The Tale of the Spotted Dick Pudding - a Hugo & Lefty Adventure - Page 2

zelda_pinwheel · 07-13-2009, 09:29 PM

thank you moejoe !!

Moejoe · 07-13-2009, 09:33 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by zelda_pinwheel

thank you moejoe !!

My pleasure *does one of those old fashioned style bowing things like he's in a Shakespearean play*

dreams · 07-13-2009, 10:27 PM

Thank you Am!!!!

And a big THANK YOU to Moejoe for producing it in ebook format.

ShortNCuddlyAm · 07-14-2009, 01:16 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Moejoe

As the unofficial ePub creator of this thread I thought it only fitting (and because I can't sleep) to put together another ePub of the ongoing adventure

Thank you Moejoe!

Chapter 3 will be up soon... (in a lot less than 5 weeks... possibly even less than 5 hours)

zelda_pinwheel · 07-14-2009, 01:17 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by ShortNCuddlyAm

Thank you Moejoe!

Chapter 3 will be up soon... (in a lot less than 5 weeks... possibly even less than 5 hours)

drop everything, cancel all plans, i'll be here waiting !!!

ShortNCuddlyAm · 07-14-2009, 02:56 PM

(chapter 3)

It’s a glorious summer day. They sky is blue with picture-postcard little fluffy clouds, the sea shimmers between blue and turquoise, small waves break on sandbanks and beaches with just enough white foam to look picturesque but not so much it frightens small dogs and children, and boats bob around lazily. Some white cliffs topped with green downs roll along the coast, broken by the mouth of a river lazily flowing into the sea. On either side of the river picnickers eat sandwiches and drink from Thermoses. One more adventurous couple start a small stove going on one of the wooden groynes, only to quickly remove it and throw water over the place where the stove sat. Some people sunbathe, some paddle. One or two swim in the river mouth. Two young guys paddle a canoe out of the river and into the sea, turning west along the coast. Gulls scream overhead. A gentle breeze whispers through the grass before dying down again.

Out at sea, a motor launch slows almost to a stop, in line with the river mouth, but some way out at sea. The people on board are indistinguishable black shapes. There’s a slight splash, and the boat speeds off again. Where the boat was a small black shape can be seen, moving slowly closer to shore. Eventually it resolves into a man, wearing a wetsuit, swimming with a large waterproof bag. After some minutes he reaches the eastern shore of the river, walks up the shingle beach to behind a convenient shrub. There is some shuffling and scuffling noises, and if anyone was close enough they may have heard three very quiet, but very distinctly different, voices muttering at each other. He emerges again a few minutes later, dressed in normal clothes and nonchalantly heads off up a path by the side of the river, still carrying the bag, which is clearly far too large to just be holding his wetsuit. Most people on the beaches either side of the river only pay cursory attention to this performance, as if it is something that happens every day, before going back to their activities.

An hour or so after this, the two chaps in the canoe paddle back up the river from the sea, looking a little sunburnt. People come and go, walking off over the Downs, or up the river to the pub and micro-brewery further upstream. Boats drift along out at sea, powered by wind or motor.

It is the sort of summer’s day that exists usually more in memory and dreams than reality. A day for enjoying and relaxing. Certainly not a day for intrigue and plotting.

Further up river, now past the pub and micro brewery, and over the main road, past the sheep centre and country park, past all of the day trippers and most of the walkers, past the river’s larger meanders and man-made channels, the man with the waterproof bag pauses. A group of swans glide effortlessly past, watching him curiously. Higher up, a white horse - carved as a drunken prank a couple of centuries back - watches silently. He glances around, pulls out a notebook and compass, nods to himself, then strips down to a pair of swimming trunks, stowing his clothes in a bag within the bag. Ignoring the fact that only a few hundred yards upstream there is a bridge, he crosses the river, part wading, part swimming. Then, checking his compass once more, he heads towards a clump of bushes at the base of the hill, and vanishes from sight.

Back at the mouth of the river a tall, hairy creature - which looks suspiciously like a yeti (confirmed sightings (Sussex): 0. Confirmed sightings (SE England): 0. Confirmed sightings (UK): 0. Actual numbers: Unknown, at least one) - looks at an empty bag longingly and mutters something about really wanting a spotted dick pudding. His companion, sporting a badge that says “I’m a llounge llama - let me back in there!” looks warningly at his tummy before commenting that they ought to be making a move anyway, and did he want to go along the river or along the coast?

zelda_pinwheel · 07-14-2009, 03:01 PM

the yeti and his companion have made an appearance !!! the plot thickens...

