Colonel Blimp's Lockdown

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Colonel Blimp's Lockdown -- week...well I've lost track

Well it's been a difficult couple of weeks here at Blimp Towers. You see, we've been self-isolating and can't get out for food. The food cupboard was as empty as Anne Boleyn's hat when our stocks finally ran out on Tuesday after we got to the bottom of our "Millennium Bug" contingency stockpile. Our last meal consisted of a 20 year old Christmas pudding dressed with horse radish sauce topped off with a few hairy fruit spangles I had found down the back of the sofa. I decided it was time for action.

Now we haven't been able to take advantage of the kind services of ADCA, not through any fault of theirs I might add -- quite the opposite in fact. You see during the nice recent weather Mrs Blimp had taken to sunbathing naked in the garden. Now she may not be considered by many a traditional beauty, but to my eyes she is of course delightful, if a little hirsute -- a situation not helped by her electric beard trimmer having broken down. She also, as they say, carries a little weight -- tipping the scales at a modest 21 stone. Unfortunately the kind man from ADCA as he walked up our garden path was not prepared for the sudden appearance of what might best be described as a cross between Chewbacca and a Sumo wrestler -- he let out a most primeval chilling scream and ran away with his eyes bleeding after he attempted to gouge them out. I think he may have had a slight accident too as he was next seen leaving Williams Newsagents with an awkward gait and clutching a pack of Judy's very reasonably priced toilet paper.

There was only one thing left to try if I was to keep Mrs Blimp nourished and also wormed -- internet shopping! I'd heard of it but never tried it -- what could possibly go wrong I thought?

First off, I went to the Tescbury's website -- and after hearing on the wireless all the tales of woe of others it all seemed to be a doddle. I placed my order and sat back waiting for our delicious treats to arrive, including the raw meat Mrs Blimp so likes on which to nibble as she watches Loose Women. Whilst I was on the Internet, I also happened upon a retailer who seemed to be selling quite a lot of medical equipment -- they had no end of masks and hospital clothing. I decided as a public-spirited gesture that I should purchase a batch to donate to Audlem General Hospital as there are so many tales of shortages.

Come delivery day and I suppose the appearance of no less than three Tescbury's lorries on the driveway should have rung alarm bells. It seems that no one had enlightened me on the concept of "substitutes" -- it certainly couldn't have been me getting anything wrong.

Well here's some examples; instead of a pack of six apples I got six iPhones; I wanted four Toblerones but got four trombones; Mrs Blimps Bob Martins wormer was replaced by a pair of Doc Martens boots; instead of a pack of 50 iron tablets I got 50 Morphy Richards steam irons; for a pack of four Wagon Wheels I got four Michelin all weather radials; I wanted some lubricant for my bike but got a tube of KY Jelly, whatever that is; I wanted some Bazuka for my verrucas but they sent an anti-tank missile in its place and worst of all instead of three tubes of Germoline I got three trampolines (although they have proved useful to Mrs Blimp for spying over the fence on the neighbours). And I'm afraid three parasols were no substitute for my Anusol suppositories -- they did my piles no good at all when I tried to use them.

Well, as if all that wasn't bad enough, worse was to come. Now, I have to declare that before placing the order for the medical equipment I had never heard of Ann Summers until a van sporting their livery pulled up on the driveway. This caused not a small amount of twitching of the neighbours' curtains, I know not why.

So anyway, I unpacked the nurses' outfits I had ordered, and I have to say how disappointed I was. Far from providing a good protective covering there was hardly anything to them at all. To get a better idea I got Mrs Blimp to model one. Now even allowing for Mrs Blimp's somewhat ample proportions the coverage was minimal and inadequate -- so short her hairy bottom cheeks were plainly visible and made worse by apertures cut in the chest area for no apparent purpose, revealing parts of her anatomy no normal man would wish to see, although I have to admit to being strangely aroused by the spectacle that assaulted my eyes. And as for the masks, well I fail to see how a leather hood with a padlockable zip across the mouth area is going to help anyone. I shall of course be complaining as I fail to see how they can pretend this stuff can protect anyone.

Anyway I must go now to forage through the compost heap for nutrition whilst Mrs Blimp watches Loose Women -- instead of her expected raw steak she's having to chew on a dead pigeon she wrestled off the cat