The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg

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The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg Empty The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg

Post by The Archet Bugle Wed Feb 19, 2014 7:00 pm

The Archet Bugle is proud to announce we have obtained the Rights to publish (with some minor editing) Mrs Julia Figg's exciting series of tales about Agent Nora. We have taken up the opportunity as Mrs Figg appears to have gone off on a wild crazy adventure and presumably fallen into a river or pond and sadly drownded. We at The Bugle, however, will not allow her to be forgotten. Her contribution to the joy-making (and vulgarization) of Forumshire has been great --- and she's sadly missed.

So sit back --- enjoy...  Very Happy 
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The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg Empty Re: The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg

Post by The Archet Bugle Wed Feb 19, 2014 7:02 pm

Agent Nora and the Mysterious Herring Murders

by Mrs Figg - (begun on Mon Feb 06, 2012 5:14 pm)

Agent Nora yawned and flipped over the pages of Police Procedure weekly, it was expected of newbies to look busy at all times, otherwise the Super would invent something pleasant to fill the time, something like going down to the Svalfart Docks to scrape drunken sailors off the pavement.

Agent Nora was in his bad books, she could see it in his bloodshot eyes that he had not forgiven her for THE INCIDENT, of six months ago, and THE GIGGLING INCIDENT of three months ago.

The Super was a big bear of a man, almost as tall as he was wide, and he had a wife who was as wide as she was tall. Gerty was fond of wearing big mink coats. One day Gerty had come to the Station to see her spouse and had gone to the kitchen to make him a tasty treat. It wasn’t Agent Nora’s fault that on entering the kitchen she saw what looked like a huge furry grizzly bear bent over, snuffling round the fridge. Protocol said on meeting wild bears you either ran or made a loud noise, so Nora being resourceful had smashed two pans together and shouted at the top of her voice,  "Aaaarrrrgh! Big fat bear! Back to the forest with you!"

The Super was not impressed.

Three months later, Gerty had come back to drop some sandwiches off to the Super, and Agent Nora had happened to be on duty in the Reception. It all started with a twitch of the lips, and a rising hysterical laugh deep inside that could not, would not be crushed; a low snicker was quickly followed by a rising howl of laughter that echoed round the station like some demented drunken reverberation. Gerty stood there as tears of laughter, and hysterical sobbing giggles slowly subsided into real crying as Nora gathered her senses and realized the shit had really hit the fan.

Nora stood up and yawned and looked out of the window. It was snowing again, but Agent Nora had been brought up in the mountains of Vikingsillyblad, so all things snowy were interesting. They even had 500 words for variations of falling over on your ass on the ice. Her erstwhile partner, Biffo, stuck his round head around the corner and grunted "You go, ded fisk, now.” Although technically her partner, Nora was a maverick and always dodged Biffo when she could, plus the man grunted and smelt of prawns.

Arriving at the Docks she saw the pathologist Orwellian Shrimplegs. She got on well with him although some of his jokes were of a dark and cynical nature, probably the job she mused.

"Wot we got Orwells?" she said, noting three well dead figures lined up in a sitting position, with what looked suspiciously like herrings poking out of their mouths.

"I cod not say", laughed Orwell (he liked his little fish related jokes).

"Haddock you looked at them yet?" she replied - it was always better to go along with it as pathologists were notoriously mardy.

"Well It looks sealy like murder,” he said. "But until I have done the report I cant say."

Well it did look odd, even by Svalfart standards of oddness.

Svalfart Station was there principally to patrol and investigate the fish docks and the shipping that was the only industry for 2000 miles in any direction. Agent Nora dreamed of promotion to one of the stations in the nearest big city, Kipperstinkstan-on-sea. So any unusual or difficult cases were jumped on by Agent Nora; she longed for her own patrol car and handcuffs. This new case of the three murders was right up her alley.

Biffo wandered in and stood by her desk looking more like Pete Marsh the Bog Body than usual. He looked shifty and yet embarrassed at the same time.

"Fisk gobs me too?" he mumbled.

Nora realized with irritation that that meant he wanted to help her with the investigations.

"Oh alright then", she said sniffily, but don’t you dare eat prawns in the squad car, it makes me heave".

Biffo grinned and got his coat.  

Later that day in the canteen, Nora mused sourly that being a maverick was sometimes not all it was cracked up to be. She wasn’t popular with the other female officers, WPC Tin, and WPC Kafria; they tended to avoid her and were often found laughing and giggling together talking about the handsome and marriage-shy DI Eldo, and Chief Inspector Petty the dark and brooding officer who scared the bejaisus out of all newbies with his tales of doom: ‘Weeer all doooomed!’

Nora’s investigations had concluded badly, the sailors being generally a suspicious and foul smelling bunch; down wind was particularly unpleasant, so she sent Biffo in as wing man as he could have stunned an elephant seal with the pong coming from his trousers.

Nobody knew anything, or wasn’t prepared to say anything about the weird deaths, so Nora decided another train of enquiry would be in order, she would go to Mrs Figgs Emporium that night; if anyone knew any unsavory information, it would have filtered down to that den of iniquity before long.