(you're getting much better at this "not making us wait too long" thing !)

dreams · 07-14-2009, 03:13 PM

Yea!!!! More, more, more...

Wait....What? Is that boat the-one-with-no-name-as-yet-as-we-are-doing-a-poll boat?

TallNHairyDave · 07-15-2009, 04:39 PM

Pssst you do know she's not even started part 4 yet? Have no fear, Yeti shall pester daily until is forthcoming.

zelda_pinwheel · 07-15-2009, 04:40 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by TallNHairyDave

Pssst you do know she's not even started part 4 yet?

what ?? that slacker !!! what has she been doing with her time ???

Quote:

Have no fear, Yeti shall pester daily until is forthcoming.

i was just about to mandate you with that task. perfect. i see you are going to fit right in around here.

Moejoe · 07-15-2009, 04:50 PM

And as ever, through the magic of computery nonsense and other things, I give you the ePub of the story so far

ShortNCuddlyAm · 07-15-2009, 07:32 PM

Thank you Moejoe!

Part 4 to materialise shortly...

ShortNCuddlyAm · 07-15-2009, 07:33 PM

(part 4)

Meanwhile, a bit further west, a chap set out for an afternoon’s pootling around Poole harbour in his grey RIB. As it was such a pleasant afternoon, and as he had a plentiful supply of food with him - including his mother’s famous pie, he decided to see if he could land on one of the islands - maybe even Brownsea. Avoiding the larger boats he went along quite merrily, until he became aware of a powerful diesel engine not that far from him. Glancing around, he saw the harbour master’s boat racing along. Someone was in trouble. He shrugged, and carried on his way. Shortly after, he realised the harbour master was hailing him.

“Hullo there! Whereabouts are you heading?”

“Oh - thought I’d pop over to one of the islands for a picnic” he said, nodding meaningfully at his hamper

“I see” There was something in the harbour master’s tone which suggested that what he saw was very much not to his liking. “And, um, are they with you then?” he asked, nodding towards the back of the RIB.

The chap looked at the harbour master. Was he drunk? Suffering from sun stroke?

“Ummm….?” he offered by way of a reply.

“Them. Little grey things in your boat” The harbour master’s temper was clearly wearing thin, so the chap thought it might be best to humour him, when a brief flash of movement in his RIB caught his eye. There, crouching almost nonchalantly in the stern of the RIB, was a brace of squirrels. Grey squirrels, to be precise. Outlawed on the islands in Poole Harbour to allow the native reds to flourish.

He followed the harbour master back to a dock, and glowered meaningfully at the squirrels. “You two, hop it. Or I’ll call my mum - and she makes a mean squirrel pie” and he glanced meaningfully at his hamper.

As if they understood, the creatures scooted out from the boat, and the chap could have sworn he heard one of them mutter “commie sympathiser” as they scuttled off. Scratching his head, he set back off again.

Further inland, a tense phone call was in progress.

“So, for the promise of some positive advertising which will probably sway hearts and minds, but cannot guarantee us even a reconsideration of our banishment, you want us to steal arguably the most famous recipe in the country? You don’t think that’s a bit, um, one-sided, do you?”

“Well, no. Not really. Think of the influence our adverts wield. Think how trusted our brand is. If we come up with a suitable campaign it will turn the tide of public opinion, and from that will come a re-consideration. And let’s be honest, as soon as the tabloids get on your side, your case is won.”

“I still think you’re… hold on a moment” and Mr Nuttking put the phone on hold as one of his many minions scurried in, holding a piece of paper. Cyril took the paper and read it. Then read it again. “Pies?” he bellowed. “PIES! I’ll give them sodding pies!” and with that he took the phone off hold.

“Mr Kipling - you have a deal. But I have one condition. No mention of pies. At all.”

“No pies. We do cakes, remember? And I look forward to working with your organisation on this matter. When can you start?”

“As soon as I possibly can, Mr Kipling. As soon as I possibly can.”

zelda_pinwheel · 07-15-2009, 07:35 PM

ooh, now things are getting serious !! the

are involved !!!!! lock up your... um... nuts...

