Boys on the BlackstuffIt was 8.55 am and he stood anxiously in line outside Merthyr Central Post Office.Mad- Ralf Hoppy Hopkins arm muscles ached as he wedged his crutches into the post-box marked Merthyr Tydfil only under which some wag had written Sickness capital of Europe.He adjusted his position , by hopping on his good leg and keeping his plastered right foot in the air.In doing so, he managed to knock off the hair from the disgruntled pensioner behind him. Sorry , Councillor Kitty Whigg-Joneshe muttered as the pensioner bent over flashing her Bridget Jones to the rest of the line.The evil look from the Alderwoman, as she retrieved her purple- rinsed wig from the gutter, meant that any repeat of the accident , crutches or otherwise he would get a good hand-bagging.The overpowering smell of urine flashed along the Post Office queue quicker than a Mexican wave at Penydarren Park Football Stadium.The manager of the Pool Hall , Harold Shipman used to ammonia, just stroked his greying beard , shook his head and smiled at his crew-cut employee Dennis Nilson. That delectable creature , my boy decides on decisions affecting your future! Well at least we now she supported the siting of Tesco.. grinned Dennis How come? enquired the Beard Well they were supporting her tooit was emblazoned on her knickersand from here it appears that every little helps Wrinklies.Im all in favour of Euthanasia.muttered Shipman. I dont like any of them Disney Films.myselfreplied Denniseven if they are 3.99 in the Tesco opposite If you were a Disney character Dopey.Id know which one youd play.. Which one?Shipman just shook his head and was grateful that Tesco didnt sell cues.Dennis with ball in hand knew from first hand experience that the town was going to pot.He saw daily the broken hopeless figures that hung around his bar , all victims of a bye-gone age of closed pits, steelworks and heavy industry.As the doors opened the long queue of zombies filed into the void in search of their weekly giro, invalidity payment or meagre state pension.These once proud people had no option but to take draw their benefits from successive Governments who didnt care about any people outside London.Now they were reduced to being extras from The morning of the Living Dead.Removing his Tesco earpieces from his Tesco I Pod, Hoppy lunged forward narrowly missing a second dislodgement of the latest member of the former Whig Party.Liberal, I may be young man..but you come near me with that Tesco crutch again and there will be Hell to pay!!!! Thats what she said to her husband on her Honeymoon laughed Rastaman Doug Trench Town in the queue behind.Hell Toupee more like..........Another black look from the Deputy Mayoress matching the shade of her underwear left the Rasta even more full of dread. What u done to your foot man .The ears on the Councilloress not covered by the man-made wig began to strain. Well I banged in a hat-trick for Gellideg Old Boys only to injury my foot and pelvis back-flipping into a grazing horse at Nant Gau . Hip op..Looking down at his I Pod.Mad Ralf Hopkirk replied No,, Tupac Shakur Your foot and pelvis manOh yeah, I cant work for three months legally anyway.I have been moonlighting for a while tarmacing on the roadsyou know on the black-stuff.but I cant hobble now cos of me foot.. What about doing the corpy? asked the Rasta. You what ? a bit of compo.find a hole and trip overThe Councillor , chair of the Housing Benefit Fraud Committee was ear-wigging like crazy.nearly missing the announcement of Number 3 please from the automated post office /bbc announcer.Crutches akimboHoppy leaned against the counter of window number 2 hoping for a first class service, he got it .after 5 minutes of being sold, house, car and pet insurance..he was asked if had had any accidents in the last three years.. Does your Pet Insurance cover grazing horses. He enquired tentatively.