Day 71

Dear Diary,

I’m sorry I had to leave off writing for a bit, Dear Diary, so I could go and faint, but wot with all the excitement hurtling at me from all directions, it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

Before we head off to wot happened next, I’ll catch you up a bit. It was, of course, raining to beat the band and it were so wet outside the ground was turning into chocolate pudding. Either that or something wot’s found in a slurry pit, but I thought you’d like the chocolate stuff better when it comes to thinking about it. Inside the bus (being me) the biddies strapped into their seats was occupied in digging up all the ugliest language they’d ever heard and was practising it with each other, as well as aiming chunks of it at Misther Patchouli Da Fanny for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, namely the bottom side of The Widow Fartie Da Whistle, which prevented her from driving us off on my farewell tour of the island. Which, in case you weren’t paying attention, was why we’d all gathered together in the first place.

By now, poor Ol’ Floozie Da Smelley, who was trying to pull Misther Patchouli Da Fanny off of wot he’d thought of as the promised land, was so wet and slippery from the rain and the mud that she lost her grip on both him and the world at one and the same time. She got all hysterical, which I guess was only natural under the circumstances, seeing as wot her husband was doing, and she reached up and snapped his nose right off of his face. Misther Patchouli Da Fanny made a sound like a pig wot had him goolies yanked and all his blood started in a’spurting every which way and back, sort of like one of them fancy fountains you sees in Italian cities, only more colourful. At the same time, seeing as how Floozie Da Smelley was pulling on his legs as hard as she could without his nose keeping him stuck where he was, there was bound to be trouble. And wouldn’t you know it, but she and him goes flying backwards off the bus and starts rolling arse over elbow back through the mud a good half mile or so, eventually disappearing into a puddle about a hundert feet deep from all the rain.

When Floozie Da Smelley and Misther Patchouli Da Fanny flew backwards off the bus (being me), poor Widow Fartie Da Whistle, now released from his nose, sprung forward and flewed through my windscreen and out into a tree like she’s been shot out of a catapult. Fortunately, seeing as how I am a classic bus and my windscreen is hinged rather’n stuck on to me like a toad in a hole, she weren’t injured none or cut up by flying glass or anything else bad like that. As for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s nose, wot had been caught up in The Widow Fartie Da Whistle by the power of her sphincter, it was sucked all the way up her colon and in a coupl’a seconds flew out her nose. It must not’a been very pleasant for her, on account of where it had been, but she is nothing if not resilient and it won’t take more’n a month of hypnotherapy for her for forget the whole experience.

While she was climbing back down the tree and getting herself straightened out, the rain was only getting worse and worse. It was so bad by now the water was rising faster’n pee in a biddy’s bladder, so when it came right down to it, it were a good thing as well as a lucky break and a blessing that The Widow Fartie Da Whistle were outside where she could see wot was going on. And right away she saw that the bus (being me) were in danger of being swept away in the torrent, and with all the old biddies being took with me. ‘Course, I was aware of all this as well, which is why I was trying to recall whether this famous Mister Noah’d helped out when it came to my construction in the Daimler factory and’d gave me a boat’s bottom. In the end, I thought perhaps not, which is when I said “Oh fuck,” out loud. This made all the biddies laugh and forget all about their soon-to-be future, which was somewhere at the bottom of five hundert feet of water, but it didn’t go a long way towards helping us outta our situation, which were getting worse and worse by the second.

As I said, it were a good thing The Widow Fartie Da Whistle were on the outside of the bus (being me) and part way up a tree, where her feet was dry enough so’s she could think straight. It’s also a good thing she didn’t hafta wear spectacles or nothing, on account of, left to their own devices, her eyes didn’t hardly fog up at all, or at least not so you’d notice. Being possessed to wot you could call a clarity of vision as she was, she looked around and the first things she saw was the two corpus delectables of Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous floating about in the tide and by now the size of houses. ‘Course, she was taken aback at how large they’d got and, in spite of herself, she said “Holy Crap,” before she could remember her manners. But then, after an attack of the giggles wot made all the biddies inside, who couldn’t see a thing wot was going on, demand to know wot was so funny and was they all going to drown like rats in the toilet and why wasn’t Ol’ Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan from the Church of The Immaculate Septum on the bus to give ‘em extreme undulation and a free ride to Heaven?

Here and now it got to where the Ol’ biddies should’a been minding their own business and letting The Widow Fartie Da Whistle, who was nothing if not as competent as a crow wot’s spied a litter of kittens in time for breakfast, get on with keeping their wrinkly bottoms from going to Hell. There she were, on the outside in the storm and deciding wot must be done to save the situation and perhaps the world, and there the biddies was, fussing and fuming about their lack of salvationatory prospects and a’blaming everybody in the world, especially The Widow Fartie Da Whistle herself, being as she were the responsible party in the affair and was suppose to be doing the driving instead of sitting in a tree soaking wet. But she were a cool as a cucumber wot was in a frozen salad, she was, and right then and there she turns towards the bus (namely me) and yells in through the open front window at the biddies. “You! Beeitchies!” she yells. “Strap yourselves in real tight and close your mouths so’s no mud can get in and clog your pores. I’m gonna save your sorry arses and give you a world cruise at one and the same time.” Well, believe me, you could’a heard a pin drop, which was about the first time in history a bus full o’biddies’ve been at a loss for words and actually done wot they was told.

Yessiree, it were a moment of a lifetime, which is why I’m gonna put my pencil away so’s you can savour it along with the Lord, who must be thanking hisself that just for once he gets to listen to some bits o’grace instead of some bitter ingrates. In a short while, I’ll get back to you and we can continue from where I left off. Until then, I’ll say, so beginneth a moment of silence.