The succeeding mezzanine/penthouse episode featured yet another of those cheese or kush or skunkweed bores from the Ghastly Hipster opposite Turbo Island, and yet another Somerset dipsomaniac; these being, respectively, Dee Fwend and the incorrigible hayseed Chard. Again, these two were interchangeable with others of their respective ilks, and so nothing further can meaningfully be said about them, beyond occasional animadversions to the incidental roles each plays in the evolution of the history related in this chronicle. —
Dee Fwend, Chard
The same should not be said of the third victim, who I think will perhaps repay the appropriate forensics. This was Kelly, my Lady Snatch, widow of the noble Milord, the hereditary bearer of the Snatch escutcheon, latterly a maculate device, much blotted and besmirched. We have touched already in diverse places upon the existence of the poshtitute Lady Snatch, most extensively of course in the episode relating to the demise of her noble spouse. To this extent, we know already that she was part of the diaspora of one of those blighted places in the American Midwest; Cincinatti perhaps, or Detroit, or else Green Bay. She appears to have enjoyed a relatively humble provenance, for it is bruited that her mother - whom I once upon a time had the honour of meeting on the back terrace of the Old Disgrace - swinked in the soda fountain industry, and there has been the further suggestion that her father was itinerant in some capacity; although, relying as I do for all of this prognostication on the Chinese-whisper network which dominates the nexus of streets around the Fruit & Nut Flake and the Old Disgrace, I have never been quite able to make out whether the capacity in question was a retail or a criminal or some more or less romanticised Steinbeckesque capacity. —
Lady Kelly Snatch
My Lady Kelly must have found greatly to her liking the seething metropolis Bristol, that capital city of all proto-Celtic mystical hippy far-I nonsense, for once arrived she never departed, but rather put down roots albeit of a sickly kind, and became one of the appointed nymphs of that grove, withal there was little that was sacred about it. A significant factor in her tarrying in our city was her predilection for the drug abuse and alcoholism in which that scruffy place abounds. Indeed, her very first encounter with Milord Snatch, that aristocratic future spouse of hers, is widely reputed to have been at a group CBT session hosted by the BDP in Brunswick Square. Sadly, in the case of this pair of prodigals the BDP’s efforts were unavailing, for the happy couple shortly resiled from the lux rationis which imbued the polity of that institution, finding solace in each other's emaciated and pockmarked arms. —
Bristol
I have already alluded to that odd perversion of noblesse oblige, whereby Lord Snatch invariably ended up as the hetman of each of the succession of squats and low hovels which those two inhabited, until his demise in that welter earlier described of tumbrils and tricoteuses. Thereafter, the dowager Lady Snatch found her existence if anything moderately eased, withal the easement was but temporary. For, as I believe has already been remarked, her lord and master had had something of the Skimpole about him, being much accustomed to holding court on the back terrace of the Old Disgrace, expounding on weighty matters with all the sagacity of a charismatic eccentric with a big personality. In dissipating his energies upon these latter endeavours, Lord Snatch little scrupled to shift for himself in the acquisition of such sine qua nons as laudanum and gin, and still less for his lady; wherefore she was put to the expediency of shifting for them both with regard to the getting of the aforementioned commodities, the said husbandry being brought about as earlier divulged, viz. by poshtitution. Hence, the widowhood of Lady Snatch brought with it the halving of a burden - a lacuna she quite reasonably filled by recourse to diverse apothecaries, purposing to develop and extend her own hobby horse in the matter of laudanum and gin, sauce for the gander being, when she considered the matter, sauce for the goose. And by a natural chain of events, the nature of which the reader will easily surmise, Lady Snatch was induced to redouble her exertions in the venerable profession of poshtitution, until she quite overmatched her earlier endeavours in this vocation while her lord was yet living. —
Poshtitution
The spectating mob was really quite sparse, for fully three quarters of the initial society of Spartacists had by now been fed to the ravening maw of Charybdis. Moreover, the Alphish apes who had sought refuge in the Spa Elysium during the deluge had long settled back to their grunting primordial existence in the basement. The powers that were essayed to boost the numbers by pressing into service Troys and Kurts, freelance personal trainers, and assorted cleaning operatives from House of Rurik SARL. Even the treatment therapists were expected to attend when not administering rub-’n’-tugs; mirabile dictu, even Kylie the Southmead Jezebel had been induced to put in another appearance - buckets and the showing thereof having no doubt played their habitual persuasive role. Withal, these Potemkin-ish measures little availed us, being a mere papering over the lacuna. It was sad to see, this Pyongyang of desolation. —
Spa Elysium
In the midst of this, Herod looked increasingly haggard and underslept, as though of triple espressos he had drunk, and slunk not then to bed. Methought he wore not well the mantle of mass-murdering serial killer, for he had lost weight, and his coat, more cantilevered than ever, gabled like a sail from his bony shoulders, as though concealing a cathedral void in which nought save bats did tarry. I almost expected the White Willy to droop, partaking of the degenerative spirit of the personage to whom it was attached; marry, that huge plastic dildo was as rigid as ever, jutting boldly as a Puck poking twixt the stage curtains, causing certain wags to aver that it had a mind of its own. Yet, whenever I felt it prod me in my secretest and nethermost places, I did incline to hold culpable the unman immediately behind it, and not the phallic simulacrum which he had harnessed to his haunches, seeing as the latter most certainly was inanimate, withal the wags in their waggery said that this was not so. —
White Willy
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