Carroll Ovis Fills You Up.

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[carrollovis]

Customer Service

‘What are you doing?’

‘Homework,’ said Florrie. ‘What does “customer service” mean?’

‘Customer service,’ said Marigold, ‘is when someone pretends to be nice to you so they can sell you something.’

‘Gimme an example.’

So the other day I was in Topshop. One girl there, sales assistant, haughty type, convinced of her own superior taste, tried to get me into a pair of green shorts. I told her I wouldn’t be seen dead in them. I could see she wanted to stab me, but she was forced to plaster a fake smile across her face until I left the shop. That, is what is called “customer service”.

‘So what did you buy in the end?’

‘Nothing. After an hour I told her I’d forgotten my purse.’

‘She must have loved you.’

Yes, there was no pretense to service by then. She called me a “time-wasting little hussy” and stormed off.’

‘How rude!’

‘Meh. It was fine. I found my purse in the end. I spent 250 pounds in Zara; I had them eating out of my hand. Customer service improves remarkably when you are spending money.’

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Cat Plug

'I wanna kill my kitten,' said Horatia.

'Why?' asked Marigold.

'Because he has the squits, and is evacuating all over our floors. It’s a lurid greeny-yellow colour. Our home is like a swamp.'

'What you need,' said Marigold, 'is a cat plug.'

'A what?'

'A cat plug. Stop him right up.'

'Where can I find one?' asked Horatia.

'You can make one easy,' replied Marigold. 'All you need is a pipe cleaner, some Blu Tack, and a small bouncy ball.'

'And then?'

'Then you put it all together,' said Marigold. 'The finished result should look something like a lollipop.'

'And what do I do with it?'

'I imagine you can guess the rest...'

'That's it then. He's going into the river in a sack full of rocks.'

'You'll be a murderer,' said Marigold coldly. 'And all because you couldn't stick your finger up a cat's bum.'

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‘Want a coffee?’ Marigold asked the Princess.

‘Sure.'

Marigold poured a cup of a rich caramelly nectar, placing it in front of her friend. The Princess added a spoonful of brown sugar, stirred, and took a sip.

‘Mmm. Delicious.’

‘Kopi Luwak,’ explained Marigold.

‘Excuse you,’ offered the Princess.

‘No, the coffee - it’s called ‘Kopi Luwak’.’

‘How exotic.’

‘Yes. I’m not certain I should tell you how it is produced…’

The Princess froze. ‘If you’re going to explain that it is plucked from the tree by emaciated Asian test tube babies who are chained at the ankle from birth and who die at ten years-old after a decade of fruit-picking, then I’m not sure I will be having a second cup.’

‘You are a little sick in the head…’

‘It’s not sick - it’s called capitalism. It’s in all the newspapers.’

‘You’re safe then,’ said Marigold, topping up her cup.

The Princess took another sip. ‘Go on, then - you started and you may as well finish.’

‘Well, it’s fascinating really. Coffee beans, as you may know, start life as a grape…’

‘I did not know,’ said the Princess.

‘Oh yes. This particular grape is eaten right off the tree by a civet…’

‘Say what now?’

‘… the Asian civet. It is eaten and passes through the digestive system of the animal…’

‘- Hold on a minute…’

‘… and only then is it harvested, dried and roasted. At 600 dollars a kilo, it’s the most expensive bean in the world.’

‘Just go back, please - ‘digested’, you say?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘You mean…’

‘Yes.’

The Princess gagged. ‘How could you?’

‘It’s just coffee, dear,’ replied Marigold.

It’s like going to a friend’s house and having their cat shit in your mouth,’ exclaimed the Princess.

‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ said Marigold, taking a long sip of the concoction. ‘And if you think about it, it’s a great conversation starter, isn’t it?’

‘You mention to anyone that I drank civet bum coffee, and I swear…’

‘I might keep schtum if you let me keep those Gaultier sunglasses that you loaned me a week ago.’

‘That’s extortion!’

‘Capitalism, dear. And besides, with your means you can replace them with little difficulty. Reputation cannot be repurchased.’

‘You are evil,’ said the Princess.

Marigold smirked. 'Drink your coffee and let’s be friends.’

‘We can still be friends. Just. But you have made a tea-drinker of me. And I may wake up tomorrow a socialist. '

'Sounds awful,' said Marigold, 'but I'm sure my new Gaultier sunglasses will make you all the more tolerable.'

[carrollovis]

The Pope and Lady Gaga

Greeted enthusiastically by her friend, Marigold walked in through the front door of Florrie's and into the living room.

'Great costume,' said Florrie, '- but who are you?'

'Boudicca,' replied Marigold.

'I have no idea who that is, but you look terrifying.'

'That is my intention entirely,' she replied. 'And you - you have surprised no-one with your tennis effort, but what's with the mullet?'

'Andre Agassi,' replied Florrie, taking entirely too much liberty with her assumptions on her friends' knowledge of tennis.

'You've lost me,' replied Marigold, 'but I am sure you are a real lady-killer.'

