Diamond Annie here. So, Inspector Wotsit’s stuck up the Orinoco looking for a gecko. I smell money here and it ain’t small change. Get me a map and the steamer timetables Gerty. We’re going on holiday.
Trees. That’s principally what I’m looking at. Actually, it’s all I’m blinking looking at. It’s taken us three weeks to arrive at this rank imitation of Kew Gardens. Give me the real thing anytime. We’re down to Shank’s pony ‘cause these yokels are lacking even the basic amenities like trains and steam carriages. Local guides just can’t be found. Well, not after we shot them all for not co-operating. Honestly, I was beginning to think this was not my best move when Mad Mary spotted some primeval tracks. All we had to do was follow them and claim the cash…
Trees! Blinking trees! Don’t they have enough of the blasted objects? All of a sudden there is a squeal from ahead. Blimey! Don’t tell me somebody’s already put their mitts on the prize? Putting our backs into it and making the stays strain, we surge forward. From somewhere in front of us, something is trampling down trees in its rush towards us. We wait a minute in a little clearing. No need to actually throw ourselves into things. If someone’s that anxious to talk to us, we can afford to wait a bit. But no need. From the sound of the screams from where the trees are shaking, it’s somebody else they’re talking to. Let’s get cracking girls. Perhaps we can shoot them all in the back while they’re arguing.
All of a sudden they’re right in front of us. An entire company of the Queen’s Own Hussars. Stone the Crows! What are that shower doing here? For a moment, I consider a deal. Then one of them points at us and shrieks “It’s the Bitch Army from Hell, Major. Get their getups!”.
Nobody criticises our dress sense. And lives. They’ll pay for that.
But then they already are. Two lizards bigger than Black Marias are trying to remove their hats with their heads in them while Captain Catastrophe is hanging onto a smaller version. Naturally, we are all heart at their predicament. We step forward and exchange volleys at short range. The Hussarettes already seem to be in square so we do the accepted thing and charge. First item on the agenda is to stuff that Martian Heat Ray. We’ve heard about that thing and we don’t like it so it can stuff off back to Mars. After that, we settle down to trying to punch through their front while the Big Unfriendly Giants take the back and sides. Crazy Mary tries to grab the baby from Captain Catastrophe while I see if I cannot persuade Major Mistake of the artistic merit of our outfits.
It’s all over in very short order. Most of everybody hits the canvas. Crazy Mary whacks the good Captain and makes off with the prize. She would have made our fortune too except the remaining dino manages to eat its way through the back of the square and comes after her. Hearing heavy breathing, she turned and raised her lamp to see who it could be. Well, it weren’t Jack Horner so now she’s in a corner. Meanwhile, I finally persuade Mistake of the error of her ways and look about. Of the nineteen starters, four are left standing and the baby has made its getaway. Pausing only to drill the last slavering one through the forehead, I suggest to the still upright soldier girls that we call it a night. It’s going to tough enough towing all these limp forms back as it is without adding more. Thank Heavens we didn’t bring Big Bum Bertha with us. My back would have given out.
As we stagger off back home, I can’t help reflecting that Mr Thomas Cook is on a loser. Frankly, these foreign holidays are never going to catch on. Give me good old Blighty every time.
Diamond Annie,
Not the leader of the non-existent forty elephants,
Number who knows, Never you mind Road, Someplace or other.
Watch your back.
I am.
March 22, 2014, 10:07:58 AM