-
Welcome to the Community Forums at HiveWire 3D! Please note that the user name you choose for our forum will be displayed to the public. Our store was closed as January 4, 2021. You can find HiveWire 3D and Lisa's Botanicals products, as well as many of our Contributing Artists, at Renderosity. This thread lists where many are now selling their products. Renderosity is generously putting products which were purchased at HiveWire 3D and are now sold at their store into customer accounts by gifting them. This is not an overnight process so please be patient, if you have already emailed them about this. If you have NOT emailed them, please see the 2nd post in this thread for instructions on what you need to do
Blowing raspberries...
- Thread starter McGyver
- Start date
McGyver
Energetic
I'm at a wake now...
One... Nobody ever has woken up at these things... No matter how hard I poke them with those candle sticks...
Two... What is the policy on that complimentary furniture in the waiting area?
I never take more than one or two chairs, or just one of those little end tables... But here it seems like they have lots of extra furniture that nobody has taken...
It's in Manhasset, and that's a pretty wealthy area... Right next to Oyster Bay and all those Great Gatsby, guilded age hoity toity fancy old money towns... So I'm figuring nobody is taking any because they already have lots of fancy chairs... These one are real nice... They have four legs just like the ones in books and pictures...
Megh... They are sounding the "Get the hell out of here" bell...
It sounds very ominous...
Well, I should go before the rush...
I'll see how many fit in the van...
One... Nobody ever has woken up at these things... No matter how hard I poke them with those candle sticks...
Two... What is the policy on that complimentary furniture in the waiting area?
I never take more than one or two chairs, or just one of those little end tables... But here it seems like they have lots of extra furniture that nobody has taken...
It's in Manhasset, and that's a pretty wealthy area... Right next to Oyster Bay and all those Great Gatsby, guilded age hoity toity fancy old money towns... So I'm figuring nobody is taking any because they already have lots of fancy chairs... These one are real nice... They have four legs just like the ones in books and pictures...
Megh... They are sounding the "Get the hell out of here" bell...
It sounds very ominous...
Well, I should go before the rush...
I'll see how many fit in the van...
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
Just for you
Arrrgh! That naughty Lorraine person is doing that Discamotechnical music at me and me an old rocker of ill-repute! Right! That's it! I'm going to hide behind the settee with a good book until she promises to stop being naughty!
Now than, what shall it be? Plato's 'Republic'? Kafka's 'The Trial'? Hummm! Perhaps this one, Stendhal's 'The Charterhouse of Parma'! Oh deary me! Ah! Hang on! The very thing............'Biggles Goes To Blackpool'. Yarrooo!
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
.........Biggles was feeling dazed and somewhat confused. Groaning, he carefully checked himself for injuries discovering nothing worse than a few cuts and bruises. So far so good. He looked down and experienced a brief moment of vertigo, which he put down to shock, then froze as the remains of his Sopwith Camel shifted slightly.
“Humm! Fair old breeze up here”, he thought to himself as he slowly extricated himself from the cockpit. By skilfull balance and infinite patience he managed to shin down a girder and soon found himself upon a rail-enclosed platform. Taking stock of his surroundings he quickly noted the location of the local airport to the south, the sea on his right and the roofs of the town below. He swayed as a momentary dizziness washed over him then, pulling himself firmly together he began to explore the platform and soon discovered an elevator. “Rightio! Old chap! This is more like it! At least I won’t have to climb down to the ground, don’t yah know!”
As the doors slid closed a few pieces of wreckage hit the platform as the Camel gently succumbed to gravity. As a southerner, he had been warned about the strange ways of those up north, but, “Fairs fair old chap! He mused aloud, “An airports one thing but what sort of bally idiot went and built a bloody great tower right on the flight path?”…………………
“Humm! Fair old breeze up here”, he thought to himself as he slowly extricated himself from the cockpit. By skilfull balance and infinite patience he managed to shin down a girder and soon found himself upon a rail-enclosed platform. Taking stock of his surroundings he quickly noted the location of the local airport to the south, the sea on his right and the roofs of the town below. He swayed as a momentary dizziness washed over him then, pulling himself firmly together he began to explore the platform and soon discovered an elevator. “Rightio! Old chap! This is more like it! At least I won’t have to climb down to the ground, don’t yah know!”
As the doors slid closed a few pieces of wreckage hit the platform as the Camel gently succumbed to gravity. As a southerner, he had been warned about the strange ways of those up north, but, “Fairs fair old chap! He mused aloud, “An airports one thing but what sort of bally idiot went and built a bloody great tower right on the flight path?”…………………
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
………..By the time he reached ground level Biggles, feeling somewhat better after a wash and brush up by means of a convenient rest room, was ready to take advantage of the bracing seaside air. He paused at the top of the steps at the entrance to the building to look about. The sun was warm so he removed his flying helmet and stowed it, rolled up beneath his left epaulette. Pity about having to leave his luggage behind, but no doubt he could pick it up when the old crate finally descended from its precarious perch. Brushing back his wavy blonde locks, he descended the steps with the intention of taking a brisk stroll along the prom in search of a suitable hotel, only to find his progress impeded by an adenoidal voice somewhere around midriff level:
“Excuse me mate”.
