Give-a it up, give-a it up, give-a it up for l’equipaggio facile! Si… Monkeybroth is underwhelmed to announce the first very episode of Pastmouse – Italy’s foremost problem-solving and crime-busting rodent! He’s sure to maka a badda tinga gooda!
This week sees Pastamouse tackle the mystery of the disappearing parmesan cheese….
Pastamouse: “Heeeyyy, whatsa up l’equipaggio facile – eesa everyathinga alrighta?”
Zoomerini: “Non, Pastamouse, everything ees not alrighta…President Mozarella hasa been on de radio transisterone – the entire stocka of Italia’s parmigiano hasa been robbed by some badda de burglia…”
Pastamouse: “Non – saya it ees nota truea…the entire stocka of Italia’s parmigiano hasa been robbed by some badda de burglia you say?”
Zoomerini: “Si, Pastamouse”
Scratcherone: “Pastamouse… cana we makea da badda tinga gooda?”
Pastamouse: “Si, Scratcherone, we canna maka da badda tinga gooda – l’equpaggio facile!”
Zoomerini and Scratherone: “Si, Pastamouse?”
Pastamouse: “Getta your skateyboardas and those wheely/roller de blade things ready. We are gonna to finda de parmigiano and I hava an idea wherea we shoulda look firsta!”
Meanwhile in another part of town…
Bagga-Telli: “Heeeyyy Bandulula il cuoco, howa coma you hava so mucha de parmigiano in youra stora rooma?”
Bandulua il cuoco: “Heeeyyy Bagga-Telli donta worry, I boughta it alla cheapo cheapo from dat nice mousa wearing that stripea jumper and maska yesterdaya…I gonna maka loadsa de pasta and de pizza with it and maka many many of de euros…”
Suddenly l’equipaggio facile screech out from behind some bushes…
Pastamouse: “Hah…bandulua il cuoco! We hearda that from behinda da bushes over therea, Non nota therea……….over therea…si behind that dumpa trucka…anyway youa hava dona a badda ting. We herea to maka dat badda ting gooda…you should notta hava boughta de parmigiano froma data bada mousea…de orphana bambini have noa cheese – de parmigiano belonga to Italia!”
Bandulua il cuoco: “Oh Pastamouse I’m a soa sorry – herea… taka de parmigianna back to President Mozzarella…”
Pastamouse: “Are you sorrya for watta youa dona?”
Bandulua il cuoco: “Si Pastamouse… very….”
Pastamouse: “Wella everythinga okaya nowa, correcto I’equipaaggio facile?”
Zoomerini and Scratcherone: “Correcto Pastamouse!”
More pasta orientated, Mediterranean rodent crime-fighting, weak rip off of a fine kids’ TV show fun next week folks… or we might do asthma mouse. Provided we don’t get shut down by the BBC that is.
Thought of the week
With the extremely and hugely reverend Archbishop of Toad-in-the-Wold, Dr Robert Carolgees…
“As I sit here reclining on my solid oak desk in my conservatory-cum-nook on the top floor of my parochial house, so kindly provided for me by my parishioners, I cannot help but think of the church’s stance on civil marriage ceremonies.
Are we really to believe that venues such as Alton Towers, Legoland and even, dare I say it, Wembley Stadium, are fit and proper arenas for the sacred bonding of two people to take place? Why just the other day I read that Toad-in-the-Wold’s leading tourism attractions, Frank’s Wasp Museum and the Cum-Wisely Biscuit Discount Store, had applied for a licence to hold civil marriages. While I appreciate that the church must move forward or face a nasty withering on the vine of popular culture, I still choke on my crumpets every time some fly-by-night operation decides that it has the necessary gravitas and solemnness to hold what is essentially a declaration of love between two people of different sex. The different sex passage of this last piece of rather nicely constructed prose is key of course.
Frank’s Wasp Museum is a case in point – one can only think that beekeepers who have met and fallen in love, perhaps while bottling a jar of their gloopy, sinewy honey, could even possibly contemplate engaging in wedlock at a building which so glorifies the doubtful virtues of wasps and other flying and stinging invertebrates.
