Recession beating plan

Hank still appeared bewildered and asked for a further explanation which Bill was more than happy to supply. All they had to do was convince Claire that someone or a group of people were having sex with the bodies stored in the hospital mortuary. She would then print her expose and they could then denounce her, somehow. Hank pondered the idea for a while and finally came to realise that it was the best that they had came up with all night and time was of the essence so a decision had to be made; “Great idea mate, I am off home now to sleep on it and I’ll meet you in the Stoke tomorrow 12:00 to work out the finer details”, and with that he was gone leaving Bill in a state of anti-climax. A little dejected Bill climbed the stairs to the bedroom only to find Rosey awake and in an accommodating frame of mind. Together they lowered the head of the bed and secured his ankles to the end, to stop him from slipping off. This was the only way they found that they could have sex safely after his extension, the slope of the bed keeping just enough blood flowing to his brain to stop him from passing out. After a good half hour of fun Rosey was satisfied and put the bed back to rights, Bill being too light headed to help her. So he drifted off into a contented sleep and had particularly vivid dreams, mostly to do with corpses and cold steel tables.

The next morning he awoke and reached across the bed for his beloved only to find she was already up and about, he could hear her pottering about in the kitchen. Rosey had indeed sprung out of bed like a young gazelle that morning. Things were looking alright domestically for a change and she intended to make the most of it. After all had not she heard Bill sticking up for her the previous night against his best mate and they had had sex without him passing out or instructions being shouted from the sidelines. She determined to make it a special day and what better way to start it than to serve him breakfast in bed? Not just any breakfast either, she was going to do the full ish, sausage, bacon, egg, fried bread, mushrooms, black pudding, toast, marmalade, fresh orange juice and a pot of coffee. Wearing nothing but a smile on her face she entered the bedroom with a flourish and layed the tray on his lap.

“What’s all this then?” he asked, staring at the feast before him and then looking closely for her reaction.

“Oh nothing love, I just wanted to treat you after last night, I want you to know how much I love you and that I never want to lose you.” A dark shadow passed over his face but soon passed as the smell of his breakfast wafted up to him. As he started eating Rosey slowly began stroking his member but had to stop when he complained of getting a little light headed. She hadn’t brought any breakfast up for herself and instead just sat watching him, something that he found quite disconcerting after a while. “What are you looking at sweetheart?” he asked as casually as possible thinking back to the previous nights conversation.

“Just you darling came the reply,” its good to see you with a healthy appetite, my man the great lover, you will have to keep your strength up you know.”

Now starting to genuinely worry Bill asked her to fetch the salt and pepper and whilst she was downstairs looked about frantically for somewhere to dump his food. The only place near to hand was his porn drawer in his bedside cabinet. He quickly scraped most of the remainder of his breakfast into it just before she returned with the condiments. “Oh you’re nearly finished already” she said, “would you like me to make you some more?” She was thinking that he was a bit of a greedy bastard and luckily he declined any further food but still managed to finish off what was on his plate with ease. The rest of the morning was strange to say the least. Bill seemed a bit wary of her and although they did not argue she was surprised to be a little relieved when he announced that he had to go and see Hank at the Stoke. It certainly wasn’t the day that she had envisaged in the morning but she realised that things would not change overnight and that she would just have to be patient, they had definitely made progress.