“Wha?” said Biggles.
“I said, excuse me mate!”
“Wha?” Biggles responded. He looked around, left to right. Then he looked down and observed a short, skinny figure, clad in a large blue raincoat atop of which was a peaked blue serge cap with a yellow band.
“Are you the owner of that aircraft, airplane or flying machine (delete as appropriate)?” Said the adenoidal voice.
“Wha?” said Biggles. He peered closely at the gap between coat collar and cap, making out a large moustache topped by a pair of close-set beady eyes. “Wha?” He repeated.
“If you are the owner of that aircraft, airplane or flying machine (delete as appropriate), I have to inform you that you are illegally parked what is a serious offence under the Byelaws!”
Biggles looked up at the tower, deep in thought, then back to the peaked cap. “Wha?” He ventured.
“Don’t come your southern namby-pamby ways with me mate! As a duly elected official of the Borough”, at this point the pigeon chest swelled noticeably, “I have to inform you that I am issuing you with a summons to appear before the magistrate’s on a charge of being in contravention of local Vehicular Parking Bylaws subject to the 193……………………”
Biggles massaged the knuckles of his right hand as the blue-clad figure slid to a halt on the pavement some fifteen feet away.
“Sorry old chap! Love to stop and chat, but things to do, people to see, don’t cha know. Toodle-pip!”
Will Biggles find accommodation? Will he stop by the pier and try the local delicacy, a plate of whelks in vinegar (pepper optional!)? Will young Daphne finally find the true love she so richly deserves? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode in which our hero encounters one of the most terrifying creatures known to mankind……………………………….the Blackpool Landlady!*
* Unless I get distracted (which I usually do)** in which case this has been the shortest Biggles adventure ever!
** In this event please feel free to:
A: Add your own bits.
B: Don't add your own bits.
C: See 5 below!
“Excuse me mate”.
“Wha?” said Biggles.
“I said, excuse me mate!”
“Wha?” Biggles responded. He looked around, left to right. Then he looked down and observed a short, skinny figure, clad in a large blue raincoat atop of which was a peaked blue serge cap with a yellow band.
“Are you the owner of that aircraft, airplane or flying machine (delete as appropriate)?” Said the adenoidal voice.
“Wha?” said Biggles. He peered closely at the gap between coat collar and cap, making out a large moustache topped by a pair of close-set beady eyes. “Wha?” He repeated.
“If you are the owner of that aircraft, airplane or flying machine (delete as appropriate), I have to inform you that you are illegally parked what is a serious offence under the Byelaws!”
Biggles looked up at the tower, deep in thought, then back to the peaked cap. “Wha?” He ventured.
“Don’t come your southern namby-pamby ways with me mate! As a duly elected official of the Borough”, at this point the pigeon chest swelled noticeably, “I have to inform you that I am issuing you with a summons to appear before the magistrate’s on a charge of being in contravention of local Vehicular Parking Bylaws subject to the 193……………………”
Biggles massaged the knuckles of his right hand as the blue-clad figure slid to a halt on the pavement some fifteen feet away.
“Sorry old chap! Love to stop and chat, but things to do, people to see, don’t cha know. Toodle-pip!”
Will Biggles find accommodation? Will he stop by the pier and try the local delicacy, a plate of whelks in vinegar (pepper optional!)? Will young Daphne finally find the true love she so richly deserves? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode in which our hero encounters one of the most terrifying creatures known to mankind……………………………….the Blackpool Landlady!*
* Unless I get distracted (which I usually do)** in which case this has been the shortest Biggles adventure ever!
** In this event please feel free to:
A: Add your own bits.
B: Don't add your own bits.
C: See 5 below!
Last edited:
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
Authors Note:
Readers will recall that this episode was to include an encounter with the infamous Blackpool Landlady. Sadly, due to circumstances beyond my control this will not now take place. Despite negotiations being complete and suitable transport arranged (and those circus wagons with their reinforced cages don’t come cheap I can tell you!) the lady took it upon herself to go off on holiday…………to Morecambe! Therefore this episode is being written in a small cave, high on the side of a windy and rain swept Pendle Hill until the all-clear is sounded. Please excuse the shaky handwriting.
Later that same day…
Biggles has found a suitable hotel at the south end of the promenade and having partaken of lunch, decides to take an afternoon stroll. We find him standing by the entrance looking around as the Commissionaire hovers in a friendly manner in the hopes of a tip.
“What a glorious day”, Biggles mused.
