Scrabble Vendetta ©
By
Michael Casey
The Media Scrum outside Saint Patrick’s wasn’t going to go away, in fact it would grow and grow, the Media would have to take over the Windmill Pub next door such was the amount of Media attention. Big Sid the butcher was on the operating table over the road and inside the church Mrs Murphy one of those whose lives he saved was Praying at Warp Factor 9. Forget about not mixing matter and antimatter, she might be inside the church but her soul was at the very gates of Heaven screaming her supplications, as well as Daughters of the Rosary the world over.
Outside hairy Amjit the Alsation was licking the wounds of Jesus on the cross, this was his prayer begging and pining that Big Sid the Butcher should live. Mrs Kemp had arrived at the church too. Who are you the Press demanded to know. I’m the Grandmother of the pregnant hostage. But you cannot be, Mrs Murphy inside Praying like a Devil is the grandmother. Said one lazy reporter from the Daily Fuzz, he certainly was not a hot reporter. SHE is the Irish Grandmother, I am the English Grandmother, it was MY daughter held hostage, but OUR grandchild was in danger too, as was OUR unborn grandchild. She then stamped on his toe with her shoe.
Sky reporter went live, and the Daily Fuzz was pushed to the back of the crowd of journalists, it was like a shark feeding frenzy. Mrs Kemp explained again, and then extreme zoom, what do you think of the Post Office raiders. The Director had his finger on the bleep button. What do I think of those men, those excuse for men, they are not even men, not even little boys. They dare come to our community, and threaten the Saintly Mrs Murphy, and MY daughter and MY grandchild, and MY unborn grandchild. Well I think there is only one solution. And what exactly is that Mrs Kemp, asked Kay Burley from the Sky Studio. I’m going to feed their balls to my cat, that’s if they have any.
The Press exploded, Mrs Kemp continued, My Husband is a Freemason I’ll have you know. I don’t know what he does at his Lodge, but whenever he makes a Promise he keeps it. My husband has promised me their balls, so they can hide in Prison but my Husband will deliver. I will have their balls and feed them top my cat.
The Press pack exploded. And is there anything else you would like to say asked Kay from Sky. There are A, asses, B they are beasts, C they are clowns, D they are dunces, E they are Eejits if I can borrow a word from the saintly Mrs Murphy, F they are. Kay interrupted just in case.Then she interviewed the next guest, The World Scrabble competition was on, and England had lost two from the squad due to food poisoning, so the French were already gloating.
The French team captain, was so very smug. Maybe that lady could join the team as a standin, she at least knows her alphabet. Kay was inwardly livid, but ever the professional she linked back to the Scrum.
The French team captain for the world Scrabble championship was wondering would you like to join England’s team as a late replacement. Mrs Kemp smiled sweetly, I haven’t played in years, but if England expects, then I’ll do my duty. The England captain knew he hadn’t a hope in hell having lost his 2 best players, so he said ok,if the French did not object to a late replacement.
So it was all decided. A little light relief after all the dangers in the Post Office. As Kay finished the interview, the French captain moaned his interview had been cut short to cover a nothing butcher, brawn beating brain. Mrs Kemp still had the earpiece provided by Sky, I’ll have his balls too was his reply. Only Kay at Sky heard this,but there was something in Mrs Kemp’s voice that made Kay’s eyes light up with delight. She then rung her friend Peter Bets at Sky sports. You have to cover the Scrabble Championship live Kay purred. Why asked Peter? Just Woman’s intuition said Kay smiling.
Now the French team captain thought Mrs Kemp was just a boring housewife, the housewife bit was true. But Mrs Kemp had a past, a very large past, thousands of pages long. No she wasn’t a slapper, but her past covered thousands and thousands of pages. No she wasn’t a girlie magazine model either, but the French man’s jaw would drop, zut alors.
The day of the Scrabble World Championship arrived, Kay had friends around for beer and chips. She had looked up Mrs Kemp and her intuition had been spot on. Mrs Kemp apologised because she’s not played in years, she was a bit rusty,but she would do her best.Sky had put the championship on Sky Sport 69, Man U were playing Chelsea, so all the channels were playing variants of that.Then there was an act of God, like rain at Trump’s parade on July 4th.The floodlights were on the blink. So the match was abandoned,all the local pubs heaved with football supporters.