The two lads got settled in the pub and went over their options. Obviously they would need someone to play a corpse and then at least one person to pretend to be shagging a corpse, the latter proving no difficulty at all; they both simultaneously thought of Big gay Al, a killick stoker they had drank with on numerous occasions. Al revelled in his reputation as the biggest deviant in NATO. He claimed that there was nothing he would not do to enhance this reputation. Bill was unsure whether Al would perform just to get Hank out of trouble so they decided to tell Al that they were producing a porn movie and needed him for the starring role. This was bound to appeal to the exhibitionist in him, they even gave the film a title; “Stiffing the Stiffs”. Now all they needed was someone to play a corpse. Hank suggested Rosey as he felt that she was a natural and wouldn’t need to act but Bill was worried that she might feel used so they decided to hire a couple of whores. So off they set for Millbay road to find their lead actress and possibly an understudy. Again the general consensus was that they would say they were producing a porn movie and see where that got them. Finding suitable candidates proved more difficult than expected. Most of the whores knew the two of them from A/E and were dubious of trusting them, several to Hanks surprise had particularly low opinions of Bill, muttering about unpaid debts and lack of promised morphine, something Hank thought he would look into later. Having had no luck the duo set off for home. On the way they were accosted by an old hag who offered twos up for a fiver and when they declined dropped her price to a cigarette. On closer examination she proved perfect for their needs, she already looked like a zombie, about seventy years old, barely able to stand and with a pallor that would make an albino look positively tanned. All that remained was to audition her. A heated discussion then followed as neither wanted to be her leading male so they settled it in the only fair way; scissors, paper, stone. Hank lost which was probably just as well because they had no way of tilting Bill to ensure that he didn’t pass out. So back to Hanks flat they went, Dora the whore delighted to be travelling in a taxi for the first time in her life.

Shagging and necrophaelia

“Well it looks like you have really done it this time, I am glad to say .“said the CO .”Your career has finally came to its inevitable end. I think that it is safe to say that the court martial will kick you out and that the Nursing and Midwifery council will strike you off. You have really blown it this time. I will be shot of you forever and that pleases me so much that I am not going to punish you in any way myself. In four months you will be history, so just get out of my office, return to wherever you live and I will see you in court.”

Hank thought things had not turned out too bad. There was his court martial looming but he had time to formulate a defence of some description and until then he was banned from working and sent home on full pay, hardly a punishment. He was whistling as he entered the Stoke and took his usual position at the bar. Soon, pint in hand things were looking up. Bill was popping over in a while and in the meantime there were two attractive young ladies at the corner table who looked like they needed cheering up. Taking pint in hand he casually approached and asked if he could join them. Somewhat reluctantly they agreed and he engaged them in conversation. In no time at all they were relaxed and getting on fine. They commented on the smartness of his uniform; he had worn his no. 1’s for the meeting with the CO and hadn’t bothered to change it. In no time he was regaling them with stories of daring do from his naval career.

The scene that greeted Bill when he entered the Stoke couldn’t have been further from what he had expected. The pub was full and instead of his mate sitting morosely drunk in the corner he was laughing and joking with two good looking birds and wearing his no.1 uniform. He had to admire his attitude but remained concerned for Hanks state of mind. He loved the Navy and everyone knew that his latest escapade would be the end of his naval career. As he approached the table Hank stood up and spotted him and hurried over.

“All right shipmate” he called over the throng at the bar “the usual is it?”. Bill just nodded and Hank told him to take a seat with the two girls whilst he went to get the drinks in. As he sat down one of the girls said “you must be Bill? I’m Claire and this is Mathilde.” Both were good looking and well spoken, something he definitely had not expected. “Hi” was his feeble response. Immediately the ladies (for ladies they were, not the young totty he first imagined) started to tell him how lucky he was. He really could not believe his ears. Apparently Hank had just returned from Sierra Leone where he had been captured by the West Side Boys and tortured for a couple of weeks before escaping and single handedly crossing 300 miles of jungle to safety in just 2 weeks. Bill had to agree that is was quite an amazing story but was even more amazed when he discovered that they knew all about the Countdown fiasco. “Yes that was a sad state of affairs” he replied.

“Something should be done” the ladies chirruped together “and don’t tell Hank but we are going to help“. Oh shit thought Bill what has that daft git got these two nice people into; “But do you know the whole story?” he asked them, determined that they should not fall victim to one of Hanks madcap schemes.

“Oh yes” came the reply from Claire, “They should never have let him on that show in the first place. To think he was only a week out of the jungle and still suffering from the effects of heat stress and dehydration, not to mention the trauma of  having to kill several of his pursuers. I mean the man should get a medal not court martialled. “ “Indeed” said Bill “but there is very little anyone can do, the thing is that once the Navy make their minds up about this sort of thing they very rarely change them. It is all very sad but that’s that really.”

