As it was a lovely sunny Sunday, Humboldt Brecht felt he should take advantage of the fine meteorological conditions rather than sitting in his shadowy front room watching old films on the Old Films Channel, continually frying chips in the deep-fat fryer beside the sofa and washing them down with gallons of ice-cold Bierschwein Export, especially as he never did this anyway. So he lifted the saucer section of his Starship Endocrine telling bone, and called his friend Fatty Melhuish.
“Fatty Melhuish!” he cried.
“Humboldt Brecht!” he was answered.
“Lot of weather about today!” roared the instigator of the conversation, “So I thought a fun trip to Fargo Mills would be an entertaining diversion.”
“I believe you are not mistaken in this assumption,” bellowed the recipient of this information, “You will surely have a whale of a time. I only wish I was going with you, for I am sorely ridden by ennui, yea even with a saddle that smells of an elephant’s socks.”
“You have experience of an elephant’s socks, Melhuish?” screamed the suddenly inquisitive one.
“’Twas mere conjecture, friend Brecht,” yelled he who had conjectured.
“I see, person named for his girth,” howled the addressed, “But anyways, I have called not only to inform you of my plans for the day, but also to suggest that you accompany me on this excursion.”
“Oh joy for to have such a thoughtful friend!” shrieked an excited invitee, “I should be delighted to accept this suggestion! I should, but I unaccountably find myself merely thrilled.”
“Then hie thee here and let us away!” shouted he who had run out of synonyms for speaking very loudly.
“I am here, Humboldt Brecht!” Melhuish caused the words he made with his mouthy bits and vocal chords to say, stepping out of the kitchen. “If you will just stop fiddling with the warp nacelles of that broken telephone, we can be on our way. Whose car shall we take? Shall we take your rattletrap steam-powered Ronco 2-in-1 Roadlitterer jalopy-and-egg-whisk with moulded plastic handle in a choice of three colours, all of which you appear to have chosen and those being black, rust and seagull, or shall we cruise to our destination in my own pristine gleaming white Rolls Royce Corniche Cabriolet with decaphonic thought-operated music bead player, turbo engine boost and flames painted along the side?"
"I think, on the whole, it would be better to take the Ronco, as it has the decisive advantage of existing outside your fantasies, my rotund chum."
So off they went to Fargo Mills, casting their cares to the wind and bits of exhaust to the Devil's Expressway.
What a merry jaunt it was, Brecht and Melhuish compensating for the lack of in-car entertainment by providing their own, with a riotous rendering of their rip-roaring repertoire of both spontaneous avant garde creations and old favourites, including “We’re on our way to Fargo Mills”, “Cheese on Toast Blues”, “Humboldt’s Old Rustheap” and the brand new “Waaahhhh Aaaaaahahhhh Ooooooghhhh Baaaaaahhh!!!!” which they enjoyed so much they sang it for 12 miles. Oh, how could it be less than a joyous excursion in such convivial if nauseating company?
Arrival at Fargo Mills was heralded by happy cries of “Huzzah!” and “Quack!”, and the steamie of Brecht was slotted into one of the narrow bays. Humboldt was able to squeeze out of the narrow gap between Umzetta (don’t you name your cars?) and the adjoining 5-wheel-drive people carrier, but Fatty Melhuish, whose leading name had not been given him by those whose almost sense of humour was such as to compel them to christen a bald man Curly, found himself trapped.
“Humboldt Brecht! Humboldt Brecht! I am confined in a small space! Help me, Humbold Brecht, for the aperture between your disgusting rustheap and the fine shiny vehicle next to it is far too narrow for my vast bulk to squeeze through!” came the panicked plea.
“It is then fortunate that my cherished vehicle has no roof, it having rotted away long ago,” came the unperturbed reply.
“Oh, I suddenly realise this is true! What a funny old duffer I am, to be sure!” came the tertiary instalment of this pointless interlude, as Fatty climbed out topways.
They were such lovable fools as to park at the wrong side for the rides, or were they fools? In their wisdom they had rendered it necessary to toddle through the main store, that bastion of cheap knock-offs, deleted rubbish and sundry fascinating cast-offs for sale, for such was the large warehouse-like building that predated and provided the core raison d'etre for the fun-for-all-the-family acreage that drew in the plebs in their mill.. thou… hund… lots, anyway, for a delightful day out.
Oh the books Humboldt Brecht! Fortune-Telling with Matchsticks, Carburettors Through the Ages, Your Starsign (only Scorpio and House of Fraser available), Ben's Book of Bilbies…
Oh the music department Fatty Melhuish! CDs, tapes, 8-tracks… Tommy Tuxedo and his Kazoo Gang play The Best of Van Der Graaf Generator, Dollar's golden Greats, Git Yer Stetsons On! Line Dancing Favourites with the Hulstonford Cowboy Club Country & Western Buffoons and one copy of Swordfishtrombones on cylinder.
Oh the clothes Decapitation and Defenestration Wilburt neighbours of the Commonorgardener extended family! Smocks, jodhpurs, dungarees and ra-ra skirts with a fine display of tweed caps and deely-boppers to set off your brass-coated plastic and tin jewellery at very reasonable prices!
Having had a jolly good laugh at the stock and the people giving serious consideration to the choice of a wantonly floral sofa or a measure of Bandersnoot Beaver nylon carpet, our heroes wandered out of the emporium and into the region of rides and snooks that were the purpose of their trip. But what to go on first?
"The bumper boats, Humboldt Brecht!"
"The go-go-karties, Fatty Melhuish!"
