A Modern Day Fairy Tale - Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel

Chapter One

Once upon a time there was a poor single mother who lived with her two little daughters in a tower block by the edge of a dual carriageway. In front of the tower block was some derelict scrubland with two large walls upon which grew colourful graffiti. One wall bore the graffiti of the first daughter, Lady Spittle and the other the sprayed daubings of the second daughter, Wobbly Scoundrel.
The two children were alike in that they were both obese, alcopop swilling chavs and always covered in hickys and burger fat but they were quite different in their choice of shellsuit and in their ‘ways’.
One sister, Lady Spittle was fair-haired (peroxide overload) and she was rather quiet and gentle due to her imbibing too much Hydroponic Skunk on a daily basis. In summer she liked to wear, in each ear, five Argos sovereigns which tended to turn the lobes green if left unchecked.
The other sister, Wobbly Scoundrel was dark-haired. She loved to run about and skip and dance – due to her love of speed bombs and ecstasy – and she was always lively with gays. She liked to wear on her head a Burberry baseball cap which she nicked from Oxford Street the last summer.
Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel were devoted to each other like ‘brethren’ and often vowed that they would stay together as long as they lived, even if they both went to prison. They shared everything, even needles and, whenever they went out, they walked along hand in hand, ignoring the cries of, ‘Fakkin’ Lezzers!’
The daughters spent a good deal of their time playing in the nightclubs of London Town. None of the animals in there ever harmed them; they often came close to the girls and bought them Bacardi Breezers in the hope of a leg over later on. The wild South London scallies used to eat chips from their hands, the bouncers grazed their knuckles on pissed punters faces and the stag nights leaped all around them. The other birds in the nightclubs sat on benches nearby and sang their Girls Aloud songs.
If the girls found themselves far from home as night came on, they would even spend the night in the bus shelter. They used to lie down together on a bed of Kate Moss pictures and sleep until morning. No harm ever came to them. Their mother knew that she need have no fear for her children when they were in the bus shelter because she knew a few ‘men’ who looked after their own and loved their Mothers.
Once when Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel had spent the night in the bus shelter, they wakened in the morning to find a beautiful chav in a shining white shell suit sitting beside them. The chav smiled at them and then vanished. ‘Fakkin’ ‘ell maaan, I’m tripping!’, said Lady Spittle. When the girls looked around they found they had been sleeping all night close to a steep embankment. They would have certainly fallen over the edge into the oncoming traffic if they had moved at all.
When they told their mother about this, she said that the chav must have been their guardian angel who watches over the chemically imbibed.

Chapter Two

Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel kept their mother’s tower block flat so stocked with tat and narcotics that it was a pleasure to go into it.
Every morning in summer, Lady Spittle nicked a bunch of fresh flowers from Tescos and arranged them in a vase beside her mother’s crack pipe. Among the flowers there was always a substantial ‘bush’ of green.
Every morning in winter, Wobbly Scoundrel lit the crack pipe and hung her mother over it. The crack pipe was made of copper and Wobbly Scoundrel kept it polished so that it shone like gold.
In the winter evenings when the snow was falling, the mother and her girls gathered round the bong. While the two girls sat spinning up a ‘J’ their mother read aloud to them from a copy of Heat magazine. Beside them on the floor slept a white Rottweiler while a pile of white doves were stacked up nearby.
Suddenly, one evening, as they were sitting quietly by the bong, a loud knock was heard upon the door. ‘Bollocks!’ cried the mother, ‘I hope it’s not the fakkin’ bailiffs! Open the door slowly Lady Spittle with the chain on and don’t forget the mace if necessary.’
Lady Spittle ran and pulled the chain on. Unfortunately the door flew open anyway. Into the room walked, not a bailiff but a big bear of a mans. Lady Spittle ran screaming towards her mother. Wobbly Scoundrel hid behind her mother’s pile of polystyrene take away curry boxes. The Rottweiler began to bark and all the doves fell down from the shelf.
‘I have not come to hurt you,’ said the bear of a mans in a gentle voice. I only want to warm myself up with a few toots of your bong, for I am half frozen.’
‘Poor bear of a mans,’ said the mother. ‘Come and lie down by the bong but take care that you do not burn your fur coat on a blimp.’
Then she called to her children, ‘Wobbly Scoundrel! Lady Spittle! You need not hide, for the bear of a mans will do you no harm.’
So the girls came timidly towards the bong and the Rottweiler drew nearer and they all dropped a dove.
‘Dear children, will you sweep the gak off my fur coat?’ asked the bear of a mans. Then Wobbly Scoundrel and Lady Spittle took it in turns to sweep the gak from the bear of a mans fur coat. By the time they had finished and half of Columbia was on the floor, they had lost all their fear and the bear of a mans had become their playmate.
When bedtime came the mother said, ‘Stay here by the bong all night, gentle bear of a mans and get ripped to the tits.’
In the morning the girls opened the door and the bear of a mans trotted away through the early morning traffic mashed up good style.
In the evening the bear of a mans returned and, when the door was opened, he walked to the bong and lay down as if he had done this all his life. The next evening he came again and every evening afterwards for the whole winter.
The children grew so fond of him that at night the door was never fastened until their big bear of a mans had arrived. Then they used to play together in front of the bong. The children would pull the big bear of a mans leg about his appalling taste in music – James Blunt, Jamie Cullen, Dido – and roll up Camberwell Carrots on his chest. When he growled at them, taking the piss, they laughed and rolled over with him as they couldn’t remain upright due to the amount of bongwater they’d all imbibed.

