Prologue: Spud Carrot Begins the First Book In the Adventures of Spud Carrot Series

By Nigel Clements

Traumatised in 1973, Samuel ‘Spud Carrot’ Collins
unwittingly finds himself wrenched from the sanctity
of his innocent existence and propelled head first into
the ‘Real World.’
A world replete with budding ‘Evil Empires’ and
disgruntled Botanists. ‘Top Secret’ Submarines and
Lecherous German Newsagents. Classic songs from
the early seventies and of course… ‘Vol-eu-Vents.’

Assisted, hampered and assailed by the most motley
collection of supporting characters ever assembled,
Spud must traverse the back streets and recreation
grounds of ‘Bletchley’ as he attempts to discover the
reason for his Fathers untimely and mysterious demise.

For each secret revealed a dozen more questions are
posed in this the gripping first instalment of
‘The Adventures of Spud Carrot.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291922264

Book preview

Prologue: Spud Carrot Begins the First Book In the Adventures of Spud Carrot Series

Prologue:

Spud Carrot

Begins

the First Book in the Adventures of Spud Carrot Series

By Nigel Clements

Published by Nigel Clements

2014

Copyright © 2014 by Nigel Clements

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: June 2014 (eBook Version)

ISBN 9781291922264

Nigel Clements

Rollerstraße 5

Neunkirchen, (Saar) 66538 www.lulu.com/spotlight/ndotclementsatskydotcom

Authors Foreword & Disclaimer.

Welcome to the my World, a World that dwells inside the mind of a manic depressive, and let me invite you to journey with me through a literal landscape full to the brim with a seemingly endless stream of wonderful and colourful characters.

The vast interwoven plotlines will become ever more puzzling as you journey through this series of novels, for as each answer unfolds, then several more will most certainly take its place, and as you continue to travel though this magical landscape always try to remember, that in this World anything can happen, but of course, as in our real lives, everything happens for a reason.

Originally conceived in 1973 when I was just 12 years old, this is a complete re-write of the continuing adventures of the world’s most ineffective and inept detective ‘Spud Carrot!’

Equipped as I am with a fragile grasp of the complexities of the ‘English Grammar Rules, I make no apologies for my literal skills, or lack thereof, but allow for a fluid and more ‘Natural’ narrative flow. I ask you only to open your mind, read the book and let yourself drift into what could possibly be one of the most enjoyable reading experiences of your lifetime.

Now over fifty years old and still battling against depression, everyday modern life and a complex series of failed romantic interludes, I have finally rejected the drab and dreary routines that have for so long haunted me, and at long last given myself over to the written expression of my over-active imagination.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Smile! It’s supposed to be fun.

‘Nigel Clements.’

1: The Introduction Letter.

Samuel ‘Spud Carrot’ Collins nervously transferred the fifth heaped teaspoonful of ‘Tate & Lyle’s Finest Granulated Sugar’ from the confines of his antique 1930’s blue and white horizontal striped sugar bowl into the steaming mug of coffee, which was clutched with such ferocity in his right hand that his knuckles bore the resemblance of over-polished ivory ‘Cameo Rings’, before commencing a prolonged series of absent-minded and counter-clockwise stirring motions, which shifted the thick dark brown liquid into an agitated euphoria.

Sigh!

He sighed deeply to himself as he gazed with trepidation at the envelope that bore the tell-tale heraldic crest of ‘Nobbs, Nobbes and Knobs Family Solicitors since 1823’, which lay mockingly on the gingham tablecloth before him.

Raising the still steaming mug towards his faintly trembling lips, he cast his mind  back to the reading of his Father’s last will and testament, which had taken place in the sumptuously austere offices of the aforementioned legal firm some three weeks previous and just a mere six days after his Father’s untimely and mysterious passing.

Hmmm! What was it that nice Mr. Nobbs had said? Something about being entrusted with finding me a job within one month of Dad’s demise, or I could kiss goodbye to any prospect of claiming my inheritance. Whatever that meant! And now this blasted letter thing comes flip-flopping its way through my letter-box, what can it all mean? There must be some unseen reason that connects this baffling series of events. He mumbled quizzically to himself whilst the steaming beverage came into contact with his delicately quivering lips.

Ptooh! Ouch! Hot hot hot! Jumping Jesus on a pogo-stick that bloody coffee’s hot. He squealed throwing both his hands instantaneously up to his burnt tongue and caffeine singed moustache.

Crash!

The mug crashed down onto the table instantly shattering into a thousand pieces and delivering its liquid caffeine parcel directly over the envelope, swamping it with its gloopy over-sweetened goodness and rapidly reducing it to an obscure sodden mess.

Bugger shit bugger! Spud yelped whilst staring in horror at the pulverized remains of his favourite ‘Dennis the Menace’ hot beverage drinking vessel and the rapidly disintegrating squelchy missive.