Tabitha walked into the room and sat down.

'And who are you supposed to be?' quizzed Marigold.

'I'm going as Lady Gaga.'

'You look like the Pope.'

'Hang you!' cried Tabitha, bursting into tears and running from the room.

'That was unnecessary,' said Florrie.

'What? She looks like she is getting ready to bless the poor and hungry at the Vatican,' said Marigold.

'You might have ignored it,' counseled Florrie.

'And have her ruin every photo of the night? You must be joking...'

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‘What do you call this?’ said Marigold.

‘That is cheese on toast,’ replied Tabitha.

‘Yes I see the toast; it’s charred and black, and hard to miss. But I refuse to accept that there is any cheese on the contrivance.’

‘It’s grilled cheese,’ explained Tabitha.

‘Ah! Grilled, is it? To within an inch of its life, I should think. Take it away. I wouldn’t throw it at a Russian dog.’

‘How ungrateful you are. I,’ said Tabitha, ‘shall eat it.’

‘In fact, give it here,’ said Marigold. ‘I have thought of a use for it.’

Taking a slice of the toast she raised the kitchen window, using the toast to hold it open.

‘It’s either that or the bible,’ she explained, ‘and the bible is currently employed in assisting the table leg. But at least we’ll be shot of the smell of burnt toast.’

‘Last time I make you lunch,’ said Tabitha.

‘I pray that it is,’ replied Marigold.

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‘Have you heard of Anastasia Tabasco?’ said Marigold.

‘Are you about to tell me a tall, frivolous and utterly impossible tale out of pure boredom?’ asked Horatia, twiddling a lock of her hair.

‘True story,’ said Marigold.

‘Hmm...'

‘Anastasia Tabasco was a Russian countess who lived around the turn of the century -- the last century, naturally. She was one of the aristocracy, and around the time of the revolution she had of course been chased underground by the plebeian masses who were intent on burning at the stake everybody who was anybody. When the uprising began, Anastasia took shelter in the basement of her great mansion, evading the searches by the peasantry, and with only her pet chihuahua for company. Well, in order to survive she ate everything she could from her cellar, until soon the pantry ran dry. Faced with starvation, she was forced to eat Rasputin, her poor dog. The only seasoning she had left was a case of Tabasco sauce, which had ironically arrived from Mexico with the dog, both having been introduced very recently to Tsarist Russia. So, in a huge vat of the fiery hot sauce, she boiled up Rasputin and ate the poor beast.’

‘And that’s why they call her Anastasia Tabasco,’ sighed Horatia.

‘Yes. It killed her, in fact. Her delicate, aristocratic stomach was unused to the excess of hot sauce. Russians are not known for their tolerance to spice. It is, incidentally, the first recorded instance of death by chili.’

‘Fascinating story,’ said Horatia. ‘I must check it in the encyclopedia.’

‘Probably best you don’t,’ yawned Marigold.

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[carrollovis]

‘I can’t believe it — it has been almost an hour. Where is everyone?’ asked Florrie.

The girls were trapped in their private karaoke room, the door locked. To make matters worse they were in the dark, the club suffering what seemed to be a total blackout. Voices could be heard from the other side of the door, but no help came. 

‘It must be a fire measure,’ said Jemima, ‘— all the doors lock down in the event of a power cut.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Marigold, ‘how can locking people in, in a blackout, be considered good sense?’

‘How big is this place anyway? I’m sure the first thing you do in a situation like this is check on the clientele. We seem to have been forgotten,’ said Jemima.

‘Yes, we have been abandoned,’ said Horatia, who had fallen in a swoon on the couch, and lay with her iced tea in one hand and a chocolate truffle in the other. Despite her affectations of emotional stress, she seemed to be taking the emergency in an almost lackadaisical manner, perhaps even enjoying it. ‘It’s just awful,’ she purred, unwrapping another truffle.

The lights were out, but the place was not in total darkness; a sinister green glow came from the emergency exit sign above the door next to the TV screen. Jemima walked back and forward in the dark, first checking one door and then the other.

Horatia snapped. ‘Oh, do stop dear — you are making me nervous with all this pacing.’

‘Yes, you look absolutely stressed,’ said Marigold. ‘By all means stretch out there like Lady Muck; it would be a terrible shame if you did anything to upset your delicate countenance.’

‘I feel faint,’ said Horatia, placing the back of her hand on her forehead.

‘Yes, I guess that’s why you’ve finished all the truffles,’ said Marigold.

‘Sugar helps with the stress of it all,’ replied Horatia.

‘So I see. It’s amazing how many people I know who can eat their way out of an emergency,’ remarked Marigold.

[carrollovis]

[carrollovis]

‘Have you heard?’ exclaimed Jemima breathlessly, bursting in on Marigold and Florrie.

‘We are enjoying a Cornetto moment,’ said Marigold, licking lazily at her ice-cream. ‘This better warrant an interruption.’

