Tuesday, 15 June 2010

The Writer gets arrested

Hellhole or ace place?
Sy lived in London for 10 years. He started life as a city boy, and has lived in cities most of his life- Birmingham, Glasgow and Bristol being among some of the many.
I did wonder how he would adapt to living in the countryside and to be fair, he's settled in really well. However, now and again he likes to catch up with his agent so takes the train back to his old hunting ground.
Sy organises a lift to the train station with the next door neighbour but something goes really tits up there, and he ends up having to get to the station a different way.
So, who's tit's up it actually was, we'll never know, but Sy decided it had to be his fault.
It probably was.
He rings me from the train.
'I don't know what happened Sprouty- he just wasn't there, and i couldn't miss the train.....i thought i might try and get a little pressie for him in London, you know, just to say no hard feelings..'
I make the right noises down the phone, and wonder what wonderful little presie Sy is going to bring back for the neighbour...after all, i only gave him a tenner and he's got to buy some lunch with that.
The days scurries by and before i know it, i'm sat at the train station, waitng for his Lordship.
Eventually, the train comes and he crawls into the car.
'Good day? Meeting go well?'
'Yes and yes.'
'I got arrested.'
Nothing surprises me anymore.
'What did you do?'
'Well, Sprouty...'
It turned out that Sy realised once he had bought his lunch, he had no money left to get a little pressie ( i'd been waiting for this...)
So what could he bring back for the neighbour that didn't cost anything?
'These two telephone boxes were full of these cards that you could just take away, and seeing as nieghbour reads 'The Sport', then a few of these cards would tickle him...'
Sadly, for Sy, The wonderful London police force had decided to park themselves outside these two phone boxes and promptly set upon Sy as he left the second box.
Apparently, they thought he was putting the cards up, not taking them down.
And when asked what he was going to do with the cards,Sy answered; 'Give them to my next door neighbour who lives in the countryide.'
He made him sound like the godamn village idiot, who had never seen a naked woman before.
The police made him empty his bag and pockets and searched him.
And then took details.
'What was the outcome?' asks i as we pull up outside our house.
'Well....obviously my feathers were ruffled Sprouty..but there was one thing that upset me more than anything else.'
'Oh God....they didn't search you....you know..'
No! Nothing like that...worse, actually'
What could be worse?
'On my report sheet. They had to put a description of me.'
'Go on.....
'Sprouty, for my hair....they wrote......greying.'
I laughed so much i could hardly get out of the car.
He was nearly crying.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper x


  1. Oh my goodness... it's all our nothing chez Shakespeare. I'm so sorry, but I did laugh at the Writer's misfortune. At least he has hair to go grey, the CH is currently a poster boy for male pattern baldness! xx

  2. Ha!If you hdn't giggled, i would've thought i was losing my touch, my lovely!
    I hope CH has a rather fetching hat to wear for these sunny days :) xxxx


Your words are every bit as important as Mr Shakespeares.
Put some of them together, and leave me a comment...but don't worry if it takes me a few days to get round to reading them- i have nine jobs and a writer who needs me!

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