Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

That said, Helen was quite the star of the night when she paraded the second ‘promise’ into the hall on a leash. The turkey (a huge, repulsive-looking thing) trotted along beside her like a dog and was incredibly well-behaved (although no prizes for guessing who ended up spending the best part of an hour scrubbing turkey mess from the parquet… Then, on top of that, there was the blasted cleaning bill for Baxter Thorndyke’s corduroy trousers — one of the biggest cheers of the night came when Helen inadvertently allowed the bird to evacuate what seemed like the entire contents of its bowels into his immaculately pressed turn-ups. Of course we offered to cover his dry cleaning costs. He sent me the bill last week: £38! This was almost as much as we raised on the bird itself! And he’s still maintaining that they couldn’t entirely get the stain out!).

Anyhow, to simplify things for you, I’ve gone to the trouble of breaking all the promises down, individually — in almost forensic detail — so you can get a general idea of where we currently stand (and trust me, it’s no accident that I’ve chosen to employ the language of pathology here!).

I do hope you won’t judge me too harshly on what you read below, Prue.

Hugs and Kisses,

Seb

PROMISE AUCTION

19th November, 2006

FOLLOW-UP REPORT

LOT 1

Promise made: Unity Gray of Finches, Lamb’s Green, BC, promised a unique, handmade, patchwork quilt (size, colour etc., to be specified by the purchaser and agreed by mutual consent).

Purchased by: Catrin and Alan Crawford at Skylarks, Fitzwilliam Street, BC.

Amount paid: £109

Upshot: I’m sorry, Prue, but I would need to write a novel to explain the various ramifications of this fraught situation. It involves Catrin’s psychotic second cousin, Lydia May Eardley, and an ill-advised trip she took with Unity (who I believe is teetotal) to The Old Oak on the night of the grand final of the Regional Darts Championships (with players from the local amateur Bingley and Otley darts teams in attendance — most of whom appear to’ve been either Hell’s Angels or members of another, similarly unedifying, satanic, knife-wielding, long-haired, northern biker gang called The Otley Ridgebacks). This aforementioned ‘ill-advised trip’ culminated in the grand final being hijacked — after Lydia May Eardley stole the top Otley player’s replacement flights and wouldn’t give them back. The title was then awarded, by default, to the Bingley team. This shock result (Otley were long-time Champions, and by far the better side) led to the destruction of Wincey’s prized nineteenth-century saloon bar, over £7,625 worth of damage to vehicles in the car park, and the renewal of a savage gang war between Otley and Bingley bikers which had apparently been in abeyance for the past twenty-five-odd years. As yet, no sure resolution has been reached re the quilt, either. Both parties are still feeling too ‘raw’ to meet up.

LOT 2

Promise made: Free-range Christmas turkey supplied by Helen and Donal Flint at Sharp Crag Farm.

Purchased by: Steve Briars at Chevin Cottage, 3 The Beck, BC.

Amount paid: £40

Upshot: Well, this is quite a bizarre one, Prue. The particular turkey Mr Briars bought was later stamped to death — in a brutal attack — by an angry horse. The gentle turkey had apparently been put into a field with the high-strung beast in order to try and ‘calm it down’ (although I hear this same animal had already killed a sheep by the same technique!). Helen — Mrs Flint — made the mistake of informing the purchaser of this tragic fact (I rue the day she did this, Prue, but then I suppose that’s just our dear Helen all over, eh? Utterly devoid of artifice, straightforward to the point of bluntness, speaks as she finds, salt of the earth, etc. etc.). Unfortunately, Mr Briars did not take the news well. He is now insisting that the replacement bird — which he’s been up to the farm to inspect — isn’t of the quality of the original one, and has kicked up a fair old stink about it. He is also demanding that ‘some kind of punitive action’ be taken against the horse. (We’re entering the realm of madness, here, surely? I mean what does the man expect?! Fifty lashes? No grooming for a week? A reduction in its nose-bag?!) The horse in question (as you’re doubtless already aware) belongs to Helen Flint’s daughter, Gayle (who’s ballooned in recent months — must’ve put on three stone, at the very least. Is it any wonder the poor nag’s in such a temper?!). So far as I can tell, the replacement bird is an excellent creature, of comparable quality, if slightly less tame (but that’s hardly an issue, is it? He’s intending to eat the thing, not go on a date with it!). Having said that, I’m the first to admit that I’m hardly an expert on turkey flesh (Arts and Crafts furniture, yes, the literary works of A.A. Milne, yes, coins and medals from the Ancient Near East, yes, turkeys, no). On top of all this, we already have that cleaning bill of £38 to factor into the equation.

LOT 3

Promise made: Mhairi Callaghan of Feathercuts in Skipton promised a ‘home re-style’ to anybody — of either gender — who felt themselves in need of one.

Purchased by: Meredith Coles (your dear neighbour) from Flat 4b, The Old Cavalry Yard, The High Street, BC.

Amount paid: £20

Upshot: Meredith has actually already had her ‘re-style’ and is pleased as punch with the results — although she went into the salon in Skipton to have it done, rather than getting Mhairi to come to her home (as she generally does) because the ‘look’ she had in mind required both a perm and a tint. I love Meredith to death, Prue (and don’t let anyone dare suggest otherwise!), but I won’t pretend that Mhairi wasn’t somewhat put out that Meredith should demand all of her most time-consuming (and costly!) services while paying her £5 less than she usually does for a standard, basic trim! Ouch!

LOT 4

Promise made: Wincey Hawkes at The Old Oak, The High Street, BC, promised a convivial ‘family lunch’ in the pub’s recently refurbished dining rooms.

Purchased by: Paula Coombes — c/o Sharp Crag Farm, nr BC.

Amount paid: £10

Upshot: As I’m sure you can imagine, once Paula put up her hand for this lot nobody else had the heart to bid against her. Wincey hasn’t breathed a word about it herself (isn’t that just Wincey, though? So wonderfully sensitive and discreet?), but I was talking to someone (they shall remain nameless — discretion is my watchword) who happened to be dining in the pub on the day Paula went to claim her promise (okay — you twisted my arm, Prue… God, you’re so good at that! — it was Leonard Noble) and he told me — perfectly aghast — how her ‘mob’ ate poor Wincey out of house and home. He said it put him in mind of the time he was on safari in the Gobi Desert during the early 1970s and met up with a primitive clan of nomads who sacrificed a goat in his honour. Apparently they didn’t waste an inch of the creature, but consumed the entire animal — brain, eyes, ears, hooves, tail… (Do goats even have tails?) He said the Coombes family behaved in a comparable manner, even going so far as to range around the dining rooms like a flock of locusts, devouring leftovers and scraps from other diners’ abandoned plates. He said they licked the crockery clean, and one of them — the littlest — even ate the decorative sprigs of parsley which the fish dishes were served with (and pronounced them ‘delicious’!). Oh yes, and they all talked — with their mouths full — throughout the meal, in unison, without interruption, and at a perfectly deafening volume. Leonard said the dining rooms were all but empty when they arrived and completely empty by the time they left. A uniform success, in other words.