By Jove Missus, despite all the problems of 2009, it's been a lot easier for me than 2008.
While I struggled away to keep producing my Internationally renowned blog "Professor Chucklebutty's Official Guide to Liverpool Capital of Custard 2008" terrible events were taking place at Grotty Cash Hall, the family home. Mrs Chucklebutty went missing after a terrible accident.
Now the Custard guide was vital to the success of 2008 and people were relying on me. Nobody knew what the programme was or who was doing what, or when. People were doing runners with large amounts of cash by the minute and then some scruffy haired bloke off the telly was wheeled out to try and steal all my credit! In the middle of all that, some giant mutant spider crawled out and started terrorising the city. So here ladies and gentlemen, for the first time, in one complete edition, previously only seen in a special multi-national BookFace Support group, are the full extracts from my personal diary covering the events that became known around the world as....................
Mrs Chucklebutty is Missing
Dear Diary... (it was as well, £15.00! and it's not even leather bound!)Day 1
When doing the gardening at the weekend, Mrs C, my dear wife, dug up a World War 2 shell. It turned out to be quite a large one as it happened.
She spent about an hour belting it with a shovel to check if it was still live. Now I know what you are thinking, but she was wearing earplugs as a safety precaution, she is not stupid. Anyway, she gave it one last almighty clout and guess what? It was live. Now half the garden is gone and so is she. I have no idea where she is, she left her wellies in the hole and I found her earplugs in the pebble dashing. The neighbours are furious! I have already had to fork out two grand for windows alone. Fortunately my ears are still ringing so I probably missed a lot of the unpleasant comments, well you could tell by their faces. I suspect that when she saw the damage to the street after it went off she did a runner. But thinking back to how she was straddling it at the time, I am starting to fear the worst
Day 3I couldn’t write anything yesterday, I was just too upset. She has taped over the Emmerdale omnibus!!
It's been a couple of days now and no sign of her. The house seems very quiet; I just don’t know what could have happened to her.
I suppose it really hit me tonight when I went to the fridge and saw some chops we were supposed to be having for a special tea, just the two of us. Well now I just don't know what to do next. Is it best to grill them or fry them?
If you see her get her to ring me, please! The sell by date is tomorrow.
She may be at her sisters but her sister wont speak to me, not since I offered to mend the toilet flush for her and got the connection mixed up with the power shower. Just come home or ring me. Actually ring would be better or a fax.
Day 4 Still no sign of my dear wife. Although I heard a familiar moaning sound coming from up high in one of the Elms, well there is only one of them now, but at least the fire has gone out. Yes moans and intermittent shouts. That’s near where I found her top set of teeth yesterday. I was going to go and have a proper look but it's been raining most of the day so I stayed indoors and at last had the chance to catch up on Barnaby in Midsomer Murders. Anything just to take my mind off it all. Fantastic, I have got about six episodes of them on video to catch up on. And I can watch it without the constant “what’s he been in?” Sometimes, she even asks it about John Nettles.It’s usually something like this;
Mrs C. “What’s he been in?”
Me “Midsomer! He’s been in this, this is it now, we are watching it!”
Mrs C “No the other one where he was a Bergerac, what was that called?”
Me "BERGERAC! It was Bergerac for god’s sake!
Mrs C “Yes I know that. But what was it called?”
Me “Dixon of Dock Green!”
Mrs C “………..well who was Julie Bravo in?”
I taped the Midsummer on Sunday and fortunately the aerial was still ok. So I spent almost the whole day enjoying them all by a nice warm fire. Well you don't want to go out again once you're settled do you and it's a bit nippy now. Mind you, that moaning sound has been getting louder. It could keep me awake all night. Luckily I still have those earplugs, which was a stroke of luck finding them. So, I'll be able to get some kip now and I can check up the tree in the morning. Mind you, thinking about it, what with all the worry and no one to do breakfast. I'll probably just have a lie-in instead. Oh, it’s started to pour with rain again now and it looks like a storm brewing. I'm definitely not going out there now, not with all that thunder and lightening, that tree has been struck a few times.
