Humour writing: Mrs Fledgler gets stitched up
Posted: Saturday, January 01, 2011
by Carol Fernandez
The Fledgler’s rusting Lada rumbles determinedly down the middle lane of the M5 southbound, their caravan veering desperately behind, swinging across the carriageway at varying angles between 30% and 60%, evoking unprecedentedly vile verbal volleys from the Respectable British Road User.
Mrs Fledgler sits emphatically in the passenger seat, bosoms quivering with outrage, maintaining a running commentary on the suggested management of every approaching vehicle.
Settling into her routine, Mrs Fledgler is standing at the caravan sink on a pair of pale, puffy ankles, dabbing at her drab, voluminous draws with some diluted travel wash, conscious of being a picture of ‘English Holiday Respectability.’ She pegs her sagging apparel on to an improvised line, thus marking out Fledgler territory from those of less worthy disposition.
Mr Fledgler is dozing uneasily in a deckchair, emitting ominous rumblings as the gases from three forced helpings of dubious looking beef and carrot stew jostle and vie for space in the confines of his small intestine.
Suddenly there is s loud rustle, and a trio of two sheep and a ram make a guest appearance on site, having escaped from a neighbouring field. The ram cautiously and with precision, lifts the remains of Mr Fledgler’s egg and tomato sandwich, but becomes overly excited at the sight of the bright khaki green nylon slacks and, watched by his admiring posse, gives Mr Fledgler’s left lower leg a deep nibble.
The poor man awakes with a start and gravitates 45% into an upright position, bloodshot eyes at an exact level with the rams, whilst simultaneously relinquishing a deep belch.
Horrified, the ram turns 180% and bolts for its life but unfortunately gets its horns caught on Mrs Fledgler’s hanging draws, and heads off in an utter panic with them held aloft, like a partially inflated sail.
Two tipsy, bandy- legged elderly men give chase gamely, but suffer a severe and simultaneous collision with the farmer’s collie, which has just arrived at its best ever top speed of 34.5 mph, in frenzied pursuit of the escapees. As the dog gets its wind back, the sheep trio, like the three stooges, head speedily off towards the town centre.
Our poor Mrs Fledgler is left murmuring little moue’s of distress, for stitched neatly into the back seam of the bloomers are the letters, Mrs F. Fledgler, 9 Beaver Crescent, SE1......
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Hey Carol- Good to see you again!..This is funny in that subtle British humor that I do enjoy- I watch some of those BBC comedy shows sometimes, when I catch them on- they crack me up! My favorite is Keeping up Appearances- love it- this story puts me in mind of that show- Good job- keep up the good work- Don't give up- you're good!- Always- Ella--Oh- I like your new pic- You're very pretty, and I can see your personality in your face-Thankyou very kindly, not that good that anyone reads them! But not giving up. BTW flattery get you everywhere. Flo is quite like the lady in keeping up appearances but much worse. She has a dark side. She is thinking of taking up witchcraft and poisening Mr Fledgler..time will tell/
CJ
I think this is such a brilliant story - or part of a story (judging by your response to Ella), and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to find it, Carol. Do you know about Reader's Club? I'm pretty sure that if you participate in it you'll start seeing your articles on the front page, you're such a great writer.
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