Behind The Wire #04
Wotcha mates. Yer very own Fred Ferret 'ere again, keepin' the winter blues away wiv a bit o' wit an' wisdom, as usual. Nah, wot 'ave I got to tell you since me last little column in this 'ere magazine? Let me see...
Well, the other day I went to the pictures with the kits t'see this noo film, The Lord of the Rings, and guess what? Yeah, there's even a ferret in it. Tell the truth, I don't remember much abaht the rest of the film, but I do remember this bit where all the 'obbits pile into this dirty old pub called The Prancing Pony, full of nasty-looking geezers, with greasy 'air and black teeth, smokin' 'orribly old pipes (it reminded me of me own local boozer, The Nag's 'Ead, on a Sat'day night). Any road, there's this one particularly dodgy-lookin' individual with a ferret tucked under 'is coat. Cor, blimey I thinks to mesself, a film-star ferret! Nah, that's wot I could do wiv, mates. I really fancy 'avin' the life of a celebrity. A big house in 'ollywood, swimmin' pool, private jet and chauffeur-driven limos to take me everywhere. Very nice.
Maybe I could be in one of them Harry Potter films, which all the kits are talkin' about these days, 'Cos there's a white ferret - just like me - in one of the books, yer know. Mind you, it sounds a bit of a dangerous role, if you ask me. This 'ere ferret gets bounced up an' down on the floor by a magican wavin' his magic wand. More like a job for yer professional stunt-ferret, I reckon. Wot abaht a part on TV instead? I could be in East Enders, 'cos I'm a genuine East End boy mesself, of course. Only trouble is, that's even more dangerous! Blimey. You can't go into the Queen Vic, these days, for a quiet pint without bein' beaten up by Phil Mitchell or whacked round the 'ear 'ole by Barbara Windsor. Both of them two can give you a very nasty nip, oh yes. It's all changed a'lot since the nice quiet friendly days of Dirty Den and Angie.
Nah, you know I'm a ferret wot speaks 'is mind. I don't go in for this political correctness stuff. So when I 'eard on the news that the Americans were takin' their prisoners of war from Afghanistan to Camp X-ray in Cuba and keepin' 'em in cages 6ft by 8ft I was 'orrified, quite 'orrified. I mean, wot a waste of good ferret courts, mates. They could give 'omes to some really deservin' families of 'omeless ferrets in them cages. An' very grateful they'd be too. After all, ferrets don't go around startin' wars or blowin' things up, do they? And look 'ow they get treated, just for bein' ferrets. It's not right. No, what President George W. Bush ought to do when he's finished with 'is prison, is turn it into a great big rescue centre for ferrets. It'd make the world a better and a more humane place.
Nah, I'm goin' to let yer into a little secret. The people wot run this 'ere Ferrets First was judgin' at a ferret show not long ago. (Ha, ha, they think they know a good ferret when they see one. That's a laugh!) But, blimey, what a to-do. For a week before the show they was practising on me and the rest of the gang. We was all poked, prodded, passed around like parcels and examined in every part of our bodies all day long. All I 'eard from morning till night was, "Are his nails clipped?", "Are his ears clean?" "What are 'is teeth like?" Cor, stone the crows. I can't be doin' wiv all the fuss and the shampooing, cleaning, clipping and trimming. In fact, I'm thinkin' of startin' a new class for ferret shows where all preparation of ferrets is banned. It'll be called the Au Naturel Class. You'll be allowed to enter just as you are, with no time for brushing, combing, make-up, hair-spray or perfume and there'll be extra marks for ferrets with bad breath and ear wax. What do you think, eh?
See yer next issue, mates.
(From Ferrets First - February/March 2002 - #04)