The lights of Mrs Figgs Emporium glowed red on the snow outside, and strange noises and whoops could be heard as Nora quietly opened the door. The spectacle that met her eyes set her reeling back on her heels, and not knowing whether to laugh or scream, Nora sat down with a thump at the nearest table.

It was a good job she had gone in disguise as the repercussions of what she was witnessing were grave indeed if discovered.

Before her stunned gaze were DI Petty and Eldo, dressed as Penguins, chasing each other and giggling like little girlies, gone was the normally taciturn and stern DI Petty, and a lighter hearted and frankly silly penguin had taken his place. The Bartend, Chris, leant on the bar and surveyed the scene with a comfortable smile of acceptance on his cherubic face. Other patrons Nora could make out in the smoky gloom:  yes there was the Super dressed like a frog, and Oh Horrors Orwellian dressed as a kangaroo; there was WPC Amarie dressed as a Valkyrie with a big horned helmet, and WPC LeeLee dressed like Galadriel, and WPC Ally, the Welsh lass was dressed like a Red Dragon.

‘Wowzer!’ thought Nora, ‘this is serious shit.’

Nora braced herself and went to the bar to order a drink. Mrs Figg sat there doing the books, her Strawberry blonde hair glinting in the light (unkind people say its ginger, but everyone knows neon light is a bitch).

Anyway, Nora wanted to ask her about the murders, but didn’t want to get Mrs Figg’s back up, as she was notoriously huffy, and somewhat crabby with customers, but that might have been due to the back problems she was plagued with. Mrs Figg knew everyone and everything that happened in Svalfart.

Mrs Figg however suggested that Nora try the local Lore Master of the town, a certain Elthir, who was a mysterious and shadowy figure, his cottage was on the windy outskirts of the town, down a shady damp pine tree lined track. The Sea roared in Nora’s ears and seagulls cried overhead, sometimes dropping little presents on the back of her regulation jacket.

Elthir opened the door an inch or two, suspicious but wise eyes peered at her.

"Are you the Lore Master?" quavered Nora.

"Yeeeeeessss", said Elthir, "Come in its bloody knuckle freezin".

Once inside Nora noticed that the cottage was full of books, and when I say full I mean up to the gusset full. They were overflowing and stacked in every corner. Table, chairs, some were perched on top of a sleeping Spaniel in front of the seaweed fire.

"Erm it’s about these murders, I was wondering if you had heard anything, any clue to what could have happened?" said Nora nervously. All she got as a reply was a Mona Lisa smile (even though Elthir was probably a bloke), and the cryptic words. "Look to the frost".

Nora thanked Elthir and made a hasty retreat to the Station.

"Look to the Frost." What the blinkin heck was that all about, thought Nora mulishly, scraping seagull poop off her hat.

Biffo had just rolled his eyes and chewed a shrimp.

"Well you are neither use nor ornament are you", said Nora, "But I am going to solve these murders, oh yes I am, just see if I dont".

The next day Nora went to see the pathologist in the hopes of getting a break, or at least some fish related humour.

Orwellian plopped the eyeballs down on the steel counter and said, deadpan, "Nice to see you, to see you nice", he really did have a finely tuned sense of the macabre. "Well young Nora, what can I do you for today?” he said, in a fatherly but sometimes 1950s sitcom Head of the Household way.

"I was wondering what gives with the stiffs?" She watched far too much C.S.I Miami, but this lot would never know the difference she thought.

"Well the stiffs are getting stiffer by the minute, indeed they could win the stiffest stiff competition" chortled Orwellian. (I told you his humour was dodgy).

Nora sighed, "But how did they get stiff? Did they have the herring related mis en scene, before or after being deaded?”

"I would say after, but that would be weird", he said helpfully.

"Weird indeed, weird, weirder, weirdest" mumbled Nora.

After a week of fruitless and frustrating investigation, Nora had decided to think outside the box, and attack the silence and Oscar winning character actor shakes of the head with sneakiness. She had seen Farmer David one day at the weekly eel market and decided to ask him a few pointed questions in the hopes of rooting out something tasty. In Farmer David’s case this was normally mostly under his fingernails, as he found cleanliness an alien and abstract concept, only applicable to brain surgeons and tarts (Jam). Farmer David was a local character, no nonsense, and blunt, but gentle with baby animals and kittens, until he got hungry.

Farmer David told Nora that the "Look to the frost", clue was probably a Red Herring, as it had been Blue Herrings that had been stuffed into the mouths of the unfortunate deaded. He invited Nora to his farm for some hot pies and buns, but Nora declined, as he was famous for his Crow Omelettes and chicken foot soup. You never knew what you would get in a mouthful.

Walking home after the market Nora noticed Mr Halfwise staggering up the road, being ever the helpful plod Nora asked what was up. A veritable steam of coffee fumes assaulted her nostril hairs as she stood next to him, and a lopsided smile told her that "someone" had overdone it at Starbucks again.

Well I am not going to get any sense out of him for a while she thought, so left him muttering about kittenzzz, and tittering to himself.

