The Adventures of Luton and The French One.

martin maltas

martin maltas

0
Staff member
I thought it would be quite amusing to write a story about the adventures of Luton and ‘The French One’. I’ll set the background, then you can add a new page/sentence of your own.


It was a nice warm sunny afternoon at Commerland, all the vans were chilling out enjoying the sun. All of a sudden Detector perked up “I’m getting a signal[:0] A message is coming thru’, there’s a fair French Maid-stone needing rescue. Apparently she is a very pretty left hooker, from Paris. She gave up the bright lights to retire to a wood in the French Alps, but now needs rescuing”
This woke all the vans up, Lucy and Daisy (the twins) said “We must rescue her, who’s going to volunteer”
Dodge, the young fire engine said “I can get there quick, I’ll put my blue lights on”
“Don’t be silly Dodge, all that extra weight you’re carrying will sink the ferry” said Detector.
“I’ll go” said Luton, “They will think I’m off to fill up with duty free”
So it was decided, Luton set off with Ifor in tow, to rescue the fair Maidstone. After a day and a half of travelling, they finally reached their destination.
'The French one' had already enlisted the help of her Deere friend, John the Tractor, to pull her out of the wood.
Luton was amazed with Frenchie, she had a fantastic body, for a 50 year old Left Hooker[:0] So Euros were promptly exchanged with her Pimp owner and she was loaded onto Ifor, for the journey back :)



http://www.commervanspares.co.uk/

http://www.yorkshireclassiccampers.co.uk/
 
Frenchie was smiling demurely, Luton was trying to look cool and handsome in front of this continental delight, John was sweating after his exertions and Ifor couldn't believe his luck to have such a magnificent chassis laying on top of his.
No one noticed the shadowy figure crouching in the undergrowth at the edge of the wood. "Damn damn damn" he muttered as he pulled his woolly hat further down against the chill of the evening. "My plans are thwarted, I want that left hooker and by Holbay I will have her"
Meanwhile the little Commervoy had said goodbye to their new friends and was wobbling along the rutted farm track heading to the main road - again no one noticed the woolly-hatted figure as he crept away and slid into the drivers seat of his battered Berlingo.
"You will be mine - oh yes you will be mine" he hissed as he disappeared into the dust trail left by Luton and Frenchie.

bth_IMAG0017.jpg

Summer's Coming
 
On the way back Luton decided to treat Frenchie to a diversion through Germany. They were headed for the border when they saw some strange things coming towards them very very slowly. Their faces had a sort of sneer to them and on their noses was the tattoo of the Very Weak. "Oh no!" exclaimed Luton. "C'est quoi?" said Frenchie. "DARKSIDERS!!!" He shouted and immediately spun round in the street whipping poor Ifor and Frenchie round. Dust and dirt filled the road as they sped off towards the ferry port. "Don't worry Frenchie" saud Luton, they may be but ugly and scarey looking but they're so damned slow, they'll never catch us". Frenchie was relieved and settled down for a nap, she was so tired.

Behind the wheel of the Darksider woolly hat man was angry, very angry. He reached for the button marked "NOZ", said a prayer to the Great Darksider in the sky and pushed..................

BazRockscropped.jpg

I am not a person, I am a number, 395 actually......Be seeing you!
If I told you I was a pathological liar, would you believe me?
 
There was a big spit and a F**t and the darksider left it's guts on the road behind him :D Woolly hat man was not impressed, as Luton and Frenchie dissapeared back accross the border [^]

http://www.commervanspares.co.uk/

http://www.yorkshireclassiccampers.co.uk/
 
"So Mnsr Lootonne" purred Frenchie, "Tell me all about zis Maltese Martin to 'oo you iz taking me".
"Well Frenchie" said Luton, "It's like this ......"

BazRockscropped.jpg

I am not a person, I am a number, 395 actually......Be seeing you!
If I told you I was a pathological liar, would you believe me?
 
