The Further Further Adventures Of Miguel Button

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

“I'd like to purchase an haqualung, please, Sir,” Miguel Button said to the painfully thin young woman sitting behind the counter of the posh new shop drinking coffee and smoking a fag.

“An haqualung?” she replied, drawing on her cigarette. “Call me stupid if you like, but I don't know what an haqualung is. Whatever it is they don't sell it 'ere, mister - this is a fancy new womens' clothes shop that'll be sellin' all the latest fashions, includin' my exclusive line. 'Ow did you get in 'ere anyway? The front doors are locked.”

“I know, there are huge crowds of people hout there, which is why I sneaked in the rear hentrance, stupid,” Miguel said. “You need to heat some food, Sir, and you need to do it now, you look like you're about to fucking snap. And I should close that window if I were you, if there's even a light breeze you'll blow away and never be seen again. Look, I'll watch your haqualung shop while you nip to the chippy or pop home to make yourself some sandwiches – I should pile on an inch or so of dripping and eat several pounds of pork rinds a day, I reckon you need to put on hat least two stone to save your life, you poor, hanorexic waif.”

“This is a clothes shop, not a bleedin' haqualung store! And thank you for your concern about my welfare, but actually I'm my ideal weight. Two stone? That'd make me six stone - I don't wanna be a fat bastard, I wouldn't get any work..... Look, I don't even work 'ere, mate, I've come for the shop's grand openin'. I'm cutting the ribbon in ten minutes time - I'm Kate friggin' Moss!”

“Kate frigging Moss? Never heard of her. Look, if this isn't a haqualung shop could you direct me to the nearest one?”

“No, I bloody well can't, I'm a London girl, and I've never been to this poxy little town before. What do you want an haqualung for, hanyway, you dick? Shit, you've got me hat it now.....”

“I need an haqualung, a wetsuit, a pair of flippers and some goggles or a face-mask because I've lost my grandma hin the canal.”

“'Ow the fuck did you manage that?”

“We were, erm, brawling on the bridge on the way home from the Wanking Pig last night, she'd had a bit too much to drink and she lost her balance and sort of tumbled over the side. I dived in, of course, but I couldn't find her - which is why I need an haqualung, a wetsuit, a pair of flippers and some goggles or a face-mask.”

“There's no point now, she'll be dead! I assume you called the coppers and an ambulance.”

“No, of course not! The bastards would blame it on me and bloody lock me up. And you're wrong about her being dead – grandma is half hoctopus, she's from Heast Hanglia, you know, and she can breathe hunderwater. The reason I didn't want to phone the police is because it's illegal to chuck non-native species in British waterways.”

“Yes, I see..... Leroy, thank fuck! This bloke's a bleedin' 'eadcase, get him outta 'ere, or I'll sue!”

“Don't forget, young man, eat some food!” Miguel cried as the huge Jamaican security guard dragged him out of the store. “Doughnuts, bacon, egg and sausage sarnies, polony, bread pudding, chocolate gateau – and lots of it, or your hend is nigh! Do you fancy a dabble, by the way, Kate frigging Moss?”

“Fuck off, you bloody freak!”

“How about you, Leroy.”

“Do you wanna smack in the gob, buddy?”

“No thank you, Miss, I received one hearlier from a somewhat pissed off WPC for trying to grope her voluptuous tiddies, hand though I hoften pay a considerable amount of money to be brutally beaten by a woman I didn't heven remotely henjoy it.”