Ida T. Heurtze The Muse

After gaining a nasty rash in Milan Ida decided to accept an invitation from renowned French artist Pierre La Pong who had initially made his name painting blimps before discovering women and eager to switch to painting life studies.

Ida who has developed a taste for Pizza in Milan was the perfect muse for the little man with a bad temper, which is apparently a common illness among Frenchmen.

She mounted a train ticket and travelled backwards to Paris, via Prague, Istanbul, Munich and Moscow because trains kept going to places she didn’t intend to go to and the stations insisted in writing in foreign.

Eventually finding someone to ask who understood her Nark accent she managed to get a train to Paris, but got thrown off halfway for slapping the guard who had been keen to “Put ze hole in ze teeket…”

She managed to get a later train to Paris and was met at the station by Pierre’s assistant Morris, who insisted on pronouncing his name Mooreesse, which was wrong.

Paris was full of foreigners just like Milan, making Ida wonder how they managed to find anything as all the signs were also in foreign, and so was the food, although their muesli was almost a decent alternative to porridge, even if it tasted strange with salt.

Pierre had bought bigger canvasses in preparation for Ida, and gasped with awe the first time the now famous smut monkey removed her camel hair underwear and assumed the position for him to paint her.

Using all the skills he’d gained from painting zeppelins, the little Frenchman standing on his favourite stool, set about immortalising the woman who was becoming the object of his desires.

For her part Ida was somewhat confused expecting some kind of elaborate face painting, and her confusion only grew as the little man broke off from painting and dragged his stool across to the sofa he insisted on calling a Shay Long or something… Then grabbing her hand and kissing his way up her arm before almost passing out as he got too close to Ida’s hairy armpit.

Coming close to passing out was interpreted by Pierre as love, which he’d only experienced previously after discovering mirrors.

Their affair became the talk of Paris, with other Frenchmen envying Pierre as he paraded his muse around all the flesh spots in Paris, and suddenly his art was in demand and he became as famous for portraying folds of white flesh as his platform shoes with fashionably square toes.

The lovers shared an apartment in Paris for three years, but their relationship ended when the little man discovered a thirst for power, like so many little Frenchmen before him and went into politics.

As you can’t be a French politician without having at least one mistress, Pierre was now too tired to satisfy Ida’s insatiable lust and she stormed out to begin a wild and tempestuous relationship with Pierre’s biggest rival, the sculptor Alan Mon Sweat.

Their relationship was wild and dirty, because he worked with clay, but it too came to an end when Alan was bankrupted because of the extra material needed to make sculptures of his muse.

Ida then went on to inspire the rear end styling of a car by Renault’s dim witted head of design but had left the country before he found his glasses.

Ida then trained to break the record for swimming the channel from France to England but as the French, strangely, didn’t use lard for cooking she couldn’t get enough to cover her entire body and her large white carcass caused panic among the shipping fraternity who hadn’t previously seen an iceberg that far south.

Giving up on the plan to save money by swimming, Ida crossed by accident instead and decided to follow her heroine Jeremy Clarkson to become a professional feminist until it went out of fashion.

Ida then chose to use her experiences with continental foreigners to write smut because she’d heard a nasty man in advertising say once that sex sells.

It was around this time that she first set eyes on the future love of her life, General Compton Smyth when she attended a village fete as part of her book signing tour to promote her new novel 51 Shades of Pink!

He hardly noticed her at the time, and Ida was pre-occupied by a row between the vicar and his wife over an erection she had something to do with even though Ida was pretty sure she had never had an erection.

The book tour was a huge success, and Ida became famed as a writer of smut with film companies keen to buy the rights for a Hollywood version which earned Ida £42.50 and a trip to Los Angeles which is in the Village of America.

This was a strange place to Ida because all the foreigners spoke English, but she could tell they were foreigners because of their bad taste in clothes and insistence on not speaking English properly like the Scots do!



Please do check out the other titles I have published including my comedy novel, Religious Pursuits by Neil Winnington which can all be found on Amazon.

Religious Pursuits
By Neil Winnington
ISBN 1470071347

Sergeant Goode is close to his retirement, a situation irritating him enough before a young pen pusher without any respect for village life had been sent to get to know the local patch.

When his girlfriend falls fatally during a row, blind panic sets in and Goode makes a hasty exit, triggering a sequence of events which would see a simple accident become the centre of a major police investigation quickly spiralling out of control.

Starting with a detective sergeant with a desire to prove his theory that all serious crime can be closely linked to the occult, the villagers, all hiding secrets of varying degrees set up a fake occult meeting complete with a frozen chicken as the animal sacrifice.