********************************************************************* Do you know how much money this Council has spent on personal injury claims this last three years.raged the Council Leader Harvey Smith. No.enlighten mesaid Dimm Charlie Watt, Chairman of the Highways and Street Lighting Committeesnorting some Charlie from a 20.00 noteHolding up two fingers 2 million Pounds .and our budget for 2006/2007 is.. No .still in the dark 50,000.00 leaving a deficit of .Watt? .enquired the retired maths teacherBeats me.look ..if I could add up .I would have opted for the Housing Benefit job instead of that Wig-headed geriatric knicker-pisser. Gentlemen, we were elected to ensure we put politics before people.this black hole in our finances .must be filled.we must stop this compensation culture .and keep the Council Tax in OUR PocketsGod only knows we havent had a Freeby-man of the Borough ceremony for ages. So. do we find a way of effective way of managing the maintenance of the road budget.. asked Watt.light-bulb shining above his Head. or do we use the entire tarmac quota for the scheduled Bedlinog and Treharris speed-bump provisions on the road surface around the T Mobile mast memorial roundabout at Caedraw? asked the Propaganda and Communications Minister Alastair Goebells. The answer is to get rich media stars to sponsor a road Adopt an adopted Highway What like Rolf Harris Way or Osmond Drive? or Heol Rhyd a Secombe Youll have a job getting him back on a highwaysnorted Dimm Watt.cocaine powder still on his nose Put that stuff away till after the meeting ..and stick to the real issues- middle of the road policies and painted white lines.snarled Smith . When am I going to get my share of the cut from the Tyre and Exhaust racket we set up .when is our investment in traffic calming devices on our roads going to start paying out ? moaned Councillor Phil Bentit gets right up my nose. I know what you mean . Sniffed Watt lets face itwe have put more speed bumps and pink tanks traps outside schools than any other authority in the British Isles..in fact we have become a laughing stock after one dopey road-gang put a speed bump on top of a zebra crossing.prompting newspaper reports of Hump -back Wales and Hoof and Mound disease on Merthyr roads Bent continued. Well it was over the topby some two feet ! prompted Smith Well my shares in shock absorbers , suspensions and replacement tyres in my friends garages have rapidly inflated you could say that it has been a Goodyear!!!! Harvey Smith chuckled as he patted the wedgie in his trouser pocket. But what do I tell the press we are doing to fill the black hole in our Council Highways budget? asked Goebbels Tell them.we are making exhaustive efforts to solve the problem laughed SmithThe room fell silent save for the faint sound of a septum falling onto some Council minutes..Doug Trench Town smiled as he took his last toke on his joint..lazily blowing the smoke skyward towards Jah.For a spliff second he could make out the face of Bob Marley in the clouds above him.It was a glorious day he thought as he lay sprawled on the lawns in front of Cyfarthfa Castle.The irony of the sign Keep off the grass was not lost on him as he collected his yellow, green and gold hat from amongst the daisies and dog-shit.Ah well , back to work , he thought as he trudged to the rear of the school avoiding the huge hole in the access-road serving the complex of greenhouses and workshops thereby.A little worse for wear, he accidentally dropped his hat and its contents-a huge block of cannabis resin- into the hole in the road but continued on his path back to his work station.Once inside HIS greenhouse he began to talk like Prince Charles to his plants, gently caressing the leaves on his banana plant, his award winning hydroponic tulips, primroses, daffodils and roses .The plants seemed to respond to his touch and seemed to be jamming to his Trench Town Rock music.Tucked away in the corner of the potting shed was his pride and joy.A towering six foot green three-leaf plant- cross pollinated and sown from a mixture of plant seeds brought back from Morocco and Jamaica .As he kissed its leaves and revelled in its aromahe smiled broadly.declaring his undying love for the best blow- job in the world.He patted his pocket and realised that he had dropped his Moroccan Black resin block and hat in the access-road outside.He swayed back and fore as he made his way to the Castle forecourt to search for his Hat and his draw.Looking down at the road where his hat was lying he suddenly realised that the void that had been there before lunch had been mysteriously filled with a sticky viscous substance which smelled of perfume. Now thats what I calls me a Pot Hole! he exclaimed as he realised what had happened.The Rastas resin had merged with the tarmac