Of Mammon, Methane and Mosque

by John M. Joyce (June 2010)

***
Beside the Church and immediately opposite the doors of the Hall was a small piece of Council owned waste ground which civic-minded volunteers had roughly formed into a small and attractive park. This had rapidly become the favourite phrontistery of Mr. Rurik Canardly, the newly appointed Director of Planning for B____shire. He happened to be wandering in this little bosky garden just as Lady Onesta rose from her devotions, left the Church and decided that she, too, needed the solace of verdure. As one would expect, she espied his blond, athletic form and determined to have conversation with him.
A strained silence ensued.
Lady Onesta was momentarily downcast. Then her eyes lit up and a small and impish smile crossed her lips.
***
***
By the end of the summer even Rurik Canardly was beginning to think that she might just pull the trick off.
***
Thus it was that as Mr. Torpe sauntered into the courtyard after dinner in order to enjoy a cigarette or two he found helpful staff at every turn opening doors and guiding him. He had no sooner taken out his cigarette case than no fewer than five staff members leapt forward with lit matches. A sheltered seat under the Victorian projecting stained-glass canopy was easily found and it was near enough to the slightly raised outdoor stage for him to be able to see and hear the band thereupon.
***
On that note he left his suite and made his way down to the lobby where Sebastian Trager, the young, handsome and virile night porter, let him out into the chilly pre-dawn air. There was a stiff little breeze blowing from the West but the air contained a promise of one more pleasant autumn day at least. He made his way up Pennydiritto Street, across Petti Crescent, down Venter Street and through Viscus Park onto the west end of Aboulia Place. By the light of street lamps he read the wording on the enormous banner hanging over the huge West facing double doors of the gigantic and ornate Royal B____shire Agricultural Association building: B____SHIRE ANNUAL VOGELFERRET (ALL CLASSES) SHOW.
Everything was going to work perfectly. Mr. Torpe was going to get his Mosque and some Muslims making their way to prayers. Lady Onesta was going to gain several million pounds for her beloved B____shire. The annual Vogelferret show was going to have a fine day. Mr. Torpe was going to be back at his hotel in plenty of time for breakfast. God was in his Heaven and everything was for the best in this the best of all possible worlds.
The elderly retainer opened the great east doors and the stiff little westerly breeze blew through the building carrying the overnight noxious gaseous effluvium of two thousand cooped up Vogelferrets with it. Mr. Torpe, unable to smell a thing and by now standing directly in front of the east doors and directly opposite the Mosque, chose this moment of all possible moments to light his first cigarette of the day. There came a bang and a mighty roar as a great goutte of flame shot out of the east doors and hurtled across the road directly towards the Mosque. Mr. Torpe was knocked to the ground by the shockwave and his cigarette and match were snatched from his fingers and whirled away into the maelstrom of flames that subsequently engulfed the Mosque.
Dawn began to flood into Aboulia Place just as the bottom of the minaret took light. A loud explosion was heard from the base followed by a jet of flame and slowly but surely the minaret ascended skywards. At about one hundred feet above the ground a second explosion took place which produced an even greater jet of flame from the base of the minaret and propelled it faster and further into the sky. It should by now, dear readers, be patently obvious to you, as it was to all those on the ground, where the ANFO (ammonium nitrate and fuel oil) explosives thieves had hidden their haul.
With each loud explosion from the airborne minaret the overwrought Vogelferrets produced more and more combustible emissions and the flames from the east door engulfed the Mosque and ensured its utter destruction. Only the minaret, now soaring above the city like a demented rocket, seemed to be reasonable intact and it kept emitting loud bangs and fresh jets of flame as it climbed ever higher. Eventually, the explosions from the flying minaret became distant enough not to startle the Vogelferrets and the river of flames from the east door dwindled to almost nothing then died.
She had a plan!
In their wake the aged servants of the Association were too dazed and bruised to prevent the Vogelferrets from taking to the streets as well. Those worried little sociable creatures formed themselves into many small bands of forty or so related animals and scampered off in a haze of intestinal gases.
That was not a good thing to happen, dear readers.
Although the county town of B____shire is a small town it nonetheless has peak traffic times just like other boroughs and just after dawn on that autumn morn the traffic in the streets was beginning to build nicely towards the rush-half-hour. Vogelferrets being country animals were quite unused to the noise of vehicles and every time a band of them encountered a car, truck or van they flatulated in fear. The methane rich gases invariably came in contact with either the hot engine or the hot exhaust pipe and the resulting explosion usually incapacitated the vehicle in question and caused minor injuries to its occupants and damage to nearby windows. All over the town wandering bands of small, furry Vogelferrets were constantly being startled, farting and running away from the subsequent small explosion, only to rapidly encounter a further cause for alarm.
The plunging tube of the tower of the minaret caught fire as it fell rapidly through the air. It then broke up sending a coruscating display of sparks and red-hot cinders across the sky. Wherever these landed fields of autumn crops, copses of carefully tended trees and thatched roofs of ancient cottages burst into flame. Feral Vogelferrets (escapees from the chicken farms) panicked and not infrequently made matters worse with their spontaneous anal eructations. All across B____shire small explosions disturbed the pastoral peace.
***
Several months later Lady Onesta was sitting in her hastily repaired office. There was still a sheet of plywood covering one window hole and dangerously sharp bits of barrel still poked out from the plasterwork behind her desk but she was still a happy lady. Mr. Sceptrum, the Chief Executive, sat opposite her.
Mr. Sceptrum frowned at her.
The final total of special grants came to just over two billion pounds.
A risky plan, you might think, dear readers. You would be correct, but two thousand years of history has taught us that no mere Ministry could ever win against an English aristocrat who wants benefits for his, or her, people! Why, it would be contrary to laws of nature were she to have lost!

To comment on this story please click here.

here.

If you liked this article by John M. Joyce and want to read more, please click here.

John Joyce is also a regular contributor to The Iconoclast, our community blog, click here to see all his entries.