With a discredited former tabloid journalist, hungry to find the big story that would bring him back into the Fleet Street fold, a village gossip with a murky war-time secret desperate to hide her true identity, and a group of investigators, sent to discredit the local Reverend and protect the church’s reputation, all combined to escalate the situation further, this sleepy Devon village soon becomes the centre of a national media scandal.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, a hostage situation draws in even more police, and even a squad of soldiers led by a battle hungry sergeant with a massive chip on his shoulder, and the story takes on a final twist, before culminating in a car chase like no other and a cliff hanger end

Available now in Paperback from...
Createspace
https://www.createspace.com/3797405

You may also want to visit my author’s page www.amazon.com/author/neilwinnington

General Compton Smyth and the Pea Shooter Brigade… Part Three

The experiment with Viagra laced food entered at the local fete might have been regarded as a success by General Compton Smyth and Sergeant Grimm, but there were consequences for the villagers on the receiving end.

There were three surprise pregnancies among the wives and girlfriends of the young farmers’ tug of war team, and a pending divorce as the vicar and his wife never got over her suspicions about him and the glamorous Scottish smut monkey Ida T. Heurtze.

Up until this point the involvement of the secretive young men at the smallholding could be dismissed as co-incidence, but the Battle of Aver Wallop became inevitable as events conspired to draw the innocent villagers into the military experiments General Compton Smyth’s brigade were carrying out.

Behind the scenes pressure was on to develop an effective way to use Viagra as a weapon in time for military trails involving both the Royal Marines and SAS, and while the experiments with Viagra laced food had proven successful, Sergeant Grimm for one, seriously doubted the Royal Marines would stop shooting at you for a tray of fairy cakes.

While it may be conceivable that the SAS may be distracted from a surprise attack on you for a few fondant cakes, it was agreed that other ways of delivering “the payload” would have to be perfected.

In field trials, in the field behind the farmhouse, the most effective delivery system by far was the use of pea shooters, or blowpipes as the soldiers preferred to call them.

With practice the squaddies proved very adept at shooting Viagra pills straight into the open mouth of an opponent at anything up to ten feet, or three metres in new money.

Sergeant Grimm realised such close quarters combat required the right kind of terrain, so marched the squaddies into nearby woodland to practice camouflage, tree climbing and ambush techniques.

As the soldiers in the Brigade knew what was coming it was quickly realised that splitting the brigade into two groups to practice was not at effective as having unwitting opponents who would react more naturally to an ambush.

It was thus decided, with some reluctance by the general to allow Sergeant Grimm to use unwitting villagers and ramblers as practice fodder for the training sessions.


The doctor had advised Gordon Thompson to exercise, “…try jogging. Just a little at first and build up over time…” but exercise he must to control his recent weight gain and fend off potential diabetes.

Not being one to ignore sound advice, Gordon donned a pair of purple running shorts initially purchased by his wife to use for aerobics classes she’d got bored with by the third session, and a white string vest. The look was complemented, if that’s the right term in the circumstances, by a matching pair of sweat bands on his wrists and a white head band.

New trainers and white socks did nothing to salvage the look, but by this the third outing into the woods, Gordon labouring with a reddened face and mouth wide open gasping loudly for air really didn’t care what people thought as he struggled to half way into his planned route.

Suddenly something shot into his mouth and into his throat, breaking his rhythm and starting a choking fit as the fly, or whatever it was got swallowed. In a mild state of shock Mr Thompson began shuffling on as before, feeling strangely invigorated, before an uninvited erection made it increasingly difficult to jog.

As he walked the final leg into the village of Aver Wallop his attire, which had only brought mild amusement to fellow villagers became almost hypnotic as his raging hard-on stood proudly like a tent pole below his equally large gut.

Mrs Thompson was upstairs bending over as she innocently sorted freshly cleaned underwear into her knicker drawer, but this proved too much of a temptation to the Viagra-drugged husband who entered the room to see her arse swaying so seductively in front of him.

Her protests were brief and pointless, as Gordon Thompson was as much a victim of circumstances as his wife, as he gave vent to urges barely remembered and squired his vixen of a spouse like he used to do twenty years ago.

Vera was speechless after the deed was done, and so was the exhausted Mr Thompson.


Four members of the Home Counties Ramblers Association deep in conversation as they strode by the tall hedgerows alongside Willow Ridge farm experienced a similar choking fit as the flies of the village seemed to take a suicidal charge into the mouths of people out to enjoy the British countryside.

The effects were mixed with two male ramblers recovering from their choking fit to become suddenly keen to curtail the walk a little early and take their spouses home, while Miss Farney, a normally quiet young lady of limited visual charms suddenly made her sexual interest in Rodney Brimsthwaite an IT operative for the inland revenue more than obvious and after persuading him to follow her for a diversion away from the group threw him to the ground, wrestled his corduroy trousers off and mounted him vigorously.

Thus the number of virgins among the local ramblers was reduced in number by two, and within nine months a hasty wedding was to follow.


Miss White, a well respected spinster of the parish was giving her Jack Russell Terrier, Freddie, his daily walk in the woods, and noticed him being perkier than usual by the time they returned to the village.

She was mortified though as she stopped to speak to Mrs Timpson, only for Freddie to mount the old friends leg and mate enthusiastically with her wrinkled stocking. The women’s combined screams drew a small crowd, but the efforts of Roger Belgrave to wrestle the randy terrier from Mrs Timpson’s leg brought nips from the unusually aggressive little dog, which was determined to relieve his urges in a renewed vigour.