‘Henrietta’s chihuahua was snatched out of her garden by a seagull this morning. It’s gone, disappeared... abducted.’

‘Henrietta is a born fibber -- she’s talking out of her hoop,’ replied Marigold.

‘There’s a video,’ said Jemima, taking out her phone.

‘Holy moly,’ said Florrie, ‘-- flying chihuahuas over Kensington. What's next?’

‘This cannot be allowed,’ said Marigold. ‘This will be the only chat in school for weeks. We must go one better.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘You have a parrot, right?’ asked Marigold.

‘Yes,’ replied Jemima, raising an eyebrow. 

‘We must use it.’

‘To do what?’

‘We will use your parrot to abduct a Yorkshire terrier. The parrot is smaller than the seagull, and the terrier is bigger than the chihuahua. We will certainly best Henrietta’s measly story.’

‘Listen to yourself, you nutter. You are not setting my Polly Anna on some rabid dog. You can forget about it.’

‘We won’t actually do it, you fool. All we need is the photo opportunity. Any idiot can knock up a fakey video these days.’

‘No. Bleeding. Way.’

‘Fine. You’ll know all about it when Henrietta’s Instagram following goes through the roof, and we are left rooting around in the social media dustbin.’

‘i don’t give a flying hoot about Instagram. Polly Anna is like a sister to me.’

‘We’ll stage our own abduction then.’

‘How?’ asked Florrie.

‘Come on, dear,’ said Marigold, finishing her ice-cream. ‘We need to find out how to catch ourselves a pigeon.’

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High Finance

[carrollovis]

[carrollovis]

‘... a bit of a gambler...’

‘Our Queen is in there somewhere. I do wonder what she does all day long,’ said Constance.

‘I like to think that she starts the day with ten minutes on the treadmill,’ said Marigold. ‘Then after breakfast she gives Philip his bath and calls her bookie to lay her bets for the day’s racing. It’s Gin Rummy all afternoon with the cleaning ladies, and evenings are spent in her own personal games room on the slot machines. She’s a terrible gambler, you see.’

‘Is she, now?’ said Jemima.

‘Oh, yes. Why do you think the national debt is so big?’

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‘What’s a gimp?’ said Tabitha to Marigold.

‘A gimp,’ replied Marigold, ‘is a gorilla with a limp.’

I’m sure it is not,’ said Tabitha.

‘How would you know?’

‘Because there’s a picture of one in the paper, and it is certainly not a gorilla.’

‘What is it then?’ asked Marigold.

‘It’s a fellow in a rubber suit. He appears to be rubbing himself.’

‘Let me see...’

Tabitha held up the picture.

‘That’s a man in a gorilla suit. He’s a very shiny gorilla, but a gorilla nonetheless. I bet if you read the story, you’ll find that he has hurt his leg.’

‘Must you always be right?’ said Tabitha.

‘It pains me to say it,’ said Marigold, ‘but I I am so often right, that I cannot afford to be wrong.’

[carrollovis]

‘If this is going to turn into a big lickfest then I’m leaving right this minute,’ said Marigold, eyes trained on Candy Crush.

‘No, no… no licking yet. But there is some dubious sniffing going on. Yes, he’s taking a right good snifter around her.’

Marigold looked up from the phone. ‘Oh heavens, and with the children playing right next to them…’

Two little baby gorillas tussled not ten feet from the two large adults.

‘What is it with the sniffing thing anyway?’ said Florrie.

‘I saw something similar on National Geographic with my father one time. He said they were playing something called ‘Hide the Banana’. Some form of primitive entertainment, I presume.’

‘But where would she be hiding his banana?’ said Florrie.

‘I shudder to think,’ replied Marigold.

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‘You met my aunt,’ said Tabitha to Marigold, as the pair stepped into Tesco.

‘The mental one?’ said Marigold.

‘Aunt Bridie, yes,’ replied Tabitha.

‘What of her?’

‘She broke her hip. They took her to hospital and she seriously injured two members of staff when they tried to stop her getting out of bed to leave.’

‘Wow! What did they do?’

‘Well, they restrained her of course, but not before the damage was done.’

Where is she now?’ asked Marigold.

‘She’s still there. My mother says they should put her out of her misery, but she’s putting up a fight.’

‘Like, kill her?’

‘No, you lunatic -- give her medication. But she’s refusing everything. They can’t get a needle within two feet of her.’

‘To be fair, she’s the most frightening woman I’ve ever met,’ said Marigold.

‘She is terrifying,’ added Tabitha. ‘Wanna go visit with me?’

‘Do you know what, I kinda do. I have never heard language such as came from that woman’s mouth, and that was in her living room drinking tea. I can only imagine what fearful, diabolical gibberish the hospital staff are suffering at this minute. I feel like we should be there, you know, for the sake of posterity.’

‘What shall we bring her?’

‘I am bringing a pen and pencil. I am sure we will hear utterances that would make god himself shudder.’

‘And me?’ asked Tabitha.

‘I would buy us a cheap umbrella. She’s a terrible spitter, too.’