“I can see that you are going to be no help” huffed Mathilde “but don’t worry we will manage on our own, we will shame the Navy into dropping all charges. Just you wait, Plymouth wont know what hit it!”

Bill was confused; “but what can you two do, I mean it’s a pretty cut and dry case, after all it went out live on national television, there is no way to deny that it happened. Girls I am his friend and I know that he is a good bloke but sometimes things have to be left to run their own course.”

A joint look of horror came over their faces . To let this happen would be a travesty they told him. Sure they knew that Hank had signed the official secrets act to cover his actions in Sierra Leone and they understood that the government carried out clandestine operations all over the world, but this was the worst injustice either of them had heard about in their lives and they already had a plan.

Ten minutes later Hank returned from the bar with two pints of Guinness and two gin and tonics. Bill was just staring at him, mouth agape and a tremor in his hands. He lifted his pint and swallowed half of it in one go. Hank just ignored him a started chatting to the girls again, the usual stuff nothing in particular. When Claire went to the toilet Mathilde took the opportunity to slip him her phone number and as they were leaving half an hour later Claire gave him hers.

“What a result” Hank said punching Bill’s arm. “Can you believe that, two phone numbers in one afternoon and I didn’t ask for either of them. Life is good is it not?”

“Stop, just fucking stop” Bill shouted. “your life is in tatters mate. You are about to be thrown out of the Navy and you just waltz into a pub and convince two innocent journalists, if there is such a thing, that you are a victim of some great plot to discredit you. They believe every bloody word and are now off to their respective editors to organise protests, petitions and God knows what else to save you. Any slim chance that you had of staying in the mob has just packed bags and left for dooms Ville. They think that you are a hero mate and nothing will convince them otherwise. You cant just use people like that, you are going to have to stop them before they lose all dignity and probably their jobs.”

“Chill fella” laughed Hank. “No way are those two journalists and I just fed them a few lines to pass the time. They will just go home now and wait for the boyo here to call which I surely will, but not tonight. As to getting kicked out, something will turn up, it always does mate, you worry too much. Now get the beers in I have a terrible thirst on me.” So the night took a familiar turn. A selection of pubs were visited and huge hangovers developed before they fell asleep.

The next morning was when events started to really unfold. Hank was in the newsagents when the headline from the Plymouth Courier screamed at him across the shop floor. “Local hero let down by Royal Navy.”

Grabbing a copy he ran from shop to home and read the story in full. Luckily it mentioned no names but the gist of it was that a local navy nurse had suffered severe trauma whilst serving his country and was now being hounded out of the service because of a misdemeanour on national television probably caused by the trauma he had only recently experienced. Although it did not mention him by name it left no doubt as to who the article was about. Sweat began to drip from his brow as he just stood in the kitchen and stared at the paper. This thing was snowballing beyond his control. The ringing of his mobile shook him from his coma like stance. He picked it up and hit the answer button. “Hello.”

“Chief Kelly my office now” was the only reply before the other caller hung up. He booked a taxi and left for the CO’s office. On the way he resolved to tell them to stuff their job up their arses, the damage was done, he would get some time in the glasshouse and then would be a civvy, he would just have to live with it. On arrival he was shown straight into the CO’s office and told to sit down which was a first, he usually had to stand up for his bollockings. After a few minutes the CO entered followed by two other people he had never met wearing dark suits and sensible shoes. “That’s him” the CO muttered and promptly left the room. Both men introduced themselves and Hank thought that he was in real trouble. One was from MI5 whilst the other character would only say that his name was Tom and he worked for the government. Both showed him proper ID and then took their seats in front of him. There was no threatening postures just simple and open questions like how did he know what was going on in Sierra Leone/Who had he been speaking to? Where had he visited in the last few weeks? And questions of that ilk repeated time and time again. Hank gave honest answers to all the questions and told them about the pending court martial and the chat with the two journalists in the pub. He left nothing out and even apologised for his behaviour. After two hours the interview was coming to an end. Tom asked him how much influence he had with the two journalists to which he responded that he really did not know. He was then asked if he would consider having a chat with them to see if they would drop their line of enquiry. This he agreed to do and to his surprise they then hinted that if he was successful they may be able to help with his current problem and promptly left the office. In a state of shock he left also and headed for home determining to give Bill a shout on the way.