By the time the crowd had grown to ten people the shock proved too much for the old ladies, and in the end the village vet had to sedate Freddie, while a paramedic called by one of the villagers administered oxygen to the hyperventilating and distressed old ladies.

Over the next few weeks more and more strange events surrounding the woods came to light and suspicions turned to the strange group of young men camped at the smallholding outside the village…

...To be Continued...



Please do check out the other titles I have published including my comedy novel, Religious Pursuits by Neil Winnington which can all be found on Amazon.

Religious Pursuits
By Neil Winnington
ISBN 1470071347

Sergeant Goode is close to his retirement, a situation irritating him enough before a young pen pusher without any respect for village life had been sent to get to know the local patch.

When his girlfriend falls fatally during a row, blind panic sets in and Goode makes a hasty exit, triggering a sequence of events which would see a simple accident become the centre of a major police investigation quickly spiralling out of control.

Starting with a detective sergeant with a desire to prove his theory that all serious crime can be closely linked to the occult, the villagers, all hiding secrets of varying degrees set up a fake occult meeting complete with a frozen chicken as the animal sacrifice.

With a discredited former tabloid journalist, hungry to find the big story that would bring him back into the Fleet Street fold, a village gossip with a murky war-time secret desperate to hide her true identity, and a group of investigators, sent to discredit the local Reverend and protect the church’s reputation, all combined to escalate the situation further, this sleepy Devon village soon becomes the centre of a national media scandal.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, a hostage situation draws in even more police, and even a squad of soldiers led by a battle hungry sergeant with a massive chip on his shoulder, and the story takes on a final twist, before culminating in a car chase like no other and a cliff hanger end

Available now in Paperback from...
Createspace
https://www.createspace.com/3797405

You may also want to visit my author’s page www.amazon.com/author/neilwinnington

Ida T. Heurtze and the Italian fashion house

As she cleared her desk at the Nark Ark following her battles with the editor and the incident with the tethered sheep she happened upon a letter from the Italian design house Luigi Scavadore, which she’d all but forgotten about.

It was an invitation to travel all expenses paid to Italy to view their latest collection, which the marketing department, Alfonso, was sure would appeal to the Scottish market, which the label had neglected up until that point.

The House of Scavadore was the most traditional design house in Italy, only starting to display their latest lines as recently as 1978, and tracing their roots back 300 years, having specialised in camel hair underwear, which they supplied exclusively to the Catholic Church and monasteries Worldwide.

The change in 1978 came about when family Patriarch, Alberto passed away and his flamboyant son Luigi decided to display their new designer ranges at Milan fashion week. The label remained obscure due to the limited appeal of camel hair undergarments, although there had been a certain amount of interest among the English public school fraternity.

The timing of the invitation to the Nark Ark was fortuitous being for the following week, so Ida packed her things into an envelope and travelled by first class post to the village of Milan in the Italian district of abroad.

She arrived to find the House of Scavadore in a state of mild panic, the latest camel hair gusset having left the catwalk models hired for the show with a disturbing looking rash, but Alfonso, son of Luigi, was immediately taken with the exotic looking Ida with her pink, home knitted stockings, and tweed blouse.

He immediately fell for her rugged charms and begged her to be one of the catwalk models for the new collection, which he assured her, would compliment her size 16 frame beautifully.

It took several bottles of Chianti and several evenings of romancing to persuade the Scottish seductress to agree, and by the night of the launch she had been promoted to become the main face of the reclusive design house.

The audience were almost predominantly buyers from the various international branches of the Roman Catholic church, a few nuns and Ida recognised Archie McTaggart of the Clan McTaggart, and fashion writer for the Inverness Fury, as she strutted along the catwalk with her white pasty skin contrasting nicely with the beige camel hair long sleeved vest and knee-length knickers.

There was a gasp and some giggles from the nuns at the daring design with elastic and buttons replacing the traditional need to hand sew yourself in to the scratchy garments.

The rest of the range brought similar reactions, with the monks being particularly impressed with the range of hemp socks, which were based on a traditional design usually made from old sacks.

It was regarded as a huge success, and Ida got to keep the clothes she had worn to such acclaim on the catwalk. Her relationship with Alfonso was to blossom into an affair lasting a whole twenty minutes, with the seductress deciding to stay in Milan in an apartment her Italian admirer had provided for her.

Word quickly spread and Ida’s modelling career took off with other design houses vying for her services. Italian Vogue did a photo shoot with her wearing the latest designs including a barbed wire belt and bottle top earrings from House of Scavadore along with their horsehair dinner dress.

She was courted by sportsmen and jealous suitors would fight for her affections, with the World chess champion Ivan Bovanovic coming to blows with Paulo Dicanza, the third choice goalkeeper for a football team Ida hadn’t heard of in Milan, at an event laid on at a local brothel.

The high life took its toll on the Scottish woman though. An addiction to pizza and Swiss chocolate led to her falling into ever deeper depths of depravity, her dreams of being a journalist fell by the wayside after several unsuccessful affairs, and it got so bad she almost considered a move to the Spanish Costas where she could indulge her hunger for chips and British beers.