Chapter Three

The bear of a mans nightly visits continued until the spring, when the forecourts of pub car parks became green  again with imported skunk from Holland and the birds began to sing their summer R + B favourites once more.  Then one morning the bear of a mans said, ‘Laters Potaters, I is out of here dear children, now that spring is here I must leave you ‘cos I’ve gotta’ do one and I shall not return all summer.’
‘Why must you leave us, dear bear of a mans, and where will you go?’ asked Lady Spittle.
‘I must go up East on business, to guard my treasures and ill gotten gains from the wicked trustafarian dwarf tramps,’ replied the bear of a mans. ‘In winter my ‘manor’ is frozen hard and so they spend their time in soup kitchens and Anarcho-squats, but now the sun has melted the ice, my ‘manor’ and my ‘soldiers’ will become soft and the trustafarian dwarf tramps will begin to have a go.
Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel went sadly to unbolt the door for their dear friend.
As the bear of a mans passed through the doorway, a piece of his fur coat caught on the latch. Lady Spittle thought she saw a glimpse of gleaming gold beneath the fur, but she could not be certain about this.
The girls stood in the doorway waving to their friend and thinking how much they would miss him in the evenings. The bear of a mans trotted quickly away shielding his pinned out eyeballs from the sun and was soon hidden by the crack dealers and traffic.

Chapter Four

Some time afterwards, the mother sent her children into ‘the hood’ to shoplift firewood and fags. They came to a large telegraph pole lying on the ground. Something was jumping backwards and forwards over the telegraph pole but at first they could not tell what it was.
As they came nearer, they saw that it was a tiny trustafarian dwarf tramp with an old, withered face and a long shite beard. He had tried to split the wires of the telegraph pole with his flick-knife to get free calls, and his long shite beard had become trapped in the crack he had accidentally made in the pole. He hopped over the pole again and again and tugged furiously at his beard, but could not pull it free.
When the trustafarian dwarf tramp caught sight of Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel, he shouted, ‘You ugly creatures! You rank slags! Why do you stand there staring instead of trying to help me?’
Although the little trustafarian was so rude to them, the sisters still wanted to help him. After all he looked like he had some good shit on him. They tried hard to pull his beard free but it was held firmly in the crack of the telegraph pole.
So Lady Spittle said, ‘I will run home and find someone to help you.’ ‘You stupid slapper!’ screamed the dwarf tramp. ‘What is the use of bringing other stupid knobheads to stare? Can you not do something?’
‘Let me see what I can do,’ said Wobbly Scoundrel. She took her numchucks from her pocket and cut the dwarf’s beard close to the telegraph pole, so that he as freed.
As soon as the trustafarian dwarf tramp found himself free, he picked up a bag of gold sovereign rings which was lying beside the telegraph pole and turned towards the girls. Not a word of thanks did he utter. Instead, all he could mumble was, ‘You wicked evil children! How dare you cut off a piece of my Jah Bless beard. Bad luck on you. I hope you both get bird flu!’

Chapter Five

Another day, some time later, Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel went fishing by the banks of the derelict canal. In the distance they saw a queer little figure hopping up and down as if it were about to jump into the canal. They ran forward and found that it was the trustafarian dwarf tramp again.
‘What are you trying to do?’ asked Wobbly Scoundrel. ‘Surely you don’t want to jump into the water?’
‘I am not such a fool, and don’t call me Shirley,’ screamed the trustafarian dwarf tramp. ‘Can’t you see that this huge shopping trolley is dragging me into the canal?’
When the sisters looked more closely they could see that the little trustafarian dwarf tramp had hooked a large Tescos trolley on the end of his fishing line. Unfortunately, at the same time his rank beard had become entangled with the line.
Every time the trolley jerked in the canal’s current, the trustafarian dwarf tramp was dragged nearer to the filthy water’s edge. He was clutching at the rusty mooring rings at the banks of the canal, but the trolley was too strong for him. He was being pulled nearer and nearer to the filthy rank canal water.
The sisters quickly grasped the trustafarian dwarf tramp and hung on to him with all their strength. But, try as they might, they could not disentangle his rank beard from the fishing line.
At last, Lady Spittle took out her scissors and cut off more than half his rank beard. Although the dwarf tramp knew that she had done this to save his life, he flew into a terrible rage.
‘How dare you disfigure me in this way you dozy mare?’ he screamed. ‘First you cut off the end of my Jah Bless beard and now you cut off half of it. How can I let people see me in the Anarcho-squat when I look such a fright?’ I hope you have to run until you have no soles left on your shoes! I hope you have to unintentionally snort brick dust and rat poison until you have no septum left!’
Then he picked up a bag of pearl necklaces which he had hidden among the discarded mattresses, swung it over his shoulder, and disappeared.

