Bucket To Greece Volume 12 by V.D. Bucket

Author:V.D. Bucket [Bucket, V.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HP
Published: 2021-08-09T23:00:00+00:00

“Oh, for goodness sake, Victor. We have to leave for the party any minute and you haven’t even changed yet?” Marigold complained.

“I have my costume on,” I told her.

“What costume? You look exactly as you did every morning when you left for work at the Food Standards Agency.”

“Exactly. I’m going as a public health inspector. I dug out that old hairnet that Doreen wanted to use for the scarecrow. It’s in my pocket; when I put it on it will complete the authentic image.”

Although I had briefly toyed with the idea of turning up as the swashbuckling Errol Flynn, I had knocked the idea on the head.

“But I thought we were going as matching Romans.” Disappointment dripped from Marigold’s voice.

“I refuse to make a fool of myself by going out in a bit of old sheet that Doreen has rigged up as a toga.”

The sight of Marigold and Doreen bedecked in their costumes made me immensely relieved that I had stuck to my guns. When Doreen had said that she’d knocked up some togas out of old sheets, I had presumed they would be fashioned out of white cotton rather than floral pink brushed nylon. The chosen fabric was not only sweat inducing but liable to turn one’s hair frizzy from too much static.

I couldn’t help but raise a disapproving eyebrow at the skimpiness of Marigold’s fancy dress costume. Although my wife undoubtedly has the legs to carry it off, I considered the hemline more than a tad short. Abruptly finishing mid-thigh, it appeared as though Doreen simply ran out of bed linen half way through the job. Even though I would never presume to tell my wife what to wear, I considered the costume not only age inappropriate but a tad risqué.

I worried that Marigold was likely to get a chill in her nether regions when we turned out for the epitaphios procession later. Even more to the point, the sight of her shapely legs was likely to inflame the passion of the oily Christos. I doubted my Greek would-be rival would be suitably distracted by Doreen’s presence. Overshadowed by my wife’s elegance, Doreen managed to look like a pudgy dumpling beside her. Whilst Marigold would still look good if she turned out in a bin bag, Doreen’s wobbly thighs could most definitely have benefited by being covered up by another yard or two of old sheets. Neither woman was exactly what I’d describe as a vision in brushed nylon.

“Are we waiting for my mother?” I asked Marigold.

“No need, she said she’d see us there. Panos is going to accompany her.”

Although I was being dragged along to the party against my will and was certainly in no mood at all to make small talk with a bunch of expats in Milton’s cat infested home, there was one bright spot on the horizon: I was sure to be amused by the Hancocks reaction when Violet Burke turned up with her welly wearing suitor in tow. This would be the first

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