Detective Inspector Throbb read with interest the bill of fare for the annual police Christmas party.
`Hmm, prawn cocktail or melon balls – tricky decision.’
The tip of his cigarette slowly began to burn through his lapel and would have been quite content to continue but the phone rang and caused Throbb to jump and let go of the cigarette that then took a life of its own and proceeded to somersaulted through the air landing in a mug of cold tea that had presided on the windowsill for the last three days. Mrs Gribble the cleaner was having her varicose veins done and would not return for a while.
`Throbb here.’
`Ah, Throbb, I have an interesting case for you. It appears that a woman has objects coming out of her ear.’
`Wax?’
`How much are they?’
`What?’
`Whacks – got some girly that charges £1 for 10; but if you know someone better ….’
`No sir, I meant ear wax, coming out of her ear.’
`Well where else would you expect earwax to come from Throbb?’
`No, I meant the strange case of the woman with things coming out of her ear; wondered if it was wax?’
`Would we be wasting valuable police time if it was just wax; for god’s sake Throbb, pull yourself together! Oh and while I’ve got you on the phone, prawn cocktail or melon balls?’
`Ah, I was just looking at the menu and I was leaning towards melon balls sir to clean the palate.’
`Clean the palate? Put yourself down for the prawn cocktail and get these stupid ideas out of your head Throbb!’
`Yes sir.’
And with that the phone went dead.
Just then Carter came in with details of the case the Chief Inspector had mentioned. Throbb put the Christmas menu safely in his drawer and started to read the details regarding the woman and her ear.
According to the report, she had shown evidence of various items that were emerging from her left ear. The right ear was performing normally, but so far her left ear had produced a small robotic type figure, a porcelain doll fully dressed wearing a straw hat and a few other figures.
He read it through again and decided that the Christmas menu should take priority and put the woman and her ear in the middle of the pile of cases to be worked on. Melon balls were still a preferred choice, but if he wanted to qualify for membership of the same golf club as the Chief Inspector it would have to be prawn cocktail; a small price to pay he thought, although the last time he had seafood he had spent most of the next few days in hospital. However, he had read somewhere that prawns came from higher up the seafood chain and he assured himself all would be well.
Meanwhile, not a hundred miles away; more like 3 miles – give or take a corner or two; Iris McFiddish was placing the latest offering from her ear on the table along with the others. So far there had been four porcelain dolls; only one robotic figure; and two toy submarines. The doctor had prescribed a sleeping draft and ear plugs but to no avail, they just kept coming. Brian McFiddish, her husband, tried to ignore the whole thing and continued to spend as much time as possible in his potting shed listening to the gardening programme and flicking through well thumbed copies of Aviaries Exposed with full colour spreads of exotic birds in flight. If only Iris’ mother would go to meet her maker then they would be able to afford a showcase for his passion. He could see it now, Aviaries Exposed naming him the Birdman of the Year and asking for his thoughts, his take on his competitors; maybe even asking him to write a monthly column; invitations to the annual show and immediate entrance to the elite members’ marquee, partaking of the buffet that he only ever saw the remnants of sticking out of the bins as yet again they had arrived late due to Iris insisting they call on her mother on the way. Not that they would have had the chance to taste the offerings beforehand as Brian could only afford the basic membership that afforded him no privileges at all.
And now this; Iris and her bloody ear! He poured himself a cup of coffee from the flask and took out the biscuit tin he kept hidden.
Back at the police station Throbb was bored. His in tray held nothing more exciting than a stolen bicycle and a lost earring – oh and now a female magician producing dolls from her ear. He stared out of the window and imagined himself conducting a murder enquiry; or at least a kidnapping of some dignitary or personality. He needed more than this and his membership of Thorny Ridge Golf Club would be his opportunity to show his superiors just how good he was. Smuthers brought tea and biscuits in and also two messages for Throbb informing him that his car was ready for collection and that he also had a parcel to collect from the Post Office. That would be his three new shirts from Taylorforth’s in London
It was 12:30 and Iris felt a pull from her ear. What now; another doll? Strangest thing was that it never hurt; just a pull and a plop and there was another aural production. She put her hand up to her ear awaiting the feel of the doll’s feet, but felt something entirely different. She went over to the mirror and saw sausages appearing. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and they weren’t chipolatas, but plump sausages. She was unsure whether they were beef or pork but only cooking would tell. Brian liked sausages ….. She still had potatoes left from the weekend that he had brought back from the allotment; maybe she would make mash and some onion gravy. Six sausages and the process had stopped. Should she mention where the sausages had come from? She lifted one to her nose and sniffed and then tasted the skin with the tip of her tongue. No taste of earwax and they looked the same as the ones she got from the butcher’s the other week. Waste not, want not!
