Pre Match Preparation

Norbert

Chapter 42

Pre Match Preparation

Clothilda Church-Pugh approaches me in the lab Monday morning.

‘Are you Norbie?’

‘Yes,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘It’s about this football regatta. I’ve seen it on the telly and notice that sometimes the men get kicked and roll about on the floor in agony, and another man runs on to the pitch and rubs their muscles and sprays Twinkle Twat on them and that makes them better. I could do that.’

‘Thank you, Clotty, that’s an excellent idea. We will need a trainer. There are bound to be a few knocks. The job’s yours, only I don’t think it’s deodorant they use, I think it’s a pain killer spray.’

‘I could also make the tea and peel the oranges at the end of the first chukka.’

The same afternoon I have a similar conversation with Dora Mae Blimp.

‘I have noticed that after every near miss someone has to dive theatrically to the floor and roll around screaming in agony, until a man runs on and massages their big meaty thighs, and sticks a wet sponge up their shirt, and covers them in fly spray until they can get up and play again. I’d like to do that. I would really like to do that.’

‘Thank you, Dora Mae. I bet no one’s thought of hiring a trainer. I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job, but I think you’ll find the fly spray is actually a pain killer.’

‘I will also volunteer to man the buffet at the end of the first innings and dispose of any leftovers.’

*

Vera arrives with the revamped kit on the Friday afternoon before the match. I take the opportunity to assemble the team in the Chief’s office for the final briefing.

‘How the hell am I supposed to run in this?’ says Isabel, holding up her shirt. ‘My loolybells will be popping out with every step.’

‘I think that’s the idea,’ says Dora Mae, whose own shirt ends several inches above the waistband of her equally tiny shorts. ‘I am not exposing my tattoos to all and sundry.’

‘You have tattoos?’ says Henry, hungrily.

I can see that GT is about to confirm this, but with Isabel in the room he keeps quiet. Despite being spoilt for choice, I think he is missing her.

‘Wear a sports bra,’ says Dougie.

‘Please don’t,’ says Henry.

‘You’ll look fantastic,’ I say.

‘I would look fantastic in a gunny sack,’ says Isabel. ‘But this is going too far.’

‘And I am not wearing these,’ says Dora Mae, holding her shorts in front of her tummy. ‘They’re much too small and tight. They’re even skimpier than my knickers.’

‘They are perfect,’ Hungry Henry gasps.

She stamps her foot. ‘I’m not wearing them, and that’s final.’

‘And I refuse to publicly display my considerable charms to a bunch of slavering lab technicians,’ says Isabel.

‘Okay, ladies, I respect your decision. If you’re happy to forego your winner’s bonus, that’s fine with me.’

‘Winner’s bonus?’ everyone echoes at once.

‘Oh, why can’t I keep my big mouth shut? It was meant to be a surprise.’

‘You think that offering us money can alter the result?’ laughs GT. ‘We’re tit-tickled whichever way you look at it.’

‘I’ll happily take your money,’ says Isabel. ‘It’s what men are for.’

‘I’m not offering you money. I’m offering you something better than money. I’m offering you education. I’m offering you pleasure. I’m offering you books.’

‘Books?’ says Dora Mae.

‘I have agreed a sizeable wager with Cattermole-O’Hare, but don’t worry. It won’t cost you a penny.’

Colin scratches his head. ‘What sort of books?’

‘And even if we did lose, I’m sure we could get twenty books from a discount retailer a lot cheaper than the twenty quid apiece it costs to have them specially made.’

Colin pins me against the wall. ‘A bookmaker, is that what you mean?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

Colin bangs me against the wall again. ‘There are no grannytickling books, you moron.’

He lets go, so that GT can take his turn at slamming me into the wall. ‘Have you never heard of betting?’

‘I don’t hold with it.’

‘Me neither,’ says Asif. ‘It’s against my religion.’

‘Don’t you realise what you’ve done?’ says Henry, the next in line. ‘You’ve bet twenty quid at twenty to one. We’ll be down four hundred.’

‘You’ll be down four hundred,’ says Dora Mae, muscling in on the act.

Unfortunately, before Isabel can get her hands on me, Asif comes to my rescue. ‘Err, excuse me,’ he says, picking up Dora Mae’s shirt. ‘I can’t help but notice that with all the material that’s been taken out of the ladies’ shirts, their sponsorship logo no longer says Nickel Trinkets.’

They all turn and stare.

‘I like it,’ says Hungry Henry.