Day 4 pm
I have had a call from my friend Malcolm, who is on holiday in Romania. He thinks he may have spotted her wrestling with a goat and screaming something about not having any teeth. He said she was seen at the police station earler claiming that bats had urinated on her signed photo of Jimmy Clitheroe making all the ink run. Now instead of Jimmy Clitheroe it just reads _ _ m_y Clit_ _ _ __
I didn't even know she had one. I've never seen it, although I know she had one of Frankie Howard. That’s probably knocked a few quid off the value. She can hardly ask them to take a look at that on the Antiques Road Show.
Jimmy Clitheroe
Anyway, my friend Malcolm couldn’t be 100% sure it was her, as when he got closer, she ran off into the hills, still carrying the goat on her shoulders. It may have been her other sister Gladys, who lives out there. She likes goats.
Fantastic news everyone! Wonderful! With all the rain, the bomb crater is full of water and a lovely family of ducks have settled in. Still no sign of her though. I am going to play safe with the chops and boil them for a few hours. Maybe make a stew!
Day 5 am
More good news. The shovel she was belting the bomb with has been found and returned. Mrs C likes to engrave everything with our name and address. I think that's why Bernstein our tortoise did a runner. I told her to paint it on like they did with Daniel the Blue Peter Baby years ago - or was it Fred? Anyway, I've got it back and it's still in serviceable condition. It was found three streets away by our neighbour Mrs Hewitt.
It seems that with the force of the explosion, it got embedded into somebody’s garage door. Well actually it caught the hood of Mrs Hewitt’s Danimac as it came down and pinned her to the door as well. The people who live there are away so she'd been dangling there in this weather since Saturday. The postman found her and cut her down. A tribute, I told her, to the quality of her waterproof Mac, as despite two days of solid downpour, her cardigan was still bone dry. She still hasn't said a word.
Just been back out in the garden, or what’s left of it and had a quick look up into the tree where all those funny noises seem to be coming from,. There are still definite noises but it is so full of debris, I can't make out if she's up there or not. First thing in the morning I am going to get somebody to take a proper look. The new greenhouse is being delivered as well so maybe they can check for me.
I must admit I am starting to miss her. It's the little things I miss most, like where I can find a clean teaspoon. In fact I don't think there's a clean dish or a pan in the house. I suppose I have let them all pile up a bit, I told her to do some before she started the gardening! Ahh well there's nothing for it, I suppose I'll have to go and buy some more.
A bit of a mess in the kitchen
The other thing I am missing is those nights when she’d be out on the garden patio playing her cello, particularly the Elgar Concerto. The Elgar was always very moving to hear and she plays it with such passion. It reminded me of what a fine cultured woman she can be, until she suddenly stops and then starts screaming for me to come out and pull the effing slugs off her stockings. They must be missing her as well. As soon as she starts playing, out they would all come, hundreds of them, snails as well, from all over the garden like a great pilgrimage. Her legs were a shrine for them. I’ve told her to have more salt on her chops that’d keep them off. It's very odd in a way but her father also played cello and suffered the same problem with slugs and snails. One for Arthur C. Clarke I think.
Fed the ducks, in the new pond. Or should I say lake! Very relaxing and guess what, they are nesting. Bless them. I can’t wait for those little ducklings to hatch out. Four little eggs and soon little fluffy ducks running round the garden. She would love to see them. Well, life goes on and at last something to look forward to.
Day 6
Those duck eggs went down a treat for breakfast! Delicious. I am sure the ducks won’t mind, they can always lay some more and needs must as they say.Anyway, important message for everybody that has rallied round during this my hour of need, She is back!
