Down Home Blues. And Reds

by pauland1707

Everyone in this ‘ere place was excited, even excitement was getting slightly over-excited.  “It will all end in tears”, each of us thought and how right we were.  Whilst showing off to the local ladies, excitement tried to execute a Triple Salko and knocked his elbow on the bannister.  No serious damage, fortunately.  A nasty bruise and a quick rub-down with some light sand-paper, touch of undercoat and a final flourish with a bit of gloss will sort it.  No-one will ever know.

So, we hear you muse, why all the excitement, what’s going on in _Paul_And_Land_ that’s got hearts pumping.  And we reply, yes we do.  Y’see, over the past few weeks, posters have been posted all over place by Bill Posters.  Yes that fellow who, allegedly, will be prosecuted.  It does appear a tad harsh, no-one likes receiving a bill but they are an unfortunate part of life and to threaten poor ol’ Bill just because he posts them, seems to be lacking in compassion somewhat.  Sorry that was a tangent.  Yes, posters have been posted exclaiming the imminent arrival of some MP chap name of Ed Hair-Band MP and of his entourage including another MP called Mrs MP Raquel Reeves MP.  At the Big School.

So the big day dawned, in much the same way as any other day, the sun’s alarm clock clanging like the empty metal barrels at the _Paul_And_Land_Arms followed by usual grunts, snorts and curses as the sun turned the light on.  Sometimes, sun forgets to put pants on before turning the light on and that’s why the light is a little bit red.  Sun gets a bit embarassed.  Not today though, fortunately, because Mr Hair-Band and Raquel were in town.

But then the looks of disappointment, there was no Big Top on the Big School playing field, no waft of hot, tepid, warm or even cold dogs, no Flossie or her oppo Candy and no caravans, old lorries, or men in neckerchiefs.  Tears were welling up across the district, no bumper cars, no ghost train, no goldfish, no posters of Elvis Pugsley, no speedway and certainly no potential for gastro-enteritis.

Then we saw it, we pointed in glee, a cart pulled by a broken down ol’ nag coming down the track at the side of the Post Office.  Dusty and squeaky but that’s the way we like our Post Office, staffed by real humans and not by clones from the “Have a Nice Day” School.  Back to aforementioned cart and broken down ol’ nag as it pulled onto the playing field and drew to a halt.  The driver, leapt onto the seat and proclaimed “People of _Paul_And_Land_ we bring you all the answers”.  This was indeed good news especially for the pub quiz team who quickly whipped out notepads and began scribbling furiously.  “These are our plans, one, nobody under 25 Stone in weight will be allowed money.  Two, people who are foreign will be called foreigners and will live in places where others can point and Three, Teachers will have licences”.

A huge silence descended on the amassed crowd.  One lady dressed in a lost red-hat exclaimed “bugger off!”, a brave move as Raquel was wandering about the crowd brandishing a Baseball Bat.  Let’s be frank, Frank, there are no foreigners in _Paul_And_Land_, we’re all just people.  Some of us saw a tear in Mr Singh’s eye, we all offered hankies.  There would be no pointing at our favourite small Convenience Store and Off-Licence purveyor.  And certainly none of the Teachers were considering Off-Licencery so quite what the need for additional Licences (either off or on) was, no-one understood.  We gave up on dog licences back in the day after the terrible Road Traffic Accident which killed an entire family of Jack Russells.  The only TV in _Paul_And_Land_ is in the back-room of the _Paul_And_Land_Arms and the only licence a Teacher needs is a mini-bus licence to take the young ‘uns to the Swimmimmimmimming Pool in Richard “Sodding” Branson Land.

And so the mood turned ugly.  The men who enjoy fisticuffs disarmed Raquel and she quickly retreated behind Mr Hair-Band on the cart.  Mr Hair-Band took up the reigns to take flight but some of _Paul_And_Land_’s children had taken pity on the poor ol’ nag, had uncoupled it from the cart and had taken it to eat buttercups in the corner of the field.  Seeing the look of terror in the eyes of Mr Hair-Band and Raquel, The Men who enjoy Fisticuffs helped push the cart out of the playing field and set them on their way down the long hill where they’ll meet all their friends at the bottom because it happens every time they turn up and get turned down.

During the ruckus, Mr Singh had disappeared but now he returned with his barbecue, a sack of sausages, a selection of bakery requisites, onions and tommy sauce.  The lady in the lost red-hat whipped out a cassette recorder and started playing tunes.  The Teacher with a Licence, drove the mini-bus onto the field and offered trips to all around the perimeter.  Even the broken down ol’ nag entered the spirit offering straw hat beclad rides for _Paul_And_Land_ Residents.  Hurrah, for the  _Paul_And_Land_ Circus.