She was saved when an Italian film director cast her as the lead in his adaptation of a British comedy Pride and Prejudice and she received great critical acclaim when the film debuted at a French village called Caan.

It led to a new career as an actress, and several whirlwind years when the name Ida T. Heurtze became was associated with some of the biggest films in Italian cinema.

But that’s another story…

To purchase one of my published novels check out my Amazon Authors page http://www.amazon.com/Neil-Winnington/e/B00CMRJZ46

And do if this little blog amuses you do feel free to leave a comment below.

General Compton Smyth and the Pea Shooter Brigade… Part Two

The Battle of Aver Wallop will not go into the annals of history as one of the great moments in British military history, and as is often the case, it all started with a minor skirmish, or mis-understanding.

General Compton Smyth addressed his rag tag band of troops in the courtyard of the smallholding the army had been bequeathed by an extremely bitter ex military man whose son chose cross dressing over a career running around in hobnail boots shooting at things.

“Men,” he began, “…we are at the cutting edge of military planning. We are here to do field trials of a new weapon…”
The Sergeant held up a little blue pill, which drew a giggle from Private Smith at the end of the six soldiers standing to attention.
“Sergeant Grimm!”
“Yes… General… Sir!”
“Take that man’s name and put him on peeling duties!”
“Yes… Sir!” Grimm replied running up to stand toe to toe with Private Smith, “NAME?”
“Smith… Sir!” replied Smith
“Stay behind after the parade, you pathetic excuse for a little man, you!”

Coming from the vertically challenged, if stocky and aggressive Sergeant, a height comment seemed to be a case of pots and kettles, but Smith knew better than to say so.
“Yes… Sir!”

The Sergeant then turned on his heels and ran back to the General’s side with unnecessarily tiny steps.
“Where was I?” the general mused, “Oh yes… Cutting edge! …We have to devise the most accurate method of delivering the weapon into the mouth of our opponents. So we shall be using the following in our field trials…Sergeant!”
“Sir!”

The sergeant ran using the same tiny steps that he’d used earlier to run across in front of the general to a box on a trestle table standing to one side. He reached inside the box and then thrust his hand in the air holding a child’s catapult toy.
“Catapult!” he shouted.

He slammed the toy alongside the box on the table and thrust his hand back inside, rummaging purposefully, before thrusting it once more over his head holding a modified pub dart.
“Dart!” he shouted.

He slammed the dart alongside the box and once again rummaged about inside to grab the pea shooter and thrust this above his head.
“Pea Shooter!”

As he reached back into the box there was a snigger from the rank of six soldiers, which fell silent as the Sergeant looked up to scan the line in search of a culprit. His gaze then returned to the box where he retrieved the last item and thrust that above his head…
“…Cupcake!”

This was too much for the six young squaddies, who burst out into uncontrollable laughter and the Sergeant running over to bellow at them only seemed to make it worse, so the soldiers were sent to the galley to do peeling duty while the General and Sergeant returned to the office to discuss the next days training.

The next few weeks were spent experimenting with the various methods of “delivering” the weapon.

Cookery classes tried putting Viagra tablets in various cakes and meals to see how the cooking affected the efficiency of the drug. The squaddies would then eat the experimental recipes and standing in a line to have the results measured by the sergeant. No-one had a clue how this information could be turned into field trials against a regular army unit, let alone the nutters from the Parachute Regiment or the SAS. Stopping in the heat of battle for cupcakes with the enemy wasn’t an option, so they concentrated for now on finding the ultimate recipes.

The catapults and various other sling shots proved too inaccurate. You could splatter someone with tablets, which would sting a bit, but hardly stop them coming at you!

Darts were more effective as darts, which they found made an interesting weapon in its own right. Efforts to refine the Viagra into liquid form to create poison darts, of sorts, proved too technical for the very much less than technical squaddies to master.

The pea shooters and various other blow pipes proved both more accurate and effective, but only at close range. But the young soldiers became quite proficient, which gave the Sergeant and General heart.


An opportunity to test the cakes in field trials of sorts came about when Private Davidson, who was somewhat too effeminate for Sergeant Grimm’s comfort, noticed the upcoming village fete had various cake making and pie competitions.

The general thought this was a wonderful idea, and so the squaddies were all ordered to prepare their best cake and pie dishes. Even Sergeant Grimm donned an apron and made some surprisingly good looking fairy cakes.

To avert suspicion the soldiers donned civilian clothes and blend in with the real villagers on the day of the fete and shuffled in to the food judging tent at sporadic intervals so they wouldn’t appear to be together as a group, a tactic that hadn’t altogether been successful as over the course of the day they gradually gravitated together.

Only one of the brigade wasn’t present, the sergeant apoplectic having discovered one of his Viagra laced fairy cakes was missing lined the squaddies up and Private Simpson clearly stood out as the guilty party, so was left behind on sentry duty as punishment.

They had entered several categories from steak and kidney pies, to sausage rolls apple pies and finally Sergeant Grimm’s fairy cakes, so they would be able to gauge the effects of the Viagra across various different recipes.

