HARRY CRUMBLE AND A HAIRY NEW EAR.

Harry crumble raised an eyebrow thoughtfully and stared out through the small kitchenette window of his high rise flat and into the inky black night beyond.  He would have liked to have raised his other eyebrow, too, but that had vanished, kidnapped by a disillusioned piece protestor and forced to look perplexed against its will in what would later become known as the jigsaw puzzle of 1975.

Following an extensive search of Harry’s head for any clues as to the whereabouts of the missing brow, Inspector Waxtash of the yard found only a bald toupee in urgent need of repair and two sticky looking nasal hairs that had recently been poked.  Unfortunately forensics were unable to recover any fingerprints from the hairs, as the powder used to carry out the tests caused Harry to have a sudden and violent attack of the sneezes, thus destroying all evidence left by the kidnapper, including the thumb and index finger of Colin Fletcher, the forensic expert who was carrying out the tests at the time.

 Later that same day, in a last ditch attempt to coax the culprit out into the open, Inspector Waxtash of the yard suggested they use Harry’s lucky rabbit’s foot as bait and re-enact the kidnapping.  Harry, concerned that raising only one eyebrow to express his objections might send out mixed signals, suddenly doused himself with vinegar and began juggling 3 king Edward potatoes to drive home his point.  Inspector Waxtash on the other hand, mistook this as a sign that Harry was up for it and proceeded to staple the rabbit’s foot to his head.  Luckily this was vetoed at the last minute when local pet shop owners complained that using rabbits as human guinea pigs was not only asinine but downright dangerous.  An observation proved right when Walter Clegg, using a similar cow’s hoof to display his chagrin at receiving a lukewarm hotpot from Elsie’s café, was crippled with grief when it suddenly dislodged itself from his forehead and landed on his plate, shattering the skin on his gravy.  Publicly humiliated, Inspector Waxtash of the yard immediately resigned from the force and now spends all his time in his bedroom scurrilously trying to find a link between gravity and the elasticity of Bisto, leaving the case of Harry’s missing eyebrow in pieces.

But the thing that was on Harry Crumble’s mind now had nothing to do with luck.  It had nothing to do with George Crapper, either, his best friend who, not an hour before had popped in to wish him a merry Christmas, and, seeing Harry’s oven ready turkey sitting on the side waiting to be cooked, had instantly whisked out a pack of leopard skin playing cards and wagered that he could correctly guess the number on each card Harry pulled from the deck.  One intense minute of squinting and 13 correct guesses later and George whisked the cards back into his pocket and bid Harry a very merry Christmas before hurrying out through the door, carrying with him the oven ready turkey under his arm as he went.

Now this ‘thing’, which was very much on Harry’s mind, was something he had kept entirely to himself for almost a year.  It was in fact a secret.  A secret, that on the very stroke of midnight tonight he was finally going to share with someone.

Dear sweet Mrs Chucklebutty was exactly that someone.  Dear, because when she was born she weighed exactly five shillings and sixpence.  Sweet, because tucked away within the folds of her chins are no less than 5 packets of jelly babies.  And, like her name suggests, she is called Gladys.  AND!!! She is in the record books for being the world’s tallest living dwarf.  A title she shared equally with Albert Gumshaft, a part time novelty cake decoration of some renown, until a fracas outside the local fish market with a ventriloquists dummy over the price of halibut caused him to instantly lose two inches in height.  Ironically, at that very same instant, Albert began to sing ‘10 green gottles’ with great gusto, reaching new heights vocally that mimicked the exact screech a macaw makes when in fear of its own life.  The dummy, who has always insisted he had no hand in the debacle, was nevertheless seen to thrust an arm up Albert’s back while deliberately drinking a glass of water to divert suspicion.

And so, in only a few short hours from now it is dear sweet Mrs Chucklebutty who will learn the very secret that her next door neighbour, Harry Crumble has been harbouring for the past year.

Small flecks of snow began to fall from the inky black sky above and pepper the ground like a full English breakfast made out of concrete and earth and dog poo disguised as brown sauce, as Gladys Chucklebutty clicked shut the door to flat number 525, shuddered slightly, sneezed lightly, farted forthrightly and then stepped her way sprightly the few yards to flat number 526.

Harry, who was still staring out of his kitchenette window when Gladys passed beneath it, suddenly leapt into action and bolted for the door, swinging it wide open with a surprised ‘ta- daaa’, before Gladys’ raised knuckles had chance to touch wood.

‘Harry Crumble!’ cried Gladys, reeling backwards in alarm and almost falling through the security railings to her death below.  ‘You put the willies right up me there!’

‘Did i?’ said Harry, instantly dousing himself in vinegar and juggling a couple of king Edwards to clearly show his objection.  ‘I can assure you Gladys that my intentions were merely honourable.’

