Tag: Scurveyshire

New Year’s in Scurveyshire (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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We have had to consult Ms. Crepuscular’s notes for this chapter; we have but the bare bones of an outline. She is busy making toothpaste-filled cupcakes for Mr. Pitfall’s New Year’s party. Imagine being at a party with Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense.

“Like it or not,” she writes, introducing an un-numbered chapter (really, Violet!) of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, “Scurveyshire is a rural backwater pretty much shunned by the rest of Victorian England. Why, just ten years ago, they still had a watch-tower with a watchman keeping an eye out for vikings. And every now and then, he’d see one!”

Using the calendar invented by Dr. Parasol before they hanged him for practicing witchcraft without a license, today is New Year’s Day in Scurveyshire… so you probably missed their New Year’s Eve, which was last night instead of tonight. Those people of Scurveyshire who are not addled by the calendar celebrate the holiday with some unusual customs and traditions.

*The Giant Gnome. This commemorates… well, I don’t know! They trot out this huge effigy of a gnome, somewhat the worse for wear, and make rude noises at it.

*The Bad Penny. Children frantically pass this coin from one to another–whoever has it when Sir Alfred (who he was is not recorded) appears, has to live in the village graveyard for the next three months.

*“Winjee-winjee!” celebrates Scurveyshire’s role in the history of unsuccessful piracy.

*Grog O’ My Heart” is sung precisely at midnight by drunken revelers in the village streets. Anyone caught lurking indoors is sold into slavery.

“As you can see,” Ms. Crepuscular would conclude if she were writing this, “there’s a lot to be said for living in a rural backwater where quaint customs still prevail!”

 

Ms. Crepuscular Gets Lost (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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a gripping page-turner headed for the top of the NY Times bestseller list | Romance novels, Funny romance, Book parody

“A writer must never allow herself to be distracted,” declares Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense. This is because she has lost track of what chapter she’s writing in her epic romance, Oy, Rodney.

“Really, it was Mr. Pitfall’s fault,” she writes, blaming the whole thing on her neighbor. “You know the man is hopelessly in love with me. He used one of my recipes to bake me a batch of what were supposed to be toothpaste-filled cupcakes. I ate one–and the next three days are now a total blank to me!”

So she has settled on No. DXXIII for the chapter she is currently writing. Let’s see… The rhinoceros has spun a cocoon behind Dr. Weezle’s tool shed, the royal handwriting inspector has come and gone… and Constable Chumley has auditioned for the title role in the Scurveyshire Players’ production of Hamlet.

That’s how “To be or not to be” turns into “Ay wee yearnted far thither.”

Potrick the Jovial Shepherd (there are two jovial shepherds in Scurveyshire) thinks the constable should write his memoirs. He is also working on his imitation of Alan Hale, the American movie actor who has yet to be born. Potrick is good at things like that.

An Astounding Discovery! (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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a gripping page-turner headed for the top of the NY Times bestseller list | Funny romance, Romance novels, Book parody

In Chapter CDLXXXXVI (dig those Roman numerals! no wonder they didn’t have a space program) of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular repeats her assertion that Constable Chumley’s mother, disguised as Thir Lanthelot the Lithping Knight, has fallen passionately and ostentatiously in love with Lord Jeremy Coldsore.

“I Inthitht you come to my cathtle for a vithit!” she declaims. Her gestures with the lance persuade Jeremy to go along.

“I notice you don’t speak in the same quaint rural dialect your son uses.” Jeremy is trying to make conversation. Constable Chumley’s mother violently hushes him.

“Thhhh! I’m lotht! Can’t find the cathtle!”

Before the discussion can ripen into something really stultifying, the wanderers make an astounding discover.

Why Some Easter Island Statues Are Where They Are - Scientific American

Easter Island heads–right there in Scurveyshire!

“Put that in yer pipe and smoke it!” Ms. Crepuscular gloats. “Never saw that coming, didja? And now you have to read next week’s installment to find out how the stone heads got there!”