He gazed about, drinking in the glorious sights and sounds….the miles of golden sand, the scantily-clad young ladies on the beach, the seagulls wheeling in the endless blue sky, the scantily-clad young ladies on the beach, the multitude of happy, gaily-clad holidaymakers, the scantily-clad young ladies on the beach, the susurrus of the sea on its endless journey, the scantily-clad young ladies on………….
His rapid progress across the road was traced by the screech of brakes, the curses of upset motorists and the embarrassed silence of a stunned tram driver who suddenly needed to change his underwear.
Biggles met the steel railings between prom and beach with a resounding clank, stood in awed delight as he recovered his breath and proclaimed, “By Jove! This is more like it! What?”
The world around him faded away as he surveyed the beauteous wonders before him. “Oh! I say! Absolutely spiffing”. This to the sight of a particularly buxom young lady who was currently throwing a beach ball around with a bevy of similarly pulchritudinous friends.
“Pissttt”
A persistent tugging at his elbow gradually impinged itself upon his blissful reverie.
“Pisstt”
“Who is”, Biggles responded absentmindedly.
Another tug caused him to turn his head thereby missing the sight of said buxom young lady leaping to catch the ball and causing various parts of her anatomy to move in total defiance of physics and gravity which, in turn prompted various wives to set about their overly observant husbands with their brollies.
Biggles took in the sight of a small, skinny figure clad in a long, grubby robe. Around its head was a tea towel held in place with a snake belt. The face, as far as he could make out, was comprised of a large moustache topped by a pair of close-set beady eyes.*
“?”, enquired Biggles.
“Er! Wanna buy some dirty postcards mate…..I mean effendi?”
“?”, our hero responded, a flush beginning to bloom on his handsome, chiselled features.
“Well. You know….dirty postcards”, said the robed one with a snigger.
“Sort of pichures of wimmin in a state of undress and no cloves on either mate…..er…effendi!” He added hopefully.
The by now deeply blushing Biggles barely managed to restrain himself. He leaned over (and down) until he was nose to nose with the cringing figure. “No I bloody well don’t you nasty little person you. Sod off!”
“What?” asked the small one quizzically. He paused to fumble beneath his robe before producing a tattered paperback book. He flipped through the pages. “But it says here as I asks you if you wants to buy some dirty postcards, then you say how much an I says five bob then you says OK I’ll have….”
“Give me that!” Biggles snatched the book and turned to the title page. “You complete and utter idiot! This is a copy of ‘Biggles Goes To Egypt’! You’re in the wrong story!”
“Am I? Cor! That’s a lark innit mate…..I mean effendi. Fancy that! Well! I’d best be on me way then!”
Biggles watched the crestfallen figure trudge away for a short distance, stop and turn around.
“Eer! I don’t suppose you’d like to meet my sister by any chance?” it enquired.
“No I damn well wouldn’t and keep you voice down”, screamed the red-faced airman, “there is nothing in this world would induce me to do so you obnoxious little...........”.
“Only I thought that what wiv you having been ogling her for the last ten minutes like………”
Biggles looked around and spotted the buxom young lady who was now stalking towards him across the beach wielding a cricket bat.
“Ah! Time for tiffin I believe”, he ad-libbed, setting off at a brisk dash along the prom.
*The reader may note a certain similarity to an earlier character in this description. Unfortunately, due to lack of funds I was forced to hire supporting cast from Characters R’ Us. Given the shortfall in funds available this was the one I got! Beggar’s can’t be choosers does not begin to describe my abject shame!
Readers will recall that this episode was to include an encounter with the infamous Blackpool Landlady. Sadly, due to circumstances beyond my control this will not now take place. Despite negotiations being complete and suitable transport arranged (and those circus wagons with their reinforced cages don’t come cheap I can tell you!) the lady took it upon herself to go off on holiday…………to Morecambe! Therefore this episode is being written in a small cave, high on the side of a windy and rain swept Pendle Hill until the all-clear is sounded. Please excuse the shaky handwriting.
Later that same day…
Biggles has found a suitable hotel at the south end of the promenade and having partaken of lunch, decides to take an afternoon stroll. We find him standing by the entrance looking around as the Commissionaire hovers in a friendly manner in the hopes of a tip.
“What a glorious day”, Biggles mused.
He gazed about, drinking in the glorious sights and sounds….the miles of golden sand, the scantily-clad young ladies on the beach, the seagulls wheeling in the endless blue sky, the scantily-clad young ladies on the beach, the multitude of happy, gaily-clad holidaymakers, the scantily-clad young ladies on the beach, the susurrus of the sea on its endless journey, the scantily-clad young ladies on………….
His rapid progress across the road was traced by the screech of brakes, the curses of upset motorists and the embarrassed silence of a stunned tram driver who suddenly needed to change his underwear.
Biggles met the steel railings between prom and beach with a resounding clank, stood in awed delight as he recovered his breath and proclaimed, “By Jove! This is more like it! What?”
The world around him faded away as he surveyed the beauteous wonders before him. “Oh! I say! Absolutely spiffing”. This to the sight of a particularly buxom young lady who was currently throwing a beach ball around with a bevy of similarly pulchritudinous friends.