There were three judges in the food competition. The vicar represented the establishment, while Gladys Guttersnipe who ran the local tea shop provided the culinary expertise and guest judge for this year was Ida T. Heurtze, the internationally regarded author of smut who was in the village for a book signing promotion of her new book “The Young Wife.”

There was already tension in the air with Mary Akroyd, landlady of the Hound and Fox bitter that her culinary rival Gladys Guttersnipe had been chosen for the judging panel and not her, so the vicar and Ida had been last minute additions to the panel to ensure neutrality.

Neutrality was not a great concern to General Compton Smyth and his soldiers, but they did find themselves caught in the middle of the feud when Private Adams’ Sausage rolls beat those of Gladys in that particular category, leading to a challenge being lodged and the judges having to re-do the tasting, and thus getting a double dose of the private’s sausage rolls.

In spite of the protests it was declared by the remaining two judges that the sausage rolls made by Private Adams really had stood out. Unfortunately for the vicar, having eaten them on top of the laced pies and cakes entered by the other soldiers, he was standing out too, and getting an earful from Mrs Vicar who wrongly assumed it was the attractive and racy authoress having brought on his uncontrollable erection.

The other judges didn’t get off Scot free, Gladys suffering hot flushes while Ida found herself feeling strangely amorous.

Private Adams may have been the only member of the brigade to win a prize, but as the vicar was repeatedly hit over the head with a handbag wielded by his wife at the opposite end of the beer tent, General Compton Smyth rewarded his men with a pint of Ferret Ale and declared their mission in the cake competition a complete success.

Their quiet celebration in the beer tent was interrupted by a loud roar coming from the show field where the young farmers had just beaten the local firemen in the annual tug of war competition to leave them undefeated in three years and cocky with it.

Surveying the victory scene Sergeant Grimm and the General gave one another a knowing nod before entering their civilian dressed men as last minute challengers, much to the delight of the majority who were sick of the boastful young farmers never letting anyone forget who the champions were.

Grimm disappeared suspiciously, as the squaddies dug in at the opposite end to their competition.

Being well versed in both technique and burley to boot the young farmers were easily winning when Grimm returned carrying a tray covered in a tea towel, just in time to see the brigade routed.

After a nod from the General, Sergeant Grimm showed there were no hard feelings, whipping away the tea towel to reveal a plate festooned with his fairy cakes, enthusiastically snaffled up by the young farmers.

The effects were pretty rapid with the heart rates already raised with the effort put into taking the strain amplifying the effects of the Viagra. By the time the competition began again the farmers, to a man were somewhat compromised by their erections and unable to put any real effort into the task in hand.

One all and the soldiers were confident going into the decider.

Still suffering the effects of the Viagra, which was really kicking in by now the third tug of war was a complete victory for the squaddies, with the farmers dragged through the mud until they reached solid ground where the lead man’s natural anchor dug in and stopped them.

If the agony faced by the lead man as his penis was ploughed into the field was bad it was nothing compared with the second to last man who fell forward followed closely by the anchorman. The burley anchor was big in more ways than one and his huge erection pushed into the arse of his team mate through his shorts.

The man on the receiving end already embarrassed by his own erection flew into a terrible rage as they finally untangled themselves and a fist fight ensued between the members of the losing team.

It made for a pretty pathetic and funny site and their anger was quickly replaced by embarrassment as the watching crowd all broke down laughing because their erect penises were still pushing their shorts out like tent poles.

The general and sergeant stood to one side as the mayhem ensued, their conversation centred on the effectiveness of the Viagra in nullifying the fighting ability and tug of war annihilation of the young spud monkeys.

The local paper who were there to cover the fete got a brilliant photo of the mud splattered young farmers fighting among themselves and the story a week later read “Sword Fight at The Aver Wallop Coral!”


Although never attributed to the General and his Pea Shooter Brigade, this was definitely the opening skirmish of the battle that was about to ensue.

To Be Continued.....





The Young Wife by Ida T. Heurtze will be published soon. In the meantime please do check out the other titles I have published including my comedy novel, Religious Pursuits by Neil Winnington which can all be found on Amazon.




Religious Pursuits
By Neil Winnington
ISBN 1470071347

Sergeant Goode is close to his retirement, a situation irritating him enough before a young pen pusher without any respect for village life had been sent to get to know the local patch.

When his girlfriend falls fatally during a row, blind panic sets in and Goode makes a hasty exit, triggering a sequence of events which would see a simple accident become the centre of a major police investigation quickly spiralling out of control.

Starting with a detective sergeant with a desire to prove his theory that all serious crime can be closely linked to the occult, the villagers, all hiding secrets of varying degrees set up a fake occult meeting complete with a frozen chicken as the animal sacrifice.

