DaDa Detective Agency Collection

5. The Dame and the Synchronised Swimming Teacher

FIVE

THE DAME AND THE SYNCHRONISED SWIMMING TEACHER

Having discarded the remains of the sideboard through the sash window, placated the dear Ms Lovebody, who seemed to take exception to various sized particles and the odd big lump of sideboard, on her terrace, lawn and, occasionally on the Lovebody noggin and, having subsequently blue tacked up the geological chart of Birmingham in the now cleared space, Aedd expressed contentment. He settled in his armchair gazing up to the Battle of Trafalgar and mumbled something about what part of the world dinner should come from, seeming to relish these geographical thoughts more than any prospect of lip-smacking nourishment.

Pimple ventured a non-geographical intervention, his newly acquired irritation with geography enabling him to grow ever so slightly in a spurious confidence. ‘Er, you did say you would give me some background to recent events on Frisian Tun, Mr Murphy.’

‘Indeed, I did, Pimple old chap, and so I will and a most intriguing story it is too.’ Was that a posh Hampshire accent? ‘I wager you will be thoroughly engaged. Would you care to stay for some dinner?’ He continued, indicating with his hands, one of which was en-route to pick some sawdust and other coincidental detritus from his nose, that no response was required as yet. Pimple wondered why Aedd now pointed to a map of the Hampshire countryside with his spare hand, other than he employed a polished manner of speech. ‘I am considering sausages and chips. The sausages I get from an organic farmer in Hampshire,’ (ah, that would be it) Aedd said nasally and made to rise from the armchair, but stopped mid-air and, as you would expect, assumed a stunned expression as Pimple, rather radically for a normally nervous, reserved, and peaceful chap, asserted himself.

Pimple had indeed reacted not gingerly, in fact quite the opposite, another knee jerk, but this one was bordering on atom bomb, certainly rude to the point of being indelicate, more especially since he had just been invited to dine, geographically speaking. ‘I don’t give a toss where the f*****g sausages come from…’ calming a little, ‘… and yes, I would like sausages and chips, thank you very much.’ Smoothing metaphorically his ruffled internal feathers, he continued to address his host in a manner more appropriate to a Pimple. ‘Would you mind awfully if I telephoned my mother to let her know I will be dining out and will likely have to skip bath night?’

He explained further to Aedd that his mother did not allow him to have a mobile phone for risk of brain tumours, always assuming there was sufficient brain residing in the Pimple skull for a tumour to attach itself, of course. But, Dame Pimple was notably risk averse where her youngest son was concerned, being aware he had been close to last in line when the brains were being handed out; all perfectly acceptable if you were aristocracy, naturally.

Aedd, nodding to the telephone, seemed completely unaware and thus unimpressed at the prospective bravery of his soon-to-be dinner guest, who was about to ring Dame Pimple and impart seriously bad news. Aedd was in fact more agreeably distracted as he thought primarily about where the sausages came from and channelled his thought processes so that he might better inform his dinner guest in a thoughtful manner when required, probably over dinner.

Pimple was screwing up his courage, which action appeared to be attached to the sinews of the Pimple face…

You may recall a similar reaction when Pimple considered advancing on the entrance to number 28.

… as he headed in the direction of the telephone, which funnily enough was just below British Columbia. However, incongruously, the phone looked like the Khyber Pass, such was the elaborate disguise fashioned in Bakelite; a form of early plastic manufacture if Pimple was not mistaken.

Pimple dialled and waited whilst practicing his pretend brown paper bag breathing in order to stave off a panic attack. Aedd muttered something about lumberjacks and the decline of the pulping mills, but his heart was not in it.

‘Oh, hello Mother, it’s Everard,’ and he listened, for some time. This was normal and for the moment Pimple’s emotional equilibrium remained relatively stable. ‘Yes mother I do understand…’ listened some more, ‘… I am sorry your hockey match has been postponed.’ He listened even more and gave the appearance of being a glutton for punishment, as did Aedd, as the volume of Dame Pimple had reached its zenith and Aedd was aware, as were probably half of the residents of Frisian Tun, since the bottom Georgian paned sash remained open, that, “Those darn groundsmen had messed up the pitch bookings and Mercy will not get sweaty and may not need a bath this evening”. This, to Aedd, seemed to be the very nub of Dame Pimple’s ire, so adequately and forthrightly thrust down the telephone and, ironically, out through Pimple’s very own Khyber Pass.

