Cubone - The Gambling Historian!

It was one of those days you dream of not a cloud in the sky. but not to hot, got my Sporting Life,
decided that I would have a week off from my High Street Betting, shop. this was weather for relaxing.
I was living in our 250 year old Thatched Cottage, and decided that I would go out onto the front lawn and have glass of sherrie.
I was in a great mood having backed Johny Ackerbua the Great Nigerian 400 meter Hurdles Champ.
the wife having finished her shopping brought her coffie on to, the lawn and joined me.
“Do you know Don, that the Battery Farm by Kingston Church Empty all the old hens out and sell them to the Indian Restraunt at Stratford upon Avon,
They are absolutely ruined as they have been forced to lay twice a day instead of once.
There poor inners must be shocking the pain terrible”
I had a feeling that something else was about to be delivered. she had become a Greenie.a few years before, and if I had not put my foot down we would have been in Tibet.causing trouble for the Red Army.
She had once chased the Hunt Master away from our 5 bar gate, even though they had met there every year since 1860. not the same Master may I add.
It is terrible what they do to the old hens.
What a shame Darling I thought there was a lack of white meat in my masala. last time we were there.
“They told me that we can have 50 for 50p each”

50 you know I don’t like Currie that much. anyway.

“No they, said that if we put them in the field at the back of the house they wouldnt eat much but after about a fortnight they would fully recover and there feathers fill out beautifully just like they were originally in no time they would be laying lovely fresh new layed eggs again”

We could sell any we didn’t want. what do you think…???
I had to pamper to her a little so that week end we had delivery of the scrawniest bunch of hens you could every imagine.
When dropped off in the field out of big black sacks, 10 in a sack they just lay there on the floor as if dead.
The wife was going round taking to the creatures as if they were old aunties back from a terrible holiday in Weston.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. but wasn’t very happy parting with the Poney (£25)
The next few days they still hadnt recovered and I was about to telephone a Shab Courdrey from The Curry Centre. who number I had managed to find.
By the end of the first week there was an amazing recovery some were scratching and pecking like mad, the noise I must admit was lovely. nothing like the noise made by a dozen Girls touting for business in my childhood slum’s.
After two week it was my job to collect the eggs, seemed like hundreds of them. they were every were
A dozen for Gran two dozen for the post man, not a bad idea, I had thought of.in the bushes, I guess it was nature trying to hide there new brew.
After the first month we were starting to find it difficult to find a home for them every body seemed to hide when ever they saw me,
Like us they were fed up of Eggs.

That night I had one of my great ideas,
“What to do with a 100 New Layed Eggs a Eggs a week.
I had the idea from the little Lion stamped on eggs by the government.
I drove to Bromsgrove W.H.Smiths and purchased a John Bull printing outfit.
My betting shop was called County Bookmakers so the stamp read

“COUNTY BOOKMAKERS WE LAY ANYTHING”
The first 2 dozen were cleaned and placed on the kitchen table,

With a careful procedure every egg was stamped with the advert, in black die.
On the way to Bilston a town in the Black Country nr Wolverhampton, I was quite exited as soon as I arrived at my shop I was on the phone to the local evening newspaper always ready for a local story.
They soon had there camera team and there head feature writer at the shop.
I knew that at exactly 10.30 Old Bill would appear as if by clock work
He was a WW1 veteran and was regimental in every thing he did.
Morning Donald. nice day.
Yes William here I have something for you,
A dozen new layed eggs.
“My God I have not had a new layed egg since rationing. in 1945″.
They were in a little box and I gave him a bakers dozen 13.
A few photos were taken of him with me posing for the paper.
Off he went and I carried on, helping the reporter with the tale, of kindness from the towns local Bookie.
It must have been no more than 20 minutes, when the front door burst open and Old Bill stood there with his shirt sleeves up as if ready for action.

YOU BASTARD HE CRIED OUT.
Standing there with a side plate balanced in front of him under and my noes.
On the plate were two buttered slices of Toast, on the Toast carefully cut into 5 slices were the eggs,
You could see “We LAY ANYTHING” on every slice. not unlike Blackpool Rock.
The dye had run straight through the porous eggs.

You almost Killed me if I had eaten the eggs I would have caught Salmonella.
I intend to report you to the police.

It was only a quick reaction by me that stopped the photographer from taking a new picture of the Veteran of the Somme. in action.

A Free bet of a £10 was just about enough to recover the eggs and stop the tale from reaching the evening scoop.
A funny thing happened to the chickens a week or two later, two REGNARDS (Foxes) that the wife had saved from the Hunt came back to repay her kindness.
They came during the night and killed the 50. leaving only there feathers.to show were they had been.

So ended a glorious humanitarian effort by the wife and my free promotion.

Cubone.