Nora wandered about the fish smelling town looking for comfort and someone to share her worries. She passed by Amarie and LeeLees Crystal and Organic Suppository Shoppe. The two ladies were part time WPCs and part time sellers of jools and stuff. They were two long curly haired ladies with flowing flowery dresses and bare feet with rings on their toes that tinkled like fairy bells. People thought they were hippies, but they hid a rapier like wit and earthly knowledge far beyond their tender years. The ladies were wise and they were silly, they were merry and they were serious, a bit like Elves from Lothlorien. Nora thought they were probably her only female friends in the town, the ladies were making seed cake and were busy so Nora decided to come back later in the day.

On her way out she crashed into DI Petty on the way in. He looked down on her, a lock of his scarlet tresses flopping down over his eye. She had heard tales of Petty and a mysterious bunker he kept in his garage, where strange cries and shrieks could sometimes wake the locals from their sleep. It was said he made "videos", but no one had the courage to pry further, in case of rude rebuttal or tweeking. But Nora was beyond all restraint, she needed help, and DI Petty was known to have a 100% conviction rate.

This was her kind of guy.

"Well?" said DI Petty, "What is it? I am meeting DI Eldo for a secret briefing."

Nora had a memory flash of a very tall and irate Penguin standing over her that was gone in an instant, leaving her with a very tall and irate DI, and Scottish to boot, which is Quite Irate I can tell you.

"Erm DI Petty... I was wondering if you being an ace detective an all you could see your way to helping a rookie in a bit of a pickle," she breathed, hopefully in a winsome and winning manner.

"You got a cold or something? You are a bit hoarse." (Another image of Captain Ringo dressed as a piebald stallion flashed unwelcome into her brain). "Meet us at the Docks tonight and we may have some answers for you girrrlie," he said and stalked off swishing his Burberry Macintosh in a very manly way.

‘Phew!’ thought Nora, ‘Maybe the Dream Team will give me some answers to this fishy f***fest.’

Agent Nora parked the squad car and walked to the Harbour, it was midnight, and only the sound of vomit hitting the ground and splashing up onto shoes and sometimes high heeled court shoes could be heard. It was a rough area. It was the kind of area your mother warned you about, or at least slightly concerned aunties. It was a place where sailors and dock workers came to let their hair down, and get back sack and crack waxes.

Nora heard a “Pssst!” from her left, and Mrs Figg stepped out of a shadow. Rather oddly Mrs Figg was wearing an eighteenth century highwayman’s outfit.

"I came to warn you, Agent Nora." She whispered, "You are getting up to your pretty neck in deep doodoo. Stay away from those two DIs, they are not what they seem".

Before Nora could utter a word, Mrs Figg swirled her cape in a rather over-theatrical manner and left stage right.

‘Flipping heck,’ thought Nora. ‘What the deuce is afoot?’

She noticed some of Mrs Figgs 18th century nonsense had rubbed off on her, and giving herself a mental shake, she walked over to the waiting DIs.

Nora tippy toed (and I mean tippy toed like a hobbit, which meant nearly silently apart from after pub closing) up to the looming hunched figures of the Dis. Something was wrong with the way they were rolling from side to side, flapping their arms like - HUH! PENGUINS! Wtf!

Nora slunk into a convenient shadow and watched horrified as squarking squeeking sounds emerged from their... BEAKS!!!!!!!!????????

Nothing in ‘Police Procedure Weekly’ had prepared her for six foot Penguins. Nora had seen enough, legged it.

Later Nora was dozing after a nourishing repast of beans on toast, (that would teach that shrimp guzzler Biffo she thought, the squad car tomorrow is going to be a war of attrition), she realized with a jolt that the only person in Svalfart that knew Anything was Mrs Figg (figures). The next day she rode over to Mrs Figgs (windows down) and knocked on the eel-shaped bell pull (giving an oddly strange thrill, but enough of that).

The barkeep Chris opened the door, and asked her if she wanted a lemonade or orange squash, as he wasn’t convinced she was allowed alcohol. Nora looked at Chris's friendly face and wondered - not for the last time - what was going on under that jolly and easy going exterior.

Nora decided to tackle things head on, as subtlety didn’t seem to work in Svalfart.

"Chris" she said. “Does everyone in Svalfart have part time jobs?",

"Yes" said Chris, squishing a Black Cheesy feet fly twixt finger and thumb. "I have a job in the local paper as ace reporter, I have even won awards for ace reporting.” He cocked a thumb at the shining Mithril Cup on the bar.

Nora remembered with a pang of jealousy the Awards, and the fact she hadn’t got one. It still stung, and she felt somehow like a kid pressing its snotty nose against a window, looking forever at a cozy club that she would never belong to or be accepted by. Phew! that was a long one.
She realized that Mrs Figg hadn’t got one either, not even a little one for most Dust Free Den of Iniquity. But then life was hard in Svalfart.

"Wow" said Nora begrudgingly, "So what does Farmer Dave do, when he is not crop rotating?"
"Well, said Chris, "He is the author of some pretty famous fantasy books for kids involving small talking furry animals." And Orwellian is a Troubadour at the King of Wedgiethalian court. DI Eldo runs a University course on being a Scarily Mature Teenager, and DI Petty edits films for Bollywood. WPC Ally hunts Dragons and gives them fire proof mittens for winter."
“That’s amazing" said Nora - and what does Mrs Figg do?"
"Oh she runs a clandestine sport out-fitters exporting canoes and paddles to middle class kids in Cheshire."