Bill was not exactly pleased to see his mate, of course he felt for him but he had to consider himself and indeed Rosey. Maybe she was right after all, Hank was dragging him down and it was a dark abyss that awaited him if he continued in his current lifestyle. To make matters worse Hank was now openly hostile to Rosey. On entering the house he told Rosey to bring two glasses for the Jameson’s’ he had brought, then ordered her to make sandwiches and then go shopping. She looked to Bill for support but he just asked for pickle and cheese and a packet of crisps. After she left Hank got down to business. His news was shocking and unexpected but Bill could not help but be wary when the secret services were involved. But he wasn’t being asked to do much really; just a bit of lying to a journalist. The plan was actually very simple. Hank would start seeing one of the journalists and that would then call her integrity into question. That only left the other and Bill would have to help, she would somehow have to be disgraced and that part of the plan needed working on hence the Jameson.

The bottle was soon empty but inspiration was still lacking. They would have to go to be pub. As they were leaving Rosey was just returning with some shopping.

“I’ve got us a nice piece of steak for tea love” she said “I didn’t realise you would still be here Hank sorry”.

“Don’t be” came the reply “we are off to the pub, enjoy your steak”.

With that they were off. Bill thought that he should feel guilty but memories of the Dartmoor incident drove him on, his drunken logic dictating that the last time he got in trouble with Hank he got promoted. So they sought divine intervention in the Stoke. First question to be answered was which one Hank should shag? After long discussion and several pints they decided that Mathilde would be the lucky one as she had a slightly exotic name, much nicer than Claire. Pleased with their progress they decided that a break was called for so set off for the quiz machine. Before they knew it it was closing time and their deliberations would have to take place elsewhere, but where? Well a nightclub would be too noisy and Hanks flat was a mess so that left Bill’s place so off they set.

On arrival they sat down to a couple of single malts. Rosey made a brief appearance in a revealing nightie: “Where were you love, I was worried?”.

Before Bill could answer Hank replied that he had been to the pub, as she knew and would she now mind returning to bed as the sight of her in that nightie just reminded him of how much weight she had put on. As she stormed upstairs Bill turned to is mate; “Was that necessary mate? You are just making life difficult for me. I have to live with her you know.”

“No you don’t, listen fella she is getting a bit on the porky side and she is trying to drag you down with her. I think she might be a feeder you know. As a matter of fact if I was you  I would just bin her here and now. If you want I will do it for you” he said rising from his seat.

“Fucking sit down. I love Rosey!” Bill squealed. “She means everything to me. We are going to get married. Christ she loves me and we intend to spend the rest of our lives together. We have plans for the future….what do you mean she might be a feeder?”

“Well you know what a feeder is don’t you?” Bill shook his head. “Well it’s a bird who feeds her bloke lots of fattening food so that he becomes a porker so that no one else will fancy him and then she can eat her heart out content in the knowledge that he has to stay with her no matter what she looks like as he is by this stage also a fat git.”

Bill was shocked. “No way dude, look at me, all skin and bone, you’re just pissed and I know you don’t like her so you have be lying. Bollocks you have some imagination, to make up feeders just like that was pretty impressive.”

Outside on the stairs Rosey smiled. She heard the whole conversation and thus reassured made her way silently to bed and slept soundly. In the meantime the conversation continued downstairs, Hank trying to put his point across.

“No honest fella, it might not be working straight away and you don’t know how long she has been at it but just look back to this afternoon.”

Bill looked exasperated, “what the fuck do you mean this afternoon? You came round here, pissed off my missus and then we went to the pub.”

A look of triumph on his face Hank screamed, “Aha, see you didn’t notice did you? As we left she said that she had for you some nice steak for tea. She was trying to trick you with food you fool.”

“You must be pissed fella, that is the biggest pile of shite that I have heard in a long long time, lets just leave it and get back to planning your next escape.”