[The management apologizes for the author’s seeming hostility toward her own readers. “She has been under a great deal of stress lately, planning to drive out to Easter Island or at least take the ferry. It’s my job to tell here there is no ferry to Easter Island. You think you’ve got troubles!”]

A Traveling Salesman Calls (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Now out on bail, Violet Crepuscular introduces Chapter CCCI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney:

“Dear readers, I am out of durance vile by virtue of my editor, who paid $900 bail just before the publisher fired him. The judge ate one of my toothpaste rolls and is not only still alive, but has also expressed doubt that I have poisoned anyone on purpose. This has enabled me to continue my novel in peace!”

In this chapter, a traveling salesman named Elston The Traveling Salesman, finding Scurveyshire added to his route, visits The Lying Tart. Mr. Elston sells paper cutlery. He used to sell ordinary steel cutlery, but found that to be unworthy of his talents as a salesman. He relishes the challenge of selling paper knives and forks. His wife and children are starving, but he is unaware of that.

Having stood a round of drinks, Mr. Elston proceeds to sell several sets of deluxe paper cutlery. The locals, meanwhile, bring him up to date on Scurveyshire’s current troubles. People are still rather miffed about all those peasants being sucked under the wading pool in the vicar’s back yard.

“But this is absurd!” remarks the salesman. “Why, it would be the easiest thing in the world for all of you to get together and simply drag the pool away!”

This strikes most of the customers as a most irresponsible saying, probably motivated by an evil quirk in Mr. Elston’s character.

“That’s exactly the sort of thing a witch would say!” exclaims a jolly toper named Ernest Phinrod. In no time at all the entire company is convinced that Mr. Elston is a witch, in league with the spirit of the medieval sorcerer, Black Rodney. An impromptu taproom court immediately sentences Mr. Elston to death.

“You must not judge them too harshly,” Ms. Crepuscular admonishes her readers. “The good people of Scurveyshire do the best they can in spite of their massive ignorance. Most traveling salesmen do get out of Scurveyshire alive. Mr. Elston was merely one of the unfortunate few.”

As Scurveyshire’s Justice of the Peace, Lord Jeremy Coldsore is not informed of the incident until after it has been concluded.

“There’s likely to be a spot of trouble over this!” he muses fretfully.

‘Oy, Rodney’: the Footnotes

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In Chapter CLXII of Violet Crepuscular’s epic and spectacular romance, Oy, Rodney, we learn that Scurveyshire needs a new Member of Parliament. This is because the shire’s long-time, beloved representative, Sir Belisarius “Old Binky” Boggington, has been sucked under the vicar’s backyard wading pool, never to be seen again.

Wait! How did we miss that incident? It’s not mentioned in any of the four or five preceding chapters, where I searched for it in vain. But then I noticed a footnote.

“1. I was about to describe this horrifying event in great detail, in Chapter CLXI, when suddenly my smoke alarm went off. The noise was unbearable! I tried to turn it off but the wretched thing just wouldn’t stop. Finally I  called the Fire Dept., and they discovered some kind of insect egg-case inside the smoke detector, positioned in such a way as to force two wires together that should never touch each other. They also found that the cake I was baking in the oven was all but incinerated, but I’m sure that wasn’t what triggered the alarm. To make it worse, the fire chief gave me a right bollocking! I was so upset and humiliated, and distracted, that I forgot what I intended to write. My apologies to the reader; but it is the smoke detector’s fault, not mine.”

Below it was another footnote.

“2. If you are wondering why Constable Chumley, on guard near the pool, didn’t prevent Old Binky from getting too close to the death-trap, I can only say the constable had been distracted, too. I cannot remember how.”

And on the next page, another one.

“3. I realize it is not standard practice to include scholarly footnotes in a romance novel, but my hand is forced by certain persons who have alleged that my depiction of Scurveyshire in Queen Victoria’s time is absurd and unbelievable. They are much mistaken! For the genuine historical background, please consult A Narrative of Recent Events in Scurveyshire by Richard Bucket, A.B., C.D., V.C., O.B.E. etc., Chas. Gibbet and Sons, London: 1904.”

My hat’s off to anyone who can find that book.

As for the rest of Chapter CLXII, it is better left alone.