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Pegman – Vera versus Morocco
Here is my story for What Pegman Saw.
I thought I wasn’t going to manage this week – still working all hours – but I did! And… hold your breath, people – it’s the triumphant return of Vera, the old lady from “up North” who never stops talking, which gets her out of all sorts of scrapes. You can read more of her stories here.
This week we are in Casablanca, Morocco.
(Quick update, I Googled “cosh” and it appears to be “British informal”. It’s a baton or cudgel, Americans might call it a “night stick”.)
Copyright Google
“Come on, Auntie, let’s go along here.”
“Eee, no, let’s try this way, oh I say, a bit dismal this, reminds me of home…”
“Uh, Auntie, this doesn’t look too safe…”
“… look at what I’ve stepped in, foreign poo that is, not like the poo back home…”
“Hey! Tourists! Give to me your valuables!”
“… who’s this then? you look just like me grandson, lovely lad, maybe you know ‘im…”
“This a robbery, you give…”
“…robbery? when I were a lass they done it right, black bag, balaclava, cosh, where’s yer cosh? what’s that? a peashooter? where’s yer sawn-off? give it ‘ere, you could ‘ave someone’s eye out, I’ll just put it in me bag where it’s safe…”
“Hey, my pistol, give it…”
“… you could hurt someone, where’s yer mamma? I’ll ‘ave words, hey, you come back ‘ere, no word of goodbye, no manners the yoof of today ramble mutter mutter…”
Literary Lion – Vera Versus Las Vegas
Here is my post for Laura’s Literary Lion. The prompt word this time is “gamble” and I’ve managed to get it just under the 400 word limit. Which is quite long, but don’t worry, it’s all dialogue!
This is Vera’s third adventure. Vera is a rather doddery old lady from “up North” (of England) who manages to get herself into all sorts of situations but always manages to extricate herself while remaining largely oblivious to the danger she’s in. Her other adventures are Vera Versus the Devil and Vera Versus the Muggers. This time, she’s off on a jolly to Las Vegas, America.
“Eee, look at this place, I think I’ll try the slots…”
Push. Shove.
“… eh, me money ain’t goin’ in…”
Shove. Bang.
“Excuse me Madam, what seems to be the trouble?”
“… ooh, you’re a strapping young lad, jus’ like me friend Ethel’s boy, do ya know ‘im, ‘e’s ‘bout your age, me money won’t go in the machine….”
“Ah, that’s English coinage, Madam, you’ll…”
“… if me money’s good enough fer the Queen (bless ‘er) it’s good enough fer me…”
“You’re in America, now Madam, so you…”
“… when I were a lass, all this were the British Empire…”
“Ha ha, Madam, very funny, now if I could ask you to…”
“… don’t you laugh at me, young man, me cousin Beryl’s youngest daughter’s hairdresser’s second cousin’s granny once stood this close to the Queen this close she’s prac’ly royalty so don’t you laugh at me…”
“I do apologise Madam (security to the slots, security to the slots), if you could just calm down a little…”
“…don’t you tell me to calm down, no respect fer yer elders your generation…”
“FREEZE! Don’t move!”
“… eee, who’s this now, waving yer gun around, what you need is a nice calming cup ‘a tea, now where did I put me flask, here in me handbag…”
“GUN!”
Blam. Ping!
“… eh, will you look at that, you’ve punctured me flask, that’s lovely Yorkshire tea all goin’ ta waste, all the way from England too…”
“Shit, I thought you were reaching for a gun…”
“… it’s just not good enough, does your mamma know you’re running round with a gun…”
“I’m so sorr…”
“… it would never have happened in my day, the youth today, no respect…”
“Madam, please…”
“… shooting people left right and centre, shouldn’t be allowed..”
“Oh God…”
“… there ought ta be a law, shooting little old ladies indeed, I never saw the like…”
“Excuse me, Madam, I’m the manager and as an apology, and on the understanding you never mention this little… incident again, we would like to offer you a thousand dollars worth of chips…”
“… ooh, I could just go some fish ‘n chips right now, that sounds lovely with a nice cup ‘o tea, lead on, did I tell you about me grandchildren, look, here’s a picture, ooh, there’s a bullet hole in it ramble ramble mutter mutter…”
Vera Versus the Muggers
Here is my second story about Vera, the doddery old lady from “up North” (of England) who unwittingly gets herself into situations and, completely oblivious to the danger she’s in, extricates herself. The first story, “Vera Versus the Devil“, in which she outwits the Devil Himself, is here.
Vera Versus the Muggers
“Awright, Grandma. Hand over yer purse!”
“Eeh, you’re a bunch o’ strappin’ lads. Me grandson’s about your age, do you know ‘im? Nigel he’s called, probably goes to your school?”
“Um… jus’ hand over the money, Grandma.”
“Look, here’s a picture. Isn’t he lovely!”
“Hmm, he does ring a bell, um… hey, money!”
“Ooh, I can see your underpants. You need a belt. Why don’t we go belt shopping and then we can have a nice cuppa.”
“This is the fashion! Cash and cards or I slash ya!”
“Is that a Kitchen Master chopping knife? Good with carrots, that knife.”
“Um, what? Carrots?”
“Don’t I know you? Ooh, you’re Marjorie’s lad. Nathaniel.”
“It’s ‘Snake’! Jus’ hand over the money!”
“Eeh, I used to look after you when Marjorie was out shoppin’. You used to call me ‘Auntie Vera’. Did yer nappie rash ever clear up?”
“Auntie Vera, please! Not in front of my crew!”
“Who’s this? Is this your girlfriend? I’m Nathaniel’s Auntie Vera. I bathed him when he were knee-high to a grasshopper. Sorry about his tiny tinky winky, dear.”
“Oh Hell. Please, make her stop.”
“Why don’t you all come with me to bingo? They have smashing prizes and they do a lovely bit o’ Madeira cake and a tasty cuppa… ooh, where did they go? Youth today mutter mutter no respect for their elders mutter mutter I’ll be havin’ a word with Marjorie about this mutter mutter…”
Friday Fictioneers – Vera Versus the Devil
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by Rochelle. This week’s picture was contributed by FF stalwart Sandra Crook.
I’ve had a very odd and worrying week, so here’s a very odd story to go with it, best I can summon up right now.
Meet my heroine, doddery old Vera, as she sits on the beach enjoying a nice cup of tea. Feel free to apply a Northern English accent to her words :-).
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Sandra Crook
“Look at them cliffs, dearie. Lovely view!”
“I CARE NOTHING OF VIEWS! I AM COME…”
“Nice cup o’ tea?”
“… TO, um, TEAR YOUR REALM TO SHREDS…”
“And a tasty biscuit?”
“… um, AND DRAG YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF, um, yes, thank you… WAIT! I CARE NOTHING OF BISCUITS…”
“What did you say your name was, dearie?”
“Um, YOU WILL BURN, um, ‘Satan’, Ma’am.”
“Ooh, I knew some Seytons once, from over York way, are you related? Strange bunch. Nice bit o’ Madeira cake? Fresh this mornin’.”
“Um, BURN IN THE FIRES OF… oh, what’s the point.”
“Ooh, where’d he go? Odd fellow.”
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