Pickles and Bacon

A conversation splatterd with food

Pickles and Bacon

 

“Police Constable Bacon, spill the beans. Why didn’t you arrest Olive Berry?”

“We couldn’t catch her. She was as slippery as an eel. We stopped for the lollipop man and she went into a side street and disappeared into the pea souper, Sir.”

Chief Inspector Pickles sighed and fiddled with his packet of crisps. “Use your loaf, Bacon, when apprehending a suspect you don’t stop for traffic, it stops for you.”

“I understand that, sir, but I risked being sandwiched between two lorries.”

“I don’t give a raspberry about that. Superintendent Fudge will go bananas. If I end up with egg on my face over this, Bacon, I’ll make mincemeat out of you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Bacon went as red as a beetroot. He couldn’t help thinking that Pickles had a touch of sour grapes.

“Olive Berry is as cool as a cumber, but we need to crack this nut. I’ve heard through the grapevine that she’ll be attending the food conference tomorrow at the Slug and Lettuce Inn. You will go there and arrest that toffee nosed rotten apple. Can you manage that, constable?”

“Piece of cake, Chief Inspector, Sir.”

“Don’t give me any of your sauce, Bacon. Superintendent Fudge is as keen as mustard to have her off the streets. He’ll no doubt want to pepper her with questions. If your operation doesn’t bear fruit tomorrow we’ll be in a right jam.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you value which way your bread’s buttered you will not fail to bring home the bacon, Bacon.  Do you have anything to say before I dismiss you?”

“Yes, Sir. My name isn’t Bacon, it’s Curry.”

“Well, if that doesn’t take the biscuit. Dismissed.”