FUR COAT, NO KNICKERS and POP’S PYJAMA’S……

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FUR COAT, NO KNICKERS and POP’S PYJAMAS……

“Here you go..”  Sarge threw a set of keys across the desk towards me.  “No fag ash on the carpet, crisp crumbs on the seat and definitely no snot stuck to the underside of the steering wheel…capiche? “.  He glared at Bob who at least had the decency to squirm, if only a little.  I jumped up and looked out of the window onto the car park to get my first glimpse of the brand new, fully liveried Vauxhall Astra patrol car. Sporty, flashy and pristine with a full width bar for lights and klaxons. 

As Bob and Martin jostled for space beside me, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t stay in that condition for very long once it had a few thousand miles under the bonnet and the weight of Bob’s backside in the seat after several shifts.

                                                         *****

You’d better make sure you don’t have any girly bumps in this beauty Mave….” Bob murmured as he lovingly stroked the bonnet   “….it’s my turn tomorrow and I don’t want to be wiping globs of your lippy off the windscreen.”   He sniggered as he swept his hand across the dashboard.  

Crikey Bob, look at the size of them melons…..” Martin pointed animatedly at my chest “….somehow I don’t think it’ll be her lips hitting the windscreen first, she’s got her very own built-in airbags!”     

I blushed, suddenly getting an overwhelming desire to kick him in the testicles or at the very least given him a dead leg.   I waved the keys at him.   “Yes alright lads, very funny, jealousy is a very unattractive trait in the male of the species you know….. and you can tell Petey to get a move on too, I’m not wasting time waiting for him!”  

I watched them slope off towards the back door of the nick, Bob hitching his belt up in the vain hope his trousers wouldn’t end up around his ankles and Martin still childishly sniggering.  

With the keys safely clutched in my hand, I threw my briefcase, jacket and hat on the passenger seat, gave the exterior a once over and excitedly jumped in only to find myself lying almost horizontal in the back seat.   

Staring at the upholstered roof, I contemplated my current predicament as I fumbled around at the side of the seat for anything that even remotely resembled a lever.  Finding various handles, gadgets and buttons I pressed, pulled, pushed and rattled them in turn which only served to help the seat suddenly adopt a will of its own as it slammed me forwards in one sweeping motion……and then alternatively jerked me backwards and forwards in seven different stages giving me a serious case of motion sickness.  

I sat in silence.  At this rate I’d never leave the station yard.  It didn’t matter how many times I jiggled, wriggled, wangled or manoeuvred, my big fat curvy butt just sank back down between the bottom and the back of the bucket seat.   I was shoved so far down the only things that would have been driving the car other than my hands were my nellies, which were now hooked over the top of the steering wheel.  My shoulders slumped down as I sighed, exacerbating the situation as I disappeared completely from view.

Jeez, give me Florence the Fiesta any day.  

“Here you go lovely, try this.”   I looked up to see Geoff the civilian Driver leaning in through the open window.  He threw a rather fetching tea stained, grey velour cushion at me.   Shove it down the back and sit on it, got that given to me when old Inspector Bertie Bollocks retired a few years back, it’s done me well.”   

He gave me a wink, leaving me wondering if “Bollocks” had been poor Bertie’s real name.  

Geoffs cushion did the trick, tucking my nellies safely back in their rightful place, well as rightful as a Gossard Wonderbra will allow, I was ready to go as the radio crackled into life.

“Quick jump in, got a domestic that’s getting violent.”  I started up the engine as Petey galloped like a three legged gazelle across the car park.  Blues and twos on, I swept through as the barrier lifted giving a squeal of tyres as I made out onto the main road, at the same time remaining hopeful that my cushion would remain where I’d stuffed it.  The prospect of it sliding into the footwell taking me with it as I hit the Leverhulme Hairpin filled me with horror. 

Four minutes and ten seconds later we arrived at scene cushion intact. Flinging the door open, I jumped out closely followed by Petey.  Frantic screaming and shouting snaked from the mid terraced house, increasing in volume the closer we got to the open front door.  With no time to lose I ran inside.  