With a discredited former tabloid journalist, hungry to find the big story that would bring him back into the Fleet Street fold, a village gossip with a murky war-time secret desperate to hide her true identity, and a group of investigators, sent to discredit the local Reverend and protect the church’s reputation, all combined to escalate the situation further, this sleepy Devon village soon becomes the centre of a national media scandal.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, a hostage situation draws in even more police, and even a squad of soldiers led by a battle hungry sergeant with a massive chip on his shoulder, and the story takes on a final twist, before culminating in a car chase like no other and a cliff hanger end

Available now in Paperback from...
Createspace
https://www.createspace.com/3797405

You may also want to visit my author’s page www.amazon.com/author/neilwinnington

Something for the Children

Although I have written and published a lot, including song lyrics, magazine features and books, some people won't have seen the children's poetry which I write in the hope that someday my little Emily will discover them and know the kinds of conversations we'd have had, and the stories I would have told her at bedtime...

...Here is a little selection, you thoughts and comments are welcome...



The Tale of Billy Magrew
By Neil Winnington

A cautionary tale of Billy Magrew,
Who never did what he said he would do!
From Shopping,
To homework,
To chores to be done,
When jobs needed doing,
Young Billy was gone!

When asked by his Mum to clean up some goo,
Well that's the last thing that Billy would do!
He left it,
Ignored it,
And played with his toys,
The goo just stayed dirty,
Just like little boys!

One day our Billy left running a tap,
Water kept running, looking for a gap!
The bathroom,
The bedrooms,
And half Billy's Street,
Were filling with water,
Up over your feet!

Policemen and Firemen said nothing to do,
Floating away was our Billy Magrew!
His Father,
A Fireman,
A fellow called Ned,
All climbed in a boat,
And after that bed!!



The Wibblaboo
By Neil Winnington

The Wibblaboo are a curious crew,
All wibble and wobble and fat,
All that they do is nibble and chew,
And sleep all day long like a cat.

They live on a boat, which is barely afloat,
On account of the weight of the Boo,
So they sail on the sea in their half sunken boat,
All wondering what they should do!



Wazzers
By Neil Winnington

Wazzers, or Wozzers, as they're often known,
Are only three inches when they are full grown,
They live in your skirting boards, just like a mouse,
And steal things they like from all over your house,
A sock, or a thimble, or your lost toy car,
If you have some Wazzers they will not be far!

"So what does a Wazzer look like?" you ask,
Well here little friend, I give you a task,
For never, not ever, was a Wazzer seen,
We only know where those Wazzers have been,
Some say they are furry, and some say they're not,
Some say that their noses are runny with snot.

Some say that the girls choose dolls dresses to own,
But what little boy Wazzers wear isn't known,
Nobody's sure what a Wazzer might eat,
But lost crisps and biscuits must be a treat,
So next time a toy or one sock has just gone,
You can be sure that a Wazzer has one!



The Botty Burp!
By Neil Winnington

(Blow a rasberry before reading the rhyme)

Was that a botty burp I heard you do?
It wasn't from me!
So it must have been YOU!

No, it was not me, I hear you say!
Making that noise,
That was coming my way!

It must have been Kitty, Asleep on the floor!
Looks like he's smiling,
He's done it before!

Are you SURE that it wasn't from you?
You say no too much,
So it might not be true!

I'm sure that botty burp was there, you see!
If it wasn't you,
Then it must have been ME!

(Blow another rasberry!)



Where Mountains come from!
By Neil Winnington

Mountains reside on a giants backside,
And result from a terrible itch,

It is said that an irritant they can't abide,
And a scratch will result in a ditch,

So imagine one night if a mosquito bites,
And the giant awakes to have found,

An itch he can't fight, and try as he might,

It results in a mountain sized mound!



I hope you all enjoyed those... I'll be back to my usual madness next time... Meantime to check out my published books for adults at http://www.amazon.com/Neil-Winnington/e/B00CMRJZ46

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General Compton Smyth and the Pea Shooter Brigade… Part One

Throughout military history the balance of power has often hinged on the adoption of new tactics, innovations and weapons. Usually a dominant army is backed up by a wealthy state and industrial might.

…Neither applied to post war Britain and even less so since Cameron and Osborne came into government with a pet theory they’d worked out on the back of a Top Trumps Box back at Eton they wanted to try out on the economy.

Thus they were on a mission to slash ministerial budgets to find out how much they could cut before the economy collapsed completely, with several bets placed at high class betting establishments about how long it would take!

Within the ministry of defence this brought nothing short of blind panic as the chancellor of the exchequer continued to insist on swaging cuts to the point that only soldiers from the rank of Sergeant upwards got boot laces and recruits trained with toy guns.

With someone in Britain still making a few pounds and able to support themselves, George (Jeffrey) Osborne, seeing his economic experiment to bankrupt Britain come perilously close to failing, piled the pressure on even more!

The Navy lost its last remaining active aircraft carrier and was now reduced to three rowing boats and a destroyer with no guns but a missile firing platform with a capacity for 36 Tomahawk cruise missiles, and only one active weapon among them. The sailors were then drilled in standing on deck to look frightening.