TallNHairyDave · 07-15-2009, 07:35 PM

See, Yeti said he'd pester... :-)

07-15-2009, 07:35 PM	#29
zelda_pinwheel zeldinha zippy zeldissima Posts: 27,827 Karma: 921169 Join Date: Dec 2007 Location: Paris, France Device: eb1150 & is that a nook in her pocket, or she just happy to see you?	ooh, now things are getting serious !! the are involved !!!!! lock up your... um... nuts... Last edited by zelda_pinwheel; 07-15-2009 at 08:55 PM.

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07-13-2009, 09:29 PM	#16
zelda_pinwheel zeldinha zippy zeldissima Posts: 27,827 Karma: 921169 Join Date: Dec 2007 Location: Paris, France Device: eb1150 & is that a nook in her pocket, or she just happy to see you?	thank you moejoe !!

07-13-2009, 10:27 PM	#18
dreams It's about the umbrella Posts: 25,112 Karma: 56250158 Join Date: Jan 2009 Device: Sony 505\| K Fire \| KK 3G+Wi-Fi \| iPhone 3Gs \|Vista 32-bit Hm Prem w/FF	Thank you Am!!!! And a big THANK YOU to Moejoe for producing it in ebook format.

07-14-2009, 02:56 PM	#21
ShortNCuddlyAm WWHALD Posts: 7,879 Karma: 337114 Join Date: Sep 2008 Location: Mitcham, Surrey, UK Device: iPad. Selling my silver 505 here	(chapter 3) It’s a glorious summer day. They sky is blue with picture-postcard little fluffy clouds, the sea shimmers between blue and turquoise, small waves break on sandbanks and beaches with just enough white foam to look picturesque but not so much it frightens small dogs and children, and boats bob around lazily. Some white cliffs topped with green downs roll along the coast, broken by the mouth of a river lazily flowing into the sea. On either side of the river picnickers eat sandwiches and drink from Thermoses. One more adventurous couple start a small stove going on one of the wooden groynes, only to quickly remove it and throw water over the place where the stove sat. Some people sunbathe, some paddle. One or two swim in the river mouth. Two young guys paddle a canoe out of the river and into the sea, turning west along the coast. Gulls scream overhead. A gentle breeze whispers through the grass before dying down again. Out at sea, a motor launch slows almost to a stop, in line with the river mouth, but some way out at sea. The people on board are indistinguishable black shapes. There’s a slight splash, and the boat speeds off again. Where the boat was a small black shape can be seen, moving slowly closer to shore. Eventually it resolves into a man, wearing a wetsuit, swimming with a large waterproof bag. After some minutes he reaches the eastern shore of the river, walks up the shingle beach to behind a convenient shrub. There is some shuffling and scuffling noises, and if anyone was close enough they may have heard three very quiet, but very distinctly different, voices muttering at each other. He emerges again a few minutes later, dressed in normal clothes and nonchalantly heads off up a path by the side of the river, still carrying the bag, which is clearly far too large to just be holding his wetsuit. Most people on the beaches either side of the river only pay cursory attention to this performance, as if it is something that happens every day, before going back to their activities. An hour or so after this, the two chaps in the canoe paddle back up the river from the sea, looking a little sunburnt. People come and go, walking off over the Downs, or up the river to the pub and micro-brewery further upstream. Boats drift along out at sea, powered by wind or motor. It is the sort of summer’s day that exists usually more in memory and dreams than reality. A day for enjoying and relaxing. Certainly not a day for intrigue and plotting. Further up river, now past the pub and micro brewery, and over the main road, past the sheep centre and country park, past all of the day trippers and most of the walkers, past the river’s larger meanders and man-made channels, the man with the waterproof bag pauses. A group of swans glide effortlessly past, watching him curiously. Higher up, a white horse - carved as a drunken prank a couple of centuries back - watches silently. He glances around, pulls out a notebook and compass, nods to himself, then strips down to a pair of swimming trunks, stowing his clothes in a bag within the bag. Ignoring the fact that only a few hundred yards upstream there is a bridge, he crosses the river, part wading, part swimming. Then, checking his compass once more, he heads towards a clump of bushes at the base of the hill, and vanishes from sight. Back at the mouth of the river a tall, hairy creature - which looks suspiciously like a yeti (confirmed sightings (Sussex): 0. Confirmed sightings (SE England): 0. Confirmed sightings (UK): 0. Actual numbers: Unknown, at least one) - looks at an empty bag longingly and mutters something about really wanting a spotted dick pudding. His companion, sporting a badge that says “I’m a llounge llama - let me back in there!” looks warningly at his tummy before commenting that they ought to be making a move anyway, and did he want to go along the river or along the coast?