From the cloud of dust and smoke a blackened figure emerged still grasping the mangled remains of the cheap german steering wheel. His woolly hat smouldering, his eyes wide with anger, his teeth gritted with rage. "Damn damn damn", or words to that effect, spat from his twisted lips "I'll get you my little french tart, I'll get you for sure" A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth and spread forming a crazed sneer that twisted and contorted his lips like two writhing snakes "and what will I do when I have you my pretty one, will I cherish and pollish you? NO - I will break you, rip out your heart and put it on eBay for 99p starting price - then I will wrench out what defines you - your lefty hooker bits - I've got my own special plans for them[}:)] Mwuhaha Mwuhaha Mwuhaha Mwuhahahahahaaaaa.

bth_IMAG0017.jpg

Summer's Coming
 
After a while of dusty French motorway, it was time to pull in to an Aire de Service, for a fill up and cool down.
Frenchie attracted much attention and was asked many times "What are you". "I'm a beautiful Commer Maidstone, born in England, designed and built by British engineers". This caused much consternation, how could the British build something with such passion and flair for design.
Luton came back from paying for the fuel, to find Frenchie blushing. "what's wrong" he asked.
"Oh Luton, you wouldn't believe how forward these French men are, they have been admiring my beautiful bodywork and looking under my skirts [:0]" she replied.
"Oh dear Frenchie, perhaps it's time we moved on. I saw a sign in the shop for a classic day at Le-Mans and the Commer L'Ecosse is making an appearence, shall we go [?]" asked Luton.
"Oh that would be nice, I haven't been to LeMans since I was a young Maidstone" replied Frenchie.
So they set off south, in search of more refined classic enthusiasts.
Unknow to them, all the time they were in the Aire de Service, they were being watched. A very tatty Citroen H van had been keeping an eye on them. The strange thing was, even though it was a warm sunny day, the driver wore a woolly hat [:0]

http://www.commervanspares.co.uk/

http://www.yorkshireclassiccampers.co.uk/
 
The sneer on Woolly Hat's face created deep lines across his forehead, just like the ones one the sides of his H van. But really it was not his H van, it's real owner was bound and gagged wearing nothing but his underwear and beret. The gag was an onion held in place by his handkerchief. Luckily for Pierre (for that was his name) the onion kept his sinuses clear and he was able to breathe in the cramped confines of the Berlingo. "Well," thought Pierre, "eef I am to die, at leest it will be in a Citroen! Vive la France!"

Woolly Hat had stolen Pierre's blue trousers and stripey top but he had baulked at shedding his woolly hat for the beret. That hat had been with him since childhood. A childhood that now seemed so long ago. Momentarily he was back at school, starched shirt, school tie, brown sandals and knee-length shorts. The sounds of the playground, the smell of Cook's tapioca, covert wisps of smoke from behind the bike sheds. Sir flexing the cane before bringing it down with a short sharp "THWACK!" on his outstretched palm.

"You're useless Boy! You will never grasp the French language, or anything else French for that matter. Get out of my sight!"

"Well, Sir" he sneered, back in the present, "Very soon I shall get my hands on the most beautiful Frenchie. Then you'll see. Then I'll show you!"

BazRockscropped.jpg

I am not a person, I am a number, 395 actually......Be seeing you!
If I told you I was a pathological liar, would you believe me?
 
Hmmmmm..... I think the woolly hatted one will be consulting his lawyers on Monday!

But one day, I am sure Frenchie will be his.....

:)
 
Meanwhile, in a cold windswept part of the county of Yorkshire in that part of England known as Oooop North, a small unseemly group was meeting and plotting ill deeds. There was the hirsute Pankster the Gangster, the electrifying Big Bad Bernie (what he couldn't do with a double A wasn't worth knowing) and the banjo playing Potty Scotty. This terrifying Trio had heard of Frenchie's impending arrival at the home of Maltese Martin and they had their own plans for her..........

BazRockscropped.jpg

I am not a person, I am a number, 395 actually......Be seeing you!
If I told you I was a pathological liar, would you believe me?
 
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