"Anything but the swan pedal boats!" they chorused. So the first thing they went on was the swan pedal boats.
Into the lake they churned, four legs chugging away, singing "Wheeee!" and "Oh what fun!" and pistoning their pins up and down and round and round. Finally, they tired.
"Let us return to the jetty," decided Brecht, "For my muscles are weak and puny, and exhausted with effort."
"Very well," conceded his chum, "As my leggies are tired as well."
"But how shall we get back, with our means of propulsion thus depleted?" queried Humboldt.
"Not to be feared, my friend, for we are but three feet from the jetty and still tied to it by a rope. Ho, menial swan minder!"
And they were pulled back, where they alighted, to stagger off all swanned out and sated.
Next they opted for the bumper boats, the powered rubber coracles that were buggers to steer and well padded for the bumping that gave them their name. When all were seated, Humboldt and Fatty in the centre of a line of plebs out for a larf, they were bidden start their engines and ushered out of the little toy harbour into the main.
"I'm coming to get you, Melhuish!" challenged Brecht.
"I think not, buddy of mine!" replied the contender, and he was right, for he had spotted the young rip who was out to get as many participants as he could.
Splopp! went the tearaway into Humboldt's steed, rendering his victim torrented, and all down the back of his shirt too.
"Oh!" cried the splashed one, "I am all wet down my back! Ha ha ho and hee hee ha! What fun this is!"
"It is, oh it is!" Melhuish was now spinning round and round for the hell of it, only to spiral off across the water as he was likewise pranged by the silly man in shorts and sandals of whom there is always one on these things. "Aaaaaaagghhhh!" he protested as he caromed under the fountain from the suspended hosepipe that had been set up just in case some people didn't get wet enough in the fray.
And so it went, spinning and bouncing, sometimes attempting to cruise in a straight line but always going backwards into the general melee. At length the shout went out, "Everybody in!" and all straggled back into port.
Except Humboldt, who pretended to misunderstand and toppled himself into the water. What a card he was!
That was enough wet for now, so after an ice cream while Hum dried out a bit in the sun, they went on the karties.
Vroom! Vroom! Fatty had managed to get the first kart in line so was in the lead, but Humboldt was catching up fast, or rather he wasn't as the low power of the karts meant that you could drive at full speed all round the track without skidding into the corners or falling out, so of course everyone did. However, on the fourth lap Humboldt managed to get in front of Fatty by getting out, picking up his kart and running across the centre of the track, throwing it down on the other side and hopping in only just in front of the astonished and outraged Melhuish.
"Oh, you won't pull that trick on me again, you schemer!" he protested as they tromped through the exit afterwards.
"That I will not," agreed the naughty boy, "As I have been banned for life by the spotty oik attendant for being too interesting."
"The expression he used was, rather, intended to convey foolhardiness, I believe."
"Be that as it may, o one who came second, be that as it may."
More dry fun followed, as they turned to the dodgems. To the pounding beat of the latest hit from some dance troupe they again set themselves to gratuitous collision, and again each was knocked from his quest by a succession of small boys and more mature numskulls, neath the sparks of static electricity from one roar of the siren to the next. And as tradition demanded, the inquest on this ride was:
"That must be what it's like driving a Dalek! Ha ha ha!"
On to the mini-trawlers, Humboldt drawing the Patsy-Ann and his colleague the Pride of Fargo Mills. Not so frenzied these little chuggers, pooting slowly around the lake, circling the model lighthouse, but much merriment was to be had calling "Ha har me hearties!" and "Ahoy there!" to friends and strangers alike, and drifting by the edge to say hello to the ducks.
They were obviously in the chill-out segment now, and topped it off with a ride on the miniature railway, Brecht declaring that they must be on the lookout for the gnibbly gnobbly gnomes. Trundling about the grounds in a plume of smoke, they proclaimed with glee the spotting of the Teddy-Bears' Picnic, the hippocrocosnake and the very small wossnamesauruseseses, but alas, there was as usual no sign of the gnibbly gnobbly gnomes.
"No sign again of the gnibbly gnobbly gnomes, Humboldt Brecht."
"No. I'm beginning to think I made them up, Fatty Melhuish."
Understanding dawned.
"Humboldt Brecht! In all our journeys here and our trips on the miniature railways, which total an amazing three including this one, you have enjoined me to be sure to keep a wary eye out for the gnibbly gnobbly gnomes! You have been playing a hilarious prank on me, haven't you?"
Humboldt merely grinned. The scamp!
On to the pasty and chips now to round off the day, throwing morsels to the peafowl and chipmunks who roamed freely about the grounds. It was roundly agreed that it had been a most satisfying and amusing day, and one which, if they had still been in school and enjoined in Monday's class to write an essay about what they did over the weekend, they would both have chosen to chronicle in detail.
Now returned to the domicile of Mr Brecht and enjoying a relaxing mug of cocoa apiece, the duo reflected on their day. Mr Melhuish expressed a desire for closure.
"At this point," he proclaimed, "I feel there should be some sort of epilogue, a few words to wrap up the whole thing; a punchline, perhaps, that puts all the preceding in an entirely different light to humorous effect, or even, at a pinch, a moral to the story."
"You have been unduly influenced by the world of literature," answered his companion, "Or perhaps by excessive viewing of situation comedies and sketch shows. In life, Fatty Melhuish, there is no script, no pacing, and often no moral."
He raised his mug in salute.
"In life, Melhuish, things simply happen, usually one after the other. That's just the way it is."
Melhuish considered this a moment in thoughtful silence, and, too, raised his mug.
"Yes," he agreed, "That's just the way it is."