The Trumpton Chronicles- One Final Push

We had arrived.

His badge said "happy to help",

his face said: "tonight i shall flay the skin from your bones, fashion a rather fetching raincoat from the peeled flesh,
wear your buttocks as a pair of ear muffs, and create a cunningly realistic toupee from your collective pubic hair, whilst supping on a cocktail of blood and eye jelly"


His stare was relentless, peering deep into the depths of our souls, laying bare all our secrets to his piercing gaze ( Marks and Spencer's off white underwear, a dodgy tattoo, a very strange birthmark and a pair of braces)

His voice never rose above a whisper, all his words delivered in a deadly hiss, like a flatulent cobra until he told us that he was never going to dance again, then it rose to a higher pitch.....careless really.

He told us his name was Tim, Tim Shar, and that if we went to a meeting in the morning we could spend more time with him every year, an as an added incentive we could keep both the complimentary pens and our souls.

Finally once we had each given a promise to be good and a promise to bring him seven vestial virgins each, he branded our passkeys on our foreheads, and with the aroma of brimstone and seared flesh fresh in our nostrils,

we were dismissed....

to discover the land of the mouse