Hank visibly shrank but accepted defeat his last words only, “You wait and see mate, breakfasts and everything, she’ll get you.”

Bill did not give it much thought and poured a couple more drinks. Soon the planning was underway again and it was soon decided that the best way to discredit Claire would be to get her to publish a story of pure fiction and then produce the evidence to shame her. The only problem was that it would have to be totally outrageous and yet believable at the same time. Between them they only knew about the Navy and health service. There was no way they could get the Navy involved in case it all went wrong so that just left the health service; but what could that possibly offer. The drunker they became the more outlandish became their ideas. From surgeons stealing testicles from patients to hard up nurses offering oral sex on the wards to help make ends meet. Another one was a secret spider farm in the basement that was breeding poisonous spiders to be sold to fundamentalist terrorist organisations to help pay for a new security system. On reflection they all fell well short of the desired goals.

They had given up and Bill was making his way to bed when Hank suggested that if he was going to “shag that fat bastard you might as well cover her in iced water because that way you can imagine you are shagging a corpse, and that would be a hell of a lot more fun than fucking her!” Bill stopped abruptly on the stairs and spun around sharply. Hank thought that maybe this time he had gone too far but to his surprise Bill just said;

“That’s it mate, you are a fucking genius, lets get another drink and work out the details.” Hank was totally bemused but sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed another bottle. ”OK so what’s your idea then?”

“Necrophilia mate, that’s what it is.”

Countdown sex scandal

Carols Bane

2 hours and 10 pints later he was not so understanding. As he said to the drunken fool on the next bar stool, he had given Bill everything he had. Not everything that he had but everything that Bill had. Was’nt it him who sorted out Rosey when Bill couldn’t perform? Didn’t he, Hank, show the boy blunder the way to survive in the high octane and stressful A/E environment? Was it not Hank who introduced the young innocent to some of his best friends; Arthur Guinness, Jack Daniels and all the rest of them? Christ but as the drunk said, Bill was an ungrateful bastard and he needed to be taught a lesson, to be brought back into the fold and shown the true path. What sort of matelot was he anyway? The bastard was a disgrace to the uniform and yes, he needed to be brought back down to earth and the sooner the better. There is no time like the present is there. Off Hank went to the Temple of Holy pioneers, his mission to save his mate from the grips of mediocrity and the penumbra of middle class life.

It was a ticket only affair. Well it had to be really didn’t it? The temple itself was an imposing edifice, the frontage covering half a street and illuminated by multiple halogen halo’s. Just standing outside was enough to make Hank think twice about his plan of action. Obviously  he was set in his principles but the effect of the Gothic monstrosity was causing a revision of plans that was not helped by 10 pints of Guinness. The time was 18:30, Bill was due to appear at 20:30 so time was of the essence.

The spotlight came on and picked him out at the back of the conference hall whilst the music slowly built to a crescendo; onwards Christian soldiers came the chant from the auditorium as surrounded by Baptist ministers Bill was led to the altar amidst rapturous applause. A sense of serenity had overcome him 15 minutes earlier and it was with a sense of great calm and purpose that he approached the richly carved marble homage to heaven before him. As he took his place behind the solid yet melancholy table all sounds slowly dissipated to leave an awed hush. From the muted public address system came the baritone voice of the chief pastor and the introduction began.

“Brethren, we have among us today a local hero. Many of you will have read of his heroic exploits in the local and national press and so will know what sacrifice he has had to make in the face of great adversity and the demon drink. From within the ranks of a drunken and subversive sub society he has been a beacon to all in the past few months and has kindly agreed to pass on his pain, suffering and knowledge to us so that we can carry the fight against liquor to a new and unprecedented level. Gentlemen I present with great reverence, esteem and love the man who can change our city; Petty Officer Bill Mason, scourge of the sinful masses.”

