Ada Mingewhistle’s Mum and Dad, met in the most strangest of circumstances. Circumstances that when she was told, late one Sunday morning, just after the cat’s boils had been coated with lard in the front drawing room. It shook her to her very inside’s. Made her quiver and made her feel so cold, both inside and out that if she had put an icy-pole just under her merkin, ice-cubes between every one of her toes (cute, though they were, although her big toes were slightly man hairy), a Sara Lea Chocolate coated frozen pound cake, lodged in her underarms and a quarter gallon of Farmer Jones 100% Full Cream Vanilla Ice Cream in the shape of the Washington Crossing the Delaware ,in her bicycle parker. None of the above would have melted, she was and felt that cold.
Roscoe (The Scrot Shaver) Mingewhistle , a lad when he left his village of Upperandcomebacktome, in the early hours of the morning. Roscoe, who had found that sleeping and living, eating and having futile conversations with his siblings and his parents, all in one room, was not fulfilling his natural bent for pleasant or erudite conversation. Roscoe was educated, was poised, was ready to go to University on a Scholarship, from three, slightly strange men, with real tight trousers and opened neck shirts, from Turkey, that happened to be passing the village and they spied Roscoe, shovelling shit in the meadow.
Roscoe had to make a decision, would he go to the city and just be one of the churned out, university masses, that still could not get proper employment, or should he strike out and to become a man, a man of a sorta, some distinction and remembered in his old age.
Roscoe used his usual method of deciding. He tossed off (in private of course). If it went to the left, he would stay. If it went to the right, he would go with the three strange men from Turkey. If it went over his head (which it sometimes did, but that was only when his eyes were really closed tight and he was thinking of Plumb Betty, the girl who worked in the Bakery and had the biggest knockers in three counties).
Decision made. He would go his own way. out into the world.
So, Roscoe, packed his school backpack, still with a half eaten jam and rocket sandwich, and something that resembled a banana or could have been a cucumber, it was hard to tell, being as it had been in his backpack for the last two years. He waved bye to his parents, who at the time, were asleep in bed as it was 4am and he knew that if he had told them of his plans, his dad would have smacked him upside the head until the magistrate came around in June and had him committed and his mum would not have stopped crying, well, cried until her soaps started at 11am.
Roscoe walked and was ready to face the world in all its glitz and glammer and as he walked with a springy step and crossed his ankles and hummed as he had just seen Singing in the Rain, the evening before and he felt all Gene Kellyish and kinda wished he had an umbrella and it was raining, cause he had pretty well memorised the whole score of Singing In The Rain.
His mum had always said that Gene Kelly could put his boots under her bed anytime and his dad said Gene Kelly was a shirt-lifter. Roscoe’s mum would not talk to his dad after he had made certain comments bout Gene Kelly, well, at least until after her soaps had finished and she got up to rub goose grease in the dog’s mange and prepare dinner.
So out into the world, at a very cold and early morning, with no rain to speak of, Roscoe travelled, humming and criss crossing the laneway that lead out of the village.Revitalised Pooh@2011