Khyber Pass – Arse, in cockney rhyming slang, bottom department if you are posh.

‘Mother, I am sure Mercy will want a bath this evening, unfortunately Uncle Wendy has asked me to do a story for the paper and I will be late home…’ Pimple instinctively halted mid sentence, also normal, and waited in dread. Aedd heard no response and even felt a degree of empathetic trepidation. ‘Mother, you’ve gone awfully quiet,’ but this was only a temporary state of affairs as Pimple and even Aedd knew to be a racing certainty; it was. The Dame issued forth in a baritone foghorn blast that Aedd thought resembled Lady thingy in the Oscar Wilde play, thingy, the one where she cries “A handbag!” Being a geography teacher and a man with a confused national identity, this consequently resulted in Aedd not having any particular interest in English Literature, other than he was aware Stratford upon Avon was a tad up and just to the right of Bristol, which was…

Lady Pimple detonated and Pimple held the phone at arm’s length, so as to protect his rather sensitive aural organs, all as we have previously mentioned are unusually wired to his similarly sensitive nether regions (not Holland, that would be Netherlands), from being assailed by a vocal barrage, potentially more damaging than a blow from any handbag or indeed microwaves from a mobile telephone.

‘Everard, I shall be speaking to your Uncle Wendy, he knows very well when your bedtime is and that Mercy visits for a bath on Wednesday evenings, following our hockey match. I will not tolerate my domestic arrangements being trifled with because of a damn newspaper article.’ She seemed to mellow, just a little, ‘You have lights on your bike I presume, your reflector bicycle clips and fluorescent yellow jacket?’

‘Yes, mother’

‘You have a vest on?’

‘Yes mother, although it is darn hot.’

‘Everard, do not swear at your mother. I laid that vest out for you this morning just so you would not get double pneumonia and this is the thanks I get?’ She mewed, fully mellowed in a sickly wretched way and Pimple figured this was an appropriate time to mention he will not be requiring dinner as he was due to have sausages and chips with a geography teacher.

‘Where are the sausages from?’ Dame Pimple immediately enquired.

Knowing his mother would require an informative answer and in a light bulb moment of divine inspiration, Pimple looked up to Aedd and gesturing with the phone, ‘My mother would like to know where the sausages are from? If you could tell her while I avail myself of your facilities, I would be most excessively obliged.’

You would have thought it was Christmas, as Aedd lunged and snatched the phone whilst directing Pimple to the bathroom, unconcerned, even in any geographical sense, if the directions had been conveyed correctly or indeed received and understood, as he lunged verbally to inform Lady Pimple of the source of said Hampshire free range bangers.

Feeling both relieved he no longer had to speak with Mummy and, excited at the prospect of an exploration adventure as he had not understood at all where he might ablute, Pimple left the living room on his quest to flush out some second flush Darjeeling.

He closed the living room door behind him and leaned back against it, taking pleasure in the relative peace of the hallway, recognising and savouring the familiar ebbing of tension he always felt whenever he completed, or dodged, a conversation with his mother. He decided, rather expansively for Pimple, another puff of air might be afforded as a reward, with the additional beneficial effect of cooling the back of his hand, which still nagged at the pain synapses of the limited Pimple brainbox, which for its limited size, was abnormally attuned to pain.

In the event, the bathroom was not particularly difficult to find and Pimple was successful on his third try. However, such is the way with a man’s urinary tract, if combined with a limited brain capacity, that once the mind is settled upon relieving the bladder, if it is indeed not physically relieved immediately, pronto-tonto, one could find oneself in dire trouble and in not inconsiderable discomfort, causing blindness and all forms of involuntary body contortions. Unfortunately, Pimple had allowed himself to ponder too long at the door where possessed of thoughts of a pleasurable wee, resulted in just such contortions, combined with blind panic.