Grasping the now saturated envelope gingerly and sticking it directly underneath his left armpit, before pulling it rapidly forward in an attempt to dry this potentially important letter-type clue, Spud managed not only to eradicate most of the envelopes address typeface, but also managed to ruin his shirt by inflicting it with the myriad minute shards of lethal broken crockery and a brown coffee induced stain that faintly resembled a map of the ‘Belgian Congo.’

Damn it, ouch! Bugger! Elicited Spud beginning to leap from one foot to the other as tiny flecks of blood began to pinpoint the burgeoning cities and townships of ‘Leopoldville’, ‘Bukama’, ‘Kindu’ and what was possibly ‘Port-Francqui.’

Descending rapidly into a state of four things to do at once panic, Spud’s head swivelled frantically from side to side casting his eyes towards any potential apparatus that could at least solve one of these conceivably life-threatening problems, before his gaze fell upon the bright yellow ‘Moulinex Deluxe 4-slice Toaster’, which sat beguilingly on the edge of the kitchen worktop nestled between the unfathomable Microwave machine that his Mother had purchased for him three Christmases since, with the assurance that it would make his cooking endeavours a whole lot easier, and the teetering tower-like accumulation of exploded baked bean tins, which spilled over the counter and covered half of the floor area in front of the back door.

Brilliant as always, I just don’t know where I get these notions of superior intellect. Spud thought, as he gleefully thrust the envelope into the toaster and smacked down the toasting lever with a self-satisfied firmness.

Smack!

Couple of minutes should do it I think Spud you old genius. He said to himself watching expectantly for the tell-tale plumes of evaporating coffee, whilst enjoying the elegant aroma of mildly roasted coffee beans.

Drrrrring! Drrrrring!

The telephone in the hallway emitted its familiar and irritating cry for attention and Spud strode into the floral motif decorated hallway, before approaching this wretched ringing device with more than a fair degree of caution.

Spud hated the telephone, not for any other reason than the fact that he just didn’t understand it, from the overly complex array of numbered buttons to the, which way round is the right way round receiver attachment. Coupled with these imponderables came the equally confusing not knowing whose voice was going to speak from the other side of the so-called connection. He’d tried reading books on the subject, but still just couldn’t fathom how the whole damned contraption functioned.

Drrrrring! Drrrrring! The telephone continued with nerve-splitting regularity.

Armed with the knowledge that there was only one way to cease this mysterious caller’s assault on his auditory apparatus, Spud summoned up hitherto unknown vestiges of courage and picked up the receiver.

Drrrr… Click!

Holding the receiver in front of him with both hands cradled around its shiny black surface and staring down into the two seemingly identical ends of this overly confusing communication device Spud thought quizzically to himself, Hmm! Now which one is the ear-piece and which one is the mouth-piece and why can I hear a distant mumbling noise?

Mumble mumble, mutter mumble! The indistinguishable and possibly alien sounding noise emanated from at least one end of the telephones ebony bone-like structure.

What do you want with me? You maddening creature you. Wailed Spud as the first sign of tears crept tentatively from the corners of his miniscule eyes.

Mumble mutter, put the bloody EAR-PIECE TO YOUR EAR!  The instructive reply came with increasing volume.

Spud automatically did as he was instructed, although it was mere chance that he managed to select the correct end, and placing it gently to the side of his head, so as not to damage the delicate instruments surface and not inflict any lasting injury to his earlobe, Spud whispered nervously, Hello! Is there anybody there?

Bloody hell Spud, how many times do I have to teach you how to use the goddam telephone? It’s me Cedric!

Cedric? Cedric who? Spud stammered enquiringly.

God sake man, how many Cedric’s do you know? The irritated-tinged voice replied.

Is this a trick question? Wait a moment please; let me fetch a pen and paper. Spud answered knotting his brow as he tried to remember several things at once.

Spud, No! Don’t go! Don’t fetch a pen and paper, just listen! The voice pleaded.

Umm, how many things must I don’t do and how many things must I do do? Questioned Spud as his feeble grasp on reality began to lose its tentative grip, before he added with a growing hint of panic. Who are you? What do you want with me?"

Please Spud just listen, it’s me Cedric your best friend, well actually your only friend, remember? We went to school together; we’ve known each other for over 25 years. The voice stated with strained and enforced regularity that was obviously intended as a calming tone.

Cedric? Do you mean Cedric that wears the ‘Halloween Ghost’ costume all the time? Enquired Spud as a queue of imaginary pennies seemingly lined up for the drop into his consciousness.

Yes! It’s me Cedric and once again it’s not a ghost costume or a karate costume or any kind of costume; I don’t know how many times I’ve explained all that to you. Replied Cedric wearily.

