Thursdays With Uncle Boom #37

I met my good friend Anulus Kenders today, or as he had preferred to be known since our University days, Walloper, on account of his unfeasibly large penis. He was a splendid fellow despite having a face like a pig's gizzard.

He had called me and asked if I fancied a run.

From the coppers?

I had joked.

The coppers, ha, couldn't catch a cold the bloody coppers eh!

Walloper replied merrily.

We both guffawed at that. Walloper was an old school gentleman like myself. We would often get drunk and shout about being Kings of the Sea whilst beating a peasant.

So seriously old fellow, what do you mean... A run?

You know old chap? A bit of exercise. Running, like in a forward direction? I have heard it is good for the constitution.

Mmm, I don't know. It sounds awfully tiresome. Will there be prostitutes and whisky?

I queried.

I mean, why else would you run if not to a worthy goal?

Well, we can sort something out on the way. Come on old chap. It will be fun! Meet me at two and dress appropriately!

Walloper declared, with more than a hint of moustache.

And so it was that I found myself standing in front of the river awaiting Walloper in one of my plainer suits. Given the possibility of exercise I elected not to wear a hat. I puffed merrily on my pipe as I observed Walloper approach.

What ho Walloper old chum!

I yelled enthusiastically.

He stopped before me and reached out for my pipe which I passed over.

What ho Boomy old fellow. I see you are dressed for it!

As are you old fellow.

I examined his garb. He seemed to be wearing a lot of pieces of differently coloured lycra. He looked like a court jester that the King has had his dogs fuck.

The lycra accentuated his ungainly penis, lurking in his shorts like a fat baby.

I tried not to stare. Rumour had it that after so many years of it, his wife could pull her arse up over her head and wear herself as a pullover.

I offered him a swig of my hip flask, filled as ever with Mad Agnes, the drink of champions.

He took a deep swig and passed it back with my pipe.

Right, shall we do this thing?

He bounced on his toes as he spoke as if he were struggling to keep some love eggs from falling out his bomb doors.

I tucked my pipe and hipflask away and picked up my cane which I had leant against a low wall.

Yes indeed old fellow!.

We lifted our legs up mechanically and ran. It was hard work. It was also shit. After a few minutes I called a halt.

Walloper, this is fucking rubbish? Is it meant to be good?

You are right old chap. It's pish. I thought it would be more fun myself.

He panted, leaning on the guardrail beside the river.

I got my pipe out again.

Hmmm, oh well, we did try. Oh look, there's an old woman. Let's ask her if she knows where we can pursue some gentlemanly delights?.

An old woman was walking along the towpath toward us leaning on some kind of metal frame with wheels.

Excuse me Milady!

I called out.

Where is the nearest place we could purchase some prostitutes and whisky?

I smiled as if eating a particularly tasty fish pie.

What?

The old woman stopped wheeling along and looked at us aghast.

The shame of it! Asking a lady of my age?! I certainly would have no idea where you would find such a thing.

She shook her head despairingly and began to inch her way around us.

I harrumphed loudly, grabbed her and with a small grunt threw her over the guard rail into the river below.

There was a surprisingly small splash.

Pointless old bag.

Walloper guffawed.

Oh Boomy, you are a one!

He grabbed the old lady's walking frame device and flung it into the river after her.

He looked over the edge at the still water then to me, his moustache curling up with glee.

You'll never change, eh old chap?

I barked a laugh.

Well old fellow...