Right up the Limp Po-Po part II

Dear reader while you wait for a Muse of fire,
To ascend the brightest heaven of invention,
Please be patient as we before your eyes,
Assemble the characters, of this motley play.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide our naughty girls,
And make imaginary puissance;
Think when we talk of dykes, that you see them
Printing their proud bums i' the receiving linen…

Our cast is large and may take time to introduce,
Pray please be patient…..



Meanwhile the sun was setting over the Aberdare Mountains quickly and abruptly as it does in the Tropics. The last flapping birds were beginning to settle for the night as the long purple shadows began to reach across the country club and the adjoining golf course.

The setting of the sun seemed to invigorate many of the somulent club members and one by one they began to emerge from the Pimms induced stupor of the lunch-time session. Tonight was Bridge night; not that many were ardent card players, but the potential prizes made up for that.

‘Run me a bath,’ shouted Major Tommy Fotheringale-Ramshaw, trying to remove some unmentionable stain from his normally immaculate khaki shorts with his fingernail. Tommy was the local commander of two platoons of The King’s African Rifles who were kept at the ready in case the natives got restless. But as Tommy was wont to say: you ran more risk from his erection than any insurrection .

Awoken by the basso-profundo-booming of the Major, Totty Tanglefoot opened one rheumy eye and burped discretely. There had definitely been something amiss with the cucumber sandwiches earlier. The standards of hygiene in the kitchen were risible and she was sure that the only reason they kept the chef on was because of his prodigious todger*. Totty looked at her card and groaned inwardly, it was her turn to service the bloody Major again. Amazing how quickly it came round. Not that she was complaining, in her hey day it was said that the only difference between her and the Eiffel Tower, was that not everyone had been up the Tower. Sadly her days at Cambridge had passed by without distinction, although it was widely known she never missed a midnight punt up The Backs. To be generous she had now seen better days, even though she had not always partaken in them.

Opposite Totty Tanglefoot, Chlamydia Forbes-Fortescue the club’s new tennis coach stirred and stretched, pulling her already short tennis dress even further up her long, well-toned, bronzed thighs. Totty liked to think she wasn’t looking but she was. She furtively licked her lips in anticipation and succumbed to a brief jolt in her lower stomach as Chlamydia’s white frilly tennis knickers briefly came into view. You could almost see the delicate outline of her......it was too much!

Meanwhile the thought of the Major lying in the bath like a beached walrus was too much for Chlamydia and she put aside the dog-eared copy of Victoria Falls she had been reading to give one of her more infectious laughs. As much as she tried to affect a upper class laugh, (which is normally difficult to distinguish from a ruptured hyena) Chlamydia failed dismally. The reason for this was Chlamydia was a fraud. Her real surname was Forbes, but when she got the job at the Quango-Bango Club she decided to add the additional appellation Fortescue, in the hope this would make her more socially acceptable. The problem was that Chlamydia was an ordinary Grammar School girl from Gillingham and if she thought giving herself a double-barrelled name would make her more acceptable she was severely mistaken. The upper class could smell one of their own a mile off and failing that, the old-school network or Debrett would quickly resolve matters. As a result Chlamydia found herself at the bottom of the club pecking order and while the men were happy to proposition her for any manner of indescribable indecencies the women remained infuriatingly and snobbishly aloof.

Up at the bar Prunella Cholmondeley-Brown, Bartholomew’s serially disloyal and drunken wife shifted on her stool and gazed into the mirror, her face a mask of monotonous languor. She crossed her long legs for the sixth time in ten minutes, each time allowing her frock to slide further up her thighs. In her hands she swirled the remnants of her Pimms. Despite her feigned disinterest she too was mentally undressing Chlamydia . She always liked to tell people she went to Roedean**, which was true. However, Prunella neglected to reveal she also suffered the dubious distinction of being one of the few girls ever expelled from that august establishment. She had been part of that regrettable and unforgettable night when certain members of the lower sixth led by Bunty Mainwaring had broken into the junior dorm and buggered the unfortunate sleeping young girls with an overly large Christmas cake. Normally such things were hushed up, but on this occasion one of the young girls serially and severally abused had been the Prime Minister’s granddaughter.

After Roedean she had gone on to Girton where she had become known as a maudlin woman. However, here her peccadillo for the ladies flowered and it was said her hairbrush had more notches than Wyatt Earp’s gun.

Prunella was now pushing forty although she had no sensation of speeding and despite a reputation of shagging anything - irrespective of gender, race, species, colour or creed, her favourite peccadillo was spanking young ladies bottoms and she felt increasingly minded to give Chlamydia a demonstration of her forehand.

*todger - male appendage
**Roedean Britain's premier girls school.