01 January, 2010

You're a mean man Mr. Weasil - Chapter 5

16 October 2005

R. Linda:

After a lot of heaving chest and breath catching, our American princess settled down and became angry. Very angry. Very, very angry -- at the object of her affection, namely one Mr. Weasil. Yes, the Japanese creation had got the best of her (especially the snake part) and she had had it.

Now I be told behind closed doors, the lass opened a mega can of whoop arse on her beloved. Me informant told me that even with his ear pressed against the door he could hear nothing coming from the vicinity of where he last saw Mr. W standing. He ran to the bar in the library and got himself a fine crystal rock glass and he pressed that against the wall and all he could hear was the booming and furious voice of the fiancee'. He rushed back and put the glass back and tried to put his ear to the keyhole, but well naught a word from the far left of the room, where he knew Mr. W was standing, or sitting, or perhaps even kneeling; only the sound of someone gagging. The thought that the fiancee' had actually grabbed the Weasil around the throat and was squeezing for all she was worth, put a decided chill over me friend's heart. He tried to see in the keyhole but could see nothing because both occupants were on the left side of the room.

He had to run because he could hear the stomping footsteps of the infuriated fiancee' coming his way. He hid behind the desk in the library as she passed by. Making sure it was safe to come out he crept quietly to the parlour door, which was wide open. He peeked in to see Mr. W feigning he had passed out on the floor.

Me friend coughed a discrete kind of cough and one eye popped open from the Weasil countenance and seeing it was his and me friend, he hauled himself up and said, "I guessy she dint believe I had a epelictikey fit. Oh welly."

He got up brushing himself off and started to the library with the mutual friend hot on his heels. He poured them both a libation of his father's best vintage scotch and inviting the mutual friend to have a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs, Mr. Weasil ruminated the non-joys of being engaged.

Now if it were you and I in that room, we'd want to shake some sense into that Weasil. Or, we might take a glove and lightly slap him on the face and challenge him to a manly duel, or, in your case eating as much fudge as you could stuff in your mouth without choking, OR, if we had too many scotches we'd sit there and laugh at the ingenious, diabolical mind workings of Mr. W. But, we weren't there, we weren't overly indulgent of too many fine glasses of scotch, and we were not thinking the situation in the least bit funny. No indeedie.

Being what is needed without being in excess, the very next morning the fiancee' was out in the gazebo area with the young housemaid she befriended, and several of the house serving staff. Standing emboldened and trying not to look at the Japanese monstrosity (and in particular -- the snakes), she commanded the staff tear it all down and trash it. Yes, ladies and laddies, the lassie had pretty berry garlands entwined on the banisters, she had fall coloured leaves curling around the support poles and lots of mums all round and a few inside. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and oh what a lovely sight for an autumn wedding! A table with linen covers to be added when the ceremony came was placed at the far end with candelabra.

Tents were put up on either side of the gazebo, the tent poles disguised as corn stalks, pumpkins and gourds put at the foot of each. Tubs of mums placed attractively here and there, oh what a pretty difference from Mr. Fujiyuma's vision of Japan in Scotland. Happily the bride-to-be left all in readiness for the "big day."

I wish I had the photos of Mr. Fujiyuma's ill-fated wedding themed gazebo decor, but seems the fiancee' had all photo's of Mr. Fujiyuma's creation burnt. So sad.

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