Flambert

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

Flambert sat on the park bench and lit a cigarette. He had been trying to give up for weeks, but he wasn't having much success and his repeated failure was really pissing him off. “Them things'll bleedin' kill ya!” a passing old lady walking a miniature poodle with a very shitty arse grumbled.

“Oh, shut up,” Flambert replied. “I'm sick of people bloody moralising, and the all-time favourite subject for moralising about on this crummy planet seems to be smoking. I'm not hurting you, and it's my own lungs that are at risk, so what's your problem? Why don't you go and bother a bunch of kiddy-fiddlers and try to get them to cease their incessant, morally deplorable fiddling? Why don't you stand outside the House of Commons and implore a throng of bent politicians to stop lining their own nests with public funds? Why don't you politely ask Michael Bublé to stop singing cruddy songs aimed largely at old ladies, especially Mrs. sodding Jones? If I hear him singing that pile of crap one more time I swear I'll sniff him out, dig out his beady eyes with a potato peeler and suck his brains through his nostrils with a straw.”

“You leave Michael Bublé alone, you absolute monster, 'e's luvverly!” The woman said, peering at him through her thick bi-focals. “If it weren't for 'is dulcet tones to cheer me up I'd 'ave jumped in the canal and ended it all ages ago. Ere, are you an 'orse?”

“I assume you mean 'am I a horse'. No, you despicable crone, I am not a horse, as you can plainly see I'm a Shetland pony, and an intergalactic one at that.”

“Whaddya mean, an intergalactic one?”

“I mean exactly what I said. I'm an intergalactic Shetland pony quite unlike my stupid and frankly wholly unattractive Earthly equivalents. I've been marooned in this awful place for nearly eighteen months without a shag – I can't roger a dumb animal!”

“You might be a lot of things, matey, but you're no intergalactic Shetland pony. You're a nutter, that's what you are.....”

“My people originally came from the planet Nobble several million light years away, but we've had a base tucked away deep under the surface of Mars for some thirty years. I came to this crapulous planet in a flying saucer a while back with half a dozen crew mates to spread our message of bottomless good will to all mankind, but our craft developed engine trouble and we crash-landed just off the Orkney islands, and sadly I was the only survivor.”

“As well as bein' an 'oss you're completely doolally tap!”

“I am not, I'm telling you the gospel truth! I stowed away on a boat to the Scottish mainland, nicked the identity of a drunken old sailor I met in a café and took a train to a grubby place called Birmingham, where I'm currently residing in a one bedroomed council flat. I'm trying to build a transmitter powerful enough to contact my colleagues on Neptune who, no doubt, believe that I am dead, because gradually I've realised that spreading goodwill to humans is a waste of bloody time - most of them are knob-heads and there's no redeeming them from their wicked ways. Anyway, how come you can see my true intergalactic Shetland pony visage? I'm wearing a special techno-geek utility belt that, amongst other complicated delights that you wouldn't understand, generates a powerful force field and supposedly makes me look completely human.”

“I'm psychic, numb nuts, I'm the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and as such I can see through any misleading magically applied shams or force fields or whatever. Mrs. Pilkington at the Post Office 'as been pretending to be a woman for years, but I know she's a sodding bloke even if 'er poor 'usband doesn't. Not that I believe that you 'ave such a device, mind, I still think you're a perfectly ordinary Shetland pony with illusions of grandeur.”

“Right, I'll prove it to you,” Flambert said, taking a last drag of his ciggy and flinging the stub away. “You see that tree over there?”

“No, not really, I 'ave very poor eyesight.”

“Aha! That's even better than frazzling an innocent tree. Take your glasses off, old woman, I shall correct your failing eyesight in a flash, no messing – as long as you agree to wholeheartedly believe my unlikely sounding story if I manage to carry out the task flawlessly.”

“Yeah, all right then,” the woman said, taking off her specs and slipping them in her coat pocket. “I'm Ethel, by the way, Ethel Bannister, pleased to meet you.”

“And I, Ethel Bannister, am Flambert – no Christian name, seeing as my people cast off the shackles of religion centuries ago, no middle name or surname, just plain old Flambert.”

“Right, feel free to work your weird alien magic then, me old 'oss.”

Flambert opened his rain mac to expose a big silver belt with lots of colourful flashing lights and odd looking gizmos on it. He typed something into the keyboard with his clumsy looking hooves and it began to make a buzzing sound that slowly deepened to a low hum that hurt Ethel's ears. A prehensile, bronze coloured probe emerged from the belt and pointed at the old woman's head. “It might be better if you sat down, m'dear,” he said, and Ethel did as she was asked.

“It won't 'urt, will it?” she whimpered.

“No, not at all. You might feel a slight numbness deep in your skull, but it'll soon pass.” Two marble sized globes of green light emerged from the probe, hovered over the woman's head for a moment and disappeared into her eyes, which were closed very tightly. “Open your eyes,” Flambert said. “It's done, they're fixed.”

“Bugger me, I don't bleedin' well believe it. I 'aven't been able to see this clearly since I was twenty five! You're a magician, me old 'oss – bless your cotton socks!”

“Thank you, Ethel, but it's no problem, I'm happy to help. But please don't call me your old 'oss, it's not a title I'm particularly fond of. Do you, erm, require any more wizardry while I'm in the mood? My little bag of tricks is frightfully versatile.”

“It depends what you're offerin', darlin'. I don't suppose you could knock a few years off me. I'm eighty five, me old 'usband died fifteen years back, I'm washed out, knackered up, more or less on me last legs an' I desperately miss me youth an' vitality.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Flambert said, typing something else into his keyboard. “Is there any particular age you'd like to be rejuvenated to?”

“Ooh, twenty one or thereabouts, I was a ravin' beauty, me, believe it or not, an' I went like the bleedin' clappers.”

“Right.....” A blood red probe shot out of the belt and tapped the old woman firmly on the forehead. Momentarily she was obscured in a field of crackling blue energy, and when it dispersed with a loud pop there was a naked toddler sitting on the bench shaking a teddy bear shaped rattle. “Oh bum, I appear to have made a slight miscalculation. Never mind, the blunder is easily remedied.” Ethel's tiny immature body was immersed in the electrical haze once more, and when it dispersed with an even louder pop the most beautiful creature that Flambert had ever seen was sitting stark bollock naked on the bench beside him on top of the old lady's discarded clothing. “Good God, Ethel, you're stunning, you're absolutely delicious! I've never been attracted to human women before, but I feel powerless to stop myself from running my hooves through your lovely long black hair and playing with your lovely tiddies – but of course I'll somehow manage to control myself.”

“Ooh bloody 'ell, I'll catch me friggin' death!” Ethel squealed, quickly slipping on the old woman's coat and shoes after discovering that the loud paisley print dress was way too tight, then she ran athletically across the recently cut grass to retrieve her straying poodle. “I'm back at me peak, Flambert, you absolute darlin'! 'Ow can I ever repay you?”

“Um..... Er..... I really don't know, Ethel. How would you like to repay me?”

“You could always come back to my place for a prolonged wild romp, no strings attached an' definitely no 'olds barred. I've never 'ad an 'andsome intergalactic 'orse type thing before, I bet you're 'ung like a prize bleedin' stallion an' you go like a steam train.”

“That sounds good to me, sweetie,” Flambert said, deciding that it wasn't a good day to give up smoking and lighting another cigarette. “Come on, my love, let's go.”