Entering the bathroom in a speedy way and, in a temporarily blinded and contorted condition, the WC presented itself to Pimple, and Pimple immediately presented his modest equipment to the WC and released his first flush of second flush Darjeeling, appreciating coincidentally, the cooling breeze from the open sash window that drifted across his bits and pieces throughout the duration. A most pleasant experience, he remarked to himself. As his sensibilities slowly returned, Pimple considered the benefits of this window breeze in his control of those indefatigable thoughts of the Crumpet assets, this soothing zephyr having lost none of its meter, having to pass via trouser legs, however ably assisted with judicial flapping. Such was the sublime nature of the cooling effect from the window behind the lavatory that Pimple allowed himself to drift off into a transcendental sense of wellbeing and thus was completely knocked for six when his member was bonked, so to speak, with a lump of sideboard thrust through the open sash.

‘Take that, you f*****g loony.’

Shocked and in pain, in a very sensitive part of his anatomy, Pimple had to acknowledge the intended efficacious rubbing of his member, in order to offer a soothing respite to the sudden soreness, had the opposite effect he expected and produced the now familiar Crumpet virginal rising sap. This sap showed no sign of dissipation either as he was coincidentally presented with the face, then the shoulders and a goodly proportion of the upper lady bits, of Georgiana Lovebody, expertly easing herself, cat burglar like, through the window, so efficiently and speedily that she could not avoid what can only be described as an inadvertent kiss of Pimple’s principle part of his bits and pieces department. Pimple knew not what to do, but clearly all of such bodily functions do not necessarily require the conscious prompting of the brain, as Pimple’s virginal sap rose even further and the aristocratic i***t felt nailed to the spot, rigid, so to speak.

‘I think you may have a splinter in that.’ Ms Lovebody said, halfway through the window and simultaneously taking a hold of Pimple’s principle component part, ‘Yes, I can see it, hold still now, there’s a dear.’

Pimple had no life experience upon which to draw and so stood still as ordered, a little like his reaction to his mother’s assertions. Well, that was some sort of life experience he supposed. ‘Stubborn little bugger isn’t it, I may have to see if I can draw it out with my mouth. Now be a love and help me through the window, please.’

Pimple did, managing an accompanying ‘Er, er…’ several octaves above his normal speaking register, which naturally modulated closer to soprano than tenor anyway.

Ms Lovebody was through and she straightened her flimsy summer dress, lowered the toilet seat, flushed, at the same time admonishing Pimple with a look his mother would be proud of, enquiring if Pimple’s mother had not taught him to flush the toilet after him. She dropped to the seat and grabbing the principle member, she pulled that particular intimate part of Pimple to her face.

Pimple followed rapidly behind and felt like he was going to have an out of body experience, which was one way of putting he supposed, as Ms Lovebody expertly addressed the splinter with her mouth. Pimple could only moan and groan and eventually the inevitable happened, which to Pimple’s amazement and consternation, did not seem to surprise Georgiana Lovebody at all.

‘There now, that’s got it, do you feel better?’

Pimple did and he also remarked he was now also most ardently in love with her, asking if he might take up synchronised swimming at her earliest convenience.

‘Well, you seem to have the build, but I may have to give you personal lessons. How does that sound?’ She said licking her lips rather salaciously, though also in a practical manner.

Such is the multitasking way of women you see, and I would know, I am writing as a female pseudonym.

‘Oh dear, dear Georgiana, may I call you Georgiana? That sounds simply divine, when can I start?’ he replied breathily.

‘Call me Georgie and, yes, we can commence the basics shortly after I have kicked that Welsh, Irish tart up his Khyber Pass and told him what for. I see no reason why we cannot get you off with the starter course straight away,’ and she flicked her glorious and shimmering blond eyebrows, which had all kinds of effects on the Pimple brain and sensory organs that before he had only experienced when the blousy Ms Crumpet had alighted so recently on his orange box desk.

Nervously, Pimple immediately saw before him all of the drawbacks and instinctively felt it would be the correct and gentlemanly thing to do, to mention them. ‘But, I do not have a swimming costume with me?’ He ignored the rest, like, what would his mother say, as he had observed Ms Lovebody’s gaze was directed, again, to his bits and pieces; probably noticed another splinter he thought, only slightly worried medically. However, he was confident that dear, dear Georgiana knew what to do when confronted by a troublesome splinter and so he tried very hard to deport himself casually, as she spoke to him with overly animated lips and energised eyes (or so it appeared to Pimple).

