Friday, 10 July 2009

The End of the Three Musketeers

The Three Musketeers

I start to come around. Thump, thump, thump. My head feels as if it is exploding. Shall I open my eyes and find out what is thumping this pain into my skull in such a repetitive fashion? I sense that I am in an horizontal position but where? What have I got into this time?

I am not a coward but I fear that if I open my eyes, it will be to a sight that no man should see first thing in the morning, Tara of the UAF towering above me and wellying one into me as if it is going out of fashion.

But wait. What is this in my mouth? My God, someone has shoved a dead rat into my mouth whilst I led unconscious. Where has my tongue gone? Hell that is my tongue. What happened to it?

And then the memories come flooding back and I open my eyes and leap from my bed with joy. There is no Tara, there is no dead rat in my mouth. I simply have a monstrous hangover. Hoorahh. An hangover is much more preferable than having to look at Buffalo Bill.

So how come the Green Arrow got in this state? It is a well known fact that he is a pauper and drinks only Somerfield Specials, that have the alcoholic content of a used teabag.

Well I suppose I should start at the beginning. It started with the arrival of the Three Musketeers pulling up on my drive. They were all there. The extrovert Porthos, who is as wild as Oliver Reed on a day out drinking with the Royal Navy in Malta. Behind him comes Athos, the father figure, who drowns his secret sorrows in drink. And finally in comes the dashing Aramis whose winning smile is always hidden away on the wrong side of the camera. BNPtv Wales have arrived to pick up a script for a couple of videos they are making later that evening.

I will not spoil the videos for you. But I assure you, you will enjoy both, should they manage to avoid being canned by our Regional Organiser who is the Camera Teams equivalent of the censor for being inappropriate - whatever that means.

Script picked up, information is validated, three laptops zipping around the net checking to ensure our facts are correct before the team go out on the prowl. Videos made, they return smiling and ready to celebrate the work they have just done in bringing the truth to the people of Our Country. But what have they brought with them?

Whiskey, Cider, Lager and Beer in vast amounts. What else should have I expected from the Three Musketeers?

What an evening my friends and what a joy for me to have such company, I, who normally live in solitude, with only the net for a friend. Senior party officers were praised, others slated, Lady members names (who they dearly adore) were thrown about like confetti at a wedding. But this was a family gathering and we were talking about our family that is the BNP and not one real bad word did I hear from any present. Just laughter, serious talk, silly talk and always laughter. And as our laughter increased the drinks started to vanish as we raised our glasses and toasted each other and everyone in the party. Nick Griffin's ears must have burned extra bright last night as we toasted him endlessly.

And then the invevitable happens as poor Oliver found out on his last day on earth. You cannot out drink a mad matelot. First to go was Aramis. We would have to talk about the origins of Buddhism again.

And the toasts continued until the brave Porthos succumbs and retires to his room. The myth of Wellard, the lean mean drinking machine destroyed for ever.

Just two remain and we talk a little longer, but the last thing that Athos sees as he slides into sleep on my sofa, is the sight of the Green Arrow crossing the room, taking his half full tumbler of Whiskey from his falling hand, raising it to his lips and downing the contents in one before going over to the fridge for another can of cider, no other drinks are left and only one is left standing. The Green Arrow.