07-14-2009, 03:01 PM	#22
zelda_pinwheel zeldinha zippy zeldissima Posts: 27,827 Karma: 921169 Join Date: Dec 2007 Location: Paris, France Device: eb1150 & is that a nook in her pocket, or she just happy to see you?	the yeti and his companion have made an appearance !!! the plot thickens... (you're getting much better at this "not making us wait too long" thing !)

07-14-2009, 03:13 PM	#23
dreams It's about the umbrella Posts: 25,112 Karma: 56250158 Join Date: Jan 2009 Device: Sony 505\| K Fire \| KK 3G+Wi-Fi \| iPhone 3Gs \|Vista 32-bit Hm Prem w/FF	Yea!!!! More, more, more... Wait....What? Is that boat the-one-with-no-name-as-yet-as-we-are-doing-a-poll boat?

07-15-2009, 04:39 PM	#24
TallNHairyDave The Yeti Posts: 82 Karma: 3502 Join Date: Jul 2009 Location: Mitcham Device: iPhone 3gs	Pssst you do know she's not even started part 4 yet? Have no fear, Yeti shall pester daily until is forthcoming.

07-15-2009, 07:32 PM	#27
ShortNCuddlyAm WWHALD Posts: 7,879 Karma: 337114 Join Date: Sep 2008 Location: Mitcham, Surrey, UK Device: iPad. Selling my silver 505 here	Thank you Moejoe! Part 4 to materialise shortly...

07-15-2009, 07:33 PM	#28
ShortNCuddlyAm WWHALD Posts: 7,879 Karma: 337114 Join Date: Sep 2008 Location: Mitcham, Surrey, UK Device: iPad. Selling my silver 505 here	(part 4) Meanwhile, a bit further west, a chap set out for an afternoon’s pootling around Poole harbour in his grey RIB. As it was such a pleasant afternoon, and as he had a plentiful supply of food with him - including his mother’s famous pie, he decided to see if he could land on one of the islands - maybe even Brownsea. Avoiding the larger boats he went along quite merrily, until he became aware of a powerful diesel engine not that far from him. Glancing around, he saw the harbour master’s boat racing along. Someone was in trouble. He shrugged, and carried on his way. Shortly after, he realised the harbour master was hailing him. “Hullo there! Whereabouts are you heading?” “Oh - thought I’d pop over to one of the islands for a picnic” he said, nodding meaningfully at his hamper “I see” There was something in the harbour master’s tone which suggested that what he saw was very much not to his liking. “And, um, are they with you then?” he asked, nodding towards the back of the RIB. The chap looked at the harbour master. Was he drunk? Suffering from sun stroke? “Ummm….?” he offered by way of a reply. “Them. Little grey things in your boat” The harbour master’s temper was clearly wearing thin, so the chap thought it might be best to humour him, when a brief flash of movement in his RIB caught his eye. There, crouching almost nonchalantly in the stern of the RIB, was a brace of squirrels. Grey squirrels, to be precise. Outlawed on the islands in Poole Harbour to allow the native reds to flourish. He followed the harbour master back to a dock, and glowered meaningfully at the squirrels. “You two, hop it. Or I’ll call my mum - and she makes a mean squirrel pie” and he glanced meaningfully at his hamper. As if they understood, the creatures scooted out from the boat, and the chap could have sworn he heard one of them mutter “commie sympathiser” as they scuttled off. Scratching his head, he set back off again. Further inland, a tense phone call was in progress. “So, for the promise of some positive advertising which will probably sway hearts and minds, but cannot guarantee us even a reconsideration of our banishment, you want us to steal arguably the most famous recipe in the country? You don’t think that’s a bit, um, one-sided, do you?” “Well, no. Not really. Think of the influence our adverts wield. Think how trusted our brand is. If we come up with a suitable campaign it will turn the tide of public opinion, and from that will come a re-consideration. And let’s be honest, as soon as the tabloids get on your side, your case is won.” “I still think you’re… hold on a moment” and Mr Nuttking put the phone on hold as one of his many minions scurried in, holding a piece of paper. Cyril took the paper and read it. Then read it again. “Pies?” he bellowed. “PIES! I’ll give them sodding pies!” and with that he took the phone off hold. “Mr Kipling - you have a deal. But I have one condition. No mention of pies. At all.” “No pies. We do cakes, remember? And I look forward to working with your organisation on this matter. When can you start?” “As soon as I possibly can, Mr Kipling. As soon as I possibly can.”

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