‘Oh, I don’t think trunks will be necessary, do you?’ She stated, now enthusiastically fondling his bits and pieces that had begun to respond and in a not particularly gentlemanly or courteous way, although if she were to leave the room at any time in the near future, he was already standing up. Georgie correspondingly stood and tippy toed, as Pimple was a six foot four inch beanpole and although he was still curved in latent ecstasy, Georgiana was petit by comparison.

Pimple and Georgie stayed looking at each other for a little time, as lovers do he imagined, having had no personal experience other than the stories in his magazines. Pimple certainly appreciated the massaging of his splintered member and he could not disguise his disappointment when Georgie began to fold things away and raised his zipper, saying, ‘Okay, let’s put this away for the time being shall we. Follow me, I think I shall call you Everhard.’ And, stepping over a mountain of clumsily distributed lumps of sideboard that Pimple, in his blind urinary passion, had not noticed, very much as he had missed she knew his name, Georgie daintily trod her way to the door, looking back to Pimple as she disengaged the lock, and flicked her eyebrows for him to follow. This very act of feminine wile and direction, resulted in major ructions in the Pimple trouser department, at the same time causing him to fold his body, not unlike he had recently done in response to a build-up of Darjeeling in his urinary tract, only more pleasurable he reflected, trying to get rid of the grin he had plastered all over his face, evident he noticed, looking in the mirror as he passed gingerly by.

Pimple followed the delectable Georgie through the hallway toward the living room, fixated on her hindmost regions, which he noticed gyrated and in such a way he understood exactly what Aedd meant when he referred to the conducting Ms Bea Flat’s, tectonic plates. At the living room door Georgie turned back to Pimple, presumably to be sure he had followed dutifully and she acknowledged he had whilst making an inordinate fuss of fondling the orb-like door knob. Combined with the previously established success of the flicked eyebrows, Georgie encouraged Pimple, the now hunchback of Southsea, to follow. He did, completely trapped in this woman’s tractor beam.

In the living room, that Pimple was now want to call the map room, Aedd was still on the phone describing the various benefits of a variety of grazing options on a northern slope, compared with a south facing incline, whether this be pig, for pork sausages, or whether your bent be for the formidable British beef banger. Georgie went up to Aedd and took the phone from him and passed it to Pimple who noticed immediately, as his senses were heightened, that Aedd had been talking to the dialling tone. This meant either, Lady Pimple had gotten fed up with the origin of said sausages or, Mercy had arrived expressing a desire to bathe. Either way, Pimple was relieved not to have to explain to his mother he had had a portion of sideboard in the principle member of his bits and pieces and she was not to worry, as Georgie had said she could sort this and kiss it better. He assumed dear Georgiana had Marigolds; a boy can only hope.

Pimple replaced the telephone into its cradle, looked, and he had not been mistaken, there was a Dynotape sign that said, “This telephone is an authentic replication of the Khyber Pass” and was dated 1938. He could see it now as he remembered the geographical features distinctly from the Carry-On up the Khyber film mother had banned him from watching as it had rude references and double entendres.

It was quiet he noticed, as previously mentioned, Pimple’s senses were on red alert. He saw that he was being observed questionably by Aedd and lovingly by his adorable and outstandingly voluptuous, though as also as previously mentioned, petite, Georgie, who was positively miniscule beside the overly elongated Irish Welsh t**t, who also seemed unaware he was about to get “what for”.

Satisfied the phone was up the Khyber, so to speak, Georgie directed Pimple to stand beside the Horn of Africa, out of the way, while she dealt with the errant geography teacher. Pimple did as instructed and couldn’t help noticing that as he took his ease against the wall, his bum settling upon Table Top Mountain, the view from the front Georgie would likely observe, was anything but a flat mountain top. She smiled and the African topography changed yet again, all missed by Aedd of course, who was summoning up the courage of his Irish warring ancestors, his very long line of Welsh Swansea Jones’s and Grufydd ap Llewelyn, Pimple presumed, in order to face down the patent ire of a synchronised swimming instructor, who bore an uncanny resemblance to the young Hollywood starlet, Shirley Temple.

