Chapter 8

‘Up the Lady Mayoress!’

“He’s a wanker!” exclaimed Fern Starkapple.

Her husband, Adam, smiled and took a deep breath before enquiring, “Which one?”

“That Market Inspector.”

“And what has he done to upset you this time?”

“Well, him and that bloody Market Subcommittee have, actually. It’s 1972, not the Dark Ages.”

Fern Starkapple’s great-grandmother, Granny Woodbine, was the last of the Dorset Wisewomen. In the days before the National Health Service, village Wisewomen would treat country folk for various minor ailments. In the darkest past they were often accused of witchcraft but by the twentieth century they were simply looked on as a harmless oddity.

When renovating her late great-grandmother’s ancient cottage, Fern and Adam had discovered four flagons of ‘Granny Woodbine’s Elixir for Treating a Limp Pizzle’.

Somehow age and the warmth from the chimney breast, it was hidden behind, had fermented it into something much more potent; a foul-tasting liquid that bestowed incredible sexual effects. Even in its diluted form, it aroused both men and women for several hours at a time.

A fortuitous meeting between Mr and Mrs Starkapple and Arthur Kemp had led not only to Fern being used by both men (and a random neighbour) for most of two days but also to a very lucrative business deal. Fortunes are made from such simple twists of fate.

This allowed the couple to indulge in a pagan hippie lifestyle in which they travelled from market to market giving tarot readings and selling crystals. They would also share the benefits of Granny Woodbine’s Elixir with a few like-minded people.

“So, what have the sub-thingy done to upset you?” asked her husband, amused at his normally placid wife’s outburst.

Fern Starkapple was a woman in her early fifties, a tiny bit broader in the backside these days, but still handsome. About her hung an air of Bohemian devil-may-care. In recent years her long dark locks had developed a grey streak in her widow’s peak.

“It’s ridiculous, we don’t sell Granny’s elixir to just anyone but they have heard that we are dealing some sort of drugs.”

“Bummer!” retorted Adam, “Who’s in this junta?”

“Well, there’s the Mayor and his wife...”

“What, that stuck-up cow?”

“Let me finish ... plus the Market Inspector, and the guy that runs the fruit and veg stall, he’s supposed to represent the stall holders but he just looks out for himself,” said Fern.

Adam shrugged, “We don’t need to come to this town. There are plenty of other markets in the area. Besides, the Bishop said that we are welcome at his place anytime.”

“That’s not the point.”

Adam adjusted his loose ponytail before saying, “Yeh, but what can yer do about it?”

“Simple, I have given him four vials of Granny Woodbine’s Elixir for the committee to try at the beginning of their meeting. I reassured him that they are just a herbal remedy and not drugs.”

Adam laughed so much that he spilt his herbal tea all over his kaftan. “Brilliant!” he exclaimed, “I’d love to see that snobby woman getting shafted by those three.”