Brian placed the biscuit tin back in its hiding place and rinsed his cup out with the water from the outside tap. He lifted the lid on the compost bin and gave it a bit of stabbing with the fork and then checked his watch; 3:30 – he had another hour and a half before he had to go back up to the house. Just time to pop to the newsagents for a bar of Iris’ favourite chocolate and a half pound of toffees for him; and a possible perusal of the top shelf gentlemen’s magazines to satisfy his appreciation for art and the female form.
As he crossed the main road he saw Tom Howse in his front garden tending his flowerbeds. He liked Tom, although he didn’t share either of his passions for birds or `art’, but he did make the best homemade beer that he was always willing to share in exchange for a chat and a half ounce of the finest shag for his pipe.
`Hello Tom, how goes it?’
`Hello Brian; Mary says Iris is unwell. I’m sorry to hear that.’
`Oh she’s not ill per se; she’s just, well, she’s just ….’ How do you tell someone that your wife is producing things from her ear that are much larger than the usual specks of wax?
`It’s ok Brian, I understand; women’s trouble? I had all this with Mary the other year. Best she has it all taken away. Mary has not looked back since she had hers done. None of that messing about every month; tell her to have a word with the doctor and get it sorted. You don’t want to listen to her moaning anymore than you have to!’
`Yes, thanks Tom, I’ll bear that in mind and make sure I mention it to Iris. How’s the brewery?’
`Got a very nice german beer residing in the greenhouse at the moment; should be ready in a week.’ Tom lowered his voice as he imparted this news, tapping his nose to indicate the secrecy of it all. Brian always found this funny as most of the men along Turnpike Way knew and tasted all Tom’s alcoholic beverages and their wives were all aware too because at least once a month several men staggered home, some only making it as far as their front gates and spending the night sleeping on the path; and the rest being greeted by a lecture as they fell in through the front door.
The newsagents were quiet, although there were one or two school kids looking at the sweet counter. Just chocolate and toffees then; best stay away from the `art’ magazines – couldn’t really look if there were children around. He could ask the newsagent to order it and keep it under the counter for him to collect once a month – couldn’t have it delivered, couldn’t cope with the thought of Iris finding it enclosed within the pages of the daily paper – how would he explain that? He checked his watch and saw he still had three quarters of an hour yet so he paid for his confectionary and nipped to the bus stop; his goal was to get to WH Smith’s, peruse said magazines and decide which one suited him. Two minutes on the bus and he heard his phone buzzing in his pocket. Best not to ignore it.
`Hello.’
`Brian where are you? Jean said she just saw you getting on the bus. I said it couldn’t have been you because we go into town on Thursdays and today is Tuesday. But she insisted.’
`Yes I am on the bus; just about to arrive at the bus station. Well it was supposed to be a surprise but that’s ruined now.’
Surprise, in aid of what? My birthday isn’t until June and our wedding anniversary was last month because you forgot as usual and got me flowers from the garage together with a birthday card designed for a 5 year old. Was I supposed to wear the badge – I was never sure.’
`I just wanted to make it up to you and what with this ear thing and all I thought you might need cheering up.’
`In town on a Tuesday; very strange. You been drinking at Tom’s?’
`Can’t a husband show appreciation now and again?’
`Brian McFiddish you get back here now! Your dinner will be waiting on the table and will not look very appetising if left to go cold!!!’
His shoulders slumped and as he stepped off the bus he looked towards his goal which was only on the other side of the road. He could just run across and ….. best not he thought as he made his way to the bus that was waiting to take him home.
Throbb looked at the paperwork again and decided that he might as well show some interest so he picked up the phone and dialled the McFiddish’s number. Iris was dishing up and Brian was laying the table atoning for his latest escapade. She also said he could do the washing up as she felt her ear may need some rest. He had seen the sausages and noticed the amount of grease they were bathing in and also the bits of meat content that had welded to the roasting pan. Why could she never put foil in the pan to make life easier? They both looked at each other when the phone rang expecting one of them to already know who was calling and why were they didn’t realise that it was dinner time.
Iris wiped her hands down the front of her apron and removed her one earring so that she could hold the receiver comfortably to her right ear – the left being earring-less as it was preoccupied with other things.