“Pissttt”
A persistent tugging at his elbow gradually impinged itself upon his blissful reverie.
“Pisstt”
“Who is”, Biggles responded absentmindedly.
Another tug caused him to turn his head thereby missing the sight of said buxom young lady leaping to catch the ball and causing various parts of her anatomy to move in total defiance of physics and gravity which, in turn prompted various wives to set about their overly observant husbands with their brollies.
Biggles took in the sight of a small, skinny figure clad in a long, grubby robe. Around its head was a tea towel held in place with a snake belt. The face, as far as he could make out, was comprised of a large moustache topped by a pair of close-set beady eyes.*
“?”, enquired Biggles.
“Er! Wanna buy some dirty postcards mate…..I mean effendi?”
“?”, our hero responded, a flush beginning to bloom on his handsome, chiselled features.
“Well. You know….dirty postcards”, said the robed one with a snigger.
“Sort of pichures of wimmin in a state of undress and no cloves on either mate…..er…effendi!” He added hopefully.
The by now deeply blushing Biggles barely managed to restrain himself. He leaned over (and down) until he was nose to nose with the cringing figure. “No I bloody well don’t you nasty little person you. Sod off!”
“What?” asked the small one quizzically. He paused to fumble beneath his robe before producing a tattered paperback book. He flipped through the pages. “But it says here as I asks you if you wants to buy some dirty postcards, then you say how much an I says five bob then you says OK I’ll have….”
“Give me that!” Biggles snatched the book and turned to the title page. “You complete and utter idiot! This is a copy of ‘Biggles Goes To Egypt’! You’re in the wrong story!”
“Am I? Cor! That’s a lark innit mate…..I mean effendi. Fancy that! Well! I’d best be on me way then!”
Biggles watched the crestfallen figure trudge away for a short distance, stop and turn around.
“Eer! I don’t suppose you’d like to meet my sister by any chance?” it enquired.
“No I damn well wouldn’t and keep you voice down”, screamed the red-faced airman, “there is nothing in this world would induce me to do so you obnoxious little...........”.
“Only I thought that what wiv you having been ogling her for the last ten minutes like………”
Biggles looked around and spotted the buxom young lady who was now stalking towards him across the beach wielding a cricket bat.
“Ah! Time for tiffin I believe”, he ad-libbed, setting off at a brisk dash along the prom.
*The reader may note a certain similarity to an earlier character in this description. Unfortunately, due to lack of funds I was forced to hire supporting cast from Characters R’ Us. Given the shortfall in funds available this was the one I got! Beggar’s can’t be choosers does not begin to describe my abject shame!
More!
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
Hee Hee! I’m thinking about it Lorraine. In fact I’m plotting a visit to ‘The Flying Teakettle’ (aka a thinly disguised version of one of Blackpool’s, shall we say, more ‘interesting’ establishments! 
). After all a chap needs a drink, doesn’t he?
After that the mind boggles and I’m hoping you lot will jump in with suggestions and contributions to ease my weary brain! (There’s steam coming out of my lugholes, honest!) The only guidelines are:
1 The story is set in the 1930’s so please a: Ensure that your facts are correct for the period or, b: lie through your teeth and make it up as you go along like I do!
2 Remember that Biggles is A: One of the world’s great innocents. B: An idiot and C: No! Really! I mean he is a 100% certified idiot! D: He’s the only WW 1 pilot ever to have shot down twelve aircraft in one week including seven from his own squadron and himself (twice!)
It seems to me that I appear to have hijacked the thread to some degree. If so my apologies and I will ask Alisa to move these posts to their own thread. Otherwise…………now might be a good time to duck!
). After all a chap needs a drink, doesn’t he?After that the mind boggles and I’m hoping you lot will jump in with suggestions and contributions to ease my weary brain! (There’s steam coming out of my lugholes, honest!) The only guidelines are:
1 The story is set in the 1930’s so please a: Ensure that your facts are correct for the period or, b: lie through your teeth and make it up as you go along like I do!
2 Remember that Biggles is A: One of the world’s great innocents. B: An idiot and C: No! Really! I mean he is a 100% certified idiot! D: He’s the only WW 1 pilot ever to have shot down twelve aircraft in one week including seven from his own squadron and himself (twice!)
It seems to me that I appear to have hijacked the thread to some degree. If so my apologies and I will ask Alisa to move these posts to their own thread. Otherwise…………now might be a good time to duck!
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
Picture the scene…………………..
The entrance to Blackpool’s Central Pier on a bright summer day. It’s around teatime which is quite handy because most of the usual crowds are absent thus conveniently avoiding any nasty accidents which could otherwise derail an already flimsy plot. Let us move on. This tranquil scene is briefly disturbed by the sound of running feet followed by a brief scream, terminating in a muffled thud, or splash if the tides in. Hang on………….nope! Tides out so muffled thud it is. The story continues……………………………..
