Grimmer Knott Productions Presents: ALMOST SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS Wicked King…Chris A long time ago a now defunct angling magazine spawned a new writer, who had almost snowy white hair. His name was Bob, but due to the hair became known as Snow White. The magazine, cherishing Yorkshire as it should, was proud of its progeny who grew strong and wise in the following years. But with the demise of the old kingdom of Coarse Angler, other kingdoms sprang up including a magical one called “t’Net”. And Snow White thrived and grew strong and ever more famous in this new kingdom, especially as a burbot catcher. But bordering the kingdom was a disputed territory where a powerful river called ‘ont Trent flowed, and many attempts were made to conquer it. A new king took possession of this territory, and his name was King Chris, and he was very proud. Had he not become an esteemed member of the local chapter of Burboteers? He possessed a magic screen which could answer him when he sat before it . He typed: “Oh magic screen, who is the fairest of all?” The screen answered: “Thou, O king, art the fairest of all,” and the king was contented, because he knew the magic screen could speak nothing but the truth. But as time passed, Snow White grew more and more renowned, until when he was forty seven years old, he was as famous as any, and still more famous than the king himself, so that when the king one day asked his screen: “Oh magic screen, who is the fairest of all?” it answered “O King, though fair thee be, Snow White is fairer by far.” The King was horrified, and with growing envy he called his huntsman, Baz, and said “Take Snow White away into the woods and kill him, for I can no longer bear the sight of him. And when you return bring with you his heart, so I know you have done it.” “That’s a bit drastic, boss,” said Baz, “I usually only just takes away their cards. And that’s on a good day.” But Baz dared not disobey and led Snow White out into the woods where he placed a rock-hard boilie in his catapult to kill him, but Snow White begged for mercy, the hot tears misting up his glasses, so Baz let him run away. Then as a young wild boar came rushing by, he killed it with a single shot from his Boilie ‘pult, took out its heart with his special Swiss Army knife, and carried it home to the king. Snow White was now all alone in the wood, and so frightened that he began to run, and ran on and on until he came to a little house, where he went in to rest. In the little house everything he saw was tiny. Upon a table stood seven little plates, each with a little spoon, knives and forks and seven little goblets. Against the wall, and side by side, stood seven little beds covered with snow-white sheets. Snow White was so hungry and thirsty that he took a little food from each of the seven plates, and drank a few drops of wine from each goblet, for he did not wish to take everything away from one. Then, because he was so tired, he crept into one bed after the other, seeking for rest, but each was too short, and so on, until he came to the seventh, which suited him exactly; and soon he fell fast asleep. At nightfall, the masters of the little house came home. They were seven dwarves, who worked with a pick-axe and spade, searching for boilies in the heart of the mountains. They lit their seven candles and then saw that someone had been to visit them. The first, who was known as Doc, said, “Who’s been sitting on my chair? If you did that in South Africa you know….” The second, who was known as Grumpy, said, “Who’s been eating from my f****** plate? I hate it when some t*** nicks me peg. Probably a f****** immigrant!” The third, who was known as Dopey, asked, “Who’s taken a piece of my bread?” And then remembered he had an alternative. The fourth, who was known as Bashful, declared, “I don’t even like vegetables!” The fifth, who was known as Sleepy, yawned and fell asleep, dreaming of Amanda. The sixth, who was known as Happy, had a nightmare, dreaming he’d asked, “Is it my round?” The seventh, who was known as Sneezy on account of the snot all over his clothes, demanded, “Who’s been drinking out of my goblet? I’ll arrange a DNA test.” And would have rushed off if he could have bent his legs in the snot stiffened overtrousers. The first looked round and saw that his bed was rumpled, so he said, “Who has been getting into my bed?” Then the others looked round and each one cried, “Someone has been on my bed too!” But the seventh saw Snow White lying asleep in his bed and called the others to come and look at him; but seeing the Daiwa eyeshade they let him sleep on all night. When the sun rose Snow White awoke, and, oh! how frightened he was when he saw the seven dwarves, for they were ugly and smelly, especially Sneezy. But they were very friendly, and asked what his name was. “My name is Snow White,” he answered. “How did you come to get into our house f***face?” asked Grumpy, “who sneaked you across our illustrious borders and into our Kingdom smartarse? Show us yer f****** passport lad!” “You left the bloody door unlocked and I was born and bred in Yorkshire yer daft old prat!” he replied. Then he told them how his cruel step-father had intended him to be killed, but how Baz had spared his life (despite not having a permit) and he had run on until he reached the little house. And the dwarves said, “If you will take care of our house, cook for us, and make the beds, tie hooks, package the boilies, and keep everything neat and clean, then