Mrs Figgs is where people come to express themselves artistically and creatively without the poking finger of ridicule.
"Wow" is all Nora could say.

"But what about the circus costumes, and dressing up?" she said, a slowly creeping realization dawning.
"Well," said Chris, "People come here to be free of all conventional restraint, and they express their inner longings with raiding the dress up box, and getting their groove on."

Nora had a lot to think about, but what the deuce was all this to do with the herring murders?

She decided to go to the horse’s mouth and ask.

Dobbin was largely silent, apart from steady chewing.

Mrs Figg sat in the bar wrapped in a turban, a box of Loreals Strawberry blonde hair dye was on the counter, which she hastily hid from sight as Nora walked up to her.

"It’s about last night" said Nora, "I don’t understand the connection between the penguins and the mysterious herring deaded."

Mrs Figg sighed and shifted in her seat, "It’s no mystery, Nora!" she said, “It’s all connected. The thing is that when DI Petty and DI Eldo are Penguins they really commit to the role, and they happened to see some drunken sailors sitting on the dockside in a slumber. Being penguins they didn’t understand the sailors were not their chicks, so being good parents they tried to feed them herring, the night was freezing and the herrings froze solid in their mouths, they were found like that the next morning".

Lights of dawning revelation shot through Nora's bemused head, and she giggled for the first time in three months, "So that’s what, 'Look to the Frost' meant!" he he he!

The End
The Archet Bugle
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The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg Empty Re: The Agent Nora Chronicles by Mrs Julia Figg

Post by The Archet Bugle Thu Feb 20, 2014 9:19 pm

Agent Nora and The Almighty Stink

by Mrs Figg begun on Wed Feb 08, 2012 2:40 pm

Agent Nora luxuriated in her new office. The Super had decided it was better to keep her sweet after the Penguin Incident. After all if it ever got out to HQ that he liked to hop about a bar cribbeting and snacking on bluebottles, he probably wouldn’t be getting a golden watch for his retirement present. Plus Nora’s report had mysteriously gone missing. The Office Christmas Party photos of Orwellian and the Barad-Durian cleaner Pedro, and photocopies of Biffo’s Privates had also disappeared, so there was an understanding that it was better all hush hush and nudge nudge.

The atmosphere had changed in the Station since the incident, DI Petty no longer talked to her, and this irked her no end, as she had always looked up to him, and thought he was a bit Byronic, or was that Moronic?

On the other hand WPC Tin had become a friend after confiding one day in the canteen that she had had a crush on Petty for years and was a deadly rival for his affections with WPC Kafria. Tin had also confided that she was in reality Royalty, the Princess Timoteii, of the magic hair and acrylic hair extensions.

One day whilst Nora was on duty in reception a hooded figure lurched in and, gliding up to the hatch, deposited a package on the desk. He, She or It then whipped out a form to fill in and Nora signed it, noting the immense pong of Cheesy Feet coming from aforementioned hooded figure.

As WPC Kafria and her beautiful and techno savvy daughter Sasquatch, had gone on holiday to Guidolandia to see the Leaning Tower of Pizza and the Concrete Boot Museum, Nora had to cover all her outstanding cases, and she was not happy. Orwellian the Pathologist and part time skirt chaser, strode into the office with the offending package, it was dripping goo not unlike the green slime in the Ghostbuster films.

"I think it’s something dead inside this package", he said. "Reminds me of the time I went Walkabout in the Oz Outback, and didn’t change my undies for a week".

The mental image this conjured up was quite alarming, and Nora was slightly sick in her mouth. Delicately dabbing a tissue to her mouth, she asked him to make a full report on the contents of the package ASAP.

Nora was tired after a day of trying to manhandle Mr Halfwise feet first from Starbucks: he had gripped the edge of the door and was hanging on horizontally like a man hand-gliding. He had a bit of a coffee habit and closing time at Starbucks was always fraught with danger. He had tried offering Nora fluffy kittens to let him remain another half hour, but the Manager had put his foot down and had spread butter on Halfwise’s vice like grip on the door, resulting in a strange wail of defeat from the poor fellow as his grip slackened and Nora pulled him away.

She trudged back to her wooden house on a hill overlooking Svalfart. It was Summer now, but Svalfart Summers were punctuated with unexpected storms coming from the Sea of Catflap. Nora lived alone, but one day she wanted to marry and had had flirted with various male officers at the station with the hopes of hooking one. DI Eldo had taken her out on a date once but it had been an unmitigated disaster after a Mexican restaurant meal. Eldo still lived at home with his Aunt Flossy, a fussy and pernickety old lady, and he had invited her in for a "coffee" after the dinner. Now Mexican food is quite hot and spicy, and Nora felt the first rumblings of her Irritable Bowell Syndrome. Eldo’s Aunty was really posh and had doilies everywhere covering  little statues of fairies and female warrior elves with muscular thighs. The house was huge and rambling and once had been a monastery for repentant Eel Wranglers. Nora’s bowels started gaseous exchanges and hiccups; she needed the little girls room Pronto!

