Re: Soprile Wednesday

I really feel we need better versions of tired old plot 17c "Grundy
get-rich-quick scheme fails again occasioning deafening gales of
derisive laughter". Here's one I came up with after sixty or seventy
seconds (sorry second) of intensive brainstorming as the kettle
boiled...

A chance remark in the Bull sets Joe musing. How come there has been
no news of the 'Ob 'Ound of Edgley, or is it Hedgely, for ooh, arr,
sixty or seventy episodes sorry episode? After Tony goes fishing and
nearly catches what seemed to be a huge pike, and Moike and Vicky on a
romantic midnight walk along the Am are startled by a strange creature
in the bushes, Joe becomes convinced that the Ound has fallen into the
Am and mutated into some kind of aquatic monster thanks to the
polluted runoff from Bridge Farm (or some such nonsense). He and
Eddie resolve to catch the beast and sell it to the British Museum.

So they feign a sudden interest in fishing, assure a suspicious
Clarrieluv that they just want to catch some lovely trout for tea, and
sure enough they hook something. Something very big and strong that
defies their attempts to pull it out. "It must be sixty or seventy
pounds (sorry pound) if it's an ounce (sorry oun)," gasps Eddie as he
heaves on the line. Whatever can it be?? Was Joe right after all???
The listeners are on the edge of their seats. Perhaps they will even
bring back the Crisis Music. But no! It turns out to be -- are you
ready? Brace yourself, put down that cup of tea in case you scald
yourself, here it comes . . . an old boot!! Yes, they thought it was
a monster but it's just a worthless piece of rubbish! Imagine their
chagrin! Can you stand it?

But that's not all. How amusing it will be to hear the banter about
it back at the Bull, whither of course the news will have magically
preceded our weary monster-hunters. "What kind of boot was it,"
someone asks, struggling to choke back his giggles, "was it a really
old boot?"

"Oi dunno," says Joe suspiciously, "probably about sixty or seventy
--"

"...was it," the wag continues, unable to hold back any longer, "was
it an 'ob nailed boot?" And deafening peals of laughter shatter all
the glasses behind the bar.
.

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