“My dear brothers, I stand here before you not as a saviour nor prophet nor priest; but as a simple messenger who has descended into the abyss and partied with Satan himself and indeed taught him a few new tricks. But I have learnt, I have learnt on the dark and painful road upon which I have travelled and it is these lessons that I hope to impart to you so as you can learn from my sins.” Bill then paused and slowly turned to his audience, eyeing each in turn his gaze finally coming to rest on a familiar figure in the back row. Horror coursed through his veins, sweat began to drip from his head onto the altar, his pulse quickened and a feeling of dread erupted from the pit of his stomach and exited from his mouth in the form of copious amounts of putrid vomit. The audience was aghast and could only sit in muted shock as Bill started to shake uncontrollably losing control of his bowels, adding to the already foul stench permeating the auditorium. He could only just stand there staring at Hanks smug face dreading what might be in store for him. It was at this point that Hank slowly rose from his seat and walked purposefully to the exit and left.

“You cunt, you fat Irish miserable wanker. How the fuck could you do it to me. You fucking knew that I wanted that gig and you deliberately ruined it for me. You are an absolute shit.”

“Calm down fella. I just came to hear your speech. We are mates after all. I just came along to offer moral support. The thing is you lost it. I done fuck all, if you remember correctly I left after you shit yourself; I sat silently doing nothing.”

“Don’t give me that crap, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Look lets let bygones be bygones, its your round so we’ll just toast the coming years and plan for the future.”

The night then began to take on a familiar theme. Drinks came and went and drunkenness soon descended. All problems were forgotten and new plans made. Both were anxious about their career paths. After such a high it would be hard to impress the hierarchy and something would have to be planned, sleeping would not cover it this time. At this point Hank dropped his bombshell.

“I am going to apply for a commission mate, if I pass the selection board then I can hopefully choose where I go and what I do. The thing is I am going to have to get a couple of deployments under my belt so that I can sell myself as a useful asset.”

Bill was stunned. How the fuck could Hank ever imagine that the QARNNS would allow him to become an officer. Everyone knew exactly what he was like. Yes he was a good nurse, actually hard as it was to believe his mate was an excellent A/E nurse but that wasn’t enough. To become an officer he would have to demonstrate the necessary qualities; integrity, loyalty, honesty and leadership to name but a few. Well it was best to humour him so he played along.

“Good idea fella. As for the deployments are you sure you could handle the lack of alcohol for months at a time? And the lack of skirt? And the easy life that you have become used to?

“That’s just a few bridges that I will have to cross when I come to them, but at least I have a plan.”

This made Bill quite happy if the truth be told. With his mate out of the way he could concentrate on his other activities, earn some extra cash and get closer to Rosie. As he contemplated his good fortune Hank had another surprise for him. He had been accepted to appear on Countdown the popular channel four quiz program and would be appearing the following week. Bill considered his oppo to have a fairly good grasp of the English language and could be quite eloquent when the occasion called but as to appearing on national TV? That had to be a mistake.

Undeterred Hank threw himself into preparations with his usual vigour. The quiz machine in the Stoke made an absolute fortune that week. In no time at all he was on his way to the studio and feeling ever so slightly nervous. On arrival he was shown to the hospitality room and told to make himself comfortable as it would be some time before he was due to appear. Opening a bottle of wine he sat in a comfy armchair and engaged his fellow contestants in conversation….for about five minutes. Christ they were all a bunch of boring, middle class, middle aged boring librarian types with no sense of humour as evidenced by their response to his joke about the two nuns and a pogo stick. With nothing else to do he settled down and drank whatever he could to calm his nerves. The others got so concerned about his drinking that they called the producer in to express their concerns. On entering the producer was surprised to see the space in front of Hank completely covered with empties, he himself however seemed absolutely fine, no slurring of words and no unsteadiness in his gait. Thus reassured he determined to allow him to appear, a decision he would come to regret as he stood in the dole queue a week later.

Hank strode to his chair and sat down, arranged the notepaper and pens before him and waited for the show to start. A minute later a grey haired middle aged man approached and coughed loudly.

“You appear to be in my chair, would you mind moving please?”

At this Hank began to wave his arms vigorously in the air for a few moments and then sat still. “Is that OK ?“he asked innocently.

“Sorry I don’t follow” came the reply.

“Always best that, be your own man.”

“What? Look you are in my seat and I have already asked you to move.”