Oh  bloody hell Mavis, don’t go in there yet, you’ve got……” but the rest of Petey’s warning was drowned out by a scream that would have woken the dead.   Making my way along the darkened corridor and through the nearest door on the left I paused long enough for Petey to slam into the back of me.

There in all their glory was Indian Joe, our resident buffoon and heavy partaker of the alcoholic beverages, his girlfriend Liberty Lil with the off-set eye and PJ Pops, a man who favourited any charity shop that could accommodate his desire for striped pyjamas, worn day and night.  All three were the best customers the local off-licence had.   Indian Joe kept ferrets in the house, several of them which were now roaming free across the mattress that was dumped in the corner, on which Liberty Lil was reclined in her best pose.  She winked at Petey who recoiled in sheer panic.

Lil was attired as usual, in her favourite fur coat which she wore day in and day out, regardless of which season we were in.  This wasn’t too much of a problem in the Winter, but in Summer, Lil was surely taking liberties where her personal hygiene was concerned.  The heat, coupled with Lil’s reluctance to shower, bathe or even stand outside in the rain, along with the fur coat, was at times too much to bear.  If your hand was forced and you had to arrest Lil in the summer, you always made sure there was a prisoner van available to transport her in the rear cage which was at least a good distance from your nostrils.  Failing that you could almost feel yourself contemplating handcuffing her to the rear bumper of the police car and driving into the Custody Suite at a steady 5mph whilst she ‘Fabrezed’ herself in the wind.

On this auspicious occasion, Lil was draped across the mattress, fur coat pulled around her, which was making it increasingly difficult to make out what bits were actually her and what bits were the numerous ferrets scampering across her.  I looked over at Petey who was standing with his jaw almost hitting the floor.  Tugging at his sleeve and hissing at him to get a move on, I suddenly came eye to crotch with what he was looking at.  Liberty Lil, not known for her graceful, ladylike posture was treating Petey to a complete, full on eyeful of her ladygarden, minus her knickers.

Giving Petey a hard dig in the ribs I shouted at Lil. “Oh for God’s sake Lil put it away…..we don’t want it snapping this poor innocent boys head off now do we?”   I waited for a response.

She shrugged her shoulders and spat on the floorboards.  “I likes ’em innocent doesn’t I Pops?”  She smirked as she slowly moved herself around so that PJ Pops who was sitting on a mangy two-seater sofa got the eyeful instead.  He was clearly not impressed in the slightest as he carried on rolling a cigarette, whilst sniffing up a rather disgusting string of snot that had been draped across his top lip.

Indian Joe, with his two string guitar flung around his neck was clearly agitated and even more clearly intoxicated.   I took him to one side.  

“What’s been going on Joe, this is the third call this week, can’t you three either get on with each other or one of you move out?”   I was ever hopeful but in reality knew that would never happen.

Joe snorted, rolled his eyes and leant forward.  “It’s like this Miss, me and Lil, well we’re an item like, Lil was giving me some favours like, when Pops comes in like and sez we need more fuckin’ tinnies…..” pausing to wipe spittle and drool from the corners of his mouth, he continued. “….I’m his mate like, so I tells Lil to keep it warm for me whilst I goes down the Offie and when I comes back Lil’s not only keeping it warm, she’s doing the friggin’ favours with Pops”.  He jerked his head to where Lil was still lying in repose.

The gist of the story was that incensed by this betrayal, Indian Joe had completely lost it and had whacked Pops around the bare backside several times with his guitar which had subsequently made Lil cry out in short lived pleasure before coitus interruptus was induced.  He had then smacked Pops on the back of the head twice with a six pack of Stella lager.  It was all just a normal day really.  

I tried not to laugh.  Neither Pops, Liberty Lil or Indian Joe were bothered about any injuries sustained, it had only kicked off when the cheap cans had exploded on impact and the realisation had hit them that they didn’t have the money to buy any more.

