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of Enema By C. S. Gass Become enrapt by the rodent-ridden wonder-world beyond the wainscoting as eminent scholar, wit, raconteur, literary buff, sporadic imbiber and sports-jacketed leather-elbowed grey-flannelled wartime wireless broadcaster C. S. Gass takes you through the ivy-covered lych-gate of wonderment, up the petal-strewn garden-path of fascination, by the muddy boot-scraper of best-forgotten memories, over the doormat of wipe-your-feet-please, beyond the threshold of plausible narrative, past the sparkling realms of the disturbingly trite and then out into the sunlit uplands of respectable smugness followed by a slap-up cream-tea and a disconcertingly hot bath."I mean, gosh, Gregory. Stop being so terribly beastly," said Miranda stamping her foot imperiously. "Wasn't," mumbled Gregory from his place in the corner where his ears were getting longer and longer and hairier and hairier by the minute. "Come along, my loves," cried Mrs Hedgehog as she bustled in from the kitchen with a steaming saucepan of porridge in one hand, a huge plate of buttered crumpets in the other hand, an enormous pot of tea in another hand, a gigantic tureen of lobster bisque in another hand, a brim-full bucket of scalding hot strawberry custard in yet another hand, a vast bubbling cauldron of stewed vole on her head and a quivering Mr Hedgehog dripping out of a large buff envelope under her spare arm. "You all get your darlin' selves well and truly sat down for your supper over here by the crackling log fire and no mistake." "Corks, Mrs Hedgehog," said Ernest breathlessly. "This is really too, too spiffing of you, especially since we ran over your poor husband with our borrowed steamroller not half an hour ago." "Well never you trouble your pretty little head about that for a moment me old pal me old beauty," said Mrs Hedgehog as she put down a whole live tuna on the ormolu cakestand which instantly gave way. "Just get your little asses off of that settee and come over here to the tea-table or I'll give you merry hell." "Isn't she just the sweetest?" whispered Lucinda to Belinda from behind the lace antimacassar. Chronicles of Enema , Septic Publications, 342pp, ISBN 1 231 6532 0 |