The Royal Air force suffered its own losses. Along with the Red Arrows aerobatic team reduced to doing ground displays on bicycles with red wings strapped on to their backs. Meanwhile their secret programme to stick sheets of cardboard and black paint to Tornado Jets to create a cut price stealth fighter to counter the Americans’ machines was also a victim of the cuts, losing all £342.25p budget and all the biscuits from the staff canteen.

Seeing the havoc wrought in their rival military services, the generals were in something of a panic, as first their specially commissioned brass paperclips were deemed an extravagance and then the cuts started effecting civilian support staff, with local businesses taking the brunt. Suzie Whipsnade’s Hen Den had to lay off three prostitutes as the general staff saw their entertainment budget slashed.

Next the Chancellor invested millions to pay French workers to upgrade the battle site at Waterloo for the 200th anniversary of us having an army of note instead of sending squaddies over as the generals had suggested, on the grounds that their plan to use this covert operation to re-take Calais was neither a good use of public funds or part the government’s plan to give money to French workers to appease our Gallic neighbours prior to us making a loud noise about Wellington peeing on their Emperors’ bonfire.

The generals decided they needed to come up with cost effective new tactic that would appeal to Whitehall minions and would enable them to ring fence funding to guarantee their investment portfolios in defence contractors wouldn’t go up in smoke alongside their brainstorming sessions at Suzie Whipsnade’s Hen Den!

General Peregrine Ant-Equated vaguely recalled an experiment the top brass did where they decided to take an unusually hands on approach to testing new products before trials were to filter down the ranks…

…On that occasion they did battlefield trials of Viagra and came to the conclusion that fighting, or even conducting a battle from the command bunker, was near impossible with a raging erection! Viagra was a great British invention and success story, and surely a scheme to combine two great British institutions would get favour from the men in suits?

Surely they could do something along those lines? After all the MOD still had a warehouse facility full of the drug which had been purchased when the procurement funding was a little more generous and Madam Suzie and her girls were not off limits on expenses.

It was, he reasoned a matter of time before some pen-pushing shit from the treasury stumbled on the purchase order and god forbid started looking at taking away their ability to choose what their budget was spent on!

The other generals agreed, one bringing up the time Whitehall tried to impose digestive biscuits on them instead of Hob Nobs! “And tea bags from a supermarket instead of Earl Grey!” added another.

The problem was that their massive supply of Viagra was in the traditional pill variety and persuading an enemy soldier to stop fighting and down a pill over a cup of tea was a little unlikely in modern warfare. Their American Allies certainly seemed to take a dim view of stopping proceedings for elevenses during recent war games, when things seemed to be going badly for the poorly equipped Brits.

On that occasion the Americans refused to drink the prepared cups of tea laced with Viagra, and one of the Brits accidentally drank from the wrong cup causing himself something of an injury due to wearing his tight fitting and restrictive leather underwear worn in the hope of an early getaway to visit Madam Suzie.

What the senior generals needed was a fall guy. Someone they could jettison if the shit hit the fan, so they sent for files on their senior staff to see who was available to take the blame should this idea fall flat!

Eventually it was suggested there was only one man incompetent enough for the job and that was General Compton Smyth, whose career had been spent mostly behind a desk coming up with schemes as ludicrous as to dump land mines and other obsolete weapons at sea rather than on British soil, causing untold mayhem when the pollution from these degrading weapons hit fish stocks and a trawler later sank having set off one of the supposedly de-commissioned landmines as it went about its desperate business in the strangely fish-free waters. The chain reaction as the other weapons exploded downed the small civilian craft in no time at all and the survivors had to be given a massive payout to keep quiet!

When he got the call to take up his new role in the field Smyth was busy working on a plan to equip soldiers with single seat hovercraft with sub-machine guns mounted on top. Not in itself a bad idea except that hovercraft very rarely pointed the way you needed them to in order to hit a target and the recent cut backs meant that there was no budget for sub-machine guns, let alone hovercraft that would require training to operate.

“We’re sending you on a commission in the field!” announced the youngest looking member of the assembled general staff present at the other side of the table.

“Afghanistan?” Smyth asked enthusiastically, thinking he was going to get a chance to put into practice his policy suggestion of persuading the Afghan farmers to grow Roses instead of inferior poppies.

“Not this time,” the senior general explained after clearing his throat. “We’re sending you to set up a top secret brigade.”

“SAS?” Smyth ventured optimistically.

“Even more secret, and so secret it will be a mini brigade.”

“Mini?”

“Six men!”

“Six?”

“Six!”

“…Okay!”

Smyth was handed his orders in a sealed envelope and set out immediately for Aver Wallop (not to be mistaken for Upper or Lower Wallop), where the new brigade would be based just on the outskirts of the village on the site of a smallholding left to the ministry by an ex soldier out of spite for his son who broke the family tradition of a life in the army in favour of a career cross dressing in a burlesque club in Soho.

One thing is for certain, the peaceful World of the unsuspecting villagers in Aver Wallop was about to be turned upside down!


...To be continued.

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Ida T. Heurtze and the Battle of the literary Narks

Unfortunately my efforts to type up and bring the first novel by Ida T. Heurtze to print have been delayed slightly by Ida getting herself arrested, which by all accounts is just the latest incident in a blood feud with Gladys McTavish of the Clan McTavish.

