The fact that the London Evening Standard printed the headline ‘Hugh Grant escapes baked bean charge’ did not escape Guru’s eagle-eyed attention, as it reminded him of the ill-fated charge of the light brigade, and the fact that true British heroes are still being sent off to their certain deaths by some uncertain bean-counter, clueless general, or mindless politician.
It also brought to mind being chased by some pre-processed steak machines across a field to a place called ‘Parky-vicar’ in South Wales, where Guru was investigating allegations of an extraordinarily large workforce in a village pub – 14 bar staff to every customer.
The cows had been quietly chewing the cud, when one of Guru’s colleagues mentioned that he had a morbid fear of all things bovine. Suddenly, the moo-masters pricked up their ears and began to charge – completely disregarding the fact that one of the party was holding a new-born baby and struggling through the mud in kitten heels.
Fortunately, Guru’s years of martial arts training behind the Great Wall of China – OK, behind the bike sheds with an oriental… er… pal – came in handy, and he gave the silly cows a forceful stare to bring them to a standstill.
Unfortunately, Guru always skipped the ‘long lingering gaze’ part of his ‘training’, the blink came, and the spell was broken. The four-stomached fiends then proceeded with their stampede, depositing their own grass-based beanfeast upon the blue bonce, before proceeding to lick the top of Guru’s dome – the only thing Yours Truly has in common with Hugh Grant.
Having been abandoned by his chums, Guru struggled on, but was barred from entering the pub by 14 burly lasses.
With cows on all sides – some looking like they had at least five stomachs – there was only one thing for it, and Guru plunged into the nearby stream and swam for it.
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