A DAY IN THE LIFE… OR HOW SHELLY GOT THE HUMP.

‘Hey dad,’ said Nigel Mullins, glancing up from his orange squash and peering out through the window of the little café at the chaotic scene outside.  ‘I wonder where all those chickens came from?’

Eric, Nigel’s father, along with everyone else that morning who had ventured out into the village, had done the only thing he could do to avoid being trampled on by a gang of stir crazy chickens hell bent on causing havoc in the high street, and that was to bolt through the nearest door he came to.

‘If I’m not mistaken, son,’ said Nigel’s knowledgeable father, fishing out yet another feather from his coffee cup with the tip of his finger.  ‘I’d say that those chickens belong to Farmer Fowl.’

‘You don’t mean ‘crazy Mr. Clucky’ what all us kids likes to call him?’ cried Nigel, pointing his finger far off into the distance.

‘I mean exactly that,’ answered Nigel’s father, nodding his head slowly and surely in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile at that precise moment, up on Fowl farm, Farmer Fowl was up to more foul tricks.

‘I’m gonna sell this cluckless farm to the first rich Sheik or gullible rambler what happens to stick his head through me kitchen window what I craftily left open on purpose, An’ that way they can take all the blame for those stir crazy chickens runnin’ amok all over the place.’  The foul farmer poured out a large mug of milk and left it by the open window as a tempting treat. ‘That should lure em in alright,’ he added, feeling very pleased with himself.

Just then, and by a sheer coincidence too, a man named Sheik Gullible Graham stuck his head through the kitchen window.

‘Excuse me, kind sir,’ said Sheik Gullible Graham, smacking his parched lips together and producing a large wad of money from the folds of his kaftan.  ‘But you don’t happen to have a glass of water I could purchase from you?’

 ‘What you need is a glass of milk, Sheik,’ suggested Fowl, seeing his chance.  He picked up the glass of tempting milk and thrust it into the gullible old rambler’s outstretched hand, but not before he’d removed the large wad of money first and hid it away discreetly within the folds of his underpants.

‘I say old chap, that’s rather decent of you,’ said the gullible Sheik, gulping the milk quickly down his throat.

‘Decent happens to be my middle name,’ lied the foul farmer, who knew full well it was Tony.  ‘And I think it only decent to mention before I go that you are now the proud owner of this fantastically fowl farm.’

‘Am i?’ said the Sheik, shaking his head in confusion.

‘You are,’ said ex- Farmer Fowl, handing him the keys to the place.

‘WOW! I’ve always wanted to own a farm,’ said the gullible Sheik, who then immediately sold it to Chuck Egghump, the man standing right beside him.

‘Thanks Sheik Gullible Graham,’ said Chuck Egghump, hardly daring to believe his luck and marveling at the sound investment he’d just made.

‘Anytime,’ replied the gullible Sheik, who, as it turned out wasn’t Sheik Gullible Graham after all, but Ian Inkbottom, an amateur impersonator who travelled the country impersonating Sheik’s of all gullible shapes and sizes.

But what did these foul shenanigans and Shaky impersonations mean?  And what effect would they have on the world around them?  Locally of course, it meant that an entire community would be left spitting feathers until the last rogue chicken was rounded up, diagnosed, and then given counseling.  And at number 25 Picalilli Street, Miss Gloria Soot leapt out from a cake and wished Neil Simpkins a happy birthday- and, at this exact same moment, although 7 thousand miles away in the deepest darkest jungle in Borneo, Professor Frederik Von Snossenflossen was about to unearth an unearthly discovery which could mean the end to floppy brows as we know it; A discovery that demanded complete silence and also for his uncooperative elephant to lift up its leg.

‘Excuse me Professor,’ whispered Freda Van Snissenflissen, his featherbrained assistant, breaking the complete silence rule.  ‘But do you really think you should be kicking that elephant like that- it might stand on you?’

‘Silence!’ demanded Professor Frederik Von Snossenflossen, giving the elephant another almighty thwack on the leg with his boot.  ‘It must obey its mast- ’

For Chuck Egghump, on the other hand, it meant he was rich beyond his wildest dreams, or so he thought.

‘I’m rich beyond my wildest dreams!’ he declared to his daughter, Shelly, the frumpy old spinster standing next to him.  ‘And now I am going to do the one thing that I have always wanted to do, my sweet.  I am going to open my very own café.’

