Dunwutherin

William Hartston
Thursday 02 November 1995 19:02 EST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

An interactive Bathside soap, based entirely on readers' contributions.

The plot so far: Inspector Drane is hot on the trail of the killer of George the pig, who may not be dead after all. He is hurrying to a graveside appointment with Lucretia, who has been feeding dandruff to her pet goldfish, Rover. Now read on:

"Lookin' for me, Drane?"

The inspector spun round abruptly and saw a tall figure emerging from the shadows of a doorway. "Well, well. SD Case. The man with no name," he said, as thoughts came racing through his head. Thoughts like: why is he wearing a poncho on such a hot day? Suddenly he realised. "SD Case. It's not a name, is it? It's a clue. Sacrificial dagger case. If I find that, I'll know who stabbed George. Whatever your real name is, thank you."

SD Case narrowed his eyes in the sunlight, chewed on his cigar and spat on the ground. "Don't mention it, old man." He walked away leaving a trail of dandruff behind him.

At the graveyard, Lucretia unzipped her anorak another notch and draped herself over a tombstone as she saw the Inspector approach. "Over here," she whispered breakfastlessly. "I have information about the case."

"The dagger case," Drane rasped, his mind thrown off course by the hand fiddling with his tie knot. "Lucretia," he gasped.

"Call me Lucre," she purred. "As in filthy."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the church, crowds were gathering for the annual village show, the highlight of the Clinton Eastwood year. Speculation was mounting as never before over who would win the biggest marrow prize, the oddest sock prize and, most important of all, in the light of George's unfortunate accident, the most genetically engineered pig prize.

Meanwhile, in the saloon bar of the Soon to be Forgotten Virgin, Colonel Gate roared with fury and spat a mouthful of food onto his plate. "This bacon sandwich has fish scales in it."

Something fishy's going on, but what is it? Is Inspector Drane pursuing a red herring? What have the aliens been doing to George all this time?

All your best ideas will be revealed next week. Contributions should be sent to: Soapy Pastimes, the Independent, 1 Canada Square, Canary Wharf, London E14 5DL. A copy of the new Chambers Combined Dictionary Thesaurus for the one we like best.

This week's main contributors were Linda Browning (who wins the Larousse Dictionary of World Folklore prize) and Joan Hoult.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in