The explanations to the whereabouts to the loo had been detailed but Nora was beyond the point of no return, she dashed into the nearest little room, and to her horror found a washroom with a little sink, and nothing else remotely like to a toilet. With a primeval cry of woe, Nora hoisted herself over the sink and let gravity take over.

After about an hour Eldo was getting worried, and set off with his Auntie Flossy to find her, they opened the door to find Nora unconscious with her knickers round her ankles in a chilli smelling oozing pool of poo.
He never asked her out again.

Nora walked into the Pathologist Office and waited for Orwellian to stop poking the severed members of what looked like a small pony, splayed on a steel tray before him. He looked like he was going to ask a pointed question, thought better of it, and put the tray back in the fridge with a sigh.

"Have you examined the package yet?" she said, slightly worried. "We think it’s some kind of chemical weapon, so it’s gone to MacDonald’s secret lab, as they specialize in toxic greasy substances and potato fries," he said.
"Do you fancy a drink after work at Mrs Figgs?” He said sheepishly and suddenly. "I promise to scrub under my fingernails".

"Oh, Ok," she said nervously. “It was always best to maintain good working relationship with fellow officers, no matter how much they smelt of pony.

Mrs Figgs was always busy on Fridays as it was pub quiz nite and upstairs they held the weekly Scottish ‘Independence from Imperial Oppression Club’, with sticky buns and tea to follow.

"This is nice and cosy, let’s sit by the pool table, and I’ll tell you all about my interesting toe fungus," he said.

Nora gulped her pint of Butterbeer and wished she could sit with DI Petty and Eldo who were sitting chatting happily with a couple of laydeez with Adams Apples.

She noticed WPC Tin hunched in a corner, staring fixedly at Petty, her eyes drinking in the manly form and noble profile, not to mention the lemon yellow cashmere jumper tied Mediterranean style round his shoulders. Cor! Eldo was wearing a golfing jumper and Harry Potter scarf, and didn’t seem to notice that one of the laydeez had disappeared in the gents toilets to powder her stubble. Orwellian was regaling Nora with tales from the Dark Side or, in other words, his battles with only the diamond hard shards of Canesten the Fungus Slayer by his side.

Nora felt dizzy and fuggy and excused herself to get some fresh air and clear her head. Outside she noticed furtive movements by the window, and in the shadow of the window she saw the mysterious hooded figure that had dropped off the package. Now Nora was used to package delivery boys, having several of them popping in the station to deliver stuff every day, and as she sat at the reception desk she knew they had a familiar smell of bike oil and sweaty knees; from her sitting position she had been daily presented with the vision of sweaty lunch boxes, so knew instinctively that this was no delivery biker, but something altogether more exotic.
Nora sidled up to the hooded figure and noticed a strange perfume emanating from it. It smelt like Flowers by Kenzo, or maybe Eau de Armpit Dew by Georgio Armani. Anyway it was feminine and flowery with a tang of Badger. The figure was swaying and softly moaning to itself, oblivious to Nora sneaking up behind it. Nora grabbed at some of the hood, and the creature let out a low growl and ran off into the night. Shaken, Nora went back to the window to see if she could work out what the thing had been staring at, and all she could see was the lemon-yellow back of DI Petty.

The next day in the canteen she watched as DI Petty and WPC Tin sat together eating, she overheard Petty saying that he was lactose intolerant and could not eat milk based products, and then Biffo came over to her table, sat down with his plate and started eating, spraying shrimp heads left, right and centre.

Later in the town, while Nora was on duty, she bumped into Amarie the lady from the ‘Jool and Coffee Shoppe’, and told her all about the latest mystery, the package and the hooded figure; she asked Amarie if she had seen anyone suspicious roaming about. But Amarie had been very busy with preparations for the Summer Festival: there were Morris Men, Maypole Dancers, Cream Teas and Scare-A-Policeman-with-Tales-of-Oldieworldy-But-Oddly-Trendy-Wicker-Man-Ceremonies to organize - so Amarie hadn’t had time to notice much.

Nora thanked her and gloomily walked about racking her brain for clues.

Maybe a trip over to the Lore Master might be in order, she thought, as last time during the Penguin Incident, Elthir the Wise person (not sure if it’s a he or she) had let off one almighty clue which had come true. The cottage looked as shrouded in mystery as always, and a burnt-out Ford Capri was parked in the drive way.

That’s strange thought Nora. Looks an odd juxtaposition of urban Chav Culture amongst this Cotswold country shabby chic surroundings. I am sure the Lore Master reads the Sunday Times Colour supplements and eats macrobiotic Marks and Spencers Tuscan olive and Parma Ham Pannini. Very strange.

She knocked on the door and a volley of Spaniel barking issued from the area approximating the letter box. She heard Elthir stomping to the door; obviously Nora had disturbed his/her daily Yoga sessions.

"Before you say anything Agent Nora", said Elthir. "Here’s the clue: ‘Look to the Whey.’"

‘What the swinging monkey’s nuts does That mean?’ thought Nora scratching her head. Here we go again!

"Well?" said Nora, as the rakishly handsome and strangely attractive Orwellian walked into the office the next day.

