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Listeners' Fantasies |
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Pigs Might Fly
by Anarchers
 On the Fantasy Archers topic of , Anarchers has created an alternative Ambridge, in which Susan (among others) have supernatural powers. Here's a recent episode.
In the gathering gloom Susan watched as the street lamps, far below, twinkled and cars and lorries moved to and fro along the main road to Birmingham. Patiently she adjusted course slightly as the Sopwith Porker sped over the Borsetshire countryside. Clinging on, his wings carefully shielding the pigs eyes, Ikky was flying co-pilot. Never fly pigs without secure blinkers, and be sure to take an experienced bat with you. Many a fatality has occurred as a result of pigs, at 10,000 feet, suddenly realising that they can't fly. They can, but it is essential not to let them know about it.
'Control to Speed Pig, are you receiving me?' Nic's voice came crisply through Susan's headphones.
'Receiving you loud and clear Control, over.'
'Have you made contact yet?'
'Negative Control, not a sausage, whooaaah', Susan applied left rudder as the Sopwith Porker yawed wildly.
'Mind your language Speed Pig, remember, no reference to m-e-a-t products', Nic reminded her.
'Contact, target ten thousand meters, 200 millilitres, bearing 225 degrees', Ikky announced dramatically.
'Copy that Speed Pig, contact 10 km, 200 millilitres bearing 225', confirmed Nic. 'Not nearly drunk enough yet, go round another circuit, turn left 310 degrees and descend to 5,000 ft '.
'Copy that Control.' Susan banked and put the porker into a gently descent.
William swirled his cider appreciatively round his new tankard. It was the envy of Grundy's Field Cider Appreciation Collective. Eddie and Joe were having an animated conversation about judging the Flower and Produce Show, Allistair Lloyd was talking to David about milk fever. Fat Paul was yawning and trying to look interested, but he couldn't, so he just looked into space and swilled his cider.
After circuit number three the tankard recorded 750 millilitres. Susan had reduced speed and was flying at only two thousand feet.
'Speed Pig, Speed Pig, two more circuits should do the trick', instructed Nic ' Turn left 320 degrees and descend to one thousand feet.'
'Copy that control' replied Susan, 'Ikky, check out all systems', she commanded.
'Copy that' said Ikky.
'Look at all the luverly stars, lots and lots and lots of luverly stars', remarked Fat Paul, but nobody was listening.
Kenton stared morosely into his cider glass. Things didn't seem to be going too well, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, apart from everything.
'I love stars, luverly, luverly stars, look there's Venus', warbled Fat Paul. 'Venus has a peculiar pink aura about it, you know, luverly Venus, pink... or is it green, no its blue... I wonder?' Fat Paul was staring at a heavenly body with a peculiarly pink sort of afterglow.
Kenton muttered something non-committal and wondered if he could help himself to some more cider yet.
'I say folks, is a unidentified flying object! I'sa luverly luverly unidentified flying object! Look Eddie, quick get a photo, we can sell it to the Echo', yelled Fat Paul, in a most unsilent of silent ways.
Eddie and the others took notice at last and looked around to see a queer pinkish object hovering in the sky. Quickly they put down their glasses and looked for their cameras to get pictures. Alistair rushed to his car for binoculars.
Kenton was unmoved by the general commotion, but suddenly his attention was caught by a familiar object. There on the bench where he had left it, was William's tankard. Kenton noticed there was a faint blue glow emanating from the glass bottom of the vessel. 'Hey...a transponding tankard, I've not seen one of these for ages', muttered Kenton, 'I wonder if William would mind me borrowing it for just one quick bevvy.'
So saying, he picked up the tankard and filled it up with cider, plus a good slug of vodka from a bottle that he had confiscated from Jamie.
'Blimey, three litres, 25 percent w/v, range one thousand eight hundred meters, lock on auto, safety catch off ', yelled Ikky.
'Copy that', replied Susan, 'Control we're going in now', she yelled to Nic, 'Ikky, you have control'.
'Ping....... Pong...... Ping...... Pong...... Ping.....' went the transponder.
'Copy that Speed Pig', Nic reply, 'Good hunting.'
'Ping...... Pong..... Ping..... Pong..... Ping....'
'Ah.... that's more like it' muttered Kenton to himself, and stumbled uncertainly towards the Grundy conveniences on the other side of the field.
'Hey, isha pink flying object, looksa bit unidentified to me...' yelled Fat Paul.
'Where's my camera, oh blooming heck, chance of a lifetime and I can't find my camera, where is it?', bemoaned Eddie.
'Turning 270 degrees for final approach, range 1,500 meters, descending to 500 feet.' Ikky was now in full control of the Sopwith Porker. 'EP armed', said Ikky.
'Ping.. Pong.. Ping.. Pong.. Ping..'
Gamely the little pig thundered through the sky.
'Blimey, just look at that, what a sight. It's coming this way.' Eddie could still not find his camera and there was an unease in his voice.
'S'all pink an' unidentiffffied' said Fat Paul.
'Closing 800 meters, target successfully locked on.' Ikky lined up his sights with the transponding tankard for the killer blow. 'Hold her steady', he muttered to himself.
Dib.dob.dib.dob..dib..dob'.
'Ah... here we are, relief at last...' muttered Kenton as he stumbled into the darkened recesses of the Grundy toilet tent.
'Two hundred, one hundred', Ikky squinted through the sights.
'Dib dob dib dob eeeeeeeeeee'...
'Exploding piglet away, you have control', Ikky shouted.
The Sopwith Porker lurched as the weight of its unusual ordinance hurtled in the direction of the toilet tent.
'wee wee wee wee wee boom'.
There was a loud explosion and Kenton Archer hurtled through the roof of the toilet tent, which was a bit rotten, and turned graceful somersaults in the air, still holding the transponding tankard in his fist, finally coming to rest in the branches of a large, conveniently placed, bramley apple tree, where he hung by his britches, moaning quietly to himself.
[That's for Kathy, you rat Kenton.]
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Archers fantasies
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