Olive Lamp returned home to the Vitreous Enamel more plastered than her customers, but with her lunchtime friend, Min Emumwage, she tried to pick up the pieces after the trauma of the Guilt trip coach crash. The absence of pork scratchings was still smarting.
Meanwhile, the police, setting up an incident room in the cellar, were awaiting the forensic results on a white fluffy beard that was discovered in the toilet bowl on the ill-fated coach.
Later that day, CID Inspector Len Orr pounced on Phil Emin as he came back from his short holiday in Washington.
“Not so fast, Emin. Where’s the money being laundered. The notes you’ve been unearthing have too much blue in them and people don’t want to spend them because they’re so soft to the touch.”
What’s that blue-white powder on your nose and what are you doing with a shovel and a blood-stained carpet?”
“It’s a fair cop.” Emin blurted out.
“Will you wait for me?”
“NO.” Orr chipped in.
“Not you, her.” Emin said, pointing at Sunlight, who was sobbing yet again.
“’Course I will.” Sunlight finally got out. “How long for?”
“About five years but he could be paroled later on in the week.” Orr said.
In the far corner, a few regulars were playing on the new quiz machine, in between staring at the widescreen TV that was lighting up half the room. Olive was startled as she didn’t even order these things, enjoying the old world theme of the pub wherein a joanna, a spittoon and a dart board were the elements of a good old fashioned singsong night. Just then her other son, the one she actually knew the father of, came in: “I got ‘em mum, I know someone, who knows someone, who goes to that Really Legit (honest) Warehouse, just beyond the set. Everyone knows it is there, but I know someone who knows where the back door is.”
“Take ‘em away now. I thought you were building that thermo-nuclear device for that strange bloke who only came in to the series in the last few minutes.”
“Oh, I’ve done that and got a pretty penny for it an’ all. Can I keep the machine and TV in me bedroom. Please mum, go on, let us.”
“Oh, all right. It’s lucky for you I’m a soft soap. Come ‘ere give us a cuddle.”
The Vitreous Enamel was quiet, the night’s revelry over, Olive moved over to switch the lights off with her crutch. A massive flash of light followed quickly by a sickening fizzling sound and the sizzling of what smelled like bacon testified to another ‘accident’ for the hapless Olive.
(There are no pictures of the soap this edition due to the blagging of all the camera equipment and mobile phones prior to shooting. However, a repeat can be heard by downloading it from the website.)