Spud paused for a moment as he digested this new information before stating. Well if you can’t remember how many times you’ve explained something, then how do you know you’ve explained it at all? he said and beamed inwardly to himself as visions of vanquished foes lay at the feet of his rapier wit.

Oh for goodness sake, it isn’t a karate costume; it’s my official robes of office. I am a Grand-Master in the North Buckinghamshire Order of C. R. E. A. K., but you already know all of this Spud, I’ve told you dozens of times. Cedric divulged exasperatingly.

I thought you said you couldn’t remember how many times you’d told me? Please Cedric, try to get a grip, you’re not making much sense you know. Spud said.

There was a pause from the other end of the line and Spud thought he could hear a strange mixture of sobs and sighs, before he broke the silence with the one question that was burning his already burnt lips.

C. R. E. A. K. What does that spell? He enquired.

Creak! It spells Creak for frick’s sake. Cedric yelled.

There was a second pause as Spud finally managed to mentally join the dots on a two-dot puzzle.

Oh! Cedric the Creak! Hello mate, so nice to hear from you, what’s up? he said with a cheerful tone of recognition.

Sigh! Cedric sighed audibly.

Hello Spud, I’m just calling to remind you that I’ll be round in ten minutes to escort you to … Then he paused before adding. To the place where you have to go to today, do you have your introduction letter? Did it arrive this morning?

Letter? Spud thought.

Letter? Spud enquired.

LETTER! Spud yelped as plumes of thick black smoke began billowing into the hallway from the direction of the kitchen.

Instantly detecting that something was possibly amiss, Spud left the disembodied voice of Cedric hanging by relinquishing his grasp on the telephones receiver, thus allowing it to perform a death-defying sequence of swinging to and fro type maneuverers, whilst constantly ‘sproinging’ upon its curled cord and strode manfully back to the kitchen.

Sproing!

Stride!

Hello Spud? Are you still there? Is something wrong? The concerned voice of Cedric uttered as it swung acrobatically beneath the hallway telephone table that still bore the £3.99 price ticket from B&Q.

Upon entering the kitchen Spud became aware of several minor alterations to the scene with which he was familiar; firstly the dense black smoke was a definitely new feature, although Spud wasn’t too sure that he’d prefer it to be permanent, secondly the Toaster had that recognisable ‘Your Bread is Toasted to perfection’ aura, which normally conjured up images of melted butter, blackcurrant jam and a nice hot cup of tea, but thirdly and most importantly was the smell of burning paper and the faint flicker of flames emanating from the Toasters interior.

Hmm! Spud thought curiously before remarking to himself, What did I come in here for?

Wandering over to inspect the Toaster, Spud stared into its soot covered inner workings and said, Some silly sod’s left all the packing paper in here and now it’s burning, which just won’t do!

Filling a small glass with water from the kitchen sink tap, Spud proceeded to then pour the contents into the Toaster so as to extinguish the flames.

Gurgle!

Spark!

BOOM!

Hmm, it’s never done that before. Spud thought absent-mindedly pulling stray pieces of partially melted yellow plastic from his mass of black curly hair.

Turning the remains of the toaster upside down and banging it hard on its shiny chrome bottom, thus allowing all the congealed, moistened and blackened debris to issue itself onto the kitchen worktop, Spud then proceeded to examine the evidence in an attempt to discover the nature of his beloved toasters sudden and apparent self-inflicted demise.

Sifting through the remnants of attempted pork pie toasting experiments, the occasional Mars wrapper, two King George V Jubilee Crowns and a rather large amount of dark grey sludge, Spud discovered what appeared to be the partially burnt, mostly destroyed remnants of an official looking letter.

Aha! I’ve found that letter that Cedric said he was looking for, I’d better let him know, I’m sure he’ll be pleased. Spud cried with ecstatic glee as he rushed once more into the hallway to recommence the conversation he suddenly remembered he’d been having with his dearest friend.

Grabbing the dangling receiver and once more placing it tentatively to the side of his head Spud said in a babbling and excited tone, Hello Cedric, you’ll never guess what, I’ve found that letter you were looking for, some silly bugger must have hid it in my toaster for safe keeping, it’s a little bit burnt I’m afraid and just a teensy bit torn, and it also looks like it’s been dunked in some strange liquid concoction, but I’m pretty sure that you could still read it if you were a Magician… Wouldn’t it be great to be a Magician? I love Magicians, especially that nice David Nixen and his Magic Box, although Ali Bongo is quite good also, but I just don’t know why he wears those funny clothes, do you really think his feet are all curly at the end?

Knock, knock!

