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Mostly satirical short stories
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Kifffarces (3) - Kiff does the Lambeth Walk, part 2

Posted 08-26-18 at 04:39 AM by Luthien
Updated 08-26-18 at 04:56 PM by Luthien

To the immense, though, as it shall turn out eventually, premature relief of our Champions of Brutish Macho-Musicianship, there came Q. D. Barrington walking up to their cell's door, with jangling key ring. He proceeded to unlock the door of their cell.

"Good afternoon gents! It seems today is your lucky day! The judge happens to be a great fan of yours - she even showed me one of your albums, that she's got framed on the wall, for mere decorative purposes, as it were. So!"

He postured himself in the door opening, beaming brightly.

"Being charged, as has been confirmed, with a trespassing of the Greater London Municipal Civil Act, chapter eighteen, paragraph twenty-three to twenty-seven: disorderly conduct in the open during daytime, causing a slight case of ensuing panic amongst citizenry and / or touristry in the district of Lambeth as per the morning of today, including one (1) incident involving one (1) person going a bit nutty requiring the attention of the Central London Thames Rescue Services plus subsequent counselling. This is punishable with one (1) day, being eight (8) hours of community service, by the kindness of Judge Her Honour Felicity Tummyfridge personally tailored to this speciality of yours, as can be assessed by pondering the titles of your albums and songs for a moment. Therefore, the verdict is: you shall per direct, being right now, or, the closest approximation thereof, taking local circumstances into consideration, be transported to the gardens of Buckingham Palace to do weeding for the aforementioned period of eight (8) hours. The details of which shall be left to the discretion of the Palace Gardener, in the person of Sir Geoffrey Rosebud-Bloomington-Spade, esq., after which you are free to go as you please."

"Though, it would be my advice", he added in a slightly more personable tone of voice, "that you would do so dressed in a less obtrusive manner, as to avoid further legal complications."

He held the iron-bar door open and nodded at his clientele.
"Do you gents have any questions? If so, now would be a convenient time to ask them."

It would have been clear to even those with a limited exposure to the ways in which the Heavyweights of Rock tend to express themselves, that the rebel-rousing quartet at hand experienced considerable difficulties digesting all the ramifications of what Q.D. Barrington had just presented them with.
In fact, they had barely moved at all from their affronted-dignity-projecting defiant poses, though a careful observer might have noticed an increase of teeth-gnashing.

The bass player however, more often than not the most flexible of the four, walked up to the door and clapped his leather-with-spikes-gloved hands together in a gesture of cooperative anticipation.
Once outside the cell, he turned around to look at his Black Studded Brethren, jerking his head as to encourage them to follow.

"Are there any questions?" Q.D. Barrington repeated.

They had none.

Behind his bars, the space-man looked rather blank; though, as said before, his suit seemed to default to rendering that impression.

"Now then, let's go gents, follow me please: Black Bertha's waiting!"

* * *

After the sound of grumbling, teeth-gnashing and post-alveolar sibilants set to an ostinato of clattering polyester, rattling spikes, jangling keys and the occasional reverberating crash of metal-barred doors slamming shut in iron frames had died away, the space-man still stood in the same pose, as if pondering the meaning of existence.
"[BEEP] *CHCHT* Pullulating Pinkerton, Pullulating Pinkerton, this is a test message... please ignore* CHHT* {tinny music} It's a long way to Tipperary, it's a long way to go ... {music cut off} ... testing channels twenty-three and seventy-four on voice bandwidth starting O hundred fifty-five with sinus wave frequency sweeps {bip}{bip}{bip}{bip}{bip}{bip}{beeeeep} *cht* alpha tango *UHWOOOOOIIIITT* *crackle* *UHWOOOOOIIIITT*"
- etcetera.

Half an hour later the metallic jangle returned. Q.D. Barrington opened his the cell door: "Now then, for you Sir. The Judge, being in aforementioned good mood, and while being on the phone with Buckingham in any case, informed whether there might be any need for the service of a plumber. Which, I'm glad to say, turns out to indeed be the case."

He stood in the door opening, beaming again: one didn't get the chance to resolve two such remarkable cases in such an elegant manner every day.

"Therefore, the charges being held against you, being the trespassing of the Royal Palace Premises Act of 1779 section VII, paragraphs thirteen to twenty-one, concerning the unauthorised gaining access to the premises or adjacent properties as specified in appendix eleven, without the obvious intention of perpetrating criminal acts such as (but not limited to) inflicting damage to Royal Properties or either bodily or mental harm to members of the Royal Family or personnel, their visitors or passers-by; but having no particular end as could be concluded from interviewing the suspect in case, being yourself - will be made punishable by performing public services in your supposed capacity as a professional plumber, to the effect of successfully unclogging the clogged drain pipes as can be found in the Tudor wing of Buckingham palace, first floor, rooms five and six, until successful as judged by the Palace Master Rougefriand of Technical Installations in the person of Sir Matthew Godfrey Pepe St. John, or for the duration of eight (8) hours - whichever of these two criteria is first met."

He stepped aside and gestured:

"This way if you please, Sir, and don't forget the tool-box."

The space-man picked up his toolbox and ambled out.
"[BEEP] *CHCHT* Houston! Come in Houston, this is Pullulating Pinkerton, over ... *CHT* [BEEP] Pullulating Pinkerton, reading you loud and clear, four out of five, please commence [BEEP] *CHT* situation now firmly under control, Houston. Please disregard formerly reported problem status .., I repeat, disregard formerly reported problem status. Proceeding now as planned, over *CHT* [BEEP] Pullulating Pinkerton, A-OK, that's fine and dandy. Alan says 'Try and book Hark Cloggo & dudes for NASA party!' [BEEP]"

Any time you’re Lambeth way,
Any evening, any day,
You’ll find us all
Doing the Lambeth Walk.

Every little Lambeth gal,
With her little Lambeth pal,
You’ll find them all
Doing the Lambeth Walk.

Everything’s free and easy,
Do as you darn well pleasy,
Why don’t you make your way there
Go there, stay there.

Once you get down Lambeth way
Every evening, every day,
You’ll find yourself
Doing the Lambeth Walk. Oi!

Book and Lyrics by L Arthur Rose and Douglas Furber, Book revised by Stephen Fry, Music by Noel Gay
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