the keys that were hidden beneath. ‘Nice as ninepence,’ said Jonny.
‘What?’
Jonny opened up the door and had a peep within. ‘Splendid,’ he was heard to say, and he made his way inside.
And presently, at a time not too far distant from his entrance, Jonny Hooker emerged from the park rangers’ hut wearing the uniform, cap and boots of a Gunnersbury park ranger. ‘How about
that
?’ he said to Mr Giggles.
‘Positively inspired,’ said the Monkey Boy. ‘Now I suggest that you run like the wind before the real park rangers arrive.’
‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘I won’t.’
‘They will catch you and bring you to book.’
‘They won’t.’
‘They gave you a pretty sound walloping when they dragged you out of the pond.’
‘They won’t recognise me,’ said Jonny.
‘What?’
So how exactly does it work, or rather why does it not? You can go into that shop week after week, month after month, and get served by the same person, or be on the same bus every day and have your ticket clipped by the same bus conductor. But pass the shop assistant or the conductor in the street, when they are out of uniform and not in the environment that you have come to associate them with …
And you don’t recognise them!
What is
that
all about? *
But whatever it
is
all about, it works the other way round.
Put someone you know well into a uniform and you hardly recognise them. Freaky, isn’t it?
‘So your theory is that you will not be recognised because you are wearing a uniform?’ said Mr Giggles.
‘In as many words,’ said Jonny. ‘Although, of course, I do not recall uttering any to that effect.’
Jonny dusted down the sleeves of his uniform and squared up his shoulders. The uniform fitted him rather well, and it rather suited him, too.
‘I think I cut something of a dash,’ said he.
‘It’s a shame the Village People split up,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘You’d have looked right at home amongst them. So much the bum-bandit, you look.’
‘Bum-bandit?’ said Jonny. ‘How dare you.’
‘I dare,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘I use the word “n****r”. Trust me,
I dare
.’
‘Aha,’ said Jonny, hastily relocking the hut door and returning the key to its flowerpot bower. ‘I hear approaching footsteps.’
And so Jonny did. The approaching footsteps of Messrs Kenneth Connor and Charles Hawtrey. Charles was whistling ‘Birdhouse In Your Soul’ (the They Might Be Giants classic). Kenneth was accompanying the whistle by laying down a percussive track involving a rolled-up newspaper and his right trouser leg.
And then.
‘Well, hello,’ said Kenneth Connor. ‘Who is this?’
Jonny Hooker stood to attention. ‘David Chicoteen,
sir
,’ said he. And he offered a salute.
‘At ease, Mister Chiocteen,’ said Kenneth Connor, but he couldn’t help but return the salute.
‘David Chicoteen?’ * said Mr Giggles. ‘Who he?’
‘Student,’ said Jonny to Ranger Connor. ‘Studying for a degree in—’ He paused. ‘Park rangering,’ he ventured. ‘Sent here for work experience, told to report to you directly. To take my orders directly from you and you alone.’
‘Me?’ asked Ranger Connor. ‘Me, personally?
‘The senior ranger,’ said Jonny, choosing his words with care. ‘You carry yourself with authority. I am certain that I have the right man.’
Ranger Hawtrey made a face. Ranger Connor did some puffing up.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘you do indeed have the right man. Splendid. I have asked them at the Big House again and again for another man. But what do I get? Cutbacks here, cutbacks there. You are a veritable blessing, young Chicoteen.’
‘Chicoteen?’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘What kind of name is that?’
‘A rubbish one,’ said Mr Giggles.
‘Dutch, I think,’ said Jonny, for who has it in for the Dutch?
‘I went to Holland once,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘They have a museum there, dedicated to poo.’ *
‘Did he just say what I think he just said?’ said Mr
‘What?’
Jonny opened up the door and had a peep within. ‘Splendid,’ he was heard to say, and he made his way inside.
And presently, at a time not too far distant from his entrance, Jonny Hooker emerged from the park rangers’ hut wearing the uniform, cap and boots of a Gunnersbury park ranger. ‘How about
that
?’ he said to Mr Giggles.
‘Positively inspired,’ said the Monkey Boy. ‘Now I suggest that you run like the wind before the real park rangers arrive.’
‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘I won’t.’
‘They will catch you and bring you to book.’
‘They won’t.’
‘They gave you a pretty sound walloping when they dragged you out of the pond.’
‘They won’t recognise me,’ said Jonny.
‘What?’
So how exactly does it work, or rather why does it not? You can go into that shop week after week, month after month, and get served by the same person, or be on the same bus every day and have your ticket clipped by the same bus conductor. But pass the shop assistant or the conductor in the street, when they are out of uniform and not in the environment that you have come to associate them with …
And you don’t recognise them!
What is
that
all about? *
But whatever it
is
all about, it works the other way round.
Put someone you know well into a uniform and you hardly recognise them. Freaky, isn’t it?
‘So your theory is that you will not be recognised because you are wearing a uniform?’ said Mr Giggles.
‘In as many words,’ said Jonny. ‘Although, of course, I do not recall uttering any to that effect.’
Jonny dusted down the sleeves of his uniform and squared up his shoulders. The uniform fitted him rather well, and it rather suited him, too.
‘I think I cut something of a dash,’ said he.
‘It’s a shame the Village People split up,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘You’d have looked right at home amongst them. So much the bum-bandit, you look.’
‘Bum-bandit?’ said Jonny. ‘How dare you.’
‘I dare,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘I use the word “n****r”. Trust me,
I dare
.’
‘Aha,’ said Jonny, hastily relocking the hut door and returning the key to its flowerpot bower. ‘I hear approaching footsteps.’
And so Jonny did. The approaching footsteps of Messrs Kenneth Connor and Charles Hawtrey. Charles was whistling ‘Birdhouse In Your Soul’ (the They Might Be Giants classic). Kenneth was accompanying the whistle by laying down a percussive track involving a rolled-up newspaper and his right trouser leg.
And then.
‘Well, hello,’ said Kenneth Connor. ‘Who is this?’
Jonny Hooker stood to attention. ‘David Chicoteen,
sir
,’ said he. And he offered a salute.
‘At ease, Mister Chiocteen,’ said Kenneth Connor, but he couldn’t help but return the salute.
‘David Chicoteen?’ * said Mr Giggles. ‘Who he?’
‘Student,’ said Jonny to Ranger Connor. ‘Studying for a degree in—’ He paused. ‘Park rangering,’ he ventured. ‘Sent here for work experience, told to report to you directly. To take my orders directly from you and you alone.’
‘Me?’ asked Ranger Connor. ‘Me, personally?
‘The senior ranger,’ said Jonny, choosing his words with care. ‘You carry yourself with authority. I am certain that I have the right man.’
Ranger Hawtrey made a face. Ranger Connor did some puffing up.
‘Well,’ said he, ‘you do indeed have the right man. Splendid. I have asked them at the Big House again and again for another man. But what do I get? Cutbacks here, cutbacks there. You are a veritable blessing, young Chicoteen.’
‘Chicoteen?’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘What kind of name is that?’
‘A rubbish one,’ said Mr Giggles.
‘Dutch, I think,’ said Jonny, for who has it in for the Dutch?
‘I went to Holland once,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘They have a museum there, dedicated to poo.’ *
‘Did he just say what I think he just said?’ said Mr
Similar Books