My live-in help Gumpert is a fine example of this, of course. He himself married in haste to a young girl from his village many moons ago now. Just a few short months after their civil ceremony marriage at the San Atorium Moped Factory, Conchita broke his heart and after one row about donkeys too many, Gumpert packed up his meagre belongings and headed off for new adventures. He washed up in Biffordshire and eventually found his way to Toad-in-the-Wold, where he originally earned his keep by polishing the pigs on Mr Crumble’s 70-hectare spread.
As I mused, my thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of Gumpert stomping about on the Persian rug outside my conservatory-cum-nook. The rug, a gift from my most generous parishioners, has become worn and tattered by the sheer number of pedestrians which traverse it, often late at night, as they pop downstairs from Gumpert’s room to the kitchen in order to fetch obviously much needed refreshments of diet cola and thick white toast.
Gumpert’s stompings were so heavy and laden with melancholy that I feared he may trip on the rug and perhaps fall down the stairs, breaking the bannisters as he went. My blood froze as I imagined his youthful and slender neck snapped into a 90 degree angle by the portmanteau we keep at the foot of the stairs.
By now Gumpert was sulkily rolling one of his foul smelling Moroccan cigarillos in the drawing room, his low moans and tutting the only clue to his agitated state of mind. So befuddled was he by whatever it was that ailed him, he stoutly refused to enlighten me as to the cause of his clear distress. It was clear that I was not to get an answer from the lithe South American and decided instead to let him stew in his disgruntlement while I went to catch up with the particularly tricky seven across in that morning’s Guardian.
As I moved through the drawing room my eyes were drawn to the small patioed area the other side of the kitchen. Gumpert’s increasingly restless noises were at once drowned out by a great billowing and flapping about as I opened the kitchen door to investigate further.
Sodom and Gomorrah had nothing on the scene of utter chaos which confronted me. Sheets, pillow cases, socks, my ecclesiastical gowns and any number of Gumpert’s Y-Fronts were blowing to and fro across the garden, while my favourite vest, I noticed, had become snagged on the hedge bordering the patioed area. I feared if Gumpert’s Y-Fronts were to make good their wind-assisted escape, Mrs Algebra and her severe angina next door would simply pass away at the very site of them.
But what was to be done about the scene of mass clothing rebellion being played out in front of me on what was a particularly unseasonal windy afternoon?
As I walked back through the kitchen to rouse Gumpert from his internal ramblings, a sudden beam of ethereal light bathed one of the solid oak unit drawers.
I do believe the Lord spoke to me at that very moment. I moved with haste towards the drawer and tugged hard at the handle. Inside was a veritable cornucopia of various clothes pegs, some wooden, some plastic. I also noticed a long forgotten, and by the look of it well-thumbed copy of Hymn and Hers magazine from several years ago.
My path became clear. Why, surely through the use of said clothes pegs I could simply, and without fuss, gather the errant bed linen and under garments and aid their drying by cleverly securing them to the washing line.
What would have taken me many hours, and no doubt many apologies to Mrs Algebra and her immediate family, was achieved in a matter of moments. Gumpert’s Y-Fronts were secure!”
Verily, the Lord doth move in mysterious ways!
More utter ecclesiastical nonsense from everyone’s favourite rural archbishop next time folks!
It’s competition time, folks!
Monkeybroth is apprehensive to announce its very first competition!
Yes, that’s right, you could win…
Your own body weight in moles!
We’ve teamed up with the UK’s leading mole provider Going Underground Mole, Mole, Mole to offer one lucky reader the chance to win their own body weight in moles. Clearly, and perhaps hopefully this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! To take part, simply answer this question below and you’ll be on your way to win your own body weight in moles.
