Behind The Wire #03
Watcha mates. Blimey, nearly the end of anuvver year an' then it'll be 2002. Jus' think, two thousand an' two. That was somethink you'd only see in comic strips and them ol' science fiction films. Now we're really in the 21st century, it's all a bit of a let-down. I mean, we're not all zoomin' about in space ships or visitin' strange alien places. Essept me, that is. Plonked down in a stoopid Xmas scene wivout a by-your-leave to 'ave me photo took for the front cover of this 'ere mag'zine. I told 'em, 'I don't do can'les and I don't do flippin' festival drap'ries'. Luck'ly, I just 'appened to trip, know wot I mean, mates? Down came the 'ole shebang. Crash. Bang. Wallop. Wot a picture! I didn't know if I was on me 'ead or me 'eels. I was trussed up in that bloomin' tinsel like a blinkin' turkey. I thought they'd be unrav'lin me till Noo Year.
Nah then, wot abaht teenage kits, eh? I've just abaht 'ad it up to 'ere with mine. They won't tidy their nestboxes, they won't have anythin' to do with their ol' dad anymore, they eat all me grub an' all they ever want from me is money, money, money. An' the noise they make. Blimey. It's enough to make a home-lovin' ferret like meself move out. 'Cos kits 'ave got no respect for their parents any more, see, and summin' should be done abaht it. The othe day I sez to the ol' jill: "You wanted the sixteen of 'em. It's your job to teach 'em some respect." An' she gives me one of 'er looks and sez: "If you 'adn't missed that appointment at the vasectomy clinic, this wouldn't 'ave 'appened. I'd 'ave been quite 'appy wiv just the eight."
Still, she's a good ol' girl, really. She's gettin' me one of them new-fangled ferret 'ammocky whatnots for me Crimble prezzie. Real comf'table they are for 'avin a quiet kip. Mind you, I tried one once and nearly did meself some serious mischief, I can tell you. I was dozin' nicely off in this 'ere 'ammock and I thought I'd better turn out the light. So I reached out to pull the light-cord above me 'ead, an' that was where it went wrong, y'see mates. I'd tugged one of the strings holdin' the 'ammock to the bars of the cage and it came untied. Next thing, I really did 'drop off', ha, ha! The 'ole thing went dahn like a sock o' spuds, with me still in it. Luck'ly I landed right on top of one of them squeaky toys the kits leave lyin' about. Cor blimey, the noise half scared me t'death an' woke up everyone else. Still, no bones broken, an' I'm hopin' for better luck with me new 'ammock. It better not be one of them poncy flow'ry ones.
I hope all you readers of this 'ere mag'zine 'ave a nice knees-up this Christmas and a 'Appy Noo Year to you all. I've written a little song for yer:
On the 1st day of Christmas my true sent to me - a ferret in a fur coat.
On the 2nd day of Christmas... - two squeaky toys and a ferret in a fur coat.
On the 3rd day of Christmas... - three rosettes, two squeaky toys, etc.
On the 4th day of Christmas... - four racing tubes, three rosettes, etc.
On the 5th day of Christmas... - five old nets, four racing tubes, etc.
On the 6th day of Christmas... - six vets a-spayin', five old nets, etc.
On the 7th day of Christmas... - seven rabbits runnin', six vets a-spayin', etc.
On the 8th day of Christmas... - eight polecats playin', seven rabbits runnin', etc.
On the 9th day of Christmas... - nine judges judgin', eight polecats playin', etc.
On the 10th day of Christmas... - ten jills a-jabbin', nine judges judgin', etc.
On the 11th day of Christmas... - eleven hobs a hobblin', ten jills a-jabbin', etc.
On the 12th day of Christmas... - twelve kits a-leapin', eleven hobs a hobblin', etc.
See you next issue, mates. Fred