A small crowd gathered around the top of the steps leading down to the beach. (Authors Note: If you think I’m writing dialogue for this lot you can jolly well think again Sunny Jim!) They murmur among themselves but we shall ignore this because they are mere non-speaking extras. (Authors Note: Thank goodness!) The object of their attention is a tall, well-built man with wavy blonde hair, dressed in knee-length boots, jodhpurs, white shirt and leather flying jacket, who is currently spread-eagled face down in the sand having completely missed the steps and landed some twenty feet beyond.
Presently the man groans as he rolls over onto his back. Above him a host of blurred faces watch as he carefully checks himself for injuries and wipes the sand from his face.
“Bloody Nora! That was a bit of a prang and no mistake”, he murmured.
“Oh I dunno pal! I fort it was pretty neat, speaking for meself. Mind you! Would have bin better if you could a’ done a somersault as well. Just my pers’nal opinion o’ course!”
Biggles slowly raised his head and peered down the length of his body at the seagull perched on his foot.
“Sorry! Did you just speak then?”
“Who! Moi? Not me mate. Never said a dicky-bird. Hah! Geddit? Dicky-bird!”
“Oh! In that case….Bog off!”
“Humph!” The seagull hopped off his foot and stalked away muttering. “No pleasing some folk! Would a’ bin a bit more polite if I’d bin a vulture or summink! Yeah right on bruvver!”
Biggles lay on the sand and closed his eyes. “Touch of concussion old chap. Just take it easy for two ticks…………………………….?”
He open his eyes to the sound of beating wings, looked up and spotted the vengeful seagull making its bombing run. Finely-honed instincts kicked in as he threw himself to one side eventually coming to a stop at the feet of a small, skinny figure silhouetted against the sun.
His gaze slowly travelled upwards, taking in the hobnail boots, the knee-length tartan socks, the kilt upon which was suspended either a sporran or, possibly, a dead sheep, the sting vest and a large moustache surmounted by a pair of close-set beady eyes. He noted in passing that the whole ensemble was topped off by a handkerchief knotted at the corners and that the moustache was now a rather virulent shade of red!
“Oh! It’s you again”, he opined.
“Weel! its nice tae see youse again too Mister Biggles Sir!”
“What?” Biggles sat up and clutched his head, then shook it vigorously.
“Sorry! Still a bit dazed from the fall. Who did you say you were?”
“Ach the noo! Still a wee bitty joker ah ken! It’s me. McGregor! Yez old batman from the squadron”.
Biggles sighed, briefly considered arguing then gave up and decided to go along for the ride.
“Ah yes! Of course! McGregor! And what, by some strange twist of fate, brings you to these parts my man?” (“Apart from one of the worst plotlines in the history of literature”, he sub-vocalised).
“Ah weel! Dae ye ken the noo!” said McGregor, pushing the accent close to extinction, “thurrr I was strolling aboot tae let mah tea settle, when whisht! Me old boss Mister Biggles pursuited by a bonny braw lassie. Just like old times I thought and me handy tae help him get ready for the next scene!”
Reaching down, he took Biggles by the arm and with a surprising show of strength, hoisted him onto his feet before guiding him over the beach and up the steps.
McGregor waited patiently as Biggles spun around scanning the prom in fear. In a worried but casual sort of way he enquired, “Th…the, ah! The lady! You don’t thing she might be…………………”
“Ach! Dinna fash ye wee self aboot that nae moor Mister Biggles” opined McGregor, “she stopped a-runnin’ lang afoor ye did ye ken!”
“She did?” asked Biggles with a strange feeling of disappointment.
“Aye! Turrible accident it was!”
“Ye Gads! An accident you say? Please tell me nothing bad happened to her”, responded our relieved but chivalrous hero.
“No, no, nae! The wee lassies fine. Apart frae a few wee blushes an’ that!”
“?” Biggles enquired.
“Weel! Ye ken she was, as ye might say, a veeery well-built lassie but bonnie awe the same”
“?”
“An wearing a bathing suit, as she was, shouldna reeely have been running along the prrromenade at that sort of speed,”
“?”
“Therr she was, just aboot tae lay hands upon ye when………………………………………………………………”
“?????????”
“Her wee bitty foundation garments gave up under the trrrrremedous strain!”
“Ye Gads”, responded Biggles, hurriedly searching for his handkerchief to wipe his sweaty brow.
He stared down at McGregor, who stood misty-eyed in memory. “Turrible sight it was”, he murmured in full Presbyterian mode, “like a photo finish in a Zeppelin race. My mind boggles tae think on it!”
“But apart from that”, Biggles asked, trying desperately to keep to the script to avoid unseemly visions, “she was uninjured?”
“Ach no laddie. Right as rain she was. It’s the others I feel sorry for!” He smiled sadly, “There’s a lot a’ young laddies will no be walking the same again after seeing that, I can tell yee!”