To give his daughter a clearer picture of the vision he had in his head, Chuck pulled out a copy of café monthly magazine from his back pocket.  Next, he pulled out a pair of scissors from his front pocket and cut out one of the photographs.  Then, using a pen he pulled out from his other front pocket, he wrote across the cut out picture in large capital letters: C,C,C,C.

‘Chucks Chuckle Chicken Café!’ he said, proudly handing his daughter the picture. ‘My specialty, besides food of course is going to be my chuckle chicken chuckle.  That’s right, my sugar- I am going to chuckle like a chicken in not 1- not 2- but 8 different languages, and the first customer to correctly guess all 8 will get a free chuckle chicken dessert from my chuckle chicken dessert trolley.  What do you think about that, my little saccharine?’

‘I think you shouldn’t count your chuckles before they ha-hatch, daddy,’ answered Shelly, suddenly realizing there was foul play afoot.  She pointed out across the farmyard, past Farmer Fowl, who was leggin’ it down the lane, past Ian Inkbottom, the amateur impersonator, who was peggin’ it down the lane impersonating a washing line full of clothes and to the deserted chicken coops beyond.

‘Me chickens!’ cried Chuck, shooting his eyebrows up to the top of his head in surprise. ‘What’s happened to me chickens?’

‘Yer eyebrows!’ cried Shelly, watching her father’s eyebrows suddenly shoot back down again.  ‘What’s happened to yer eyebrows?’

And in that little farmhouse kitchen up on Fowl, Sheik Gullible Graham, Chuck Egghump Farm, father and daughter pondered for a moment on these two unanswered questions.

‘Mmmm…..’ said Chuck, ponderingly.

‘Mmmm…..’ said Shelly, pondering likewise.

And on they went, pondering their little heads off together, until finally…

‘I’ve got it, daddy!’ cried Shelly, sticking a finger into the air in triumph.  ‘It looks like all your chickens went an’ got themselves stir crazy by being cooped up in those coops for goodness knows how long, an’ then somehow escaped to run amok in the village.  And maybe your eyebrows went an’ got themselves dislocated by overstretchin’ your surprise muscles in surprise?’

‘Mmmm…..’ said Chuck, instantly pondering on two new unanswered questions that suddenly flitted into his head.  ‘So how am I going to open me Chuckle Chicken Café without any chickens- and how am I going to do me famous chuckle chicken chuckle with this flippin’ frown plastered all over me face?’

‘Oh, daddy, I don’t want to ponder on no more pondering questions- I just wants to grow some turnips an’ be a farmer’s daughter like what you promised,’ said Shelly, stamping her foot down stubbornly.

‘But I’m going to be a laughing stock, my lemon,’ said Chuck, suddenly turning bitter towards his unhelpful daughter.

‘Oh, I don’t think you’re a laughing stock, daddy,’ said Shelly, giggling at the very idea.  And with that she walked over to her father and tenderly folded his furrowed brow into the shape of a beautiful love heart.  ‘We’re a team, daddy- you and I,’ she added, with a tender whisper into his ear before folding it into the shape of a beautiful cauliflower.

‘But I don’t want to be in no teams,’ grumbled Chuck, folding his arms into the shape of a bus driver.  ‘I’m off to find Professor Frederik Von Snossenflossen.  I’ve heard he’s somewhere in the deepest darkest jungle in Borneo about to unearth an unearthly discovery which could mean the end of floppy brows as we know it- maybe he can help?  And maybe his featherbrained assistant Freda Van Snissenflissen can help me find my chickens, too?’

‘But daddy, it’s a jungle out there,’ cried Shelly, instantly getting the hump.  ‘Surely you’re not going to leave me here in this deserted farmhouse all by myself, are you daddy?’

‘I’ve got no choice,’ explained Chuck, with the use of a nod, a furrowed brow in the shape of a love heart (which just goes to show how handy it can be), and a pointy finger. ‘You see, that instant hump of yours is far too big and cumbersome to carry half way around the world- It’ll do my lumbago no good at all.  But I promise to wear this frown like a heart until we’re re-united again, or until I find a cure.’

And with that, Chuck used his pointy finger to fish out a single one way ticket to Borneo from his trouser pocket.

‘And besides, I’ve only got one of these,’ he added, turning on his heels and using the ticket to wave goodbye with.

‘Farewell, daddy,’ sobbed Shelly, as she watched her father trundle off towards the train station and beyond.  ‘And I promise to wear my hump like a hump until you return all cured and happy again.’

And she did.

And that is how Shelly Egghump got the hump.