you may stay with us.” “Of course,” answered Snow White; and so he stayed. “We’re going fishing today, Snow White; will thee come wi us?” asked Doc. “Why, of course”, replied Snow White, “I used to do a bit mesen int younger days.” So Snow White and the seven dwarves set off for the banks of the Trent. “Bagsee best swim!” exclaimed Doc. “I deserve it, I’m the oldest.” “No yer not, yer daft old t***, I am, and you always get best swim.” Moaned Grumpy. “I’m f****** sure yer a foreigner any road.” “Ey, Bumblebee taught me how to nick the best swim in a Fishingmagic feature,” he replied. Dopey sat contently munching a hemp sandwich that he’d filched from Sleepy, who as ever had fallen asleep. Happy was repeating the combination on his wallet to himself; reminding himself that as ever he would be buying the first round when they packed up (this is a fairy story!). Bashful and Sneezy were trying to scrape a DNA sample from Sneezy’s jumper, just to figure what he’d caught last time out; though bream were strongly suspected judging by the pong. Snow White couldn’t believe this disorganised rabble could ever catch fish, but after an hour they’d all got tackled up and settled in. “Can thee stop casting half way up my f****** swim, Doc!” grizzled Grumpy, “tha’s right on me stick float.” “Dick Walker taught me upstream legering you know,” responded Doc. “Ay, I dare say, but thee’s always downstream of me.” Happy, Bashful and Sneezy had got into the groove though, casting heavy leads and boilies far across the Trent. “Hey, we’re really burbotting now!” they cried. Right, thought Snow White, time to sort out this bunch of losers. “Can you all stop fishing for five minutes, and gather round,” he bellowed. “We’ll never crack this venue and win t’National at this rate.” he lectured. “What the bloody ‘ells a National?” piped up Sleepy, having finally come out of a delicious dream involving Amanda and a bowl of custard. “Oh shut up and listen!” Barked Snow White, pushing the Daiwa eyeshade past his hairline and revealing a half inch deep crease on his forehead where it had lay unmoved for five years. But the group had not gone unnoticed. On the far bank of the mighty Trent, three members of the mighty Burboteers Society were gathered. It was the Wicked King and his henchmen, Anthony the Rock and Frederick Bountiful. “Dost thou reckon that’s ‘im?” Asked Anthony. “Ay, unmistakeable,” confirmed Frederick. “Why doesn’t thee go round over Grimthorpe Bridge and, disguised as the bailiff, push ‘im in,” suggested Anthony. Meanwhile…… “Right, you three, fish the feeder, and the rest I want giving the stick float a good try,” continued Snow White, “I’ll show you all how to catch Trent burbot.” “I want to fish a f******* stick float,” moaned Grumpy, feeling deprived of his favourite method. And fired off a whole string of expletives until he was well out of breath. “Oh, alright, switch with Bashful,” replied Snow White. “Where’s Bashful?” “Sleepy is explaining to him what he’d like to do with Amanda on a dark night, and they’re behind that bush,” chipped in Doc. “That’s illegal in South Africa you know.” Half an hour later, all eight were fishing contently away when along came the King, disguised as a bailiff. He crept up behind Snow White and gave him an almighty push and Snow White tumbled in and was struggling in the water. As the seven dwarves came running to his aid, the King slipped beneath the surface of the strong, tidal current. “We can’t reach ‘im,” wailed Dopey, “and he promised to give me a pike lure!” “F*** ‘im, let ‘im drown,” muttered Grumpy. “Stand back, I’ll cast in and hook ‘im out,” burbled Happy, wistfully thinking that if he saved Snow White’s life, Snow White would buy the first round. Happy soon reeled him in but Snow White appeared lifeless, the Daiwa eyeshade now hanging round his neck, but even whilst he was obviously going through a near death experience you could see he was struggling to get it back in the groove on his forehead. Sneezy said he needed the kiss of life but as he leant right over Snow White to apply the life-saving kiss, Snow White caught a whiff of Sneezy’s jumper, spluttered and leapt up. “F*** that, I’d rather die!” “That were a close call,” gasped Snow White, for once nearly rendered silent. “That must have been the Wicked King.” “We’ll have to keep a close eye on you from now on,” said Doc. “When I were in South Africa…..” “F***off!” Snarled Grumpy. Back on the far bank the three Burboteers reconvened. “Little fellow with Fishingmagic cap rescued ‘im,” muttered the King. “I’ll need a new disguise,” he continued. “Is that a Monk coming along the bank?” “Aye, it is,” said Frederick. The Monk, dreaming about Ruffe Slappers, was taken by surprise, and in a trice had lost his habit. Then the terrible threesome legged it in the direction of Grimthorpe Bridge. “Did you see what just happened on the far bank?” asked Dopey. “Three blokes jumped a monk and ran off with his clothes.” “Ay, yer f****** daft wazzock,” grunted Grumpy. “Lay off the f****** hemp lad, you’ll be telling us Happy, the tight t***, is buying the f****** drinks next.” “But there’s a monk coming down the bank now.” “Dopey, a man of the holy orders must be respected,” said Doc. “Let’s hear what he has to say.” The monk was silent but bade each of the anglers to hold out their hands in turn, offering each a holy biscuit. He left Snow White till last, offering him a special biscuit that had icing on it. He finally broke his silence, “Peace be with you, brother.” And