Twaddle Good friends! Good friends and fellow Englishmen, now has come the moment you have all been waiting for; the appointment to the most important post of all, that of-‘ Head of B. O. G.’ B. O. G.- is the abbreviation for: British Officers and Gentlemen, an establishment destined to become the vortex of a great movement back to Tudor values. Pickles ' What a great load of mindless old crap ', I shouted out, much to my own amazement. Gallowsbird pointed a big finger in my direction: Gallowsbird What was that, Pickles? Pickles ' What a great load of my mind, old chap, I replied ', my knees trembling slightly. Tucker You ' ll have ta shut that trap o ' yours, Pickles or stan yer grun when yiv said somethin. Pickles What odds Twaddle gives the job to himself? I tried to change the subject. Snipes‘ No bet.’ Twaddle
The gentleman I have finally put my trust in, is of the highest calibre, a brave man of dignity, honour and grace; not to mention sex appeal. He is, I give you: Myself! MISTER MARMADUKE TWADDLE, better known to his friends as‘ The Duke.’ Tucker Uh! Surprise! Surprise! That man’ s no on this planet, ya ken? Snipes We shall have to bring him back to Earth with a bump then, preferably a severe bump. Tucker Aye, I heard that yer lettin yer own name go fort? Snipes As head of that B. O. G. nonsense? Tucker Nay, fer the Sleazers in the Cork Ward. Snipes That ' s as maybe. Pickles Meanwhile, up on the cart, another tatty brown paper bag appeared. Twaddle made a great fuss of opening it and then pretended to be astonished at what he found- a brown scooped cap. He handed the cap to Olaf Gallowsbird to perform the‘ crowning ceremony’. But, just as he bent his head reverently to receive it, Cecil Cretin shouted at him: Cretin Good friends again? Good friends again Duke? Good friends, you and me? Pickles Just as the man with the fat ass turned to look at Cretin, Olaf Gallowsbird‘ crowned’ him When he arose, the brown, scooped cap was on back to front, but he didn’ t know it. When the crowd saw the spectacle all hell broke loose. The Tinker Street Non-subscribing, Salvation Army Band struck up again with a rendering of Silent Night. The Cidermen hooted, cheered and pranced about throwing their chipped, enamel, shaving mugs in the air. A withered old hag, by the name of Lizzie Juggins mounted the cart shrieking and hollering. She grabbed hold of the self-appointed leader with the fat ass and brown scooped cap, lifted her skirts and jigged him around the‘ stage’. Juggins Givus a wee surp, givus a surp of yer cider, Fat Bum. Givus a tin with a wee surp of cider in it. Pickles This was certainly not the image the‘ Duke ' was trying to create. Twaddle swore and pushed her unto her backside over one of the beer-crates. The old cart swayed, rocked and finally rolled over dumping the