Monthly Archives: February 2017

I wanted a quiet beer on the way home

[huge_it_slider id=”2″]  I just wanted a quick beer at the Bridge after a busy day and a stupid drive home.

I was in Warwick all day with clients. As the duty solicitor I was got to the local police station at six this morning when the silly sod who tried to urinate into a speed camera and fell off was finally sober enough to be interviewed. He’d been sick all down himself and he was rancid, I don’t know why I do this work I really don’t – I could have been a gardener or a lory driver.

We got him cleaned up and in front of a magistrate, he was bound over to keep the piece and sent home. I had another appearance in court at 11:30 so I stayed in town and tried to do some work in Costa, it’s like a single mothers meeting house these days, I hardly got anything done and as I was leaving a toddler spilled a milkshake down the front of my trousers. I turned up to court looking like the over excited accused in some perverted public toilet case, not like a highly trained and overworked solicitor.

My second “client” of the day pleaded guilty of house breaking. It was the least he could do, he was caught climbing out of a window with pockets full of jewellery and a DVD player under his arm. I argued his punishment down to nine months inside “your honour, he came from a broken home – he broke it ” and with good behaviour he will be out in time to be nicked and  back inside again for Christmas.

By the end of the day I was beat, I mean really wacked, I was sweaty, smelly, had dried mikshake in my crutch and all I wanted was a quick beer before I went home for a bath. With luck the kids would be in bed but I doubt. I do love them but just once in a while I wish they could do as they are told. Never mind Mrs May and “Brexit means Brexit”. How about Mrs Ferrers and Bed means Bed.

When I got to the Bridge in I couldn’t believe my eyes. The whole place had been turned into a tarts bedroom or Cupids firing range. There were couples falling over each other everywhere you looked. I mean for God’s sake – get a room.

I gave up in disgust and went to the Belcher’s Arms instead. At least you can be sure of a miserable landlord and a decent pint there, even if the staff are as ugly as a litter of pugs.

That’s it I’m off to bed, and with a bit of luck the low life of our locality will keep themselves out of trouble for at least the next eight hours. I don’t mind their criminal activity, I’ve made a nice little packet out of it, but if they can confine their arrests to between the hours of nine and five I would be ever so grateful

Matthew Ferrers – Solicitor of this parish

Claudilias’ cottage

The village is looking especially nice this morning, Claudilia lives in Bindweed cottage and today it is looking beautiful. Recently part of the wall was knocked down by a tractor and trailer on its way to the AD plant. Although the driver didn’t admit it was him Claudilia found out that it was Tony the bee keeper. She was not able to tackle him about it because he died in a tragic accident.

Bindweed Cottage. Home of Claudilia Belcher

Tony was moving a hive of bees from one site to another when he crashed into the front of a tractor, which was ironically on its way to the AD plant, and died from the shock of being stung several thousand times.

Angus Mackintosh, who runs the plant, arranged for Claudilia’s wall to be rebuilt as a good will gesture. It was very nice of him as technically he wasn’t employing Tony at the time he damaged the wall.  These big tractor and trailer units travel at about thirty miles an hour thought the village and when two pass each other there is very little space. Angus has told the drivers they have to limit their speed past the houses, we will wait and see if the driver take any notice.