Just complete this well-known phrase or saying: A mole in the hand is worth….
a) A mole
b) Two moles
c) Three moles
d) Bisto Gravy Granules
Email your answer right here to us at Monkeybroth Towers on christIlovemoles@monkeybroth.com Alternatively, call our mole hotline on: 0845 33333333333333 (lines open every alternate Shrove Tuesday from 9am until 9.01am) Again alternatively, text your answer followed by your name to MOLE on 1111. Even more alternatively, write to us at: Yes, I want loads of moles, Derek the competition chap, Monkeybroth Towers, Pigeon Street, Cum-Wisely, Biffordshire, CW8 78X.
Closing date: is not really applicable
Please read the below terms and conditions before entering
- Entrants must be under five stone in weight. Proof of weight may be required before any prize(s) can be released from their underground lair
- Employees of Monkeybroth, Going Underground Mole, Mole, Mole or their families cannot enter the competition. Nor can anyone who works for Tesco. People living in Bedford, Grantham or Whitstable are not eligible
- No cash alternative is offered. If you don’t want to win your own body weight in moles, it’s probably best if you don’t enter to be honest
- From time to time, Monkeybroth and Going Underground Mole, Mole, Mole would like to send you other offers and possibly mole related information. This includes Going Underground Mole, Mole Mole’s monthly newsletter The Mole. If you would rather not receive this information simply send us some tiger fur, a wizard’s stick, a pair of Des Lynam’s socks and some whispers to the address above. Going Underground Mole, Mole, Mole will send you stuff anyway, I expect. That was kind of the agreement we had with them when we set this up to be honest. Still on the bright side you might win your own body weight in moles, you might not, whatever really.
- In case you hadn’t noticed this isn’t a real competition. Being able to win your own body weight in moles isn’t that practical really. Owls on the other hand….
Your monthly horoscope with our resident stargazer Moonman the Apocalyptic….
Hi everyone, I knew you’d be reading this but it’s nice to see it confirmed. It’s been a tricky month for the third eye. The other day I peeled some onions and it wept for a bit. Nasty. But it is open now and looking out for you. Yes you, my splendid little gasping fishes of wonderfulness. You look great by the way.
Well, that was a turn up for the books wasn’t it Aries? I can’t believe he totally blanked you at Sussex Stationers. Still, on Saturday, a nature trail will be bucking the system when a surprise visit from a curious vole means fair trade coffee at 10am.
Lucky hand wash – Palmolive
So you’re feeling pretty bullish about that game of Kerplunk with Jesse Birdsall eh Taurus? As well you might for he is a strong adversary! Lock the car tomorrow or someone will steal your Garmin from under the driver’s seat. You know that’s the first place they look…
Lucky band – Sham 69
Double up for fun Gemini, for an approaching email warns of your parents arriving at short notice for a cuppa and a chat. Hide behind the sofa and they’ll never see you. A ghost from the past will stay there so don’t heed the advice from Graham. He only likes you for your soft muffins anyway.
Lucky crossword clue – 7 across
While Rhythm is apparently a dancer, she’s got a silly name so pay her tired moves little attention. A trip along the snacks aisle in Budgens makes you proud when you see that the letter you’re writing has paid off and they have replenished the Wasabi peanut stock. The staff does so love your little missives…
Lucky myth – Japanese cars don’t break down
Way down deep in the middle of the Congo,
A hippo took an apricot, a guava and a mango.
He stuck it with the others, and he danced a dainty tango.
The rhino said, “I know, we’ll call it Um Bongo”… That, Leo, is fact.
Lucky drink – Kia-Ora
You’re not surprised when a small child offers you a sticker with a spaniel puppy on it in a shopping centre on Thursday. Everyone has to start somewhere after all Virgo! Best place to stick it is on your knee. The fabric on your jacket means it won’t adhere properly.
Lucky sweep – chimney
LOOK OUT LIBRA! Phew! That was close! You’d better clear that up before it stains.