`Hello?’
`Hello Mrs McFiddish?’
`Yes?’
`Ah, this is Detective Inspector Throbb. I wondered if it would be convenient to visit you in the next half hour or so to find out more about what’s been happening?’
`Half hour you say? Well, we are just in the middle of dinner, but I’m sure I could keep it warm in the oven, although I have already put the gravy on ……’
`If it is inconvenient I totally understand. Maybe I could call around tomorrow?’
`Let me just check with my husband Brian.’ Iris put her hand over the receiver and questioned whether Brian was that hungry and he said he was and he didn’t want the fat to set in the pan any longer than it had to.
`I’m sorry Detective Inspector Fobb – oh sorry, Throbb; but you know what you men are like if you are not fed at regular intervals. Do you like sausages?’
`Well, yes I do.’
`I’m sure it we can do a three way split. No need to bring anything. Mash and onion gravy. Twenty minutes? That will be excellent. Do you have our address? Oh you know everything; but I suppose that is expected for a man in your position. Yes, see you soon.’
Brian set another place at the table and realised that he wouldn’t be taking the last two sausages in a sandwich tomorrow. Life was getting worse; and how long would the Detective Inspector be staying as they usually watched the documentaries on Tuesday evenings. He couldn’t stop the `humph’ from escaping his lips.
`Don’t you start humphing! The world doesn’t just revolve around you! Sooner we get my ear sorted out the better!’
Brian went to the magazine rack and pulled out a copy of some American magazine that Iris liked to read regarding aliens and film stars. On the front was the usual amazing headline about the latest alien landing. Feeling brave he ventured an idea:
`Do you think we should contact the paper and let them know what is happening? Could be worth some money; maybe enough to buy that winter coat you’ve had your eye on?’
`I am not being media fodder!!! Being stared at everywhere I go; people stopping me in the street; oh no!!!’
`It’s our Brendan’s birthday soon; maybe you could provide the entertainment instead of paying for the usual magician?’
`Brian McFiddish, why did I ever consent to marry you!!! I am suffering from something horrible and all you can do is try and cash in on my fragility!!!’
Saved by the doorbell! The Detective Inspector removed his hat and Brian showed him through to the lounge. Iris had brushed her hair and put some lipstick on.
`Mrs McFiddish?’
`Please call me Iris.’ She instructed as she extended her hand, but the eagle eyed detective had already spotted Brian’s aviary magazine resting on the coffee table and Iris’ hand was left hanging in mid air.
`Who is the bird enthusiast?’
Iris raised her eyes to the heavens and prayed silently that the detective wasn’t another mad twitcher.
An hour later with dinner over, Iris stood at the sink hacking away at the burnt offerings while the two men regaled each other with stories of favourite twitching places and the merits of the telescopic lens. Iris’ head went to one side and she felt an offering coming.
`Oh help!!! Brian, quick! Detective Inspector I have something coming!!!’
She had to repeat herself a couple of times before they responded and by the time they both arrived in the kitchen Iris had delivered dessert in the shape of a strawberry jelly.
`My word; this is remarkable! Does it hurt?’
`No, she’s fine. She doesn’t usually call for help – probably because you are here and she wants some attention.’
`You produced this whole strawberry jelly from your left ear?’
`Got any ice cream to go with it?’ asked Brian as he looked firstly in Iris’ ear to see if any was forthcoming and then in the freezer.
`Maybe you should come and sit down Mrs McFiddish.’
`Call me Iris.’
`She hasn’t finished the washing up yet!’
Iris raised her hand to her head and promptly fainted – well, not really, but realistically enough for Throbb to catch her and carry her into the lounge and put her on the settee. He sat next to her holding her hand, waiting for her to compose herself.
`Where am I?’ she asked weakly equating with her present state.
`You are safe dear lady.’
`Oh, but I haven’t finished the dishes!’
`Don’t worry, we can always run some more hot water later when you are feeling stronger.’ Said Brian thoroughly pan faced at his wife’s `made in Taiwan
`There is a specialist I would like you to see when you are feeling stronger Iris. He is based in Harley Street …’
`Harley Street ? I don’t think the NHS will look too kindly on her nipping off to Harley Street .’
`He accepts private clients only.’
`Ah well forget that then!’
Iris gave Brian a `turn to salt’ or `die horribly’ stare that he ignored completely.