It was true.  The thought that his little caper might put Gladys in a bad mood and therefore jeopardise his long awaited plan simply in didn’t occur to him.  All he was trying to do was woo.

Gladys, on the other hand had always thwarted Harry’s feeble attempts at courtship.  Her heart still belonged to her late husband and celebrated mime artist, Charlie Chucklebutty, but rather than risk spending the night in stony silence, which would be just too painful and bring back too many good memories, Gladys did what she had trained herself to do in situations like this, and that was to shower Harry with sympathy.  It was something she had mastered through her p***y- Tiddles.  After a short, sharp scold she would scoop the bewildered kitten up in her arms and then pet it for up to an hour.  There was nothing more loyal or forgiving, Gladys had concluded, than a well stroked p***y.

There was, however, another reason why Gladys didn’t want to spoil the evening just yet, and it had come in the form of mumbled mutterings a few months earlier, when Harry, deep in one of his afternoon naps had gone on about a fabulous surprise - and which she was sure tonight was the night she was going to get it.

‘Aww, diddums,’ soothed Gladys, putting her training to good use.  ‘Does our ‘arry want a kissy wissy den?’  She stepped through the door and into the hallway, pausing only to reach up and plant her puckered up lips gently on to Harry’s right knee before continuing along it and into the living room.

Harry blinked, bewildered but happy at this rare public show of affection his knee had received and the fact that no lasting damage had been done to Gladys’ feelings.  He was happy, also, for the icy winter wind that had suddenly whipped up from out of nowhere to cool his flushed red cheeks back to their natural brown leathery colour.   Harry smiled to himself, closed the door, turned on his heels and trotted loyally off along the hallway towards the living room.  There was nothing in this whole wide world Harry had decided right then and there, nothing that could possibly wipe the smile from his face.

Gladys had taken no time at all in making herself at home and was now curled up on the settee, tucking into a large box of chocolates that she held securely on her outer thigh with 5 fat chubby digits, whilst with her free hand she automatically shovelled chocolate after chocolate into her slowly masticating gob.

‘I see you’ve found the present I was going to give the warden,’ said Harry, having his smile instantly wiped from his face.

‘Uuuuggg?’ spluttered Gladys, her mouth suddenly stopping in mid churn and her eyes flashing up from the well fingered box.

 Nora Gumboot may well have been a world champion all-in wrestler and an ex- army sergeant, assigned to more than 100 top secret missions around the globe. She may well have been a professional stunt double and body guard for that famous martial arts movie hero, Bruised Lips.  She may well, at this very moment in time be the warden of Flowery Flats, the very building in which Harry and Gladys now resided.  And, she may well, in only a few short hours from now be standing in the doorway full of Christmas cheer and goodness knows what else, but when Gladys’ wide, almost wild gaze connected with Harry’s gobsmacked gape, something changed inside him; something so magical and indescribable that it can only be described with magic.  Tonight, Harry reminded himself was Christmas Eve and it belonged to Gladys, he would deal with the wrath of a present- less Nora Gumboot in the morning when she did her rounds.  That, along with everything else in the world would have to wait.

 ‘I’ve heard the hazelnut whirls supposed to be nice, dear,’ said Harry, instantly forgiving her and pointing into the box at the last solitary chocolate, above which hovered Gladys’ chubby index finger and thumb.  He sat down beside her on the settee, closed his eyes and opened up his mouth expectantly.  ‘We make a great Anthony and Cleopatra, you and I,’ he continued, waiting for the chocolate to be placed lovingly onto his tongue.

Gladys blinked three times, swallowed down whole the thick, sticky globule of chocolate that had begun to fuse to her few remaining teeth and then delicately removed the hazelnut whirl from its moulded compartment without even looking at it.

‘If I had an Asp,’ she said, flicking the chocolate swiftly into the back of her throat, ‘I would clutch it to my breast right now.’  And with that she brushed aside the empty box with the back of her hand and let it clatter noisily to the floor before adding.  ‘And do close your mouth dear, you look like a basking crocodile.’

Harry did as he was told, although his next reaction after opening his eyes and seeing the hazelnut whirl slip away down the back of his beloved’s neck wasn’t to remind himself that the night belonged to Gladys and then instantly forgive her, but to leap up into the air, douse himself with vinegar and juggle three king Edward potatoes in objection.  A routine that Gladys mistook for spontaneous human stupidity, and so decided to give it no further thought.

‘Goodness me is that the time?’ she said, looking passed Harry and at the clock on the mantle- piece.  ‘We’re just in time for our favourite T.V programme.’

‘Bone Idol?’ blurted Harry, letting his hand to eye co-ordination slip for a split second, sending his king Edwards bouncing off across the living room floor and out of sight.

‘No, no, no,’ huffed Gladys, impatiently.  ‘They cancelled that show because no one could be bothered to fill out the application forms- remember? What I’m talking about is Toothless Darts, you know, the host with the nice smile and Muriel next to the dart board.’