"What’s up with the smelly stuff? What the deuce is it?"

"The chemists have never seen anything like it on earth," he said ruefully. "But it was addressed to DI Petty, so we think it was some kind of coded warning."

"Well it’s all very vexing and combustulating and I don’t know where to turn for help," she said.

Orwellian went a funny colour and said nervously, "You could try Mrs Figg again, as last time she seemed to know what the crack was, but she wouldn’t tell me anything as she has a mad crush on me, and got huffy when I told her I was married to my job," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He really was the biggest flirt there ever was in the town’s long history, and that included Glenn the Magnificent, a famous Centurion from oldie Roman days before Pompeii got nixed.

"Alright I’ll go", said Nora, but she seriously doubted if Mrs Figg knew anything useful.

DI Petty was emanating hauteur and other such withering vibes in the station.

‘I think I have done something to seriously piss him off,’ Nora thought sadly.

Only DI Eldo bothered to chew the fat these days, and he was preoccupied by being constantly called out to sort out an argument that had erupted between a farmer and the Lore Master about how far an Ent could stride: they had resorted to public brawling and hair pulling in the street; even marching up and down the High Street dressed as Beach and Oak trees, each determined to out stride the other.

‘This town is seriously bizarre,’ thought Nora, not for the last time.

Mrs Figg was sitting by the bar clipping her long cat like toe nails. They were so hard and springy they zipped around the room like miniature missiles, or stinging insects. She looked up when Nora walked in and gave her an enigmatic smile.

"So you have come ask about the package?" she said.

Nora gulped. Somehow Mrs Figg seemed to know what she was thinking. "Er yes, I need to know what, why, who, and the price of fish".

"Well the Lore Master gave you a clue did he/she not? ‘Look to the Whey.’ Hey? Are you listening?" said Mrs Figg.

Nora was staring transfixed, out the window. Down the street wafted the hooded figure, walking at a fair crack towards the station. Nora excused herself quickly and followed at a trot. The figure kind of wavered about, like a flickering flame, and stopped in front of the station door as if waiting.

Somebody grabbed her shoulder and Nora yelped. She swung round to see Orwellian holding some papers. When she turned round again the figure had gone.

"Well the results are back," Orwell said. "It’s Cheese".


"Cheese. ‘Sardinian Goat Cheese’ to be exact, and highly toxic at room temperature," he said.

"But who could be sending a lactose intolerant DI Petty some stinky feet cheese?" said Nora incredulously...
and then the penny dropped... and dropped..

Who was on holiday in Guidolandia?

Who was a deadly rival for Petty’s affections, but who had been spurned for a Princess with hair that any elf in Lothlorien would kill for?

Who had unlimited access to ‘Sardinian Goat Cheese’? It all fell into place; Whey and all.

It was WPC Kafria wot done it.

The figure emerged from the station, and pulled down its hood. WPC Kafria stood there blinking in the sunlight,

"Yes, I did it, and I would have got away with it, if it wasn’t for you meddling kids".

"Whey hey!" said Orwellian.

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Post by Orwell Thu Feb 20, 2014 9:26 pm

The Editor of the Bugle (I'm told) is having enormous fun editing this stuff. Like reading an alternative History of the Real (alternative) goings-on of Forumshire in time's past, with all it's queerness, vulgarity, unexpectability, and wicked-naughtiness. cheers

Though, I hasten to add, I found it slightly Wholesome Taley in it's abrupt and cheap sneaky lazy endingness -- which, I might add, was so sublimely ridiculously funny Ol' Anon I'm sure is sitting in his dark cavern grumbling with jealousy! Laughing

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Fri Feb 21, 2014 4:25 am

cheers Great stuff as it always has been (and good to see the Bugle doing something useful and productive for once with these editions)

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A Green And Pleasant Land

Compiled and annotated by Eldy.

- get your copy here for a limited period- free*

*Pure Publications reserves the right to track your usage of this publication, snoop on your home address, go through your bins and sell personal information on to the highest bidder.
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Post by The Archet Bugle Sun Feb 23, 2014 3:01 am

Agent Nora and The Carrots From Mars

by Mrs Figg begun on Thu Feb 09, 2012 9:09 pm

I hope you are sitting comfortably dear reader as this is a tale of High Adventure and derring-do, and might make you squirm in your seat, so get some cushions for your cheeks.

Farmer Dave was somewhat of a "Character", and was well known for riding about town on a pink bike with a sweet kitten sitting in a basket up front. Everyone ‘Awwed’ as he passed, thinking how cute and cuddlesome they looked. But little did they know that Dave had a Dark secret. Yes fair reader, he was Adventurous. Dave had gone on some serious adventures, climbing the Himalayas dressed with only a wife beater ‘T’ shirt - like wot Bruce Willis wore in those manly films he done - and some biscuits. He had scaled the Matterhorn Mountain and Mont Blanc with only a roll of string and some Kendal Mint Cake. He had survived the Hindoo Cush with only some Nivea Hand Cream for Delicate Skin and a smile; his heart was tuff and his head was full of dreams, but sadly his tummy was full of parasitical organisms, and wind. Yes delicate reader, the greatest adventure of them all was played out in his Large Intestine.