Lucky cleaner – Rug Doctor
Post a letter to a family friend. Go on, do it now while I wait….. There that’s better isn’t it? Didn’t I tell you? Anyway, you’ll forget about the leftover cottage pie unless it’s mopped up tonight. Use the posh bread you bought down the farmers market to clean the plate. Don’t just leave the dishes ‘till the morning either. I’m watching you Scorpio…
Lucky Muesli – Dorset Cereals
Monday afternoon will bring a loved one home. This joy will be tempered by them taking a long time in the bathroom and making you late for work. Just what are they doing in there anyway?!? Milking an Asp? For Christ sake…
Lucky soup – Minestrone
You’ve been feeling sad for the elderly guest house owners up the road haven’t you? Don’t worry. Old Brian is a Free Mason. They look after their own so he’ll be fine. Meanwhile, a competition may win you a hamper from your local boat builders. What good fortune Capricorn!
Lucky Postcode – CV36
Put those long devised plans to work this week Aquarius and seek your own destiny! Because I haven’t looked into it yet. Sorry about that. Dropped the ball a bit there.
Lucky grant – Russell
Boasting about the cutlery set you bought for a song could get you into trouble. It wasn’t a good song anyway – just a dodgy power ballad from the 80’s. The seller may get nasty when they hear it. Grasp the nettle on Friday! It’ll sting a bit but can be boiled up to make a rudimentary soup.
Lucky leaf – Dock
Chang, chang, chang…badawhoop, badawhoop. Ayeiiie it me, Disco Da Friggin’ Pig back in da house to spin you some more of me bangin numbers, my little lean back bacon butties. Gloop, Gloop! What has de world famus Disco Pig been doin dis last week I hear you grunt? Well, woz no more my little mucky piglets cos I iz here to tell ya. Pin ’em back cos here it is.
Da Disco Pig’s sista, Nightclub Pig came round ma crib last week wiv her little porkers. Dey is da bomb, but still young and finding der trotters in dis difficult world of ours ya know? Anydeways, dey got out da connect four and we had a battle in front of Cash in de Attic on da tellybox. Dem young porkers stink at connecting fours and Disco Pig beat em up bad, real bad wiv a 3-1 win in a best of five…Hah Disco Pig is da boss hog! Chill time now bloods – here is ma selection of top toons from da music scene this week, so burn up a spliff and enjoy – chang, chang!
Gullible Seagulls – Would you stop rubbing it now, Nigel!
Barry Goblin feat. MC Toolkit – Takin’ my barnacle (back to the shop)
The Biscuit Twins – Kung Fu Hymen gonna get you
Twisted Aubergines – No, it’s a not a pear, clearly
Frumpledink Hunglebert – Blackbird’s heart going to break in two
Asthmatic Maths Teachers – Squeezing the chalk
The Secret Gypsys – Can’t find my horse, perhaps it’s gone to Oxford
Amorphous Whores – Money can’t buy you gloves
The Arctic Camcorders – Weasel, weasel, weasel, stoat, stoat, stoat
The Suppository Muffins – Ding Dong Squirrel (gonna ring ya bell)
Subordinate Lemons – Mashin up and mashin down, we are mashin all around
Asbestos Mice Ft. DJ Jacket Potato – Ships stop at the chip shop for chips, stop
The Scrotum Warriors – Went to the library and popped in to see my sister afterwards
The Cactus Moose – Hospital beds ain’t what they used to be
George Haemorrhoid – Push it, push it real good
Compulsive Tennis Nets – Can’t get you out of my shed
More hoof-tapping toons next week yer hear me now?
Do you like goats? Would you like to buy a goat? There are people that sell them you know? But I’m not one of them.
Don’t contact firstname.lastname@example.org as I don’t have any goats to sell.
Plug socket for sale – Great condition
Can power dishwasher or similar appliance. Comes with free electricity (clean 220 volt none of that dirty 110 volt smut). Can be seen working with a Glade Plug In if required. First to see may or may not buy.
Call email@example.com for further confusion.
Professional sighs – Boxed. Mint.
A 12 pack of perfectly preserved sighs from Gail Porter. Vintage: collected pre-alopecia and boxed in a commemorative waxed cardboard box. Perfect gift for a step daughter or distant aunt.
Get in touch on firstname.lastname@example.org