`It’s perfectly okay; he owes me a favour and I’m sure he would find this an interesting diversion from the usual varicose veins and appendicitis. Let me ring him tomorrow and set up an appointment.’
`Thank you Detective Inspector.’ Swooned Iris trying to flutter her eyelashes in the same way as Deborah Kerr in the King & I, but sadly she wielded a sneeze instead that resulted in the DI having more than Brylcreem on his hair. Luckily the alien substance was spotted only by Brian and herself. Brian excused himself to finish the washing up and put the kettle on for a cup of tea; desperately trying not to guffaw at the incident he had just witnessed.
Later, when Throbb had finally gone and the jelly had been discarded into the bin - unlike the sausages – Brian poured Iris a large gin and tonic with ice and a slice and made himself a rum and ginger. For once Iris did not question or refuse the offer even though it wasn’t Christmas or a special occasion.
`Do you think they will lock me away Brian in some psychiatric hospital?’
Brian hadn’t thought about that possibility and now wasn’t the time to ponder it too much as Iris was looking for comfort, but it was something he should consider later when she was snoring next to him.
`Don’t be daft. You’re not a crackpot, just got an extra talent is all!’
Iris produced a bottle of sweet sherry from her ear.
`I’ll put it in the cupboard for Christmas; we could give it to your Aunt Esther. Have to steam a label off last year’s bottle we kept in case the vicar called. Any chance of you producing the entire gift list? No? Only a thought.’
As Throbb removed his socks, sniffed them and decided that another day could be had out of them he thought back to the jelly and the other goods that Iris had produced and decided it wasn’t really a police matter as such; however Brian’s collection of magazines on keeping birds were worth another look. Maybe he could continue to `investigate’ Iris and ask Brian how much he would be willing to sell all the back issues for. As he drifted off to sleep the subject of his dreams was the large aviary inside Iris’ head and the comings and goings of birds of all sizes through her left ear. The next morning he contacted his friend in Harley Street who showed as much enthusiasm as he had at first so Throbb had to remind him of the favour owed and also Brian’s large collection of bird magazines as Stromberg was another twitcher. Iris got an appointment for the following afternoon.
Brian hated wearing his suit and kept it only for use at funerals. He much preferred his tweed jacket and easy wash trousers, but Iris had insisted he wear it together with the shirt he had got for his birthday that he kept pushing towards the back of his shirt drawer. Iris decided to wear a hat that had a bunch of dubious fruit stuck to the band to deter any unwanted stares towards her left ear. Her hair smelt of lacquer and made Brian’s nose twitch or it could have been her perfume. He tried to stifle several sneezes but only managed to cause an internal explosion in his face. Throbb picked them up in his car and Brian noticed the corner of a magazine sticking out from under his seat. As Throbb helped Iris into the back and adjusted her seat belt Brian made pretence of checking his shoelace and had a sly look at the magazine. It was one of those `art’ books that he had toyed with getting the day before on his illicit trip into town. He had glanced at the cover in his newsagents and liked what he saw. It seemed there maybe some interesting articles within the pages that might hold his attention. He wondered if he could sneak a better inspection at some point today while Iris held the interest of the specialist. He thought he might suggest that he should wait in the car while Throbb took her in – no need to crowd the place. But Throbb had no intention of going in; he too was looking forward to flicking through the pages of his mucky magazine while sitting in the car.
The waiting room had a really high ceiling and Brian tried to work out just how tall the walls were by imagining three or four more people of his height standing on top of each other. The magazines on the table were brand new and advertised properties that wouldn’t consider any offer of less than seven digits before the decimal point. Iris sighed and adjusted her hat which must have sent a signal to her ear to start up production. Brian sat staring at her as a large Dundee cake started to emerge with the top tastefully decorated with sliced almonds.
`Doesn’t it hurt?’ he asked his wife as she placed the cake on the seat next to her and then proceeded to swish away the crumbs from her shoulders.
`Not really. I’m getting used to it.’
`Are we taking the cake home? Might go nice with a cup of tea later for supper.’
`That came out of my ear; you wouldn’t really consider eating it would you?’
`The sausages were ok.’
`How did you know about the sausages?’
`Because we never bought sausages this week and Ralph is on holiday so the local butchers is closed for two weeks; so I guessed.’
`Do you think Throbb suspected? Probably not until the jelly appeared and even then I doubt he gave it much of a thought. He’s not exactly your Sherlock Holmes type.’
`Brian, I don’t think I can stand this much longer.’
`What are you trying to say?’
