Mr. Fusspot wakes up really early the next morning with a stiff neck. His body creaked and he moaned three times but that’s routine anyway.
It’s always ‘Oh my legs, oh my back and oh my neck’ but not necessarily in that order. I think it’s a ritual that all his family do.
He left me still waking up and off he trotted down to breakfast because somewhere along the line he’d found out that before 11 o’clock, the breakfast in the hotel is free. What he didn’t find out was that it was only toast, jam and tea that was free. He brought a room boy trailing behind him carrying a tray with eggs, bacon, toast, beans, sausage, tomatoes and a cup of tea.
‘I’ve made your breakfast love’ he said ‘Look how lovely it is. You’d better make the most of it though because that cost me thirty pence. Can you believe it? Thirty bloody pence. Mine was free because unlike some people, I managed to get up. Somebody else didn’t manage to get up did they? He lowered his voice ‘I think they’re all muggers in this hotel you know, exploitation is what it is, exploitation. Thirty bloody pence!’
‘Thank you’ I said paying no attention to his rantings. ‘You’re soooo good to me’
He stared at me for a bit to see if I was being sarcastic, thought about it for a minute or so, then decided I wasn’t.
‘I know I am’ he beamed, very happy with himself.
He also had another room boy with him who I’m sure he eventually fell in love with because the room boy could make swans out of towels.
I’ll go there later.
All I know is he gave that particular room boy the equivalent of about two months wages before we left.
After breakfast, we unpacked which meant me hanging some clothes up and Mr. Fusspot standing his guitar lovingly up in the corner, and we decided to walk into town.
I turned round at one point and Mr. Fusspot is walking along the dirt track with a litre water bottle balanced on his head.
‘Oh stop it’ I said, ‘The local people will think you’re taking the mick’.
‘It’s good for my posture’ he smirked ‘Look how straight I’m walking, I bet I could carry loads on my head if I wanted to. I reckon I could carry bales of hay, bricks, logs and even blocks of cement if I wanted to. I have a great sense of balance don’t I? I could have been a tightrope walker you know.’
He did try to nod good morning at the few people that stared at him but every time he did that, the bottle kept falling off much to my delight.
He soon gave up on that one
We carried on walking into town and then for some reason, he became a bit overwhelmed as the bikes, scooters, taxies, rickshaws, elephants, beggars, goats. chickens, cows, buses and coaches seemed to have the upper hand.
He was far too quiet.
I think that’s around the time he decided to pick on mosquitoes because out of the blue, he developed this ‘Let’s Kill Every Mosquito That Ever Lived Agenda’.
I swear from that first day, I don’t think he slept more than a couple of hours in two weeks because he was too busy ‘Ambushing mosquitoes’
When we got into town, he’s spotted the chemist.
Off he dashed across the road screaming ‘lubbalicca, doj, pim, vit’ and weaving in and out of cars, scooters, buses, people and chickens. I don’t know how he did it. I just know I haven’t seen him move so fast in a long time.
The chemists by the way, eventually ended up calling him by the name of Mr. Ha Ha Mozzie.
By the side of his bed by the time we got back on day one there was a fire thing you have to light to ward off mosquitoes just in case they‘re coming for you, a reserve fire thing, a plug in just in case they get past the fire thing, a reserve plug in, and a repellent just in case they get past the fire and the plug in thing just in case they get you, a repellent if they did catch you, a spray to stop them getting you, a spray if they did get you, a lotion just in case they get you, a lotion if they did get you but,
wait for this……….
When we were walking along the road, we went into a supermarket and the electric went off so the lady on the till gave Mr. Sweaty Fusspot a bit of cardboard to fan himself.
Can you possibly guess what it turned out to be later that night?
It turned into a mosquitoswatfan.
I think he smashed every black mark on the walls in the room at least ten times with the new sneery look he’s developed. He turned out the lights to trick the mosquitoes, flicked the light on to trick them, then on and off to trick them, sitting up in bed, lying down in bed, sitting up very quickly, laying down very quickly, sitting up very slowly, laying down very slowly. Now I’m very worried about him. I think he’s going to strain his back.
By the way, I’m not sleeping either with all his shenanigans.
What I also forgot to mention is that I’m suffocating whilst all this activity is going on as all doors and windows have to be locked and sealed just in case ‘they get you’ and he seems to be permanently walking or laying around with a shoe, a spray, a towel, a lump of cardboard, or something in his hand peering at walls but aaah, at least he’s happy.
And, the mosquitoes have taken his mind off the guitar for now.
For me, in a perfect world, I’d love a mosquito to steal his guitar
Farctured Frazzled Folk Fables and Fairy Farces, Part II satirizes popular children's stories into adult-oriented renditions. FFFF &FF, Part II is also available in Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble e-book formats.
