CycleChat The Novel.

[Vantage]

Dusting himself off, Lord Drago noticed he had a big fat cat attached to his posterior. Odav looked at it lustfully before Accy the Butler ran in screaming in horror.
"My flats been downsized!!"

 

[classic33]

"Best look next time, before I sit down. And there was me blaming the cat screaming on the pub singer" said LD.

Anyway who would notice the cat flat now where he once sat.

 

[Oxo]

A flat cat is nothing said Dr Froome, you should have seen what happened to me last Tuesday.

 

[Randomnerd]

[ don’t mind us...we’re just ‘avin’ us lunches....t’story will be right back as soon as Oxo’s downed that last pickled egg...]

 

[Bazzer]

For all his skinny appearance Dr Froome's elbows carried some force, and as he nursed his ribs, Lord D thought that whatever had happened last Tuesday was better left unspoken, until a more appropriate time.
Rebus, who by now was sobering up from the considerable quantity of Absinthe drunk earlier, flicked a snot towards the barman and strode towards Lord D and Dr Froome. As he approached Dr Froome, he could see he had an unusual charm bracelet; one made of bicycle chain, but instead of charms, there were minatures of Carol Vorderman. If Lord D spotted this there was going to be trouble.
Some diversion was going to be necessary, so that the bracelet could be removed.

 

[Randomnerd]

- Yes, it was Tuesday, last Tuesday. We were home on the veldt. It felt, well, veldty. You know.
- What happened, exactly?
- We’ll, as I said, we were at home, on the veldt....
- Yes?
- And it felt...
- I don’t mean to be funny, but we are not going to get out of here before last orders if you keep at this pace...
- Sorry. I’d just flown in from a gig in Spain or somewhere - Braillo was playing keyboards for a mariachi band and needed someone with long arms to turn his sheet music, and I was at a loose end, you know.
- What happened on Tuesday Doc?
- Carol came over to show me her new women’s cycling collection, as planned.
- Carol?
- Yeah, Vorders with the Orders. You know. The honorary head of the RAF. Stephen Hawkins’ sister.
So she flew in with all this leopard skin Lycra, thinking my company could maybe help with the marketing in Safrika. I don’t know what came over me, but I just cracked, you know. She was in the toilet, and the window cleaner was washing the toilet window, and I heard a scuffle, so I just picked up the Howitzer from the coffee table, and the rest is...is....just a blur.

 

[Randomnerd]

“Las’dorderzat ‘debar, pleez. Lazdorderz!”

 

[raleighnut]

From the corner a scruffy busker piped up, "I can't play Blur but I can have a go at some Jam songs" although his voice was muffled somewhat by the sideburns that hung to his chest.

 

[Bazzer]

Concerned that conversation about Carol in lycra might inflame Lord D, even if he did not see the bracelet, Rebus suggested Lord D speak with the busker about playing Yellow Submarine.. Whatever he played it was going to sound just like everything else played that night, so it didn't matter. And after he requested a "tune", he get a final round in. Rebus thought six pints of Stella would be a good night cap.

 

[Oxo]

To make a long story even longer they eventually staggered out into the darknesses. Pat, the postman, thinking he was in Glasgow restricted their speed to 5mph. Heading towards the castle a small voice declared the she couldn’t possibly climb the hill without a gin and her fill of fast food.
At last Lord Drago and Rebus got together and hatched out a cunning plan. It would involve a lot of digging, but in Accy, they had just the man.

 

[Reynard]

Still in his office, First Cyclist watched the feed from the listening post - well, that was what he called the technology anyways - wishing he was a telepath. He would give his danglies to find out exactly what Lord Drago and Rebus were plotting, but then he'd end up singing soprano, which was never good. No information was worth that particular price.

Besides, the nobility were never to be trusted. He'd seen them blindside and backstab rival lords with impunity and it made him glad that he was not part of that social set.

First Cyclist wondered if could enlist Second Cyclist to find out. The man owed him a favour after all - and he was uncommonly good at finding out where all the interesting skeletons were hidden. Second Cyclist had sources all of his own that he refused to tell anyone anything about. Perhaps it was better that way.

Taking one last glance at the scene unfolding on the screen to his right, First Cyclist sent a message to his colleague before pouring himself another bowl of tea.

 

[User32269]

Prince odav emerged from the tumultuous torrents of the treacherous river, striding manfully onto the firm ground of the bank. The rescued kitten clasped firmly, safely, in his large hands. His shirt had been ripped asunder by the ferocious current, revealing a broad, hirsute, and chiseled chest. His breeches, sodden, clung to the rock-like muscularity of his sturdy legs. A crowd of local maidens collectively swooned as this fine figure approached them.

Handing the tiny, soaking creature to them, one voice rose nervously
"Oh my Prince, how noble a gesture, to put all care for your own life aside to save this helpless creature."
"Twas but a trifle, fair maid," the noble replied.
"It provided me a totally believable plot device in order to appear in the novel."
"Now, I must away, I hear Lord Drago may be in peril."

 

[Reynard]

The kitten, which happened to be both a feral and a tortoiseshell, bit the fair maid who was holding her.

 

[Oxo]

Prince Odav journeyed for three moons, surviving on a mere trifle. Eventually here came upon two figures peering into a deep hole in the ground. Looking into the deep deep excavation he saw a lone figure furiously digging.
"Accy," he shouted, "when you're in a hole, stop digging."
Rebus was clutching a small object in his hand, while Lord Drago was staring, transfixed. "The holy grail," he whispered, "a marginal gain."

 

[Bazzer]

The kitten, which happened to be both a feral and a tortoiseshell, bit the fair maid who was holding her.

"Ahh, a feisty little thing aren't we", said the maiden. Although youthful, having been brought up on a farm, her experience exceeded her years.
Word had passed down the generations of animals raised on the farm, of the time Buttercup the cow, had witnessed the maiden dealing with some inconsiderate motorist and told the other animals of the ensuing fracas. She had been ruminating and through the mixture of tangled barbed wire and broken stone wall and had seen the maiden riding her horse on an adjoining road, when a Chelsea tractor had tried to pass her. The argument which followed had resulted in the loss of a large quantity of blood, mainly on the skirt of the maiden.

Sadly for the driver of the tractor, it was all his. And unknown to Buttercup the driver was required to spend some time in hospital, whilst his nose was reshaped and he adjusted to life with several teeth missing.

What however was clear to Buttercup, was that was not a girl to messed with. Something the kitten was going to very quickly learn .