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Shirley Not

Mental and possibly unstable our intrepid Impossimal pair face the unexplained on the Magical Mystery Walk…

The walk started quietly when we approached the first gate, we read the sign ominously and a single shot rang out in the distance. Just as we were about to turn back disturbed by the sound a strange eerie twang of mystical music caught our attention from the bushes. We couldn’t believe our eyes when from out of the gloom materialised Paul, Ringo, George and John accompanied by the tune of Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds. Follow the girl with kaleidoscope eyes whispered Paul, eat the mystic mushrooms for a journey with the walrus said John, you will find them down’t road. I wish I could drum said Ringo and with that they rose into the air, sang When I’m 64 and exploded in a shower of sausages and flowers. It’s going to be one of those days I said turning to Jayne. It was just then I noticed a strange sparkly glow somewhere down the path so we investigated.

There, just like John had said was the ghostly mystical mushrooms in full view looking enticingly delicious, they had even been cooked as steam rose from them readily. Being hungry for adventure we tucked in.

Nothing happened. We waited and still nothing happened so we strode on puzzled. As we approached the first style we heard the unmistakeable sound of electric feedback and a small pother of smoke rose from behind a stone wall. Twang! Twang Twang TWANG! it was the unmistakable sound of a riff.

Suddenly from behind the wall out leaped Jimi Hendrix blasting out Voodoo Child at 120 decibels, he was really working himself up into a lather, his guitar smouldered from the localised bush fire he had started. Jimi was herding sheep with his wah-wah pedal and guiding sheepdogs with a lightening version of All Along The Watchtower. After smashing up the stone wall Jimi wandered off down the hill tootling out Purple Haze after asking us if we were experienced whatever that means and with that Jimi was gone. Far out I said to Jayne, that was some groovy sh*t.

Further on down the muddy fields we came across the tracks of a large mysterious creature. It looked like the tracks of a big cat wearing platform heels but on closer inspection it was two tracks walking side by side. Platform heels in the countryside, what on earth could that be.

In a blinding flash and a burst of Children Of The Revolution out leaped a white tiger from the bushes carrying no less than glam rocker and pouting pop diva Marc Bolan. ‘Cool dudes’ said Marc riding side saddle, ‘Take the love bus brothers, it comes your way, any way, no way. Get It On 20th Century Boy find the one they call Belvis and mind the mud, it’s un-cool man’ Marc rode off on his white feline stallion leaving us facing the possibility of wading through mud’

The band was already waiting and taking cue from seeing Marcs feline transport started to sing their favourite hit, ‘Tiger Feet’

There was no way we could stop them, Mud wouldn’t let us pass until they got to the chorus. Their Tiger Feet frenzy started to gain pace and enthusiastically they danced closer and closer. ‘This is a bad trip man’ said Jayne, ‘We need the Love Bus’ I replied.

Then, from out of the bushes as if by magic the Love Bus arrived hitting Mud squarely in the rhythm box just before the chorus. One of them tried to run for it but the number 21 from Cricklewood ploughed him down into the hedgerow before returning to pick us up. The bus conductor leaned out, ‘Get On’ he said, it was no other than pint sized golf ball haired Leo Sayer. ‘Top deck disco train’ he announced, ‘Next stop Cliffs Ladders’ which mysteriously was exactly what our next destination was we had on our map. Spooky.

The bus stopped to the tune of Disco Inferno and we bid farewell to Leo, he hadn’t had chance to sing but he had a pained expression on him that told me his pants were too tight. Cliffs Ladder was at the end of a large field, we just had to turn right when we reached Cliff and Cilla’s Bathtub and climb to the stars.

The other side of the ladder took us back down to where we started hours earlier, our final destination was Belvis Books, the worlds smallest bookstore and home to the worlds smallest Elvis which we found at the end of the street with little problem.

The bookstore beckoned, Belvis peeked out beckoned us in, as we approached he leaped out of the door, thrust his hips so hard he almost broke his back and burst into song with a heart wrenching rendition of ‘Old Shep’. We were in tears before the final chorus.

Entering the bookstore we were quite surprised to find ourselves back at home slumped on the sofa. Three bottles of wine lay scattered on the rug, a smashed glass lay on the table and our mouths felt like they had been carpeted. A pounding in our heads made us realise that it had been a bad trip, bought on by those pesky Beatles boys and their wicked druggie ways, we vowed never to take advice from mop top bush dwellers ever again on a hike.

To celebrate our new found revelation we opened another bottle.

But that’s another story!

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