm with what looked like a small grain store, a milking parlour and
some stables.
Usually at the slightest hint of any one being about
a horse will wake up, not because they are ultra sensitive but because they are
fucking nosy. True enough one popped his head out a stable doore as soon as I
went trotting over. You have to be blunt with horses …. Give them nothing to go
on, no shit; they are worse than village postmistresses for gossip.
“Im looking
for a magpie and an advisor”
I said as monotone as possible. He just looked me
up and down in the moonlight and cheekily asked who wanted to know. At this
point I told him that I was a champion Angus bull and would rip the farm down
if he didn’t give me and accurate fucking grid reference as to their position. To
which this cocky plough horse told me he was a champion Arden forest horse and
would rip my head off soon as look me.
>>Shit stalemate<<
Arden’s are fucking incredible: The strongest of
horses. I knew I had to negotiate. So I manned up, looked him right in the
nose, gushed on him and told him the whole story. He didn’t know weather to be
embarrassed or bullish and agreed to take me where I needed to go and casually
walked out his stable. Arden’s can break stables on a six pence. So what’s the
point in shutting them in?
We trotted out the yard and up one of the hills.
Half way up we came to what could only be described as a shrine. Elegantly lit
by glow in the dark insects mimicking the latest LED technology. We stood in ore
for what seemed like ages. Then a pigeon flew out of the tree in front and
introduced himself as “Pickles The Pigeon”, Advisor
to she that gives hope.
Fuck this.
I’d heard it was a bit ‘far out’ in this area and
already tonight I have cried all over a fucking glorified carthorse. I demanded
an audience with the magpie there an then and for some fucking reason
introduced my self as King Jock cousin of Brutus and son of the Black Beast -
Well thought it might speed things up a bit. Then I felt an urgent desire to
turn round. Knowing full well that this was psychic magpie manipulation of the
first order. So I did…
There in all her glory was a female magpie of
premier league status, wearing a crown of ivy and diamond necklace.
“I am
Princess Cara of Purbeck…. Giver of hope but destroyer of worlds”
Back into my way of negotiating I simply said that
I needed her to come to my farm and deal with a magpie who’s ego had got well
out of hand.
She then gave it some philosophical crap about
right and wrong and when its best to be all consuming. So I pointed out that I
have fucked more cows than she has had hot worms and that I knew of every milk
bottle top processing plant in the land. I said that I was key to her seedy
vices and could supply her with enough milk bottle tops in silver to make her
sinister eyes water.
So the deal was made.
Off we went down the hill, slipping through the
farm yard at the bottom like quite spirits. We then started to head back home in
the tractor with magpie royalty and a fucking pigeon. The Purbeck hills
disappearing into the mist and the developing dawn chorus denoting the downing
of night.
I felt cold as the sun came up. I was in a
reflective mood in the cab of my massive tractor, confident in the knowledge
that very bad things were about to happen…. I couldn’t help but crack a small
smile.
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