‘Don’t you mean mural, dear?’ corrected Harry, chuckling at the very idea and instantly forgiving her.

‘No dear, I mean Muriel,’ said Gladys, with an insistent shake of the head.  ‘When his wife died he had her white-washed and hung on the wall.’  And with that she reached over, grabbed the remote from the arm of the settee and turned on the T.V.

Click!

All at once a rather grim looking man, wearing a large gum shaped hat emblazoned with blinking red neon letters depicting the show’s title appeared on screen.

 ‘We are postponing tonight’s edition of Toothless Darts featuring those two titans of the oche, Gum’s O’ Hara and Choppers McGinty to bring you-’

Click!

All at once the rather grim looking man, wearing the large gum shaped hat emblazoned with blinking red neon letters depicting the show’s title disappeared from screen.

Gladys reached over and placed the remote back on the arm of the settee.

‘Crackers?’ suggested Harry, smiling over at Gladys.

‘Hardly crackers dear, more like disappointing if you ask me, and I was so looking forward to that programme.’

Harry walked over to the Christmas tree, slid a cracker out from its branches and proffered it towards Gladys.

‘I mean do you want to pull one of these? They’re deluxe ones these are.  I’ve spared no expense in keeping up with the times this year.’

Gladys, like all practising dwarf hermits had learned to keep her true feelings to herself.

‘If you like keeping up with things that much, Harry,’ said Gladys, smiling deceptively.  ‘Then why don’t you try keeping up with Bert and Ethel from number 22?’

‘I hardly think the Jones’ have got anything to offer, Gladys my sweet,’ said Harry, scoffing at the very idea.  ‘They died last year.’

‘Yes dear,’ said Gladys, her voice sounding suddenly cold, ‘I know.’

Just then, at that precise moment a loud crunching noise could be heard coming from somewhere high above them.

‘There’s someone on the roof,’ gasped Gladys, clutching at her throat fearfully and dislodging a packet of jelly babies as she did so.  ‘I can hear their footsteps in the snow.’

‘It’s alright, Gladys, my sweet,’ said Harry, rushing over and sitting beside her.  He reached out for her hand, grasped it tightly and then nodded towards the old gas fire on the wall.  ‘Look!’ he added, goggling into it.

All at once a thick, soupy fog began to spill out from the old gas fire and onto the carpet, filling the suddenly darkened room.  And then, as if it were being illuminated by a strange eerie red, white and blue light, the fog became illuminated by a strange eerie red, white and blue light which emanated from the very gas fire itself.

Gladys gasped again, sending another packet of jelly babies crashing onto her lap.  She had stuffed the first packet hastily up her left nostril and now she did the same with the second packet, this time stuffing them up her right nostril.

‘What’s habbening?’ she said, suddenly sounding bunged up.

‘Also Sprach Zarathustra!’ mouthed Harry, as the low humming noise that accompanied the lights suddenly intensified to an ear splitting crescendo, and then, within the blinking of an eye- silence.

 The thick soupy fog which now began to clear from the floor upwards, revealed a pair of white patent boots.  This was followed almost immediately by a white sparkly jumpsuit and a white sparkly cape.  Inside these, Harry and Gladys could now make out, was a figure.  A human figure.  A man.

 ‘Is it him?’ asked Gladys, realising there was only one person who could make an entrance like that.  ‘Is it Father Christmas?’

 ‘Of course it isn’t Father Christmas,’ said Harry, instantly dropping down on one knee in admiration.  ‘It’s the king himself.  It’s Elvis Presley.’

‘Merry Christmas little darlin’,’ drawled the sparkly Christmas impersonator, as he whipped out a present from underneath his huge white belt and handed it to Gladys.  ‘Thankyouverymuch!’  And before Gladys or Harry could do or say anything else, Elvis had left the building.

Gladys stared motionless at the small expensively wrapped present in her hand.

‘Well!’ said Harry, nodding his head towards it.  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ He dragged himself up off the floor and sat back beside Gladys.  ‘I’ve been waiting all year to give you this,’ he added, giving her a gentle nudge.

It had seemed that long for Gladys, too, but in reality it had only been a couple of months, nevertheless, now that the moment was here she intended to savour it.  Well for a few more seconds at least.  Then, finally, with another gentle nudge from Harry, Gladys tore off the expensive wrapping paper and flipped open the lid on the black leatherette box.

 ‘It’s a hairy ear?’ she gasped in confusion, sending the last three packets of jelly babies tumbling onto her lap.

 ‘And it matches your other one,’ said Harry, grinning like a smile on holiday.  ‘Now you’ve got two things you’ve always wanted more than anything else in the whole world.’  He leant forward, his mouth only inches away from the black leatherette box Gladys now held at arms- length and whispered softly into it.  ‘Harry Crumble and a hairy new ear.’