“And I did.”

“No you did not so if you don’t mind?”

“Yes I did, you asked me to move and I waved my arms about a bit, if that’s not moving then I don’t know what is. Listen mate if your grasp of the English language is that poor then I don’t give much for your chances in this game.”

“What? Are you a total idiot? I am the presenter and you are in my chair and the show cannot take place with you sitting in it.”

“Bollocks. No way are you Richard Whitely. I am not a fool you know. For a start Whitely wears crap ties and is a bit of a chubby git, so stop taking the piss like a good man and be on your way.”

Des Lynam called the floor manager and asked for Hank to be removed. She approached gingerly and squatted down in front of him.

“Hank, Richard died 2 months ago and Des Lynam has taken over the role. Would you mind taking one of the contestants seats.? We really don’t have much time, this is a special show, we are dedicating it to Richard and it is going out live. We really would appreciate your cooperation but if its not forthcoming then we will have to ask you to leave.”

“I am terribly sorry, I really didn’t know, of course I will move, where do you want me to sit?”

“Just in that left hand seat if you would.”

“Sure, and one other thing, I don’t suppose you fancy going for a drink after the show?”

“We’ll see, now come on there’s not much time left.”

As he took up his seat Hank watched the hive activity before him.  He had never been to a television studio before and was amazed at the amount of shouting and panic amongst the headset wearing production team.  Wouldn’t get this on board, thought Hank.  Despite having only two days sea time in his ten year career it was most than the rest of the nurses in the fleet.  He looked over towards the guest presenter and wondered who the hell he was.  He hoped to god he wouldn’t be the usual Z list bunch of cheeses who have ‘hilarious poems’ at the commercial.  Speaking of which he needed a break right now, the hospitality suite had been very accommodating and now his bladder was full, but everyone seemed to be so busy he didn’t want to take up their time.  He looked at the board to a familiar face standing there, stifling a yawn.

“Hey Carol, Carol!” He slurred, “which way to the heads shipmate?  The heads?  I’m busting for a swamp.”

Carol Vordeman looked at the swaying body of Hank at the contestant desk.  They should have chosen appropriately for this special episode, she thought, why does every fucker on this show think they know me?  She pretended not to hear him, but Hank as always was persistent.

“Oi Cazzer, stop thinking about your cholesterol a minute and point us the way of the head”

“I’m sorry”  She replied, “I don’t know anything about  head.”

“well meet us around the back during the break and I’ll show you”  Hank doubled up at his hilarity and then realised the studio was quiet and everyone was looking at him mouths open.  Stuck up cunts he thought. 

“These bastards are easily shocked, you reckon?”  He turned to his fellow contestant for the first time.  It was Hanks turn to be shocked.  Next to him was an eight year old boy with thick glasses and bucked teeth.  Fuck he thought, what age did I put down on the application form? His scrawny young adversary attempted a smile, which brought on a mild asthma wheeze causing him to reach for his inhaler.

“Jeez the playground must be a fucking nightmare for you me old shipmate”

The studio lights dimmed and a voice on the PA system announced they would be live in five, four three.  This is it thought Hank.  Time to run rings around Adrian mole here.  The music started and the audience began to clap.  Des commenced in a complementary and poignant praise of his predecessor during which carol and a few old ladies in the audience began to wipe tears.  The director was loving it, thinking this show would get them a BAFTA for sure.

Then a  dull sound began over the microphones,  it sounded like a grunt then went into a long exasperated sigh. 

“Camera three zoom in on contestant Kelly.  What is he doing?  Can you hear running water? “  Hank was seen putting his water jug on the desk, it had a yellow tinge to it and the entire nation heard his flies being pulled up.

Des finished his preamble and the production crew were on tenterhooks. This guy was supposed to be some sort of hero but there was certainly nothing heroic about his performance so far. At least the game was about to begin and surely he could do nothing wrong then? At least they had the Arch Bishop of Canterbury as the special guest, he would be able to entertain everyone with his witty anecdotes. So it was time for the first round.

“Hank would you like to choose your letters please?”

