Playing Cards and Paper Clips could be described as a sort of play for broadcasting purposes. Of course there are many other things it could also be called but we should let it lie should we not. Anyway it features the likes of Rufus, sister Agnes, nephew Gerald and Mrs Jolly the housekeeper. Wilkins the Estate Agent is never far away and the cat has plenty of gherkins in it. Altogether a very sorry tale but full of terrifying mustards. The whole wretched business is accompanied by many ditties and threatens to be complete sooner than anyone hoped. For all our sakes, let it be done.
MRS JOLLYS SCULLERY AND THE DOINGS THEREIN
Eventually, Wilkins managed to extricate himself from the watery depths, and as he lay on the bank, fighting for breath, he cursed his bad luck. A lily pad protruded from his ear, and he prised it out with a filthy fingernail. He was in a bit of a state, but he soon shifted when he heard the sound of barking.
‘Intruded’ barked a too familiar voice. A very, very familiar voice. Fortunately for him, he was very familiar with the layout of the castle and soon managed to shake em off, and it was not long before he sat, steaming in the scullery belonging to Mrs Jolly, without togs, a mug of hot broth in his grisled fist. He was sulking quite a bit, and felt utterly sorry for himself. He noticed in a brief moment that Mrs Jolly had a big arse. He eyed it curiously, clutching at his broth, and found himself going a bit pink in the process.
‘I told ee to be a bit more careful’ said Mrs Jolly as she popped a gherkin into the cat’s mouth.
‘If the old boy catches ee e’ll be for it, Dunnus’ Fortunately this cat was not for puking and Mrs Jolly pressed home her advantage, floppy apron at the ready.
‘What’ll I do?’ said Wilkie, who had now extended his gaze towards the floor, where the pups were now delighting themselves in gulping down huge mouthfuls of poop. Tongues out they yipped and yapped and their little pink bellies shook in pleasure and playtime.
‘The ole place won’t sell without a detailed what’s what’ he moaned.
‘Silly ole bugger won’t let me come near the place official like, says I as to make a sport of it. Otherwise no deal’.
He sighed pathetically. Arthur Wilkins, had been an estate agent for thirty years, but business was now as bad as ever he could remember. So when the chance had come to represent Rufus, he had jumped at it, despite reservations. Little did he realise the ‘condition’ that he had to undergo for said conveyancing. Thus, if he should ever be seen on the premises in whatever guise, the deal was off.
‘Lemon headed ole tyrant’ muttered Wilkins. ‘What’s I gonna do?.’ Suddenly Mrs Jolly turned on him.
‘I can tellee’ she said, grinning horribly. Taking the gherkin from out the cat, who fled screaming to the utility room.
‘Oh! I can tellee’ she said.