Betty Bumpkin*, 84, smiles kindly at me through the myopic haze of her age-addled memory as she recalls how she came to defy modern medicine by surviving the worst recorded case of Hippophagitis since records began.
Nose-to-kneecaps in a chintzy armchair which, presumably, was last upholstered sometime prior to 1974, I attempt to return her toothless smile whilst subtly adjusting the position of my buttocks, in order to accommodate the detritus of the last 40 years, protruding through the pitifully flat cushion.
Literally furniture-bound, I try in vain to gently wrest an over-full teacup from her shaky hands. Having spent 40 minutes stuck on the godforsaken Coast Road, less than a mile from her front door, eyeing those cliffs almost longingly...I am desperate for a proper cuppa!
Babbling on about her "darling" bungalow, I learn that she has lived here, in the ironically-named, traffic blackspot of Peacehaville*, since the Fifties. It would seem she has also had the central heating on, continuously, since it was installed.
Babbling on about her "darling" bungalow, I learn that she has lived here, in the ironically-named, traffic blackspot of Peacehaville*, since the Fifties. It would seem she has also had the central heating on, continuously, since it was installed.
Wondering if she'd notice an attempt to catch the raindrops of tea by just stretching my tongue a ...little...further, I reluctantly prepare to take notes on yet another sensationalist bullshit story to feature in "Bumfodder Weekly" or, as most people know it, "Really". Really? Yes. Really.
Oh don't worry! They don't read their submissions...And I'm only on a government-forced Apprentice Scheme so with any luck they'll fire me and I can get on with being 18.
Anyway, I'm here today to interview Betty, who, in the light of the recent horse-meat scandal, has written to us with the shocking claim that she has eaten an entire live horse - and survived to tell the tale (and earn £50 and a Royal Jelly gift set to boot)!
So Betty, what made you decide to eat a live horse? If you were so interested in horse meat, why not just buy a Tesco Value "beef" burger?
Ah, well, you see my dear, it's actually a little known [or perhaps, made-up?] illness called Hippophagitis, not to be confused , of course, with Hippovaginosis which is an entirely different matter and not at all pleasant, but then I wouldn't know, you see, because I've neither got nor had it, but Mr Spencer at the local pharmacy did say that he thinks Mrs White at number 22 might have something funny going on "down there" because she asked for Canesten with her blood-pressure tablets last week, if you ask me, I always said Mr White was a wrongun, I reckon he's been giving it to her in the...
*Cough* Yes, errr, so an illness, you say? Do you know what brought it on?
What brought what on, dear?
...The Hippophagitis...?
Hippovag...!? I beg your pardon! Oh no dear, not me dear, I've never had nothing like that going on with my you-know-what thank you very much. My mother always said never to go with a foreign gentleman else that's what you get, you see! *Incoherent mumbling...*
*Raising voice* Mrs Bumpkin? I was asking about the HIPPOPHAGITIS? WHEN YOU ATE A HORSE??
Well why didn't you say. Of course! Well I 'et an 'orse dear to catch the cow I et.
The cow...?
Oh yes, you see, during the war, our food was heavily rationed, and my mother always said "waste not, want not". So I 'ad to eat the whole cow even though I was rather full already what with the dog and everything. And I paid for it afterwards an' all because it really upset my IBS!
I sense I should pause, thoughtfully, and take the time to really delve into the sad back story that she's clearly alluding to. Let's just assume that it involves some sort of WWII-related childhood trauma, an absent father, a profound hunger, blah blah blah...
Focussing on the single, most interesting thing, Betty has said so far, though:
I sense I should pause, thoughtfully, and take the time to really delve into the sad back story that she's clearly alluding to. Let's just assume that it involves some sort of WWII-related childhood trauma, an absent father, a profound hunger, blah blah blah...
Focussing on the single, most interesting thing, Betty has said so far, though:
I'm sorry - did you say something about a dog?
Yes, dear, the dog dear, what about him?
Well - it's just that I didn't realise you had a dog?
Had's the word dear. I did have a dog, yes. But I et him.
Errr...so is that...Caninophagitis?
Well call it what you will dear, I wouldn't advise it. Most unpleasant week of my life, eating that dog...
Well, why did you eat your dog Mrs Bumpkin?
I simply had no choice! That's simply what you have to do in the unlikely circumstance of having eaten a cat!
*Starting to doubt my own sanity and Googling "symptoms of early onset Dementia on my iPhone"*.
I'm beginning to sense that this is a futile question but, may I ask WHY you ate A CAT?
Well you see, I'm a little befuddled as to how it happened. It was a sort of accident you see because, although I admit I did mean to eat Tommy the Cat at the time, I don't really remember the circumstances too well but I think...I think I thought he'd be able to settle my stomach after I et that dodgy seagull. Tommy used to like catching birdies.
Yes...
Clearly I'm on candid camera so I had better just ride it out with as much dignity as I can muster - maybe this is part of my exam?
Tell me, what made you decide to eat a seagull, specifically? Surely a blue-tit would have been more manageable?
Mmmm you are right there my dear, and had I known what a flap it would cause, I certainly would have chosen more carefully. The thing about seagulls, though, is...the thing about seagulls...
Her head droops onto her saggy chest and she starts to snore. This gives me time to weigh up my options...
1) Make a run for it, fabricate the rest of the article, possibly get found out, and fail my Apprenticeship assessment?
2) Steal from the old bat and try and disappear?
Oooh, what's this? I've been, almost subconciously, rooting down the side of the sofa, in the hope that I might find something to recompense me and, woo hoo! I can feel something like a note...
I surreptitiously try to unbury it and am startled when she jerks awake. Pretending to be looking in my pockets, I laugh nervously at her. She's staring balefully at me as if she had never been asleep and I sense that I ought to carry on where I left off. Best not to mention it, I suppose.
