JACK AND GILL IN 2008
COMPOSED BY DAVE HAMBIDGE
PART TWELVE THE HILLSIDE HALL PARTY This picture was pillaged from the National Gallery of Scotland Search for Hackstoun, the painter, at www.nationalgalleries.org
Sir Eirne D’Stash and his trophy wife Fritter Were anxious to show that their lives still had glitter. They arranged for a party to be held at the Hall, Something between a barn dance and a ball. Multi-coloured invites were sent And lots of hard cash spent To erect a marquee with an outdoor spa But they both forgot to arrange for a bar!
On the morning before the event was to start Lady Fritter was screaming “You stupid old fart! Three hundred guests and dozens of staff Who will only be able to scoff and laugh. No booze to serve along with the tucker All will know that you’re a right fcuker!” “Calm down my darling, don’t strain your bra, I think that the answer is not too far.”
Anxious to find a portable bar Eirne drove off in his Ka (Tiny Ford car in UK, called GOKW elsewhere)
Straight to the local in T’Both Unaware of the landlord’s wrath. “You want me to close and transport the kit Up to the Hall, ‘cos you’re in the shit?” “Well, yes please, I do And not just because I’m in the pooh. “I like to consider that the Half Crown Is an inn where nobody has a frown. Whenever I visit the customers smile Always willing to stay a while And chew the cud and share a libation As we discuss the state of the nation.”
“Sir Eirne, your lordship, boss of The Hall, Prepare yourself for a nasty fall! My customers that you are raving about Regard you as an urban lout. They take the piss right in your face Some of them, frankly, are a disgrace!” “Oh dear,” said Sir Eirne, “are you sure their motives seemed fairly pure?” “I’m sorry, mate, to spill the beans But all is not as it seems. Now, if you still need a hand I’m sure that I can find a band Of workers to come and run a bar In exchange for folding, and a jar?” (Folding is slang for money that folds, notes, minimum in England is £5)
“Done!” agreed Sir Eirne D’Stash “right now I’d better get on and dash to town and buy the Champagne and wine if it’s to cool and be ready in time.” “Tomorrow we’ll arrive at noon which will not be far too soon to set up the barrels, pipes and glasses. Have you enough chairs for all the arses?” “Most certainly so, three hundred armchairs, we found them hidden below the stairs. Lady Fritter cleaned them all. Actually she got some ladies to call And scrub and polish them back to life. How lucky I am to have such a wife!” The landlord smothered an intemperate riposte, The customer is right, whatever the cost!
Selected residents of The Bottom of The Hill Went to the Hall and set to with a will. A functioning bar was eventually assembled And tarted up so that it vaguely resembled The inside of a French Café, With the waiters looking quite gay. Candles and oil lamps were lighted; Even miserable Fritter was delighted. The guests arrived in very fine clothes In Bentleys, Beamers and Rolls. Some looked familiar, others just tried. Jack was quite sure that he had espied Lady D’Stashe’s recent paramour As soon as he entered through the door. Jack was helping to park the cars, Gill served at table in the bar.
As the evening turned into night, Supper was a regular bun fight. Plates of victuals were dispensed to all And very soon you could hear the call ‘Swop your bahji for my pastie?’ Things were beginning to look quite nasty As some of the food was still cold; To eat it you had to be very bold! A few of the guest didn’t care They stripped down to their underwear And leapt in the spa Which wasn’t too far. They reclined in the water, viewing the stars; Those on the dance floor and those afar. Soon the hot pool was standing room only, those outside feeling cold and lonely.
Gill found Jack asleep on the floor Behind the Hall library inner door. She left him there And went to stare At the hundreds of books all neatly arranged. But what she noted was really quite strange, Not one had been opened, all pristine, Just gathering dust for someone to clean.
Gill woke jack with a big wet kiss, “Our jobs are done, and no-one will miss if we sidle off before the end!” Before they had reached the first road bend The heavens exploded in noisy colour; A firework display to end all other. Rockets and star-shells and parachute flares. “I’m glad we left Splodge locked under the stairs.”
On the following night at the pub The landlord was serving free grub. He paid out the earnings to those who had Worked so hard to make Eirne glad. Fifty a head, all paid in cash Had been the deal done with D’Stash. With wallets bulging, folk settled down For a raucous night in the Half a Crown.