“OK shippers. Can I have a consonant Carol.”

“R”

“And another”

“S”

“And one more”

“B”

“A vowel”

“A”

“Another”

“I”

“Consonant”

“P”

“Vowel”

“A”

“Consonant”

“T”

“And a final .. Consonant please”

“F”

The clock started counting down, Adrian Mole was scribbling furiously and it was putting Hank off. He found it very difficult to concentrate and before he knew it time was up. His fellow contestant was asked how many letters and to Hanks surprise had a seven letter word. Des then asked him how many he had.

“Ummm, 8 “said Hank but I haven’t wrote it down.

The young Mole look-alike then announced his word, something that Hank had never heard of and was sure could not be a word at all and instantly regretted announcing 8 letters as five would obviously have won.

“And your eight letters Hank?” asked Des.

“Well.. Its BAPFARTS” said Hank.

“We will have to check that one”  said the Arch Bishop to Suzy. “What do you think it means Hank?”

“Well it’s a word….that Naval chefs use….when they are serving dinner… and there are bread rolls on the menu which have the unfortunate effect of causing excess gas because they have been frozen so making those that eat him expostulate anally”.

The Arch Bishop turned  to Suzy Dench and addressed her with a raising of his left eyebrow:

“Well Suzy, what says the dictionary?”

“Well, there is no reference to bapfarts in the dictionary so I am afraid that we have to disallow that one”.

“Bollocks” said Hank in what he thought was a whisper. Young Adrian was seven nil up and it felt bad. The camera panned to Des and as he spoke a terrible squeal erupted off shot. As the camera panned back to the contestants  one of the seats was empty. Hank was sitting looking straight into the lens waiting for the next round but Adrian was nowhere to be seen. He could however be heard groaning from beneath the table. Hank then announced that his opponent was unable to continue and therefore  would have to forfeit the game.

But the young child climbed back to his seat, much to Hank’s dismay and soldiered on.  He was used to being bullied, hit and ganged up on at school and knew it was useless snitching.  He picked his 9 letters and left Hank standing.  His 6 letter word leaving Hank struggling with a mere two letter word.

Then it was Hanks turn.

“can I have a  consonant please carol?”

W

A vowel please

A

“Can I have a consonant again please?”

N

“Oh yes.  Can I have another consonant please?”  Said Hank reaching over to the water jug.

R

“”Bugger”  Hank looked at the Jug and it’s yellow contents and then looked at his fellow contestants clear vessel..  He called his next remaining letters.

E K T T I.  The director looked at the possibilities of the round as the clock ticked and the familiar tune played it’s final note.

“We need a commercial now!”  He screamed at the assistant, knowing it wasn’t possible.  He Heard des ask for the results.

“Six.”  Said Hank.

“Fuck said the director.  He looked at the young child, hoping he could come up with some amazing nine letter word that would detract from the obvious  television hand grenade they had as a contestant.  But the young child was not speaking.  He was pouring a glass of water from his jug, obviously thirsty and with a dry mouth from nerves.  But his jug did not look right.  It was not clear.  He looked at Hank sipping a glass of translucent water, then looked back at the young boy swig down a mouthful of dark yellow liquid..

“Oh my fucking good God in heaven” exclaimed the archbishop as the young contestant emptied his stomach contents all over the desk and began to call pitifully for his mother. Carol ran over to help the youngster but just stood in front of him retching uncontrollably, the stench was something that she had never experienced before. Hank was wetting himself with laughter whilst Des just looked on aghast as the child’s mum sprang from her seat in the audience and attacked Hank with a vigour unbelievable in a woman of 62. Meanwhile the director was in a state of panic and the program was taken off air. Things in the studio had taken a turn for the worse; fed up with the pensioner Hank delivered a deft upper cut and layed her out cold. Security were approaching him and he searched around for some form of defence. He quickly sprang across the table and grabbed the archbishop by the neck threatening to murder him if the security guards came any closer. Des had by this stage ran off whilst Carol was on her knees vomiting air as she had already puked up all her Benecol. The police soon arrived and order was restored with the main protagonist being led off to the cells.