Where was I, oh yes - the thing about seagulls is that they're very aggressive and so I figured he wouldn't be scared orf by the spider.
The spider...?
Balls. It's a bloody dollar! Maybe I will stop by those cliffs on the way home... Or perhaps I could take Betty for a walk...?
Yes, dear. You know. SPIDER. 'Orrible 'airy thing will all those legs and eyes.
I can't believe it. She's actually trying to mime a spider to me.
YES MRS BUMPKIN. I WAS JUST WONDERING WHY YOU ATE ONE?
Ah yes. Well, it's a funny story actually but it's caused my bowels no end of trouble I can tell you. The doctor wouldn't even grant me an appointment. But you know what it's like these days, I think you have to make some sort of blood sacrifice to the receptionist to get into see them these days, he does sign aspirin prescriptions pretty darn quick though, hands those things out like sweeties he does but, well really, I blame the NHS!
The NHS?
Yes, you see I et a fly, and then I panicked when I could still feel it flapping about. But I used the symptom checker and they...
...said you should eat a spider and then consume progressively larger animals over the coming weeks until you either come to your senses or die of internal bleeding?
What? No! Of course not. NHS Direct didn't help at all. The internetty thing had nothing to say for itself, and when I phoned I just kept getting put on hold. I got the feeling they were all having a laugh at my expense you know!
Noo...
Oh yes. That's what the world's coming to these days. Impersonal and uncaring. It's that David Cameron's fault! Big Society?Big Scam, more like...
You could've gone to A&E...?
Oh no, not me. I haven't been ill since the Eighties. Besides, I don't want to waste anyone's time!
Wondering what she thinks she has been doing for the last hour, I politely phrase, what I hope to be my final question...
What made you eat a fly Mrs Bumpkin?
Ooh I don't know, dear. I don't know...
-- Becky Boo.
In loving memory of Mrs Betty Bumpkin who sadly died last Sunday after suffering complications arising from Polyfaunaphagitis.
Well call it what you will dear, I wouldn't advise it. Most unpleasant week of my life, eating that dog...
Well, why did you eat your dog Mrs Bumpkin?
I simply had no choice! That's simply what you have to do in the unlikely circumstance of having eaten a cat!
*Starting to doubt my own sanity and Googling "symptoms of early onset Dementia on my iPhone"*.
I'm beginning to sense that this is a futile question but, may I ask WHY you ate A CAT?
Well you see, I'm a little befuddled as to how it happened. It was a sort of accident you see because, although I admit I did mean to eat Tommy the Cat at the time, I don't really remember the circumstances too well but I think...I think I thought he'd be able to settle my stomach after I et that dodgy seagull. Tommy used to like catching birdies.
Yes...
Clearly I'm on candid camera so I had better just ride it out with as much dignity as I can muster - maybe this is part of my exam?
Tell me, what made you decide to eat a seagull, specifically? Surely a blue-tit would have been more manageable?
Mmmm you are right there my dear, and had I known what a flap it would cause, I certainly would have chosen more carefully. The thing about seagulls, though, is...the thing about seagulls...
Her head droops onto her saggy chest and she starts to snore. This gives me time to weigh up my options...
1) Make a run for it, fabricate the rest of the article, possibly get found out, and fail my Apprenticeship assessment?
2) Steal from the old bat and try and disappear?
Oooh, what's this? I've been, almost subconciously, rooting down the side of the sofa, in the hope that I might find something to recompense me and, woo hoo! I can feel something like a note...
I surreptitiously try to unbury it and am startled when she jerks awake. Pretending to be looking in my pockets, I laugh nervously at her. She's staring balefully at me as if she had never been asleep and I sense that I ought to carry on where I left off. Best not to mention it, I suppose.
Where was I, oh yes - the thing about seagulls is that they're very aggressive and so I figured he wouldn't be scared orf by the spider.
The spider...?
Balls. It's a bloody dollar! Maybe I will stop by those cliffs on the way home... Or perhaps I could take Betty for a walk...?
Yes, dear. You know. SPIDER. 'Orrible 'airy thing will all those legs and eyes.
I can't believe it. She's actually trying to mime a spider to me.
YES MRS BUMPKIN. I WAS JUST WONDERING WHY YOU ATE ONE?
Ah yes. Well, it's a funny story actually but it's caused my bowels no end of trouble I can tell you. The doctor wouldn't even grant me an appointment. But you know what it's like these days, I think you have to make some sort of blood sacrifice to the receptionist to get into see them these days, he does sign aspirin prescriptions pretty darn quick though, hands those things out like sweeties he does but, well really, I blame the NHS!
The NHS?
Yes, you see I et a fly, and then I panicked when I could still feel it flapping about. But I used the symptom checker and they...
...said you should eat a spider and then consume progressively larger animals over the coming weeks until you either come to your senses or die of internal bleeding?
What? No! Of course not. NHS Direct didn't help at all. The internetty thing had nothing to say for itself, and when I phoned I just kept getting put on hold. I got the feeling they were all having a laugh at my expense you know!
Noo...
Oh yes. That's what the world's coming to these days. Impersonal and uncaring. It's that David Cameron's fault! Big Society?Big Scam, more like...
You could've gone to A&E...?
Oh no, not me. I haven't been ill since the Eighties. Besides, I don't want to waste anyone's time!
Wondering what she thinks she has been doing for the last hour, I politely phrase, what I hope to be my final question...
What made you eat a fly Mrs Bumpkin?
Ooh I don't know, dear. I don't know...
-- Becky Boo.
In loving memory of Mrs Betty Bumpkin who sadly died last Sunday after suffering complications arising from Polyfaunaphagitis.
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