Mad Lemmey's Painting Blog

"Right, Arthur," Tommy drawled, slugging back a shot of Irish, "we need to take the boys up to the farmyard, get that Radio truck out of there, the Mosleyist BUF have got annoyed with the radio broadcasts about the Lord- L ieutenant  of Barfieldshire and his misdeeds. Using a clever bit of triangulation, have tracked the radio truck down, and want to take it off air, permanently." "Right you are Tommy!" Arthur looked up from  the racing pages of his copy of the newspaper. Funny how even during a period of intense strife, gambling carried on. "Break out the Lewis gun, sort out the rifles, I'll meet you all here in half-an-hour. I'm just off to call in a favour with the Singer Defence Committee. We need their woman-power, as Rotherfield-Peppard has got the Fuzz involved." Tommy swung on his coat, donned his cap and strode out into the sunshine. "Oh good, should make it a more interesting fight!" muttered Arthur with glee. Mort had...

Tucking her wings in and diving down, Clarisse the starling felt the sweet air flushing over her beak, she grinned to herself as she saw the welcome sight of the lights of the 'Garrison' glimmering across the square, and she fluttered down and alighted across the square. She hopped across and through the door into the smoky public bar. It wasn't her shift tonight, but she was greeted like a returning hero by her friends of the Squeaky Blinders gang. "Look wot tha cat dragged in!" Arthur the stoat cheerily yelled from his favourite booth. "Well, at least I can hit things, not just jam my piece every time!" She chirped back at him, blowing him a kiss and strolling across to another stoat who was nonchalantly chewing a carrot and replacing a whiskey glass on the bar. "How you feeling Tommy?" "Better. Rest, always the best medicine, both for me an' Bill the Oddy" The stoat boss sagely looked the starling up and down, "how are y...