CycleChat The Novel.

[Drago]

And took aim at Dirk. Lord Drago started to apply pressure to the trigger, and suddenly notice a cream eclair in the ejection port. Drago paused, torn between his desire to wreak revenge upon Dirk, and his love for cake treats.

 

[Reynard]

Froomey's head bounded and rolled down the pave, missing Reynard's front wheel by a whisker, and landed in Q's lap.

"Oh, we can't have that," said Q, who still smelled rather strongly of vinegar. He twiddled a finger, there was a flash of light, and Froomey's head had been reattached.

Back to front.

 

[User32269]

In all the commotion, nobody noticed Vernon dancing manically behind the stacked lobster pots. Glistening in his hand, a ticket, a golden ticket. He ceased briefly, to eat a flamingo and gall bladder pie, then began to make his way toward the scene of carnage on the cobbles ahead.

 

[User32269]

Accy the butler had taken a bedsit on the sea front, a large sign over the entrance stated. SHIRE HORSES STRICTLY PROHIBITED
Accy was in the process of being evicted from the premises, but was having trouble getting his bulky shire horse down the narrow flight of stairs.

At that precise moment, Lance O'Classic strode menacingly toward the harbour. Things were going to turn nasty.

 

[Bazzer]

O'Classic had seen his plans with Dr Froome literally dismembered and Lord D was still alive. The years of seathing were now about to boil over. He had retained some shavings from Lance's beard for just such an occasion. He reached into his pocket for a small packet. Tore open the tin foil, glanced down at the handful of shavings, before licking onto his tongue and swallowing them down.
The effect was almost immediate.

 

[Reynard]

Reynard wove her way through the massive flock of flamingos, trying not to come a cropper.

 

[Oxo]

Accy got the horse out onto the seafront upon which it made a bolt for freedom. Sprinting for the line in the sand it careered into Lance O'Classic leaving his yellow jersey in tatters.
Seizing his opportunity, Vernon grabbed the horse's tail as it swept passed. Golden Ticket in one hand, tail in the other, he made his bid for glory. What a tale he would have to tell if, only, at that precise moment, that dashed flamingo hadn't swept down out of the sky, snatched the ticket and flown straight into the chasing pack.

 

[classic33]

"Arms and Elbows" wouldn't live to see the pet flamingo arrive with the Golden Ticket. Reynard having

 

[Drago]

Lance O'Classic climbed grogilly back up into the boardwalk, where he encounted Mad Mickle, rocking gently back and forward and repeating to himself, "grease on the threads, too much torque..."

And O'Classic formed a cunning plan and uttered forth an evil cackle worthy of any ex-wife...

 

[Oxo]

Reynard, riding with skill and daring let go of the bars and with impeccable timing grabbed the ticket from the startled flamingo as it flew past.
Head down, hands now back on the drops, Reynard time trialled along the promenade, raced past the beach huts and headed out of town. The stage was set for a most unlikely victory until a backward glance saw a lone rider emerge from the chasing pack and slowly begin to bridge across.
Was it a bridge too far?

 

[classic33]

The final push would soon see if that were true. Maybe she'd die another day. But for now she was looking for the exit, as she couldn't carry on going round here all day.

 

[User32269]

The events had taken their toll on Lord Drago, his Preparation H habit was now spiralling out of control. Flinette cradled his wart riddled, scab encrusted head in the beach hut. She was desperately attempting to readjust his comb-over, which now resembled an explosion in a streamer factory; she wished to give the disgraced aristocrat his dignity. Wiping away the dried Caramac stains from around his face, Flinette glanced out the open door. Reynard flew past, naked.
Things were now beginning to make sense, the pieces of the puzzle at last slotting into place.

 

[classic33]

The pieces of the puzzle may be slotting into place. However there were pieces from more than one puzzle to sort through. What pieces needed discarding, which needed keeping? Would the right pieces be discarded? Only time, a cool head and some fancy finger work would let them know that.

 

[Reynard]

"Arms and Elbows" wouldn't live to see the pet flamingo arrive with the Golden Ticket. Reynard having

... fizzed past in her birthday suit on her teeny tiny road bike, stuck out a leg and sent "Arms and Elbows" straight into the path of Accy's horse.

Everyone winced as milling hooves the size of dinner plates stomped down on the doomed "Arms and Elbows" and blocked the road completely.

Ticket in hand, Reynard huffed and puffed off into the distance.

 

[User32269]

Epilogue ​

Days had passed since the events around the harbour and the beach huts.
Inspector Biggs strode across the sumptuous carpet in the library of the Great Hall. The musty smell of the ancient volumes lining the mahogany shelves reminded the Inspector of his Brooks saddle sniffing fetish. Fortunately the CBT course, his superiors had made him attend following an unfortunate incident at l'eroica 2015, had taught him coping mechanisms.

Biggs had assembled all the survivors from #harbourgate, as it was now being labelled. They sat in the majestic surroundings, innocent or guilty, waiting to hear the Inspector's pronouncements.

Biggs turned to his companion and spoke.
"First, I would like to thank my old friend Detective Inspector Barnaby for allowing me use of the Great Hall in Midsomer, and for helping me solve this baffling case."

Lord Drago farted loudly, then muttered something about "following through."
Inspector Biggs glared, then continued.
"We can be sure that we will all be perfectly safe here tonight in Midsomer Great Hall. Myself and Barnaby can guarantee that. After a good nights sleep we will all meet back here in the morning and I will reveal the truth. The shocking truth."

Barnaby took his hand from inside the front of his trousers, then addressed the room.
"The new butler will show you all to your rooms. Sleep well."
Barnaby sniffed his fingers, then his voice rose.
"Marmaduke, please show our guests to their quarters."

Marmaduke entered and the whole ensemble gasped. Accy. It was Accy the butler.
"This way please," he hissed.