The tale of Spoon Mudcup

[meadicus]

Spoon Mudcup was his name, though he rarely used it. I don't think I need to say why. It was a silly name. If only his father hadn't drunk all that cider before filling in the birth certificate. If only his mother hadn't drunk all the cider the night he was conceived. If only he hadn't just drunk all that cider and told all the people in the pub that he wasn't really called Dave Smith.

He woke up, it was cold, it was morning, he couldn't move his hands. He was tied up with what seemed to be a string of sausages. On the other side of the street stood his Gran, giving him a very dissaproving glare. It was at this point he hoticed most of his clothes seemed to be missing. At his grans feet stood her poddle, glaring, and possibly drooling, at what Spoon hoped was the sausages.

Spoon didn't care for dogs much, not since his elder brothers (Ladle and Lawnmower, yes his father drank a hell of a lot of cider) had covered him head to toe with dogfood when he was a boy, and sent him to run around the street to draw away the farmers dog so they could steel some apples. There's just something wrong with fifteen poodles all fighting to nibble at your thigh. Or the sausages which were tying you to the lamppost, as it was at this moment.

Spoon Mudcup was not a very happy person

[yewtree]

He was even less happy when his gran crossed the street, with her poodle straining at the leash, drooling at the prospect of the sausages.

"Young man! What do you think you're doing?" she barked.

"I dunno, I just woke up," he whined.

She began to unravel the sausages.

"Shocking waste of good meat," she complained, as she fed them to her dog. "Good thing Fifi isn't too fussy."

Spoon thanked his gran profusely for rescuing him. She waved his thanks away.

"Now, who did this to you? Was it those naughty brothers of yours?"

"Dunno, Gran, I was pissed," said Spoon.

"That's what that good-for-nothing father of yours was always saying," said Gran. "Now cover yourself up and come with me."

Spoon covered his assets with his hands (eyeing the poodle apprehensively) and followed his gran sheepishly down the street.

When they arrived at her house, she led him upstairs and made him put on an old suit of his grandad's. It was purple with wide lapels, and there was a frilly lavender shirt to go with it - Grandad had been a third-rate stage magician.