Pickles Freeloader was visibly overcome, his eyes whirled, his legs buckled and his skinny hand came solemnly to rest on his weedy chest. No wonder he was so overcome for the only thing he had done was to warn about the arrival of Sergeant Duncan Buttass. But his face dropped into his boots when Marmaduke continued: Twaddle To bestow the honour and pin it on the stout chest of my good self. Pickles Rustling and murmuring enveloped the entire crowd and some were physically sick but the little man with the fat ass simply beamed with a great inner peace and joy. After allowing ample time for everyone to admire his award he started talking again: Twaddle And now, ladies and gentlemen I turn to my ever-loyal bodyguard, the SS Men. The Serfs Medal, first class I award, to acknowledge a movement forward of approximately four feet before the heathen Highlanders confronted them with illegal tactics: which amounted to nothing short of war crimes. A big hand for the lads! It gives me great pleasure to ask Mister Davy Brudder to present himself for acceptance of this award on behalf of his gallant men. Pickles The SS Men came forward, swung their white walking sticks to their chests and clicked their heels. But Davy Brudder obviously expected something better and refused to come forward. Cretin I ' ll accept the award. I will gratefully accept it and wear it with pride. Twaddle No Cecil! I have something else in store for you. Cretin Thank you, Your Holy Grace, It gives me pleasure to speak your revered name. Twaddle Later Cecil, when you and I are alone. Err-- It perhaps-- it perhaps might be better to postpone this particular presentation as Mister Brudder does not seem to be the correct colour for a man in the peak of health. Brudder There is frig all wrong with my colour, you babbling fat pig. Twaddle Thank you, my good people, thank you. And now, I call upon Sergeant Olaf Gallowsbird to accept, on behalf of his men: in acknowledgement of not running away although under severe provocation by the heathen Highlanders: the Serfs Medal, second class. Gallowsbird How many have you got? Twaddle Oh! Just the one. Gallowsbird The stick it up your ass, you mean little turd. Juggins Back-heel him one up the ass, wee Marmalade Man, fer callin ye by yer wee turd name. Twaddle Shut up, you old bitch and get your bony ass against that wheel again and I’ ll torch you as a witch, when I get a spare moment. Pickles All hell then broke loose. The Cidermen advanced on the scrumpy and were threatened by the Social Security Men brandishing UB40’ s. The Tinker Street Non-subscribing Salvation Army Band mounted the cart and rendered the offensive verses of‘ Rule Britannia’. Lizzie Juggins, singing‘ How Much is Your Doggie in the Window, accompanied herself on the old castiron pump, till the centre of Plonkton was six inches deep in water. Basil Freeloader feeling rather insecure, panicked and abruptly changed sides He started throwing chipped enamel shaving mugs at the hapless Eighth Earl of Marm.