And that’s how you got 80,000 football fans rooting for Scrabble. Kay refused to tell her friends what she knew,Andrew even offeredto vacuum and do the washing up, but NO. Just watch. Mrs Kemp loosen the buttons on her blouse, she was a mature woman, but everything was still in full working order. She loosen another button. The studio lights were so hot after all. Football supporters in the pubs cheered and jeered, show us your hits miss they sung.
Then Mrs Kemp showed the French what she was made of. Short words, long words, strange words, backward and forwards. Kay smiled, then she relented,she whispered in Andrew’s ear. Andrew stood up and did a Flamenco step,this would teach the French. The studio lights were so very hot, the studio manager was told to dash next door to the Flaming Pie. He came back with a tray of Stella Artois. Mrs Kemp knocked hers back in one go. She spilled some on her blouse, she she stood and took it off. Uproar in all the bars. She was there in all her glory in a red bra, one her husband had recently given her, Freemasons are not stupid after all.
Mrs Kemp looked the French captain in the eye, my attire does not frighten you does it, you have seen a woman in red before? And on they played, more words, long and short and extended. Mrs Kemp was toying with him. The French were like children in a playpen playing with building blocks with letters on. Mrs Kemp was getting bored, not enough challenge. So she decided to construct long and strange an bizarre words. Just for her own intellectual amusement.
Foul cried the French, she’s cheating, no such word exists. Page 278, section 1b , subsection 12. In bold.Smiled Mrs Kemp. Dodds Dictionary 1934. The computer scanned and there it was. She must have an earpiece or some way of cheating stammered the French captain. Mrs Kemp stood up and removed her bra, shall I remove everything so you an search me. Then she put her bra back on. It was a Graduate moment.
Beer was spilt all over the country and everybody phoned a friend and shouted put Sky 69 on. Mrs Kemp smiled again, he was but a little boy. The Frenchman cursed her in French. Mrs Kemp replied in the worse filthiest French imaginable. She spent not one but two years in Marseilles in her university days. The French captain blushed, in fact he turned into a Pillar box. The floor manager was sent out for wine this time, as Mrs Kemp said the French were whining for wine.
Why don’t we have a bet on the side suggested the French captain. A crate of the 48 would be nice said Mrs Kemp,she did know her booze after all. Agreed. Then the French captain tried to rile her, who is this Big Sid anyway, I love Big Sid is everywhere, is England GAY?
England stopped, nobody could or should say that. Sky rung the Police to get a safe escort for the French team once the competition was over. The studio manager pointed and a video clip was played. CCTV of the Post Office and Big Sid saving everybody. This is an Englishman said Mrs Kemp, and he has done his duty.
She was enraged, she stormed up and down and around and backwards and forwards the Scrabble board. Some words had not been used is 360 years,God alone, literally knew what they mean.But tonight God was on Mrs Kemp’s side. For God and England and Big Sid.
The French were put through the Mangle, and yes for pure spite Mrs Kemp put mangle down as her last word. Applause all over the country. Then a lot of shouting, a Frenchman on his Tour de France bike arrived, he wore a spangled beret and a Tee shirt that read J’adore Big Sid.
It was Joules the French cultural attache,Mes Excuse, he bowed as low as a Japanese apology. This man does not represent the French. Of course you will get your wine too, the 1848 you mean. The 1948 I would not clean my bicycle with. Mrs Kemp gave him a hug, her bra came off and he had to hold up his beret to cover her embarrassment.
Then Mrs Kemp explained Kay and Andrew cheering on, you see my married name is Mrs Kemp. But I did stuck English and European languages, I am actually a Dr of Letters, but I never tell anybody in case they think I’m a medical doctor and want me to look at their bum. Though the French Scrabble captain had been kicked the bum , metaphorically speaking, and might perhaps need the attention of a medical doctor.
There was one other thing, Mrs Kemp was descended from 14 Generations of Dictionary and Encyclopaedia compilers. The French captain didn’t stand a chance. The French cultural attache now he really was a gentleman, a very gay gentleman.
me in Lourdes France 1991
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