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Pomp, Pimms and Pineapple Cubes by Monty Bojangles
“Gosh what a carelessly hot day” this cat pondered, pouncing as he did upon the assembly of cucumber sandwiches arranged and dressed with doily’s en masse on the cast iron and white garden furniture of lady Cul-de-sac of Kent, “But hark! I see no sweets to finish this collection of fine noshables; I must correct this malady post-haste”. Hence and beyond with renewed vim our tatty hero trotted towards the radiating hostess (ignoring as he did the drab conversational speed bumps of many a hot and bothered moustache acting in calamity in his path).
“Greetings my white frock and frills, enough with these clumsy rogues come talk to your favourite guest. I have a gift of some advice for you and a chance to give that fake smile of yours some rest. To rid your party of these upper class drooges, next time serve with your Pimms my Pineapple cubes.”
As expected my advance was confronted with an exquisitely exotic medley of affronted delight. Un-abashed by this now all too familiar pantomime, this cat swept the fine lady up from the deck. “Capital!” I declared, “Now to capitalize”, with one graceful bound I flew both myself and she into the (conveniently close) E-type, gunned the engine to much staccato what-a-whating, and thundered our escape towards my favourite Brighton Bistro for supper, sunset and sweetie-there-afters.
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