`I need to go to the toilet but I am scared they might call us in while I’m in there and then I’ll come out with toilet paper stuck to my shoe or my skirt tucked into my knickers.’
`I can see how that would be a worry. Hold on a minute and I’ll ask the receptionist if he is running late.’
`Don’t tell her Brian the real reason for the enquiry, please.’
`Don’t fret.’
The receptionist apologised and said that Mr Stromberg was indeed running late and she hoped he would only be another ten minutes or so. Brian wandered back to Iris and told her the good news. Iris had been busy and had added a side of gammon to the Dundee cake. As she went to the ladies’ Brian started to pick the almonds from the cake and remembered the thought he had put to one side regarding his nearest and dearest being incarcerated in the psychiatric ward. He chewed the idea over together with the last almond. He walked around the idea of freedom in his mind deciding that visiting would probably be restricted for a week or two, if not longer as they probed and carried out various tests to unravel this phenomena, so that would give him ample opportunity to do whatever he wanted. Maybe he could start brewing his own beer in the potting shed? So lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear Iris return and only realised she was there when she admonished him for eating the almonds.
`Did you check your shoes and the placement of your skirt before you came back?’ he asked trying to deter her for moaning on at him.
`Yes, thank you.’
`Mrs McFiddish? Mr Stromberg is ready for you now. Don’t forget to take your cake and gammon – would you like a carrier bag to put them in?’ Obviously the receptionist was oblivious to the reason that Iris was here and must have thought it very strange that both food items were unwrapped.
`No, that’s fine thank you; I have a shopping bag with me.’ Iris responded as she began to feel the familiar tug on her ear. She hurried towards the door of the specialist’s office pulling Brian in with her. Within seconds she had become the proud owner of a new electric kettle. She gave it to Mr Stromberg whose jaw was resting on his desk staring first at the kettle and then at her and then back to the kettle. When he finally got the power of speech back he mumbled a greeting and gestured for them to take a seat.
He examined Iris’ right ear and then her left and was surprised to find that her left ear was the gateway to a large cavern filled entirely with just about everything you could think of and that’s when he spotted something that made him feel uncertain about passing on this discovery to the patient. He stood up and wandered around, taking time to stare out of the window and stroke his non existent beard.
`Hmm, are you getting enough sleep? How are your eating habits?’
He scribbled some notes as Iris answered his questions. He then asked her if anything strange had happened prior to her manifesting stuff. She said no, not that she could recall. He asked the same question to Brian, but he couldn’t remember anything either. Stromberg was still concerned about telling them what he had seen and decided it was best left unsaid for the time being; although there was a chance it might just manifest before they left his surgery. He decided he needed to investigate her ears again. Yes, it would be appearing very soon. He looked again at the colour and the style, searching for any sharp corners that might cut the ear canal on the way out, but he couldn’t see any. Probably a good idea to give the patient a muscle relaxant and let her rest in the other room for an hour or two; shame, because he had just bought a new set …….. but she may not give them to him anyway. He gave her an injection and asked the nurse to take her to the examination room next door and make sure she moved the rubber backed mat to the side of the couch – he said because he didn’t want the possibility of Iris slipping, however, the real reason was that he didn’t want his flooring scratched by the new arrival!
While Brian and Iris followed the nurse, Stromberg made a quick call to Throbb who had finished his magazine and was just drinking his second cup of coffee from the café on the corner.
`Throbb, I think you should come in. Something is about to be `delivered’ which may be more than interesting to you.’
Throbb split some of the coffee on the fly of his trousers, not much, but enough to make contact with his `personal effects’ and remind him of how sensitive they could be. He threw the coffee cup out of the window and leapt out of the car dancing around trying to cool his pride and joy. A constable was passing and saw the coffee followed by the cup flying out of the window and so made it his business to investigate. On seeing Throbb trying to blow on the front of his trousers in some inane ritual he decided that the DI was being his usual prattish self and walked off in the direction of the fishing tackle shop to renew his licence.
The receptionist made full eye contact with the wet patch and then directed her gaze upward to see the owner of the bladder weakness. Realizing it was Throbb she showed total disinterest and mumbled him to go straight in. Throbb reminded her that she still hadn’t accepted his offer of dinner and she replied that there was still no sign of hell freezing over, but as soon as there was she promised she would phone. Throbb prided himself on keeping up to date with the world news but had not heard of the chance of a big freeze happening in hades. He made a mental note of looking through his back editions of the New Scientist – he might just have missed the article. It could have been in that edition where the pages had got stuck together after he dropped the glazing off his doughnut on it.