and expanded with the Summer sun to form a solid surface.Smiling to himself , he went back to work in the knowledge he might be the first Black Welshman to win a Nobel Prize after all .Ralf Hoppy Hopkirk trudged here, he trudged therehis armpits were raw from his crutches ..his faded Liverpool shirt baring the ironic name Rush was dripping with sweat as he vainly searched the Gurnos heartland looking for a pothole to fake his fall ..but couldnt find a single hole of any merit.In that shirt , he looked every inch a loser, as he hobbled around like his hero Cisse passed the green front gardens that were training grounds for future Pembridges.He had been to Ganja Uchaf Road, Hash Crescent and Spliffamore Road but didnt get the luck of the draw.The DSS snoopers and Housing Benefit Fraud Squad trailing him too were getting tired of trailing the Professional Day-tripper as he hopped and crutched himself around empty streets.The back page of the Merthyr Depress paper on the dashboard bore the headline Gellideg Striker bags hat-trick.then makes a foal of himself at Prince Charles Horsepital..had been preserved for evidence.Streets once filled with window-cleaners, parcel delivery services and Ann Summers party hosts were now empty as moonlighters hid behind front doors until the inconspicuous Pink Ice Cream van following Hopkirk at two miles an hour up Draw-thorn Avenue had passedThe back-page of the Merthyr Depress could be clearly seen through the windscreen of Mr Whippy.Gellideg Striker bags hat-trick but ends up in horsepital would soon be used as evidence in Court.The chiming of Rockwells Somebodys watching me from the vehicle should have warned the luckless ex-footballer that his annual holiday money would this year be stopped and he was about to lose on penalties.As he limped into Gurnos Road Ralf lost his pursuers momentarily as the van pulled in to serve three wheelchair bound children that had been following them since Hash Crescentbut they regained sight of him at the appropriately named Chase View.As he struggled passed the Chase , hobbling swiftly to avoid joy riders he crossed the road at Hirwaun Terrace near Gwaunfarren Baths suddenly realising that he was being followed. Yes Sir .asked the Fraud Snooper Isaac Hunt quickly hiding the Merthyr Depress paper in his best Mr Whippy voicechocca ice, ninety nine sir.? Do you have anything on a stick Not yet son.he muttered ..but we will patting his hidden cameraAs Ralf carefully selected his pothole .his dive would have made Steven Gerrard proud as he rolled around in ice-cream and agony in front of an unimpressed lollipop lady shepherding her flock from the busy Gwaunfarren Primary School. That mans hurt his foot Miss! . said the concerned five-year old tugging on her white uniform. Its only Ralf doing the Corpy again .whispered her streetwise six year brother.my tummy hurts.I shouldnt have ate that Jamie O Liver dinnerdo you know the name of a good lawyer Miss?........As lollipop lady Kitty Whigg-Jones finished her civic duty she noticed the return of the Dreadlocked Rastaman who had over the course of the past two days been merrily tossing black lumps into the patchwork quilt road surface outside Gwaunfarren school.She had witnessed many strange events in her 30 years as a Girl on the Black-stuff but this was special.Whereas most motorists slowed down then sped up after the Speed bump the opposite occurred with the new tarmac.Car tyres became mellow and chilled and actually slowed down over the former pot-holesthere were no more blow outs.the ultimate traffic calming measures.Signalling to the passing Police Panda car.Whigg- Jones pointed at the Rasta , previously of exhemp lary character, Officer, he had the audacity to mock me in the Post Office Queue!. Well even in the good old days, I couldnt book him for that unless he was a striking miner , what s he done Mayoress.. for you to get your hair off ? asked Constable Grunt a very special policeman. Hes black for a start but what about traffic-ing !!!!As the Babylon approached Doug Trench Town he instinctively swallowed any remaining evidence.Realising too late what he had donein the back of the Panda Car he immediately felt his sphincter sealing over.Eyes opened wide and pupils dilating he went white with fear.He was on a Dread-Block Holiday.
updated by @philip-evans: 11/11/15 10:39:09PM