I suppose four days up a tree half naked and covered in soil and splinters would get you rattled so not the easiest of homecomings. About five minutes ago there was what sounded like branches splintering and then an almighty crash and a yell as if somebody had dropped a bag of cement through the new green house that was put in this morning.
”Stig of the Dump!” I said jovially.
Not a flicker of a smile. Obviously not worried about how I’ve managed. She hasn't spoken to me directly but she was using some very course language and mumbling something about hearing the theme from Midsummer Murders over and over as she put her foot through the TV. I was going to ask if she had any plans for tea but I think she is still in a bit of a mood. That's odd those are my suitcases!
Oh, she’s thrown all my clothes down the stairs now. That’s a good sign; she probably wants to catch up on the washing. Back to normal. What’s for supper?
Day 7
Will the fall-out never end? Mr Clack from the key cutting shop was raging at me today, not unusual in itself, he rages at anyone who comes into the shop and if it is to replace a lost key or get a duplicate, he goes berserk! "Why do I waste my effing time? What do you need another one for, don't you think I have anything better to do than cut effing keys all day?" He's a very bitter man. Anyway today he was particularly upset about his car. It is an Austin Cambridge hardly ever uses it, keeps it in the garage with about thirty locks on the door.
Well some time back I bought Mrs C a rather pleasant little garden gnome for her birthday. He had a shovel and a bag of gold looking like he was going to bury it. She adored the funny little chap and christened it Mr Henshaw. She was always polishing it, chatting to it until one day she caught her shin on it and as usual flew into a rage and took his head off with an axe. Well Mr Henshaw’s head has remained lost in the undergrowth for at least 2 years. Mrs C had just stuck a pot of geraniums in the neck hole. Well every cloud, as they say. Mr Clack decided it was time to give his prize car its monthly wash and turn over the engine. Beautiful car and still in showroom condition. He opened up the garage and immediately saw a large hole in the roof and there to his surprise, in the middle of a severely dented bonnet surrounded by glass from the smashed windscreen, was Mr Henshaw's missing head, smiling up at him. What a stroke of luck! The bomb must have unearthed it.
Day8
This bomb has been a nightmare for me. I don't know yet where my canoe landed not to mention the sceptic tank. She still won’t let me back into the house and I am beginning to think that this could be the end of nearly three years happy marriage – which isn’t bad out of nearly fifty.Mrs C and I were married in March 1960 combining a special offer of a wedding at sea and honeymoon cruise off the coast of North Africa. The ships captain conducted the ceremony. It was very cheap for the time although a bit no-frills. I still think there was a mistake at the Travel Agency, as we seemed to be the only wedding party. There was terrible noise from aircraft when strolling on deck but we didn’t let it spoil things. They had told me to watch out for the Vixens on board, although I thought they meant the waitresses and randy old spinsters, not that there were any. So anyway there we were on board HMS Ark Royal - I’m still not convinced to this day it was a proper cruise liner – with Mrs C looking radioactive in her wedding dress.
The dress handmade by her mother from finest silk coffin liner - well she said it was such a waste, once the lid was down who'll miss it? For the veil, she used mosquito netting that she brought back from Burma. It would have been better if she'd taken the flies out, but it gave the veil an interesting fleck look. The ceremony went without a hitch until just as she raised her arm to throw the bouquet....
She got her sleeve caught in the catapulting mechanism launching one of the Vixen Aircraft. You should have heard the language out of her as she hurtled down the flight deck heading out to sea. Even the Captain blushed! Disappeared into the distance swearing her head off. The woman can be such an embarrassment at times.I felt a right fool later that night with no Bride at the reception and having to cut the cake on my own. I ended up having to dance with Alf the wireless operator, although I must say, he was very light on his feet and the crew seemed amazed by our Argentinean Tango and gave us a standing ovation. The crew were marvellous and several of them offered to keep me company rather than be on my own all night in the Bridal Suite. Alf was very supportive, as it turned out, and said to them quite firmly, as he shoved them away, that he would see me back to the suite.
