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| Chronicles of the Cake Stop |
| Vol VI No. 2 |
Soundtrack:
Green Day - Nimrod |
Having accepted the challenge to duel with the Tour God Armstrong come dawn after the Dunwich
Dynamo, the young buck Newbie has been trying to distract himself from the prospect of inevitable
doom by discussing the merits of describing the Raleigh Grifter as the world's first mountain bike, and
helping Cookiemonster catch up with the goings-on after returning from his trip to Finland. The Cake
Stop is a-buzz with discussions about The Great Forum Relay. Gonzo is holding court near the large,
perspex map he has set up in front of the dart board, by the juke box, on which there is a map of the
country peppered with blue and red dots, and a small flag to indicate the current location of the C+
jersey that is being couriered from rider to rider. That current location is with Whichway, having
already been passed from Gonzo to Rob Sallnow, to Ravenbait and Chuffy, then to Bagonabike, Kitzy
and Bomber Castle, and GruB. So far it is going swimmingly, with only a couple of minor
disagreements that are of little importance as far as the spirit of the event goes.
May has come. Only three months to go until the dread day, and Newbie is the only one showing any
sign of concern, much to his dismay. The rest of the Cake Stoppers are more concerned by lack of
response from Barry, the intrepid gentleman from that splendid bunch of fellows the Southwark
Cyclists. He is organising the return trip from Dunwich. Newbie, unsurprisingly, isn't terribly
concerned about the return trip. He is finding it a bit difficult to worry about the journey when his
primary regard is for the decapitation scheduled to take place prior to departure.
Summer is now well and truly in the air, although the April showers are being reluctant to release their
hold on the weather entirely. Cycle commuters are appearing out of the shadows; members of that
strange breed who hibernate all winter in the drab plumage of a cager, and who then come out
resplendent in lycra as soon as it looks like they can get away with not having mudguards fitted.
In fact, the Cake Stoppers are all spending so much time out enjoying the rapidly improving weather
that not much is happening in this most famous of establishments. Even your humble narrator is
disinclined to keep track of all the various minor conversations and banter when there are dry roads and
sun outside the window.
"Chuffy, what are you doing with that dog?" AndyGates asks from his position at the bar, where he is
taking a blood sugar reading to find out what the large box of jammy doughnuts he has just consumed
has done to his biochemistry.
Chuffy drags a scruffy mutt in through the door. "He's a lurcher," he says. "I'm going to see if we can
get Kathy and TooMuchCake to genetically modify it so it will grow wings. Then we can go lamping
for badgers."
"You don't need a flying dog to go lamping for badgers," scoffs Gunner. "You just need to know how
to approach them in the correct seductive fashion. It is all laid out in the manual. Badgers have elbows
too. Grab their attention by riding past in an Adonis-like fashion on the Giant OCR Team replica, and
then get within elbow range. None of this lamping business."
"These are flying badgers," Chuffy explains, undaunted. "The only other way to do it is to get a hell-hound and a trebuchet."
"Sorry?" Withers asks, completely confused. He still hasn't left.
"You need the hell-hound because it has big, glowing eyes and flying badgers are attracted to light.
You need the trebuchet because there is no other way to get a hell-hound into a tree. Obviously." He
rolls his eyes, as if this were the most basic thing and even a three year old would know.
"Has Chuffy been at the Bombay Brain Buster again?" Rigby asks sharply, frowning.
"Doesn't Ravenbait have a hell-hound?" Fatbloke says.
"Aardvark?" Chuffy looks sad. "I don't know what ever happened to him. Anyway. I'd rather have a
seagull."
"We could go find Kehaar for you," Redshift suggests.
"No," Chuffy sighs. "He's not the right sort of seagull."
"Why do you want to go lamping for badgers anyway?" Brock asks, looking a mite put-out.
"They eat hedgehogs," Chuffy says grumpily.
"I don't think flying badgers eat hedgehogs," muses Macleach. "Although Gordon Ramsay might."
"Well I don't think he's likely to come round here," Jimbo opines. "Clare runs a lovely kitchen."
"Yes, Clare is very lovely," Chuffy beams. "Although not as lovely as Bags. Or the blessed Winona."
He lets the dog go, face turning somewhat dreamy as he becomes lost in some pixie-ish daydream
involving skinny women and chocolate sauce. The dog beetle-clicks across the hard, wooden floor and
sits by the bar, waiting for someone to feed him beer and chips. Terry takes pity on him, wondering if
he might make a good guide dog. The wings would be an issue, of course, but Chuffy might give up on
the badger-lamping idea before the plan got as far as Kathy's secret lab in the basement.
Clare, at this point, is making sure all the cakes and pastries are labelled so that nut allergy sufferers
can tell which ones to avoid.
Cuddy Duck has been quite taken by a new face amongst the Campaign crowd. Howard is admirably
holding his own against the loud and persistent, but sparsely populated motoring fraternity that
frequents the establishment. It looks like he may even have managed to put a curb on the wilder
excesses of Spen666, the Cake Stop's occasional legal expert, who was once bitten by a troll and never
really got over it.
Suddenly Newbie stands up, knocking over a chair, stands on a table and shouts: "What are we going to
do about my head?!"
"If your head comes away from your neck, it's all over," murmurs ZimZum42.
Aeroflash drifts over from where he had been looking at the map for The Great Forum Relay.
"Come on, Newbie," he says, gently but firmly taking the other man by the arm with one insubstantial
hand outlined in coruscating sapphire. "Let's go talk to the Goddess. I'm sure She will be able to help."
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