McGregor reached into the depths of his sporran and produced a large clothes brush which he efficiently employed to remove the sand from Biggles’ outfit.
“Therrr the noo” he said, standing back, “Right as rain! There’s one of they underground lavvies across the road where ye can have a wash, then yer fit tae go!”
“Ah! Go where?” the airman enquired.
“The next scene o’ course! He rummaged around in his sporran again and emerged with a sheet of paper. "Here ye go........... Scene 5: After the eventful day he’s had Biggles decides that he’s sorely in need of a cool, refreshing drink………….etc”
He stopped reading and stuffed the paper back into his sporran.
“If I were youse I’d gae across the road an’ doon away that street”, here he pointed at the road directly opposite the pier, “There’s a place near the railway station would suit ye just fine. It’s called ‘The Flying Teakettle’. Have fun!”
Biggles watched as he disappeared into the crowd, then made his way towards a nearby zebra crossing......................
The entrance to Blackpool’s Central Pier on a bright summer day. It’s around teatime which is quite handy because most of the usual crowds are absent thus conveniently avoiding any nasty accidents which could otherwise derail an already flimsy plot. Let us move on. This tranquil scene is briefly disturbed by the sound of running feet followed by a brief scream, terminating in a muffled thud, or splash if the tides in. Hang on………….nope! Tides out so muffled thud it is. The story continues……………………………..
A small crowd gathered around the top of the steps leading down to the beach. (Authors Note: If you think I’m writing dialogue for this lot you can jolly well think again Sunny Jim!) They murmur among themselves but we shall ignore this because they are mere non-speaking extras. (Authors Note: Thank goodness!) The object of their attention is a tall, well-built man with wavy blonde hair, dressed in knee-length boots, jodhpurs, white shirt and leather flying jacket, who is currently spread-eagled face down in the sand having completely missed the steps and landed some twenty feet beyond.
Presently the man groans as he rolls over onto his back. Above him a host of blurred faces watch as he carefully checks himself for injuries and wipes the sand from his face.
“Bloody Nora! That was a bit of a prang and no mistake”, he murmured.
“Oh I dunno pal! I fort it was pretty neat, speaking for meself. Mind you! Would have bin better if you could a’ done a somersault as well. Just my pers’nal opinion o’ course!”
Biggles slowly raised his head and peered down the length of his body at the seagull perched on his foot.
“Sorry! Did you just speak then?”
“Who! Moi? Not me mate. Never said a dicky-bird. Hah! Geddit? Dicky-bird!”
“Oh! In that case….Bog off!”
“Humph!” The seagull hopped off his foot and stalked away muttering. “No pleasing some folk! Would a’ bin a bit more polite if I’d bin a vulture or summink! Yeah right on bruvver!”
Biggles lay on the sand and closed his eyes. “Touch of concussion old chap. Just take it easy for two ticks…………………………….?”
He open his eyes to the sound of beating wings, looked up and spotted the vengeful seagull making its bombing run. Finely-honed instincts kicked in as he threw himself to one side eventually coming to a stop at the feet of a small, skinny figure silhouetted against the sun.
His gaze slowly travelled upwards, taking in the hobnail boots, the knee-length tartan socks, the kilt upon which was suspended either a sporran or, possibly, a dead sheep, the sting vest and a large moustache surmounted by a pair of close-set beady eyes. He noted in passing that the whole ensemble was topped off by a handkerchief knotted at the corners and that the moustache was now a rather virulent shade of red!
“Oh! It’s you again”, he opined.
“Weel! its nice tae see youse again too Mister Biggles Sir!”
“What?” Biggles sat up and clutched his head, then shook it vigorously.
“Sorry! Still a bit dazed from the fall. Who did you say you were?”
“Ach the noo! Still a wee bitty joker ah ken! It’s me. McGregor! Yez old batman from the squadron”.
Biggles sighed, briefly considered arguing then gave up and decided to go along for the ride.
“Ah yes! Of course! McGregor! And what, by some strange twist of fate, brings you to these parts my man?” (“Apart from one of the worst plotlines in the history of literature”, he sub-vocalised).
“Ah weel! Dae ye ken the noo!” said McGregor, pushing the accent close to extinction, “thurrr I was strolling aboot tae let mah tea settle, when whisht! Me old boss Mister Biggles pursuited by a bonny braw lassie. Just like old times I thought and me handy tae help him get ready for the next scene!”
Reaching down, he took Biggles by the arm and with a surprising show of strength, hoisted him onto his feet before guiding him over the beach and up the steps.
McGregor waited patiently as Biggles spun around scanning the prom in fear. In a worried but casual sort of way he enquired, “Th…the, ah! The lady! You don’t thing she might be…………………”
“Ach! Dinna fash ye wee self aboot that nae moor Mister Biggles” opined McGregor, “she stopped a-runnin’ lang afoor ye did ye ken!”
“She did?” asked Biggles with a strange feeling of disappointment.