Damn and blast! There’s someone at the door Cedric, I’ll see what they want and try to get rid of them, It’s probably just some juvenile delinquent collecting for ‘Bob-a-Job’, or ‘Penny for the Guy’, or maybe it’s that funny old Gypsy woman again, trying to sell me some small pieces of a broken person called ‘Heather’, although I fail to see what’s so lucky about that!

Knock, knock!

Dropping the receiver once more Spud sighed and ambled towards the front door.

Sigh!

Knock, knock! Knock!

Passing the full-length hallway mirror hanging majestically within its ancient and intricately carved walnut frame, which although rather ingeniously doubled as a coat rack, was currently devoid of any coats, Spud paused momentarily to study his reflection.

Knock, knock! Knock!

The majestic creature that stared back at him had a wonderful head of thick curly black hair, which seemed to be almost completely attached to the top of his head without ever threatening the vicinity of the two sticky out ears that protruded like Wing-nuts from either side of his head. Two heavily bushy black eyebrows that served as both protection and adornments to his small piercing brown eyes, which even when opened to their fullest, were still smaller than average. The thin slightly hawk-like nose that straddled the middle of his face had a certain regal quality and vaguely resembled an inverted Ski-slope. His thin, pursed and barely visible lips were almost perfectly camouflaged by the enormous drooping moustache, which was conveniently situated just below the tip of his nose and seemed to constantly quiver like a huge hairy caterpillar that had recently become aware of some fat starlings hungry inquisitiveness. His chin was pointed and when viewed from a certain angle seemed to have unlimited length as it visibly melted into his overly long and broad neck.

Knock, knock! Knock, knock!

Alright, alright I’m coming, keep your hair on. Spud called as his imagination then proceeded to conjure up visions of a bald man gently nailing his toupee into the thick green enamel painted woodwork of his front door.

Standing before the door Spud took a moment to study the complicated series of locking and unlocking mechanisms that had been fitted over the years to prevent unwanted intruders.

Hmm! He thought as his hands began fumbling with chains, padlocks, bolts and an unnecessarily vast array of trip-wires.

Knock, knock! Knock, knock!

Holding in his right hand one particularly large padlock that was connected to a numbered keypad via a complex series of multi-coloured wires, Spud furrowed his brow as he tried desperately to remember if there was a particular knack to unfastening this unwieldy looking locking apparatus, before a sudden flicker of intelligent thought ran carelessly though the thick grass fields of his consciousness reciting with casual abandon the following baffling rhythmic clue…

Try the keypad, or find the key, enter the combination and you’ll be free!

Studying the overly complicated numbered keypad for several minutes, Spud tried to work out the possible number of permutations required to release the padlocks steadfast grip on the front door, as the steady drone of increasingly loud and constant knocking assailed its exterior surface.

Knock, knock! KNOCK, KNOCK! KNOCK, KNOCK!

Just a minute please. Spud called as he punched in the most obvious code.

Four, four, four, four, four seven, seven, three, six, nine, seven, eight, eight, eight, eight, eight.

The little red numbers that displayed themselves across the L.E.D panel followed the input sequence before proudly illuminating the following message…

‘INPUT CODE INCORRECT… TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING’

Hmm! Maybe it’s not that obvious. Spud thought as he tried again.

Four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, four, two.

‘INPUT CODE INCORRECT… ONE ATTEMPT REMAINING’

KNOCK, KNOCK! KNOCK, KNOCK! KNOCK, KICK! KICK, THUMP!

Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it. Spud called out helpfully to the obviously impatient front door assailant.

Jabbing his index finger in a series of rapid thrusting motions, he proceeded to attempt every possible combination in the fastest time possible.

His fingers blurred with rapid digit pressing alacrity, as the torrent of blows that rained down upon his front door threatened to both decimate its paintwork and his rapidly disintegrating nerves. Then suddenly the little red L.E.D display unit produced a series of unfathomable confused messages until finally and amidst a strange electrical burning smell, a waft of smoke and a series of pops, fizzes and sparks, produced the ever-scrolling and informative message…

Pop, Pop, Fzzzt!

‘INPUT CODE INCORRECT… DOOR SECURE… TIMER SET TO 17-12-2476’

Hmm, that can’t be right, I think I’d better try and find the key. Spud mused to himself as after one final and defiantly loud thumping noise the rain of blows that had assaulted his front door fell ominously silent.

THUMP!

Picking up the telephone receiver once more Spud said, Sorry to keep you waiting Cedric, I just need to nip upstairs to try and find the key to the front door, I won’t be long.

Leaving the receiver to swing gracefully once more, Spud began to ascend the hallway stairs, but before he’d gone only a few steps he heard a rather disconcerting kafuffle coming from the kitchen.

Creak, crash, roll, crash, thud!

Hello? Bollocks, whoah! Ouch! What silly bugger left all these bean tins all over the floor?

Burglars! Spud whispered softly to himself.

Creeping back down