Brian's Brief Encounters

This is an Unofficial Kaffe Fassett fanzine. Brought to you from a Leafy Suburb of the Throbbing Metropolis.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Kill Arthur: Volume 3

With the demise of Brucie.

Our options were limited.

According to Arthur’s TV guide, Cilla had just started matchmaking. We’d have to get our skates on if we were going to catch Our Graham’s witty summing up.

An ear pressed to the door revealed that sobber and weeper were still informing reasonably local friends and family. We had some time before they got to Uncle Frank in Australia. I felt sure we’d hear the shouting over Graham.

The act of turning the television on was a tricky operation. It required a briefing. As a veteran of these situations, I took charge. We had to deviate from the mnemonic slightly. The biggest challenge was the presence of the hearing-aid. This was fully covered in the Risk Assessment. I did skimp a bit on Arthur’s Human Rights. I hoped he wasn’t the type to complain.

I was impressed with my partner’s flexibility. He was able to cover all the speakers using both hands and his left thigh. I was glad we hadn’t been playing Twister for money.

After a silent countdown it was ‘Go, Go, Go!’

In a textbook manoeuvre I hit the remote ‘on’ button quickly followed by the volume down. An ambulance was on fire in Casualty. We held our breath. There was fake blood everywhere.

Back at the door I was able to confirm that we hadn’t been discovered. It seemed Cousin Gladys was recommending funeral directors. A bit premature. Even if they did have horses.

Time for phase 2. We had to get close to the screen so we could catch Graham’s summary. Unfortunately, the ambulance crew had left Arthur in an awkward position. Moving him was out. Although the weeper probably had Alzheimer’s, the sobber might notice something amiss.

In another Twister gambling warning, my partner sat cross-legged by the wall. I shuffled the armchair forward and was able to stretch my legs across Arthur. I let him know I’d found his toenail clippers next to a fluffy Werther’s Original. Not a word of thanks.

We were just in time to see Cilla molesting a young beau with too much hair gel and unfeasibly white teeth. Number 1 was a bit of a babe. Number 2 was a stunner. Number 3 was, err, nice. In a ‘making the most of a professional make-up job’ sort of way. She was very bubbly too. Uh-Oh.

Graham let the side down a bit. Yes, she gave the best answers. That’s not the point. He could have given a subtle clue or two. A quick bark would have done the trick.

A glance at my partner revealed we were in agreement.

The weeping from the open door made it unanimous.


I leapt to my feet ready to put our case for the defence.

Arthur groaned.

The weeper dropped our tea.

We didn’t get any Hob-Nobs.


Post a Comment

<< Home

All ramblings Copyright(c) 2005/2006 by Brian. Ask First.