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1987-04-21
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The Inimitable Mrs Tibbs and Her Collection of Abnormal Fish.
By Wheee the fibble.
Chapter 1.
Mrs Tibbs was a short, stocky woman of around fifty. In her
prime she had won many prizes for her startling looks, but now her
face had become a sad, dried up bag of prunes. Her mind though,
was as alert as always, her keen, piercing eyes could disarm even
her most staunch of opponants and she still had some of the
athleticism of her youth left.
Admittadly she was utterly mad and had the largest collection
of abnormal fish ever seen with mortal eyes and was often seen
chatting with them on her way to the DIY store.
Our story begins sometime in the late 1980's when Mrs Tibbs
had just baught her dream trout and was walking it home...
"Now then, are you going to walk to heel or am I going to
have to put you in my shoe?" asked Mrs Tibbs.
"I'm perfectly capable of hopping along behind you, as well
you know Madam." replied the fine, fresh-water predator of a trout.
"There's no need to be nasty," said Mrs Tibbs, "And anyway,
you can call me Mrs Tibbs, everyone does, except perhaps one or
two people... like the milkman." She looked off abstractedly and
narrowly missed standing on a small beetle that had come to the
city to make it's fortune.
" 'Ere! Misses! Watch where you're going!" It shouted.
"Blimey she's a bit mad isn't she?" it whispered to the trout.
"Yes." came the reply.
Once Mrs Tibbs had managed to drag the trout home she decided
that it looked a little dusty, so being the kind old soul that she
was, she dunked it into the dishwasher.
"There, that'll get you nice and clean."
Chapter 2.
The Outing.
Mrs Tibbs was in a fluster. She had been planning to catch
the early bus, but she had set it on fire by accident and so was
waiting for the next one.
"Oh dear. I hope it won't be much longer," She muttered, "The
burning flesh is begginging to smell a bit."
No sooner had she said this than a large red bus drove round
the corner. The conductor complained about having to take 8
carrier bags full of fish onto the bus, but he calmed down when
Mrs Tibbs told him that they would be nice and quite and wouldn't
cut down the sails.
Mrs Tibbs had been planning the trip for some days
beforehand. She hadn't been to the river for years and wanted to
do a bit of deep sea diving. She had decided to take her fish
because they hadn't been out fo their bags for about two months
and were needing a bit of fresh air. They had all shown their
enthusiasm for the trip by waving little flags and saying "Ivor
eats cabbage, but only on Wednesdays." Mrs Tibbs thaught of her
previous trips to the river when she was a young girl and had only
just become interested in fish.
"Ah, those were that days..." she thaught.
Meanwhile, inside one of the plastic bags the fish were
holding a debate.
"Look, how can you possibly say that material objects are
nothing but collections of sensations and that other minds are
nothing but physical manifestations of their owners?" A rather fat
mullet asked.
"Of course they are. If you'd bothered to read any of those
books on Reductionism I lent you then you'd understand." the
fillet of whiting replied.
"Ha! Anything that's popular among logical positivists and
phenomenalists must be wrong, that's what I say." retorted the
mullet, bringing cries of aggreement from the assembled fish.
"That's enough of that you noughty fish. You know that
philisophical debates at this time of morning can give you wind."
said Mrs Tibbs.
The fish gave up goodheartedly and went back to bed.
Chapter 3.
Arrival...
"We're here!" Shouted Mrs Tibbs. "Come on dears!" And she
pulled the fish out of the bus.
After around eight weeks of walking they finally arrived at
the river. "You know, "said Mrs Tibbs, "I think I'll get the bus
to the right country next time."
She emptied the bags out onto the grass and sat down beside
the fish. The fish clamoured to see the elephants and seemed to be
disappointed when Mrs Tibbs told them thay there were no elephants
in the river this time of year. The fish soon got over the bad
news and were soon off playing together in a nearby bush.
"You be carefull in those bushes d'you hear." she cried as
she pulled her waders on.
Once she was upto her chin in water Mrs Tibbs cast out her
line and waited for a bite. The fish were making quite a bit of
noise and soon a man came over and complained to Mrs Tibbs.
"I can't hear my tomato plant growing because of all the
noise your fish are making." He told her. "Please tell them to
play more quitely in future."
"Very well then. Fi-ish! Keep the noise down would you,
there's a good tortoise."
The fish played in silence for a while but they were soon
shouting over to Mrs Tibbs to get them an ice-cream from the
usharet and so the man came over again.
"My tomato plant says he want's to kiss your left eye Mrs
Tibbs." he explained. "Please let him, he's only three."
"Very well, take him over."
The man went off to get his plant while Mrs Tibbs came out of
the water and took all of her clothes off. The man returned with
the plant and placed it ontop of her head.
"There you go," he said, "And no hard feelings?"
Mrs Tibbs patted the man on the testicles and said "There
there, no need to cry little boy. I know you've been busy, there's
no need to write into the newspaper."
The man looked thankfully at Mrs Tibbs and took his plant
from her head. "Thank you kind lady, and can I ride your horse
home?" he asked.
Mrs Tibbs smiled, "Of course you can. Here, have it." and
handed him a shiny milkbottle top.
The man sat down on it and said "Giddy up, for I have to get
to market."
As he rode off another man strode upto Mrs Tibbs. "Here, what
are all these rotting fish doing in my hedge?" he asked. "And why
don't you have any clothes on?"
Mrs Tibbs looked at the man as if he were mad. "Well, isn't
it obvious young man? I've been fishing."
The man looked about at the sarrounding fields. "Erm, where
excactly?"
Mrs Tibbs pointed to the river.
"But that's a sandpit." he said. "Here, you're mad, arn't
you? Bloody old people!"
Mrs Tibbs looked at him for about an hour and then said
"Well, if you can't park your car it's no fault of mine."
The man took out his gun and shot Mrs Tibbs in the head.
"Bang!" said the gun...
Wheee the fibble.
1990.