I had downed quite a few by that time and whispered to Alf that I wanted to go to bed. Come on then, he said, lets get you back to your room and get you undressed and into that lovely big bed. Well when I awoke the next morning it was still quite dark in the cabin and I could just about see every stitch of clothing I'd had on scattered on the floor. Then I suddenly became aware of somebody else in the bed and could feel their breath close on the back of my neck and their stubbly face grazing against my skin with each breath. There was a low moan as they moved their body close to me and I could feel something hard poking in the small of my back. As I reached my arm around carefully, I put my hand on a great hairy leg. In shock, I leapt from the bed and turned on the light. She was back!
She had sneaked in during the early hours with a jar of pickled gherkins; she still had one stuck to the front of her nightie. She had been brought back on board in the early hours after she’d been picked up off the coast of Sierra Leone. It seems she held on to the Vixen aircraft for nearly 5 hours but eventually nodded off and lost her grip. It was lucky that she landed in the swimming pool of some millionaires yacht in the middle of them burying his grandfather at sea. "One out, one in." she shouted as she clambered out of the pool and started necking a bottle of sherry and grabbing a mouthful of sandwiches.
The shock of seeing her dropping from the sky caused the crew to loose their grip on the burial casket and instead of lowering gracefully into the blue depths, it smashed into a lifeboat cracking open and sending poor Grandfathers corpse flying into the sea where it was then set upon by about thirty sharks.
They couldn't see the funny side of it at all. All the kids started screaming, two women fainted, the men all shouting poppa, poppa! Even when Mrs C, trying to lighten the mood, pointed outthat one of the sharks had grandpops' toupee on its head, they all started wailing again.
Anyway after the crew held the family back at gunpoint and locked Mrs C in the engine room they still brought her back to the Ark Royal. The family didn't want to keep in touch so I was never able to thank them.
Day 9
It’s funny that only yesterday I was thinking about our wedding day because a package containing somebody’s wedding album was posted through the door this morning and Mrs C left it outside the new shed for me - my temporary home.
The bride looked filthy and as if she was screaming in some of the photographs, her hair dripping down her face, all the bridesmaids’ gowns soaked and covered in some kind of slime, hair all over the place. The wedding breakfast table had collapsed and everything and everyone seemed to be covered in black and green slurry.
You could just see the tip of the wedding cake and the legs of the bride and groom, sticking out of what looked like a giant cowpat. The last picture was of a collapsed marquee. It looked to me like they were taken in the Vicarage garden just behind the local church.
Anyway as I puzzled over them I noticed that, also inside the package, there was a letter from a solicitor. Remember I said that after the explosion, the old sceptic tank from the garden had gone and I had been wondering where it could have landed? They are trying to sue me apparently. Why me? Sue Herman Goering, he dropped the damn bomb in me garden!
Anyway as I puzzled over them I noticed that, also inside the package, there was a letter from a solicitor. Remember I said that after the explosion, the old sceptic tank from the garden had gone and I had been wondering where it could have landed? They are trying to sue me apparently. Why me? Sue Herman Goering, he dropped the damn bomb in me garden!
But anyway yet again, with the bad comes the good. My canoe has also turned up. It was found inside the church, resting on what used to be the font - not a scratch on it. Amazing considering it went right through that Burne-Jones Stained glass window. It was an old window anyway so I’ve told them I’ll pay for a new double-glazing PVC one to keep the draft out.
Anyway I’m glad I got that canoe back, I can use it in the huge new bomb crater pond. Marvellous! Maybe this hasn't been too bad after all and with the crater being so deep, I found a way to get back into Mrs Cs good books and back into the house, something we can do together. I have bought her that diving helmet she always wanted.
As I have always said, there are no depths that woman won’t sink to? Now, does this pump oxygen in or out?
The happiest she's been for years, who would have thought getting her a big helmet would have saved a marriage?