By the time he opened the door of Stromberg’s office he could hear voices in the examination room next door. As he knocked and entered Iris had just given aural birth to a full set of golf clubs together with bag and wheeled caddy.
`Do you play golf at all, Brian?’ asked Throbb hoping that he could offer to relieve them of this top of the range set.
`No, can’t stand sport of any sort.’ Brian replied in a voice that echoed his total boredom of the whole manifesting thing. Throbb worked hard at showing a smile and rubbing his hands together.
`Do you want me to put them in the car Iris, together with the cake and the gammon?’
`Keep it all if you want.’ Sighed Iris as Stromberg took another look in her left ear. He said he could see nothing too cumbersome arriving within the next delivery or two.
Throbb grabbed the golf clubs and the bag containing the cake and the gammon, but Brian snatched the bag back from him declaring that he had already started eating the cake and they would probably take a slice or two of the gammon for tea as Iris would not feel like cooking by the time they got back. Stromberg ferried them all back to his office; all that is except Throbb who had been mesmerised by the gleaming clubs and the smell of the leather from the bag. He started fitted the caddy together, but stopped when Stromberg slapped him around the back of the head as a reminder of the reason he was there.
The specialist sat at his desk and thought about his next words carefully. The fruit on Iris’ hat had disappeared and she searched around on the floor with her eyes trying to locate them. Brian stared at the specialist trying desperately not to yawn or belch; both of which were impending. The nurse came in and brought the fruit bunch with her, slightly tatty after being kicked around a bit, but nothing that a bit of paint and tender loving care wouldn’t revive.
Finally, just as they were all losing the will to live Stromberg spoke:
`I think I need some time to think about the best course of action to tackle this and so I suggest that Iris comes and stays at the hospital for a week or two.’
Iris started to cry and Brian stepped up to the plate and said:
`I am not having Iris being treated like some experiment. She comes home with me and you can contact us when you have something to say.’ Iris was reminded of the reason she married him. He could be so masterful at times …… and yet such a pain in the arse at others.
`I must insist Mr McFiddish. Your wife needs to be monitored for a week or two so we can work on a cure!’
Brian stood up and picked the otoscope Stromberg had been using and looked for himself into Iris’ ear. Stromberg felt himself going red as he had been found out. Throbb wasn’t listening at all and wanted to go play with his new toy. Brian replaced the instrument back in its case and then helped Iris to her feet.
`Come on Iris – time we went home. Stromberg you need shagging, as my old dad would say, and not in the meaning that you have; in fact I am not sure exactly what he meant but I knew the gist. You just want Iris to deliver that very nice custom made Bentley that is waiting to appear, but you can whistle. We will be selling said car as Iris has her eye on a new winter coat and I could build a very nice aviary in the garden.’
The ignored Throbb’s offers of a lift home and caught the train instead. Brian never did get to eat the rest of the Dundee as Iris gave both the cake and the gammon to the homeless shelter who, although grateful for the donation, was a tad miffed at the missing almond decoration on the top. The Bentley arrived at the end of the week and Iris got her coat plus matching shoes and handbag. Brian got two aviaries and stocked them with many colourful exotic birds. As for the magazine Throbb had in the car; well Brian was so happy with his birds that he forgot all about his passion for art! He was asked to be a columnist for Aviaries Exposed and he and Iris got to dine in the members’ marquee at the annual show.
Iris never did discover the root cause of her new talent, but Brian put it down to her having a mystical creature crawl into her ear after their holiday in Turkey Duncan
Throbb finally became a member of the prestigious golf club with his fancy clubs but it didn’t last long as the owner and the Chief Inspector both got done for money laundering and the place was closed down just prior to the Police Christmas bash so he finally got his melon balls! As for his dream of becoming some sort of super cop, well it never came to fruition, however he was called upon to be the entertainment’s officer for all the station’s social events, Christmas and er; anyway it gave him something to do. The receptionist and the nurse at Stromberg’s Harley Street office shared a fantastically large lottery win and Stromberg was last seen working in men’s outfitters as it became known that he was no more a specialist than Brian was.
The newsagents’ expanded their repertoire and sell postcards and calendars of Brian’s exotic birds. Whenever the new edition of Aviaries Exposed lands on the counter they get him to autograph the cover, however they only ever order two copies, one for Brian and one that sits on the shelves with his scribble on the front.