“Aye! Turrible accident it was!”
“Ye Gads! An accident you say? Please tell me nothing bad happened to her”, responded our relieved but chivalrous hero.
“No, no, nae! The wee lassies fine. Apart frae a few wee blushes an’ that!”
“?” Biggles enquired.
“Weel! Ye ken she was, as ye might say, a veeery well-built lassie but bonnie awe the same”
“?”
“An wearing a bathing suit, as she was, shouldna reeely have been running along the prrromenade at that sort of speed,”
“?”
“Therr she was, just aboot tae lay hands upon ye when………………………………………………………………”
“?????????”
“Her wee bitty foundation garments gave up under the trrrrremedous strain!”
“Ye Gads”, responded Biggles, hurriedly searching for his handkerchief to wipe his sweaty brow.
He stared down at McGregor, who stood misty-eyed in memory. “Turrible sight it was”, he murmured in full Presbyterian mode, “like a photo finish in a Zeppelin race. My mind boggles tae think on it!”
“But apart from that”, Biggles asked, trying desperately to keep to the script to avoid unseemly visions, “she was uninjured?”
“Ach no laddie. Right as rain she was. It’s the others I feel sorry for!” He smiled sadly, “There’s a lot a’ young laddies will no be walking the same again after seeing that, I can tell yee!”
McGregor reached into the depths of his sporran and produced a large clothes brush which he efficiently employed to remove the sand from Biggles’ outfit.
“Therrr the noo” he said, standing back, “Right as rain! There’s one of they underground lavvies across the road where ye can have a wash, then yer fit tae go!”
“Ah! Go where?” the airman enquired.
“The next scene o’ course! He rummaged around in his sporran again and emerged with a sheet of paper. "Here ye go........... Scene 5: After the eventful day he’s had Biggles decides that he’s sorely in need of a cool, refreshing drink………….etc”
He stopped reading and stuffed the paper back into his sporran.
“If I were youse I’d gae across the road an’ doon away that street”, here he pointed at the road directly opposite the pier, “There’s a place near the railway station would suit ye just fine. It’s called ‘The Flying Teakettle’. Have fun!”
Biggles watched as he disappeared into the crowd, then made his way towards a nearby zebra crossing......................
McGyver
Energetic
Zebra crossing?
The ones for actual zebras or the pedestrian crossing named after Phineas Trout Bartly-Zebra the inventor of the first pedestrian crossings (as well as the erotic pastry press and the first steam powered tooth brush)?
We have deer crossing signs around here to warn drivers that drunk deers may bolt out onto the road... But the deer never obey the crossing signs and just cross anywhere they please.
I suppose in the UK, zebra are more polite and tend to obey signs.
In the U.S. we just call any people crossing a "pedestrian crossing", in honor of Nathaniel R. Pedestrian the first guy run over and killed in a people crossing.
Oddly enough, he was riding a deer at the time.
I decided to confuse my wife today and printed out the label from my Zombie Chow model and affixed to a real can...
It's basically the same one from the model, only I scaled it to size and bumped up the resolution to 300 ppi, for printing...
The 3D one at ShareCG...
I think I'll try and print out a Chupacabra Smacks box next... Although the box is kind of big and might be a pain.
The ones for actual zebras or the pedestrian crossing named after Phineas Trout Bartly-Zebra the inventor of the first pedestrian crossings (as well as the erotic pastry press and the first steam powered tooth brush)?
We have deer crossing signs around here to warn drivers that drunk deers may bolt out onto the road... But the deer never obey the crossing signs and just cross anywhere they please.
I suppose in the UK, zebra are more polite and tend to obey signs.
In the U.S. we just call any people crossing a "pedestrian crossing", in honor of Nathaniel R. Pedestrian the first guy run over and killed in a people crossing.
Oddly enough, he was riding a deer at the time.
I decided to confuse my wife today and printed out the label from my Zombie Chow model and affixed to a real can...
It's basically the same one from the model, only I scaled it to size and bumped up the resolution to 300 ppi, for printing...
The 3D one at ShareCG...
I think I'll try and print out a Chupacabra Smacks box next... Although the box is kind of big and might be a pain.
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
Driiing…driiing. Driiing…driiing. Drii….Click.
“Hello? Wong’s Emporium and Ace Number One Laundry! How may we serve you today?”
“Ah! GCHQ?
“Might be! Then again it might not! Who’s asking?”
“This is Captain Biggles of the Secret Air Police. Codename, ‘Richard Cranium’.
“Just a moment please!”
(Sound FX: low clicks, busses, whistles and a completely spurious twang.)
“Yes Biggles?”
“Oh! Good evening sir. I’m afraid we may have a bit of a problem”.
“?”
“Indeed! As you know I’m currently on location appearing in ‘Biggles Goes to Blackpool’ and at the end of Episode 3 I’m afraid I inadvertently mentioned a zebra crossing”!
“Hummm! No problem there old chap! The bally things are all over the place!”
