The rest of the planning meeting - a bit rushed as I am supposed to be doing stuff busy, and long as I thought you would need to know what had happened at the meeting before I go.
The comments upthread about Bill Nighy's neck might actually cause this lovely thread to descend into carnage. I close my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears "lalalala" can see/hear no criticisms.
Episode 2 - On The Unbearable Tenderness of Lovely Lady Planning Officers
“We do not need to go into the details, generously supplied by Wattyyyy at every stage of this heart-rending process - though I would like to take this opportunity to officially thank SpanGran for the paella and sangria lunch and especially the industrial quality sangria which she gave me to bring back to the department, and which we have all, other than The Boy, obviously, enjoyed. As least I think we enjoyed it - the evening is a blur” .
“I will, however, give a brief precis of The Story So Far. Wattyyyy , and owner of a ground floor flat in a Grade 2 listed building, came home unexpectedly early to find that her new next door neighbours - can you remind me of their names, Planning Officer 1 - “
“As we understand it, they are called Barry and Julie, Sir. We don’t know their exact location, but we think it is probably in CheekyFuckerLand.”
“Thank you, Planning Officer 1. her new neighbours Barry and Julie had decided to make some “improvements” to their property. Wattyyyy immediately noticed the presence of a number of CheekyFuckerBuilders in her private garden - “
“Six, Sir. There were six.” . “They had tools and everything.”
“Thank you, The Boy. SIX CFBs who had taken out an irreplaceable Gothic type window with shuttered alcatraves and possibly stained glass dolphins frolicking with mermaids, and designed by William Morris, or possibly even Leonardo da Vinci - we don’t know because the window was Removed, and Disappeared, probably Sold On. They had replaced this with a monstrosity of a cheap patio door which has been variously described as “crap” and “shite”
“ Wattyyyy with a presence of mind that belies her years, immediately got onto MumsNet, where she was bombarded with very useful and appropriate advice which ranged from “Ring the council” to “Suffocate the Cheeky Fuckers - (who I believe, later pretended they could not speak God’s own Language,English) - with yards of Gorilla tape and bury them under a patio which you will of course get planning permission for.”
Wattyyyy sensibly telephoned us, her solicitor, her Abuela - herein after known as “SpanGran” and her good friend Duct Tape Barbie, and the wheels began to roll. Following a visit from —Olivia Coleman— Lovely Lady Planning Officer, Planning Officer 1 and The Boy - exemplary work, all of you - a “Cease and Desist” notice was issued, which I understand they have ignored, and my noble colleague the PooBah from English Heritage stepped into the fray.
I yield the floor to the PooBah”.
“Thank you, Lord High Planning Officer. There is little more to say, except that they will have to make good whether they like it or not at GREAT cost to themselves - at least TEN THOUSAND OF OUR ENGLISH POUNDS . It may be more - my esteemed colleague Mickey the Brickie will be able to give us more information on the subject - and of course, there will be a fine. At least.” His brow darkened. They will be fortunate if it is just a fine . . . “
“Oi was shocked t’ see the stayte of the bricks as was brought t’ me on Froiday. Horrible! Dat such a t’ing could happen in a civilised country is beyond me, it is dat.”
“Anyhow, Oi had a good look at de bricks - dey was a rare and beautiful example of what we brickies call “old bricks”, being as how dey was old, and dey was bricks. Dey goan’ t’ take some matchin’ that’s all Oi can say - dey are dat. And dey will need a bastarding-expensive loim-based mortar to meld dem together, dey are. And Oi t’ink dat winder will have t’ be hand made boi time-served Go’tic winder-makers in Zurich or somet’ing. It’s not goin’ t’ be cheap, Oi can promise youse dat. Youse have seen me estimate; course, dat might go up if’n we can’t lay hands on de mortar.’
“Thank you, Mickey. I think I speak for all of us when I say that as we aren’t paying for it, we are happy to authorise you to charge anything you see fit. Are we all agreed?”
“I believe the PooBah has something further to say.”
“It is not widely known that even in this day and age, there are offences against the state which are considered so serious that they still carry . . .The Death Penalty.”
“They are, of course - Arson in a Royal Dockyard; Photographing the Naked Boobies of a Royal Consort; Teasing of Any Corgi Within the Confines of the British Mainland, Northern Ireland and Any Colonies and Crown Protectorates; and . . . Wanton Disregard of the Planning Regulations of England, Scotland and Wales. Not Ireland because they used to keep blowing it up.”
“In the room beyond this one is a box. And next to the box is a small pile of stones - black stones, and white stones. Each of us in turn will enter the room and place a stone in the box. A white stone indicates mercy; a black stone - the opposite. The vote is private, and to condemn requires a unanimous verdict. Even a single white stone means that the Cheeky Fuckers will get away with it.
“We will now cast our vote. The Boy - perhaps you would like to go first . . . “
“Well . . . it looks like the Cheeky Fuckers have had a reprieve. Lady, Gentlemen, The Boy. I thank you all for your diligence and - “
“I’m sorry! It was me!” “I couldn’t help myself - I thought- what if they have a little dog or cat? Or even a goldfish? I mean - who would feed them? Who would change the water? FORGIVE ME”
“There is nothing to forgive, my dear.” “In fact, I thank you - you have reminded us all that we are not barbarians.”
“Raspberry Ripple, everyone?”
*possibly - not sure what these are but it’s a really nice word - alcatraves; alCAtraves; alcaTRAVES . . . . mmmmmmmmmm
Anyone offended by the Irish accent - well, if Mrs Brown can get away with it . . .