Chapter Six

Some time afterwards, Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel were sent to town by their mother, to shoplift clean needles and some new threads. Their road led them to a bare stretch of common land strewn with bin bags. There they noticed a large mottled pigeon hovering over a certain spot. Suddenly the scabby bird pounced down and the children heard pitiful cries.
They rushed forward and saw with horror that the huge mutant pigeon had the trustafarian dwarf tramp in his stumpy talons and was about to carry him off. Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel caught hold of the dwarf’s parka coat and hung on with all their might. They pulled so hard that at last the mutant pigeon dropped the trustafarian dwarf tramp and flew away to shit on tourists.
As soon as the trustafatrian dwarf tramp had recovered from his fright, he turned to the sisters. ‘You clumsy blood claaats!’ he raged. ‘What do you mean by handling me so roughly? You have nearly torn my new coat off my back. Could you not have handled me more carefully?’
Then he picked up a sack of pirate DVDs and disappeared behind one of the large bin bags.
Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel were by now used to his rudeness, and not in the rasta ‘rude boy’ way, that they did not expect thanks for their help. They went on their way into town, where they shoplifted the needles and new threads for their mother.

Chapter Seven

On their way home in the evening, they came across the trustafarian dwarf tramp once more, in the same place. He was kneeling on the ground, gazing at all his sovereign rings, DVDs and assorted pikey tat which was spread around him. The pikey tat sparkled and gleamed with such chaviness that the children thought they had never seen anything so beautiful. They could not help but stop and stare due to their lack of taste.
Suddenly the trustafarian dwarf tramp looked up. ‘What are you standing there gaping at you pair of mingers?’ he yelled and his face grew bright red with anger.
At that moment a terrible growl was heard and a big bear of a mans came shuffling out of a housing estate towards them.
The trustafarian dwarf tramp sprang to his feet, terrified. His angry, red face became white with fear. Before the dwarf tramp had time to escape, the bear of a mans was beside him.
Then the trustafarian dwarf tramp, in a shaky voice, pleaded, ‘Dear Mr Bear of a mans, please spare my life-I beg of you. I am so small; I would only be a fistful for you to beat. If indeed that’s what you intend to do. Or batter the shit out of me? I don’t know. If you are hungry for a fight why don’t you beat these two wicked girls? And I don’t mean ‘wicked’ in the bad meaning good terminology either. They are a couple of fat knackers and would be easy to beat in a scrap. If you will spare me, I will give you all my pikey tat.

Chapter Eight

But the bear of a mans paid no attention to the rank little trustafarian dwarf tramp. He just lifted his huge paw of a fist and with a single blow the dwarf tramp lay dead on the ground.
The girls were running off in fright, when the bear of a mans called after them, ‘Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel, don’t be afraid. Don’t you know me?’ The girls recognised, with delight, the voice of their dear friend. They turned and ran towards him as he came trotting to meet them.
As they met, his fur coat fell from him and instead of a shaggy bear of a mans, there stood before them a handsome young East End drug baron, dressed in a shellsuit of gold.

Chapter Nine

‘I am an underworld crimelord’s son’ he said. ‘That wanker dwarf robbed me of all my pikey tat and put a spell on me so that I was changed into a bear of a mans. Ever since then I have wandered the highways and byways of Lahndahn taahn, watching for a chance to kill the smelly little twat. Not until he was dead could the spell be lifted from me. Now I am free and he has received his just punishment.’
Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel were overjoyed when they heard the underworld crimelord son’s tale, as was their mother when the handsome young East End drug baron went home with them for tea, muffins and a toot on their crack pipe.

Chapter Ten

A few years afterwards, Lady Spittle married the handsome young East End drug baron and Wobbly Scoundrel married his brother an extortion racketeer from Staines. The two criminals shared the pikey tat which the trustafarian dwarf tramp had hidden for so long.
They all lived happily together in a large tasteless mock-Tudor mansion in deepest Essex. The mother of Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel went to live with them too. She spent most of her time being a ‘mule’ for the two brothers, bringing illicit narcotics into the country via Amsterdam inside prophylactics which she swallowed whilst ripped to the tits on horse tranquilizers.
In the garden of the tasteless mock-Tudor mansion, below the mother’s window, were planted some hydroponic skunk bushes which she tended on a daily basis. Every summer the nearby walls of the mock-Tudor mansion bore the most colourful graffiti tags of Lady Spittle and Wobbly Scoundrel.
And they all lived happily caned ever after.

The End