Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“Here,” said Fuen. “Let me see that.”
Yuffie handed over her laptop. Fuen began tinkering.
“What’s the problem?” asked Reala.
“My laptop won’t take my password,” sighed Yuffie.
“What’s your password?” asked Fuen.
“Beefstew,” replied Yuffie.
“It’s probably not stroganoff,” pointed out Reala.
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Yuffie walked in trailing white paint behind her.
“Yuffie!” gasped Reala, putting newspaper down on the floor around her.
“Oh sorry,” said Yuffie. “I thought I’d give fingerpainting a go this morning.”
“How did that go?” grumbled Reala, reaching for the mop.
“Awful,” sighed Yuffie. “Took me eight hours to do the skirting boards.”
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“How’s your afternoon going?” asked Fuen.
“Not bad,” said Reala. “I think I have invented a new flavour of crisps.”
“Oh really?” asked Fuen.
“Yep,” replied Reala, holding out some hot dog flavoured crisps. “Combining British crisps with an American flavour.”
“Nice,” said Fuen. “If they’re popular you’re gonna make a packet.”
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Capricorn (ep. 82)
He looked at the cage. He hated that rabbit. It’s white fur and ruby-red eyes. They burned in the dark. Most children his age liked Easter. He hated it. He knew what happened to the neighbour’s cat last year. He wondered if his parents knew. Probably not, they were too busy out drinking at that bar. He heard the latch coming loose on the hutch. He watched the rabbit as it left the room on tonight’s hunt. Easter bunnies should be feared.
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Fuen stormed through the doors.
“Oh dear,” said Reala, “need rum?”
“Yes please,” said Fuen. “Make it a double.”
“What’s up?” asked Reala.
“The chicklets,” sighed Fuen. “You know they said I was old and out of touch because I didn’t know who Professor Green was.”
“Ah,” replied Reala, sliding Fuen a drink.
“Little gits,” moaned Fuen. “Of course I know who he is. I’ve been playing Cluedo for years.”
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“Oh, heck no,” shouted Reala. “We do not serve time travellers in here!”
Just then, a time traveller walked into the bar.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said, “could I have a drink.”
Reala caught her breath.
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“Good evening, Moons,” said Reala, answering the phone.
“Hello Reala, it’s Alpaca,” said Alpaca.
“Oh no,” sighed Reala. “What now?”
“Just letting you know, I’ve set up a telephone hotline,” said Alpaca. “You can call me for spiritual teachings and lessons.”
“Really?” said Reala, bracing herself.
“Yeah,” said Alpaca. “Dial-a-llama…”
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“Whoa,” yelled Alpaca, “don’t hit me on the head with that thing!”
Reala waved around the broom trying to shush Alpaca out the door. “Why not?” she yelled back.
“Because I got a bump on my head,” said Alpaca. “A book fell off a shelving unit and bonked me on the bonce.”
Reala paused and inspected the big red bump.
“I have only my shelf to blame,” sighed Alpaca.
“Get out!” groaned Reala.
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“Hang on,” grumbled Reala to Alpaca. “Is that a duck on your back?”
“Oh yes,” replied Alpaca.
“What’s she doing here?” asked Reala.
“Oh she likes my puns,” said Alpaca.
“Yep,” said the duck. “They quack me up!”
Reala reached for a broom.
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“I could bring my friend,” said Alpaca.
“Oh aye?” asked Reala. “Why would you bring your friend to a picnic date?”
“She’s a burger. Sort of,” pondered Alpaca.
“You’re friends with a burger?” asked Reala.
“Well, the bread bit of a burger,” said Alpaca. “She’s quite intelligent. She’s had some academic success.”
“Oh no,” said Reala, seeing it come from a mile away.
“Yep,” added Alpaca, “she’s on the honours roll.”
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Little Fears 