Aedd was therefore somewhat disconcerted, having focused his mind on controlling his watery bowels, when Georgie playfully slapped him on his face and said, ‘Next time you decide to drop a sideboard, in part or whole on my head, rest assured you Welsh Irish dinlo, I will ram it up your arse, in whole or in part, so far they will have to pick the splinters out through your mouth. Do I make myself clear, Aedd?’ Aedd nodded. ‘Now, I am taking my Pimple downstairs for a jolly good seeing to and I will present him to you tomorrow morning, duly scrubbed and ready to interview you for whatever cockamamie story he needs and, you will oblige. Is that clear?’

Aedd nodded again.

She seemed satisfied with that and swung her gaze to the Horn of Africa, said nothing, she did everything with her eyes and eyebrows, which as previously mentioned, could elicit the most sensual responses from the Pimple body, which was further geographically announced by his trousers. She offered up a sideways glance, a slightly elevated right eye that could have been a wink or may have been a quick glance to British Columbia? Pimple guessed it likely was a wink and allowed his jaw to drop, which permitted, uncontrolled as his nervous system now was, his tongue to loll and slobber onto his chin – she smiled. It must be attractive Pimple thought and stored that up for the next time he wanted to appear attractive to a woman. He still had not put together any reasoning as to how this woman knew his name, knew also he was a journalist and, was here in Frisian Tun to get a story from an Irish Welsh dinlo.

Georgie gestured again with her eyebrows, which Pimple interpreted as a questioning look, saying possibly and rather hopefully, do you want a seeing to? He presumed so, and controlling his gag reflex, he managed a stuttering “Mm mmmm”, followed shortly after with “rather, yes please”, as he had been brought up properly and ordinarily he would flush the toilet, but thought he could mention that another time, maybe when they got downstairs, if he needed to break the ice.

Pimple was beginning to note a little frustration creeping onto the beautiful Georgie visage with the subsequent two looks, which were soon accompanied by a crooked finger, which either meant she suffered from arthritis or that Pimple should leave Africa to follow this Goddess across the globe to the map room exit and, thence to submit himself to her will. Yes, that would be it, and Georgie at last seemed to convey satisfaction he had understandingly, if not yet so enthusiastically, done as she expected. He set off feeling a lot like a crooked David Attenborough about to nestle with a female gorilla, not in a hairy sense you understand, but in a predatory sense, though he had noticed in passing, a blurring under his dearest love’s armpits.

‘Everhard, please do not talk to yourself. Are you mincing?’

Unsure of himself and speaking certainly with more confidence than he felt, Pimple responded to Georgie, ‘Er, I suppose I am…’ and he instinctively lolled his tongue onto his chin with a hint of slobbering, to compensate for likely appearing stupid in front of the woman he loved with a passion. He explained, ‘When I am nervous it seems to go to my legs, which ordinarily behave gingerly, though today have assumed an additional picking disposition, but now I am unsure and definitely unable to control my mode of perambulation, which has been added to by an action that is certainly mincing in manner.’ Pimple was mildly encouraged by Georgie’s sensitive kitten viewing face, so he added further, some additional facts by way of amelioration. ‘The picking seems to have cleared up, so that's good isn’t it, Georgie, my voluptuous and wondrous Goddess?’

She looked back to him and extended a gentle smile. For him? He was unsure as it may have been because she was fondling the door knob, this time from inside the living room; an activity not missed by Pimple and clearly conveyed to Georgie by unsubtle movement within his trousers, in particular the Table Top Mountain department. ‘Come along Pimple, and try not to mince, please, it is not particularly stimulating for a woman.’ Pimple put his tongue on his chin on impulse again, instinctively knowing he needed to compensate for the mincing.

Aedd watched Pimple mince out, following Ms Lovebody, and resolved to give Bea Flat a call and invite her over to see Birmingham and, as he approached the Kaiber Pass, he heard Pimple and Georgie leave through the front door.

‘Please, don’t mince, there’s a love.’

‘I’m sorry gorgeous, but my brain is saying do not mince Pimple, but the Pimple legs are not responding.’

‘Well, I will just have to attend to that as well won’t I? I think you will find the brain is connected to more than just your legs, Everhard.’

‘It is?’

‘Yes, my love, it is.’

Everard was grateful Georgiana was so knowledgeable about the human anatomy and resolved that he would allow her to lead on that one, knowing he could, by way of informative balance, put her in the picture regarding embroidery if the occasion should arise.