Ida’s family had always been thought of as outsiders or incomers in the town of Nark ever since a relative several generations back acquired a German sounding name for them in a raffle. He had in fact won top prize, which was life membership to the Tory Party, but national pride and an aversion to trousers, bigotry and the colour blue made him choose to take the runners up prize and the name Heurtze.

The rivalry with Gladys McTavish of the Clan McTavish started at school when the vacancy for class swot was keenly contested by the two girls, briefly along with Suzie Blaire, whose eagerness to put her hand up so often was due to a sore shoulder.

The rivalry continued beyond school to consume them as they pursued careers in journalism. Ida found her calling with the local newspaper, The Nark Ark with several significant reports on the failure to establish a goldfish fishery in Lock Loast and the fire at the local Whisky Distillery.

Her rival meanwhile went to a foreign land and found work at a newspaper in the English village of Newcastle. England is a country way to the South run by idiots who liked bending over to be beaten at expensive schools, and then by Madam De Sade when they reached public office.

Newcastle being a forgotten outpost had a newspaper called The Cartoon and Gladys McTavish of the Clan McTavish went down there to write stories about their little football team and brown ale, which is a watery whisky they liked in those parts.

Gladys started as a staff writer and worked her way up to editor before returning home to become editor of The Nark Ark a role Ida T. Heurtze had set her heart on after years of sexual harassment. She soon stopped the harassment and tried other tactics, but the editor retired of her own volition and Ida naturally assumed the job would be hers!

From the outset there were disagreements over the direction the ark should take, and Ida objected to the new editor going tabloid and giving the front page to Jimmy McDuff of the Clan McDuff who became a local celebrity when he landed a walk on part in the Taggart police series. His drunken ramblings while on holiday living rough in Glasgow caught the attention of the director who had just fired the actor hired to play a bum in the scene.
“Why don’t we just use a real bum like…? Like HIM!” and so Jimmy McDuff became a celebrity in Nark.

Jimmy hadn’t been given a line to speak, but he did have one of the lead actors stand quite close to him when he declared, “There’s been a Murrrrrderrrrr!”

Giving the front page to a celebrity story jarred with Ida who saw her report on Billy McNish of the Clan McNish being given a control order banning him from contact with sheep after an incident caught on camera in a sting by the Ark’s staff photographer Andrew McMuck of the Clan McMuck!

The sheep in question had been tethered at the roadside under a lamppost on Billy Mcnish’s route home from the pub, with a rather fetching bow tied around her neck, and special black suspenders to entice anyone so inclined for the planned feature “Beastiality…Fact or Fiction?”

Billy succumbed to the honey trap and Andrew McMuck took the incriminating pictures, although this proved a challenge when Billy McNish got so distracted by his desire to pleasure himself with the sheep that he found it difficult to smile for a clean shot. Another problem was the sheep failing to realise its’ moment of fame and struggling somewhat.

The feature drew widespread acclaim in the local pub, and delighted Ida by being taken up by an English comic called the Daily Sport.

Ida’s follow-up story on the subsequent trial of Billy McNish of the Clan McNish was intended by her to be her crowning achievement, especially as members of UKIP desperate to drum up support in Scotland had donned summer dresses because they heard of the Scottish propensity for wearing skirts, and were protesting outside the court, each with a sheep on a lead in support of Billy and the “…rights of every man to love his animals!” according to their spokesman, “…We will fight the EU who imposed these laws on animal welfare upon us” he continued, “A right to LOVE your animals that would be protected if UKIP came to power!”

The UKIP intervention didn’t spring them into power in Scotland, it merely split the Conservative party vote which up until then stood at an all time high of zero!

This snub to Ida was merely the latest in a string of insults, starting with her story on the launch of the local distillery launching that years vintage being usurped by a feature on kilt hem lines, and reaching a climax with the request to forego a feature on a campaign to have Nark Haggis trademarked as a local product in favour of a report on porridge snorkelling. This brought the feud to a head and it’s a matter of debate whether Ida quit the Ark or was fired, but such was the bad feeling that it split the town down the middle.

It very nearly split Ida in two when a pub sign she was standing under while drowning her sorrows fell and missed her by inches. Foul play was suspected, but no chickens were in the area.

Then Gladys got a parking ticket on the high street on a Monday, when everyone knew the traffic wardens only came to Nark on a Thursday afternoon between 1:30 and 3:00pm! Ida’s fingerprints were said to be found on the offending ticket and she was consequently arrested for impersonating a person who mattered.

Upon hearing that Ida was the local swing voter several political parties made it their business to intervene and declared an interest in saving their innocent voter, only to discover upon her release that the rumours about Ida’s voting habits were in fact gained from playing a parlour game judging style and performance at the sophisticated adult parties held by Benny McSwindle of the Clan McSwindle in his new pigsty.

Regardless of the reason for this intervention I am assured that Ida is back on the game and will be sending the latest part of her manuscript wrapped in a freshly worn pair of knickers and a brand new house brick!


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