“Quite sir! But the point is they weren’t invented until 1949 and as you will be aware, I’m in 1934 at the present moment and…ah… the thing is, there’s this chappie from the Colonies called McGyver who seems to have latched onto us!”
“YE GADS!!!! This could be bally serious you fool! McGyver you say?
“Yes sir!”
“Dash it all man! What steps have you taken so far?”
“Well sir! I’ve put up signs on either side of the road saying ‘Out of order’ but I don’t know how long that will hold him, he seems like quite a bright chap to me!”
“Right Biggles. Hold the fort and I’ll dispatch a Rapid Response Team right away!”
“Yes sir! Of course sir!”
“I hope you realise that if this chap finds out that the zebra crossing in question is really the secret entrance to the National Pudding Repository beneath Dartmoor, you know what you must do!”
“Oh sir! You don’t mean….please! You wouldn’t subject me to that, would you?”
“I’m afraid I’d have no choice. If the kite goes up on this, it’s a bungalow in Lytham and daily appearances in the End of the Pier Show for the rest of your life for you laddie!”
“But, but, but…”
“Not buts from you Sirrah! It’s a dashed good job he didn’t spot the talking seagull, otherwise half of our spy network would be up the Swannee!”
CLICK.
“Hello? Wong’s Emporium and Ace Number One Laundry! How may we serve you today?”
“Ah! GCHQ?
“Might be! Then again it might not! Who’s asking?”
“This is Captain Biggles of the Secret Air Police. Codename, ‘Richard Cranium’.
“Just a moment please!”
(Sound FX: low clicks, busses, whistles and a completely spurious twang.)
“Yes Biggles?”
“Oh! Good evening sir. I’m afraid we may have a bit of a problem”.
“?”
“Indeed! As you know I’m currently on location appearing in ‘Biggles Goes to Blackpool’ and at the end of Episode 3 I’m afraid I inadvertently mentioned a zebra crossing”!
“Hummm! No problem there old chap! The bally things are all over the place!”
“Quite sir! But the point is they weren’t invented until 1949 and as you will be aware, I’m in 1934 at the present moment and…ah… the thing is, there’s this chappie from the Colonies called McGyver who seems to have latched onto us!”
“YE GADS!!!! This could be bally serious you fool! McGyver you say?
“Yes sir!”
“Dash it all man! What steps have you taken so far?”
“Well sir! I’ve put up signs on either side of the road saying ‘Out of order’ but I don’t know how long that will hold him, he seems like quite a bright chap to me!”
“Right Biggles. Hold the fort and I’ll dispatch a Rapid Response Team right away!”
“Yes sir! Of course sir!”
“I hope you realise that if this chap finds out that the zebra crossing in question is really the secret entrance to the National Pudding Repository beneath Dartmoor, you know what you must do!”
“Oh sir! You don’t mean….please! You wouldn’t subject me to that, would you?”
“I’m afraid I’d have no choice. If the kite goes up on this, it’s a bungalow in Lytham and daily appearances in the End of the Pier Show for the rest of your life for you laddie!”
“But, but, but…”
“Not buts from you Sirrah! It’s a dashed good job he didn’t spot the talking seagull, otherwise half of our spy network would be up the Swannee!”
CLICK.
Mythocentric
Extraordinary
We used to call them Zebra crossings also...but no longer, they are now just pedestrian crossings here also.
It is true that the official designation is Pedestrian Crossing but one must remember Pen that this is Merrie Olde England and being a somewhat old-fashioned country the local vernacular tends to hold sway, so Zebra Crossing it is! I should also point out that being the traditionalists that we are, we still use real Zebras. However, there are signs that encroaching modernisation is taking place with the advent of Pelican and Toucan crossings on the basis that these species are much less endangered than the erstwhile Zebra. Indeed, in the township of Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire they have recently carried out experiments with Tiger crossings, but these were abandoned when the local council realised how much compensation they were paying out to the families of crossing construction crews who had expired in the line of duty whilst trying to glue the Tigers down plus the usual adverse interference from that RSPCA lot!
Of course the same rules apply universally that pedestrians have right of way over motorists at these crossings (Highway Code, Rule 195). Unfortunately, in the UK, this rule is written in Acrylic (a sort of water-soluble Russian!) for some reason or other so most drivers ignore it!
At this point I should also mention that champion of road safety who frequent those crossings…The Lollipop Lady. Now I must admit that I tended to view them as somewhat humorous figures with their large yellow raincoats, peaked caps and round sign on a stick until I became acquainted with the lady who guards our local crossing during school hours. It appears that these brave people actually undergo extensive training for their duties, and while she appears reluctant to discuss that training it is interesting to note that the edges of her lollipop are honed to a razor sharpness. From this one can assume that there is more to these people than we suspect, and that any motorist daring to defy their authority would find their vehicles undergoing instant conversion to convertible (or skateboard in the case of an existing convertible!)