Pig and pie

Pig and pie by Neil McCall

Since taking early retirement from his none-too-arduous job with a
local authority, George had determined to take it easy. "Eat, drink and
be merry" became his watchword; certainly he ate and drank with gusto,
although whether the cultural delights of daytime television made him
merry was open to question. He expected his wife Muriel to provide a
cooked meal at breakfast and in the evening, in between which she had
to fit in a day's work at the local supermarket, obliging George to
bestir himself and waddle to the kitchen each lunchtime to microwave a
ready meal. They had no children; Muriel had long since realised that
George was too self-absorbed to make a half-decent father, and had
taken the necessary measures to ensure he would not have to be found
wanting in this respect. As a young man, George's shortcomings had been
equally obvious, but she had been prepared to overlook them as he had
been reasonably handsome and had a secure job. Every day now she
regretted her youthful decision to accept his proposal of marriage, but
she was of a generation which regarded marriage akin to making a bed
and lying therein, both figuratively and literally.

Their uneventful domestic round suddenly took a change when they
attended the funeral of an elderly aunt and met Muriel's Cousin Albert,
whom she had not seen for over twenty years. She remembered that, as a
boy, Albert had always been getting into trouble for taking clocks
apart and, although he was obviously intelligent, a lack of formal
qualifications together with a restlessness of spirit had marked him
out as a poor employment candidate; he had tended to flit from one
lowly job to another. However, in later years he had found his calling
in life as an inventor, not of the revolutionary technology which would
forever change the face of human history but of the kind of appliances
sold in junk-mail catalogues, handy little tools and gadgets designed
to ease the burden of household chores. Not that it made him a fortune,
but he got by and had managed to purchase a smallholding in one of the
less touristy Peak District villages around thirty miles from where
George and Muriel lived. Muriel accepted an invitation to pay him a
visit and, for once, twisted George's arm to drive them both there;
they didn't have a wide circle of friends and, as Muriel pointed out,
Albert had offered to cook.

Cousin Albert turned out to be an excellent cook; George's idea of
good food was large quantities of meat floating in a sea of gravy, and
although suspicious of "foreign muck", he was won over by the quality
of the lamb and the garlicky wine sauce in which it was served; Albert
explained that country-dwellers had a considerable advantage in that
most of the nation's best meat was reared in the kind of small farms
all but disappeared from most parts of Britain, but still found in
numbers in the rugged Derbyshire hills, and that most of this meat
stayed in the local community on a swap and barter system. "What about
pork, then?" asked George, who was very fond of pig meat in all its
many manifestations. "Not so easy to get hold of on the nod",
acknowledged Albert, "nor beef for that matter. Mostly lamb and
chickens round here. There's a good pork butcher in Bakewell, though.
And Buxton. They have to be good; in the countryside folks are choosy
about meat." Cousin Albert had a guestroom, which was just as well
because George imbibed freely of both beer and spirits during the
evening and was in no fit state to drive home. George also cast a cloud
over the evening by ungallantly criticising Muriel's cooking, and
wondering out loud why an obviously talented guy like Albert had never
married. "Queer or what?" was his final remark before his eyes glazed
and he slumped into a loudly snoring heap on the settee. Muriel and
Albert had to drag him off to bed.

The next day Muriel was seething at George's drunken rudeness and
ingratitude, but this appeared not to ruffle Cousin Albert at all who
was, if anything, more cheerful and sanguine than the previous night;
he gave them a tour of the his domain, especially his barn which had
been turned into a huge inventing room; examples of his ingenuity lay
all around. "Stik-Tite Seal," he explained as he held up a nondescript
grey roll. "Ten times stronger than normal sticky tape. Selling quite
well; makes up half my income at the moment". Other items such as
long-handled shoehorns and cat collars equipped with flashing lights
were much slower movers. Muriel was very interested in a system that
involved a long continuous moving belt with dangling hooks; this ran
out of the barn by one door and across the garden, supported on poles,
and in again at the other door. "Sta-Dry Laundry System; you can hang
out your washing and, when it starts to rain, simply press the button
and the washing will come in to the house for you. Very useful in these
parts, especially if you're in the middle of work at the time!"
elaborated Albert. "Sold many?" asked George. "Err? no!" admitted
Albert. "Not bloody surprised; it's only any use if you spend all your
time in a barn", suggested George ungraciously. Albert considered this
solemnly. "Very true!" he concurred, "maybe I need to refocus the
marketing." He clapped George on his rounded shoulder. "You see, you're
just what I need, a second opinion; be assured that a touch of
scepticism won't go amiss, far from it! Too much pie-in-the-sky in my
business! Come again soon and I'll show you some more goodies. And
don't forget your appetite."

Muriel was still far from pleased with George, but after all her
cousin had seemed to take to him nonetheless, so she said nothing. Soon
they were regular visitors at the smallholding; Cousin Albert talked
earnestly about his inventions and sought George's opinion, which was
seldom complimentary. Muriel noticed that George was putting on yet
more weight and felt she should reciprocate hospitality, but Albert
always refused, explaining that he loved entertaining but hated driving
more than was absolutely necessary, and that George's valued input at
the workbench refined his thinking processes. The food, if anything,
rose to a new plateau of excellence and, as autumn approached, Muriel
found herself eagerly anticipating future events.

On the morning of his final visit to the smallholding, George awoke
suddenly after a particularly heavy eating and drinking session. The
reason for this was that Muriel had just rammed an apple into his open,
snoring mouth. George struggled to rise, his cheeks bulging with
indignation and apple, but he was too late; his arms were pinioned to
his flabby sides with Stik-Tite Seal and his ankles were bound with a
length of chain. Muriel heaved at the loose end of chain and a furious
but immobile George slid off the bed and bounced along the floor.
Muriel dragged him into the garden and, with surprising strength,
hoiked George's feet into the air and looped the chain over one of the
hooks on the Sta-Dry Laundry System. The belt bent and swayed but did
not break; a hum emanated from the barn and the upside-down George
began to move slowly towards the barn, from whence an ominous
snick-snick noise could now be heard, somewhat akin to a large knife
being sharpened.

That night Cousin Albert surpassed himself; he served an exquisite
terrine for starter, whilst the dessert was a pie, light pastry topping
concealing juicy sweet bilberries which Albert had gathered himself
from the moors. The main course was cooked to perfection; Muriel,
suddenly aroused by greed, asked for a second thick slice from the
succulent thigh.

Later, as they lay together in bed, Muriel was surprised and
delighted at Albert's lovemaking; his long sensitive fingers caressed
and played her as one would a priceless antique instrument - she
remembered George's podgy proddings and shuddered. "Georgy Porgy,
pudding and pie" she murmured, "Kissed the girls and made them
cry."

George would make a good pie.