It's Thursday, I'm sat in the corner of the back bar of 'The Cat and The Custard Pot' public house, having lunch (large ham and cheese roll, pickled onion, pickled egg) reading my newspaper. The hum from the fluorescent tubes is added to by the occasional crack as an unlucky insect flies into the electric insect killer. I'm not alone, there are about 6 of us (this includes my dog's (GOD BLESS'UM). This is nice. Peace and quiet, no tourists to break the bliss, no missus or nipper as they have gone to visit her mother, so I'm on my own for the next week with the dog's (GOD BLESS'UM). Great! I start to plan the week's inaction!

This person, my new next door person, Les, has just found the back bar (I found out later it was Mike the landlord who told him, twit!). I lift my newspaper then I hear it;
'I know those dogs! (GOD BLESS'UM). Now then, boys, where's your owner?'

The rest of the bar sniggers. I drop my newspaper and look at him.
'What do you fancy to drink?' he said.
'I'll have a pint of cider and the dogs (GOD BLESS'UM) will have a bottle of stout.' I reply. I watch carefully as he has to now negotiate Ally. 'Fair play Les.'

I think, as Ally appears, 'he's only taking half a step back and he's used a clear unbroken voice too'. I'm warming to this bloke but, alas, the next sentence out of his mouth drives a cold stake straight through to my soul.
'Hey, I've just bought a new sit on mower.' he exclaims loud enough for the bar to hear. More sniggers from the bar! He's wandered over and sat down next to me, Christ!

Ally brings the drinks over and pours the dogs (GOD BLESS'UM) their stout.
'I've never seen that, before!' says Les.
'What?' I say.
'That thing with your dogs (GOD BLESS'UM) drinking stout.'
I look and say
'Just don't get them drunk. They get nasty when they're drunk. Ask Mike what happens as he's still got the scars!'

The bar sniggers a lot more. Ally says
'I know I've seen them.' then turns a deep shade of red and runs back to the cover of the bar, as everyone goes 'ooooOOOOoooooo!' and
sniggers!

'A John Deere mini tractor.' he says.
'Wonderful.' I say and he goes on
'How do you mow your lawn? Well how do you put the stripes in it? Do you use a roller or...'

I just wish he'd shut up. I just want to have my dinner in peace and work out just how did Ally see Mikes scars but, no, I have to hear the inane drivel of this bloke talking about mini tractors.
'Christ! How much.' I say to Les.
'£3500.' his reply. 'But it does have some other power takeoff things too.' said Les.

I look at him and realise that he's trying to fit in to this new way of life. I suddenly remember just how I felt walking into the back bar for the first time so I think I'll take it easy. He's still virgin to this way of life. I was still thinking of a response to him when Dave walked straight over to me and Les, sat down and, still slightly out of breath and very quietly, said
'The B*****D's! They've put 'MYX¹' in the warren up at the back of the golf course.'

Les feels the sense of shock that runs through Dave and I.
'Ally, three large whiskeys here as we're in a state of shock.'

Mike comes over with the drinks and asks what is wrong. Dave explains and he drink Les's whisky and goes to get four more. Les knows that this is a grave situation and asks a few questions but the fact remains. 'MIX' is now in our larder and there will be no more rabbits for the table for the next few years at least, maybe never!

So all four of us just sit there taking in the news. Nothing is said for about an hour until Ally says 'LAST ORDERS PLEASE' and rings the bell which brings us out of our thoughts and we leave. We walk up the road with Les and the dogs (GOD BLESS'UM).
'So how do you mow your stripes into your lawn?' he says.

I was ready to start but I bit my tongue. I said
'Hang on and you'll find out!'
A spring in my step arrives as I think of my Fordson tractor, rebuilt by me over the winter, and the mowers with roller attachment. I open the garage door and there it is. Les's just looks and there it is! The look that all us men have at one time; that five year old look of awe. I guess it's on my face too. Les looks at me and is ready to ask 'How much' but thinks better of it because it's priceless. No amount of money can be placed on this tractor. Not that it's special -
it's not. It's just a 1951 Fordson tractor!
'Just don't ask for a go Les.' I said. Not that I'm selfish or anything but if (GOD) ever came to tea and then asked if he could borrow my Fordson to mow heavens green and pleasant fields, my response would be, 'Not while you have an omnipresent hole in your omnipresent backside, governor, get your own!' I think that Les was a little disappointed but it's all mine!

We are sitting in my kitchen drinking a cup of tea when Les says something strange. It is like the first rebellious act he's ever thought of. Well, if it is, it's a bloomin' good one and I think there's something in this village that causes this. The idea is to dig up one of the greens and move it elsewhere. Ambitious, I thought, but worthy none the less. With a bit of modification this could be a great
source of amusement for years to come - a bit like crop circles. I phone Dave to come over. He arrives and we start to plan - without Les as the lunch time drinking has taken its toll and he's asleep on the couch in front of the TV!

Over the next few hours the plan is hatched. We're to build a big golf ball, flag and club and, as Dave knows some people in Bridgewater (carnival clubs), it might not be as far fetched as you might think. But the thing is to keep it secret which is difficult as the whole village now knows about it. A few days later, I receive a summons from Dave to a large warehouse just outside Bridgewater. I knock the door, a crack appears and it's Dave.
'Quick Get in!'

The door slams shut and there in front of me is a 20' diameter golf ball with club and flag. I just stand there and am amazed. This prank just has to be done now!
'It all fits on a flat bed and Les got one with his new tractor which has also got low footprint tyres so it won't show up on the ground.' says Dave with a evil grin.
'Great!' I say wishing I could do it this very evening but knowing that we will have to wait at least two nights so we'll lose the moon. Also there's a dinner dance in the club house so the course will be shut.
'The ninth hole will never be the same!' says Dave.

I won't go into the details of the prank except to say it was difficult to get the flag to stand up straight and the golf ball got stuck on the flat bed at one point, but Tuesday's local paper was a 'sight to beholed' and that was the title too! A picture of this 20' golf ball, flag and club was on the front page and the fact that this
equipment was not reported stolen so the police have nothing to go on. No finger prints were found on the club either! Great, one of better pranks, and Les is now a villager.

It is Wednesday and the back bar is full of tourists and noisy. I'm sat in the corner with Les and Dave, still trying to work out just when and how Ally has seen Mike's scars!

Rev Jack

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The Rev Jack Russell

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