walked back towards Grimthorpe Bridge. “Monks on the brain, you’ve got, Dopey,” said Sneezy, but even as he spoke Snow White’s complexion had paled, and he collapsed gasping, “the evil King, I’ve been pois….” “Hee, hee, f****** hee.” chuckled Grumpy. “I fancy changing to stick float,” said Doc, tired of being bossed around. “Wonder if Amanda’s coming……” mused Sleepy. “Could go up the pub, it’s my round,” cried Happy, remembering that this was still a fairy story. “Now’s our chance!” Declared Sneezy, in raptures. “What do you mean, Sneezy?” asked Happy. “We can prove whether or not he’s really royal with a DNA test. Royals are often backcrosses you know. I’ll fetch me knife and cut off a finger, and we can send it off to Professor Bumblebee for testing.” Replied Sneezy. “This knife’s blunt,” said Sneezy as he tried to hack Snow White’s finger off. “Give the f***** ‘ere,” grumbled Grumpy, “f****** mardarse, I’ll do it.” And took the knife off Sneezy. But before Grumpy could get to work with the knife the pain of the little cut that Sneezy had caused made Snow White shudder, and with a cough and choking sound the biscuit was spit out. “What the bloody ‘ell do you think your doing?” Snow White screamed, alarmed at the knife in Grumpy’s hand and seeing the cut on his finger. “Er, you’d got a f****** hook stuck in your f****** finger and passed out, and I was removing the f*****,” said Sneezy, “You’re alright now though.” And then muttered under his breath, “worst f****** luck.” And stormed off. As the Wicked King met up with his henchmen Anthony and Frederick near Grimthorpe Bridge he asked, “What next? Two goes and the b******’s still alive. We’re going to have to send for the Pope!” But then he looked across one of the nearby fishing pits. An angler was using a Tart Tackle rocket-propelled spod to bait his swim. The terrible trio muscled in and ‘borrowed’ it. “We’ll be able to hit Snow White from the far bank with this,” said the king “How do I aim the laser targeter?” “There’s them blokes on the far bank again!” shouted Dopey. “Them as what robbed the Monk”. “Calm down dear, it’s only a Fishingmagic spoof story.” Replied Doc, imagining himself as Michael Winner for a moment. “Snow White, why’ve you got a bright red spot in the middle of your forehead, under your Daiwa eyeshade?” asked Happy. “What red spot?” Asked Snow White, and bent forward so Happy could see the spot better. “Whoooooooooooosh!” The rocket propelled spod whistled inches over the top of Snow White’s head and exploded in the field behind. “What the ‘ell was that?” Asked Sleepy, rudely awaken from yet another fantasy involving Amanda, who had been joined by her identical twin. On the far bank, the diabolical trio started squabbling. “Aim at his bloody feet!” “No, ‘is head!” “Put loads more dynamite in this time!” But even Tart Tackle spods have their limits, and they’d just found it. There was an almighty explosion. KerBooooooomm…. “I dunno what they were up to over there, the t****, but there’s nowt left now, fish’ll be right f****** off now after all that racket, time to go to’th f****** pub,” said Grumpy, fed up with the constant interruptions. On the far bank the terrible threesome had been blown into a dry dyke, out of sight of our merry gang. As they came round and dusted themselves off, the Wicked King declared “It’s not worth it, let’s stick to our own kingdom, there’s room for more than one bunch of burboteers in this world.” Meanwhile… “Aw, I reckon Bashful was in with a chance with that pair of Ruffe Slappers that turned up,” muttered Sleepy. “They been let down by some monk fellow they was ‘sposed to be meeting at the Bridge. They got lovely tattoos and all.” “Oy, behave, you two!” said Doc, “Good job I sent ’em packing. They’d have had Bashful for breakfast, and you should know better, Sleepy, leading him astray again. Let’s get packed up and in the pub.” “Reckon Snow White’s in the chair tonight seeing ‘ow we saved his life,” said Happy, smiling. And they trooped off to the pub, annoyed all the regulars, got slung out, and lived happily ever after. Well, almost happily ever after…. You see, the events of this magical day changed them all a little…. Doc had aversion therapy to cure him of always mentioning South Africa, Grumpy realised life wasn’t so bad after all, binned his shoulder chip, and went off to spend his retirement growing flowers in Dorset. Dopey, finally recognising the technical superiority of Tart Tackle products, joined them as a consultant. Bashful got corrupted by a combination of Yorkshire ale, Sleepy, and the day’s events, and went on to become a media and transport mogul, establishing ‘Maiden Publishing’, ‘Maiden Pacific’, etc. Sleepy met up with Amanda and her twin, and got a lifetime’s supply of Viagra. Happy set up an account in all the pubs in the land so he didn’t even need to remember the combination on his wallet, and the occasion became widely known as the ‘Happy Hour’. And Sneezy? Well, he accidently sent off one of his own DNA samples for testing to Professor Bumblebee, found out he was a royal himself and got made king. And as for Snow White, he founded an entirely new fishing club “The Burboteer Fellowship”, with himself as president, chairman, secretary, treasurer, chief rule maker, sweeper-up, and stocked a stillwater with burbot. “At least now no-one can tell me how to treat burbot,” he declared, as he slipped yet another stillwater burbot into his keepnet. The End |
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