Pesky Blenders

'Pooh?'

'Hmm?'

'What else?'

'What else what?'

'On our walk home yesterday you said Tigger was organising this quiz "for a start." What else?'

'Ah, well, he's getting two pitches ready.'

'Oh, he's not going for that after all, is he? Where will we put them all? Brazil's bigger than us.'

'No, Piglet, tv pitches. Ideas for programmes.'

'Oh. Ah. What programmes?'

'Well, a very popular drama has just started a new series with a stellar cast.'

'Pooh, are you reading that from something?'

'No, Eeyore's words. He's watching it avidly.'

'Meaning somewhere between indifference and disdain.'

'Well, yes.'

'What's it about?'

'Apparently, a gang in Birmingham in the 1920s who are in constant battle with a mob of wild, ungovernable accents.'

'Goodness.'

'Oh, yes. In one episode, Eeyore says, the gang leader has an hour-long arm-wrestle with a farm-worker accent from the Wiltshire-Dorset borders--'

'Really?'

'--who then escapes by turning into an unassuming crofter from the Kyle of Lochalsh.'

'Hoots, mon.'

'Piglet. Never in the entire history of Scotland has anyone ever said "Hoots, mon".'

'Not even under their breath?'

'Especially not under their breath. But Eeyore found the latest episode riveting--'

'--so…mildly distracting--'

'Well, yes. Some of the accent mob infiltrate the gang and sound plausibly Brummie. For about three minutes. Then they throw off their--whatever it is accents wear--to reveal themselves as a Geordie, a Salopian and a hapless drugs mule from Bogota.'

'So what are these pitches Tigger's going on about?'

'Ah, well, he intends to produce reality versions.'

'Of this accent show?'

'Yes. One's a sort of Candid Camera thing, but all very good natured, with everyone shaking hands afterwards--well, if they've still got hands after the pranks.'

'Dare I ask what he intends--?'

'Perky Blunders.'

'And the other?'

'Now, this one is more of a public service effort. You know, the dangers of the kitchen.'

'Oh, right…How Limp Is Your Lettuce sort of thing?'

'Well, more to do with rogue appliances.'

'I'm bracing myself for--'

'Pesky Blenders.'

'But what about the original? Are they meant to sort of fall in with all this?'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, is the gang-leader meant to break off from another arm-wrestle with a duplicitous non-Brummie accent and say "Will you look at the cut of that whisk?"'

'Probably. You know Tigger. As he says, he'll run it past the envelope.'

'A Wiltshire-Dorset accent, eh? Does it say "Bah, b'ain't natural"?'

'Don't do that, Piglet.'

'Not even quietly?'

'Especially not quietly.'

 

Trend-facing slam-dunk

'Piglet?'

'Hmm?'

'I see Tigger's busy.'

'Oh, dear. What now?'

'Well, for a start, he's organising a quiz night for the next May Rain Holiday.'

'I wondered when that would happen. I'd say he's been itching to play quizmaster.'

'Oh, no, he's getting someone in from, you know, Beyond.'

'Really? One of his friends on that Off-Yer-Facebook?'

'Possibly. Or a Twitteree. Or a Linkedinbred.'

'How many people do those gradations cover?'

'Oh, everyone, Tigger says. Long dead, yet-to-be born, all sorts in between.'

'Goodness.'

'He says the Borgias are following him.'

'Well, they're sort of known for that.'

'And Mid-Sized Tim.'

'Not the Tiny one, then?'

'He doesn't do social media, Tigger says. Tried it once. Sat in his corner and cried 'God Tweet Us, Every One.'

'And?'

'Nothing. Well, his dad came in with a heart-warming book on a plate for their Christmas dinner.'

'That was generous.'

'Ten pages each and they made soup out of the spine.'

'Gosh. They must have used one of the recipes from those programmes Eeyore watches.'

'Must have done. One of those artisanal things, Tigger says.'

'It doesn't do to say that word slowly.'

'No. Brings out the truth of the matter, though.'

'Certainly does. But this quiz-master he's got in. Or mistress. Or both / neither / if other please complete box.'

'Oh, an old hand at it. Been dishing out the questions for years.'

'Who is it?'

'Bambi Gascoigne.'

'Well as long as there isn't a sports round…'

'Have no fear, Piglet. Tigger's already said there's just one answer to all the sports questions.'

'Ah…oh, well, they deserve it.'

'Don't they, though? Tigger says that they're becoming Secretary-General of the UN when that Mr Ban-Ki Moon steps down.'

'My, my…what, all eleven of them?'

'Under one name. Red Leicester, apparently. You know, extra appeal to the Communist-Lonesome Cowboy vote.'

'Yes, well, Secretary General and all that. You need to sound nifty.'

'Indeed you do. Dag Hammarskjold, eh, Piglet? Who wouldn't get their deli queue ticket pronto with a name like that?'

'Ah, but you can't beat U Thant. Marvellous. Just the one letter. That's what Tigger would call a trend-facing slam-dunk.'

'Does Tigger understand the things he says?'

'Nary a clue.'

 

Throwns

'Pooh, I shouldn't worry about it.'
'I'm not worrying, Piglet. It's just that Eeyore's been watching it on his new tv and keeps raving about it.'
'Raving? Eeyore?'
'Well, muttering that it's actually quite fair-to-middling, all things considered. But he won't explain the title.'
'All right. Try me.'
'All right. What exactly is Game Of Throwns?'
'Quoits.'
'Oh...oh, yes. Well, thank you.'
'Don't mention it. And have you discovered what Howard's Way actually involved?'
'Piglet, let's not go mad.'
'No. Sorry.'