I looked over as Pops smirked and Lil winked, well she tried to make a fair effort at a wink, but the false eyelash on her off-set eye had come partially unglued and was now sweeping her left nostril.  Licking her top lip she slid her hand across Pops’ thigh, gently fondling the stripes of his blue Sue Ryder Charity PJ’s, and that was when I realised, albeit too late to do anything about it, that Indian Joe had seen the exchange between them.  

Snarling and spitting whilst swinging his guitar he vaulted the sofa knocking a half drunk can of Stella and Pops to the floor.  Clearly terrified, Pops jumped up and scrambled for the door scattering several ferrets in all directions as Joe grabbed the back of his pyjama bottoms, dragging them down to his ankles.

Chaos then ensued as Petey sprang into action and flew through the air to rugby tackle Joe.  Joe sidestepped just as Pops tripped over his pants and fell to the floor, leaving Petey impaled headfirst between Pops’ legs and a rather over-exposed pair of buttocks.  Lil, never one to miss an opportunity,  liberated the half-drunk can of lager that had been rolling around the floor just as I grabbed Joe and handcuffed him.

Dragging Joe outside to the police car I looked back to see Petey yanking the front of his jumper up and frantically scrubbing at his face with it.  “I smelt his butt, Jesus Mave, I smelt his butt it was disgusting..”  he wailed.

 The obligatory crowd had by now gathered in the road, all craning their necks to see what was going on as I shoved Indian Joe into the back of the police car. 

 “Hey Miss, ‘ave yer got them ‘emerroyds or sumat, yer must be suffering to need that!”   One of the resident idiots, hands shoved down his tracky bottoms pointed behind me smirking as he looked for approval from his mates .  A collective snigger rippled through the crowd.  

Turning around to look, I was mortified to see swinging next to my handcuff holder, Swiss Army Multi-tool pocket file and my baton was Geoff’s beautiful grey velour cushion which was stuck fast to the Velcro tab of my First Aid pouch and was now overhanging my big fat curvy butt like a crappy Christmas bauble.   

“Oh faarking hell Petey, thanks for nothing matey!”  horrified, my brain working overtime to try and find some way of salvaging my dignity whilst wondering why Petey hadn’t told me what I’d been inadvertently sporting.  Looking around at the ever growing crowd of amused faces, I slapped my thigh in good old Panto tradition and shimmied the cushion.  Do you think my bum looks big in this guys?”  I jokingly asked before leaving them open mouthed in astonishment as I jumped into the car, relieved to be able to park my accidentally cushioned backside into the drivers seat.  

Petey, who still hadn’t stopped scrubbing his face with his jumper, which was now beaming several shades of red, sniffed and shook his head.  

I did try to tell you Mavis, but nobody listens to me….”  He looked wistfully out of the car window and with a resigned sadness to his eyes added.  “…. D’you know it’s the story of my life……..”

Quick as a flash Indian Joe piped up from the back seat “I’ve not got me geetar but if you hum it boy…..I’ll sing it.”

(c) 2016 Handcuffs, Truncheon & A Polyester Thong

Gina Kirkham

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9 thoughts on “FUR COAT, NO KNICKERS and POP’S PYJAMA’S……

  1. Angie Wren says:

    Haha …Another Hilarious installment of the life and times of @mavisupton..Time she went to Press!!!!

    • Gina Kirkham says:

      Keeping my fingers, toes and anything else that’s not tucked into my Primark knickers crossed…lol 😉 Gx

  2. Christina Greene says:

    Too funny and so true to life. Very talented young lady …. Getting a bit of a cult now on my train as I show everyone I meet. Fab as always x

    • Gina Kirkham says:

      Thanks Christina, absolutely made up that Mavis might become an icon with Merseyrail and a bit of a cult with fellow travellers, bless you 😊 Gx

  3. MORGAN CARSTAIRS says:

    AW….when do we get the book ? Brilliant ! X

    • Gina Kirkham says:

      Thank you Morgan, that’s lovely of you to say. Submissions have gone out to Agents so I’m checking my emails sixty times a day & have been known to accost the postman at the top of the road! I live in hope 😊 Gx

  4. Lynda Williams says:

    Enjoyed that Gina, very funny. XX

  5. So funny Gina. When is your book out? 🙂 xx

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