Lady Diarrea with her tricks of wild dashes to the loo, and her Children, Exploding Pants and Skidmark, were his constant companions.  

It was on one of these adventures when he had battled his way through a snowstorm and dripping orifices that he stumbled upon a hidden village up a remote mountain track. The people were dressed like Aztec warriors and had no contact with the outside world, apart from the time that Brad Pitt had tried to adopt one of their grannies. They thought this was odd as he normally wanted kidz for his gobshite of a wife, but to anyone from outside the village the grannies DID look like kidz, as everyone was at least 500 years old.

He stumbled into the village as I said dear reader and asked for Imodion, or at least a new pair of undercrackers. The village Elders looked upon him with pity and fed him with their magic root crops until he felt better enough to continue being rashly adventurous. From that day onwards he never had a dicky tummy again.

When he was safely back in Svalfart and had started farming his prize taters, he remembered he had gathered seeds and tubers from the village, as he had watched Master and Commander with Russell Crowe and thought collecting flora was de rigueur for the serious adventurer. From that time onwards Dave’s spuds and carrots were the talk of the town, and during the Summer Festival he cleaned up all the awards for strangely shaped veggies.    

I suppose you are wondering where Agent Nora is? Well have no fear she is arriving shortly.

Farmer Dave’s carrots were particularly popular and many townsfolk waking of an evening for a quick slash would turn over to see their beloved (or barely-tolerated) gently glowing and pulsating in the half light like the hands of those fluorescenty alarm clock things.
No one lost their keys or pennies down the side of the sofa anymore, men even remembered to put the toilet seat down after peeing. Their brain capacity seemed to have doubled at least, which made them almost worthy of chatting to over toast and marmalade of a morning (though that was pushing it).

Agent Nora didn’t like carrots, she had been scared by one as a young woman; it’s true that one end had been held by a strange man in a mackintosh in the park, and it’s true that he was dribbling, but the carrot had stuck in her brain as forbidden fruit, and she had never eaten one since.

So when Strange Things started happening in Svalfart, Nora was the one who noticed.

It was Nora’s day off and she was in town shooting the breeze and trying to avoid Biffo’s shrimp pants, when she walked past the local cinema and saw a very strange sight. The poster said "LOTR Mega-Marathon" and people were staggering out with sweet smiles on their faces. Amongst the crowd was DI Petty, he had on a T-shirt that stated quite clearly in big letters “I  PJ.” He seemed to be crying with joy, and was shouting to anyone who would hear "Oh the joy, the spectacle, the dialogue!! Oh joy!" Orwellian was nodding in agreement, and they both toddled off to Orwellian’s garage, where they were making a space rocket with toilet rolls and spit. Later she bumped into Lester Cat who was hacking up a fur ball and talking smack about his cousin Rufus who had pooed on his young mistress’s pillow. The strange thing was that Lester Cat and Rufus were humans who thought they were cats. But the very strangest thing that Nora saw that day was yet to come.

It was during the Hen Night.

Agent Nora had been asked to become Bridesmaid for a wedding between Mrs Figg and Orwellian. He had finally got divorced from his job as pathologist, and he reckoned that if he had to poke around smelly slimy stuff all day, he might as well be married to it (and get the tax breaks for married men).

It was freezing cold that night and even the penguins wore earmuffs even though it was doubtful they had ears in the conventional sticky-outy pointy way. There were lots of laydeez wandering about with legs blue with chill under their spray tans, and Kate Moss for Top Shop frocks. Nora thought she was back in Newcastle again studying for her police certificate, where she took lessons in "You know you are getting old when policemen start looking like Justin Bieber," how to throw buckied Scotshobbits into the back of the Paddywaggon without getting headbutted, and other unsavory proceedures. She had been to the party supply shoppe and was wearing the regulation, “Bridesmaid about to do her duty and hold the hair of the bride while she pukes her guts up after 10 Bacardi Breezers and a packet of salt n onion flavoured crisps” expression.

But looking on the bright side, there was a jolly party atmosphere and everyone was laughing happily at the bride as she silently slid under the table to roll around with the dogs and the sawdust. It was quite a medieval scene, and when bridesmaids Tin and Amarie started to sing 'Over The Misty Mountains Cold' there was even a moment Nora had started to enjoy herself.

Until the Incident.

In the smoky fuggy light of the pub Nora started to see a strange sight. The punters were all starting to emit a faint glow in the half light. It started slowly and surely from their feet, and gradually spread over their whole bodies until it reached their hair, and that’s when the fun really started.

They started changing colour. The really strange thing was that nobody but Nora seemed to notice a thing. They went from a rosy pink to a frankly Oompaloompa orange. Only the cast of Jersey Shore could have been any more orange and Jordanesque. They glowed and pulsated, they emitted an earthy soily smell, and a strange snuffling scrabbling could be heard outside the pub, as hundreds of hungry bunny rabbits tried to force their way in to feast on the carroty people within. People were going to get nibbled to death thought Nora, as she knew rabbits had very sharp and dangerous front peggies.  

Things were getting ridiculous. She didn’t know who to turn to for help in this desperate situation. The whole town was in dire danger from the hopping hoards of wild eyed bunnies.

albino albino  albino  albino  albino  albino  albino  albino

...Anyway where was I...? Oh yes... surrounded by Hitchcockian killer Bunnies...

Nora felt very alone and sad; who could she turn to for help? Everyone was turning into carrots.

Suddenly Mr. Halfwise burst through the door wild eyed and sweating, one hand grasping his Starbucks Double latte with extra creme, and the other hand waving off invisible enemies.

"What’s goin on?” he wailed. “There’s a sea of raging furry flopsies. They are goin’ on the rampage!"

Oh thank goodness, thought Nora. She remembered Halfwise only ate double choc cookies and coffee, no carrots would ever pass his lips. And there was old Biffo too, he only ate Shrimps! Maybe there was hope after all.

And then there was a crashing noise from upstairs, and a sound of splintering glass. The manly vision of a Viking warrior, i.e. Ringo Herring ‘The Sometimes Absent', stood hands on hips in the doorway.

"I just flew in from HQ," he said. "We need to evacuate the town before they blow, warm weather is arriving from OZ and hot carrots tend to explode". Yikes. "But we can’t leave them to turn to mush," she cried. "I am a bridesmaid, and I aint giving up a good nosh in a hurry".

"Well we have one hour to find a cure," said Ringo. "Then they are sending in a crack team of Weevils to clean up".

"We have to get to Dave’s", she cried again. "He must know the answer to all this".

Nora, Ringo, Biffo and Halfwise crept out the back of the pub and into Ringo’s Land Rover. He turned the heater on full blast and set off to the long drive to Dave’s farm. The bunnies let them pass quietly and with only minimal shuffling and a bit of twitchy nosing. After all these were just ordinary humans, not the tasty carroty smelling things inside the pub. After slowly parting the bunnies with the car, they made their way to the farm. Biffo pressed his rather squashed nose to the window and let out occasional grunts if they got too close to making rabbit sushi.

Dave’s farm was in darkness, the long twisty drive was surrounded by large and pendulous rhododendron plants, silently waving and nodding their heavy heads of flowers in the dusky dusk. Dave opened the door a crack and when he saw they were human coloured and not glowing, he let them in.

"This is all the fault of my adventurous streak," he sighed. "Those Aztec villagers are all immune to the side effects of the carrots, but it has strange effects on us, just look at my, err, well maybe not there are laydeez present," he said with a blush. "Needless to say I do have the cure, but it won’t be pleasant," he warned.

"’tis foretold of yore and forsooth that 2012 is Doomsday and a carrot related catastrophe will perchanceth and striketh ye olde terrors and furry Armageddon shall kinda put thoust world up shit creek," Dave intoned like an extra from Return of the King.

"Cor!" said Ringo, impressed. "I do like your oldie worldy Shakespearian dialogue, it reminds me of Peeder Jigson at his zenith."

"There is only one cure," said Dave with trepidation and quavering voice. "It’s a hard lesson and you may be scarred for life, some of you may not survive the shock. You may think you are hallucinating. You may think you are in some crazy parallel universe where the normal rules of gravity, time, space, and tea time snacks are gone forever. If you come out of it with your marbles gathering dust in your pants, you will be the lucky ones. There are those who have run out their front door, with no pocket handkerchief, and have never been seen again! ....only to be found down some lonely windswept forgotten nook, trembling and asking for deep fried Mars Bars. If you have the courage....????”

"I'll take my chances with the Rodents", said Nora huffily.

"I don’t think they are technically Rodents," said Dave, his farming instincts kicking in. "People don’t eat Rodents, apart from the Ancient Romans, who were partial to fried Dormouse".

“Phew!" said Ringo. "We covered the Mrs Figgs’ tales of Oddness in basic S:A:S Viking training. Some of the lads cracked, and are now doing performances of Les Miserables for Cruise Ships and bored housewives in Essex," he sighed a great Viking sigh of relief. "But I tuffed it out, and it has made me a better person, but I do sometimes still get flashbacks now and again."

Biffo stood up and lifted his knuckles off the floor, "Me luk nassy poo," he grunted, obviously the bunnies had put the willies up him and he was prepared to confront danger head on, even a Brachycephalic head on.

Halfwise was also curious, it couldn’t be THAT bad surely?

Little did he know.

Poor love.

They all shambled into Dave’s TV room, and turned on the computer.........someone got the snacks........

Much Later.........

Five poor tormented souls staggered from Dave’s farm.....and drove to town to save the townsfolk before it was too late..

Much later......

"Well we saved everyone", said Ringo like a true hero.

"Yup" said Nora. "But this has changed everything. I want a quiet life, I want to marry DI Eldo and go skiing in France; he's got a double first from Harvard in Skiing Safety, and is on a fast track to being the next Chief of Police. I want to be a normal girl and have adventures no more. I am sick of these scratchy uniforms and flat shoes. The weirdness has to stop... and the first thing I do is...... buy myself the first 2 seasons of BBC Sherlock Holmes."  

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Post by Orwell Sun Feb 23, 2014 3:08 am

I both want and don't want to know what they saw on Dave's computer...  Shocked 

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