Sir Monty and the Lock keeper

The mahogany slipper launch Sir Monty cut its way silently through the dark cloudy green waters of the Thames. It was late November and even the ducks and swans appeared muted by the cold. On the boat were four men in pink cravats and Raffaele Loreal blazers, they were holding champagne glasses and appeared to be toasting something, at least that is what it looked like to the lock keeper who was eyeing them suspiciously, watching the boat draw nearer as he sat by the thrashing weir.

He put down the ukulele he had been strumming an old tune about mythical footballers on and walked over to the large metal and iron gates at the entrance to the lock. Gripping the cold metal handle he started to turn the wheel and the gates slowly opened, a few willow branches that had been caught in the towering doors started to float into the lock covered in a slimy white film. Sir Monty started to slow down as he reached the gates, steam and smoke spluttering from his stern. The men red faced with slim cigars in their mouths looked at the long straggled hair of the lock keeper, his Hawaiian shirt and chortled. The man at the wheel with short blonde hair looked up at distrustful face stood above him and shouted “lovely day for it keeper, now be a good chap and run along and let us through, we have an important appointment at Lower Bedlake.” The lock keeper just stared back at the grotesque faces of the boats occupants, picked up the ukulele sat down and started to skilfully pick at the instruments tiny strings. The music drifted across the water to the fields on the far bank, where if anyone had been walking by they would have felt like they had suddenly been transported to the Appalachian Trail. The boats captain tapped his Batik Oblique jewel encrusted timepiece with impatience and irritation. “Did you hear me keeper, we are in a hurry now open up these gates at once.” The lock keeper smiled back mischievously and carried on strumming away. The four men got angrier and angrier, one by one they began to disembark the vessel their faces full of indignation. Just as they started to climb the steps the keeper of the river got up, placed down the ukulele, languidly walked over to the gates at the other end and pushed a green button next to the iron turning wheel. The water level started to rapidly drop; the pink cravated men looked back and saw Sir Monty sinking down further and further below them until they were stood at least 20 feet above the small wooden boat. Panicking they tried to board the vessel, the men one by one leapt back onto the boat, Sir Monty rocking violently from side to side as each one of the weighty frames of the men landed back on its deck. Finally it was the turn of the Sir Monty’s skipper he leapt down but mistiming his jump he landed too far to the port side, the boat rocked again and the lock keeper looked on as the man lost his footing, slipped on the rubber hippopotamus and went tumbling overboard into the icy November waters.

The man thrashed about in the water, like a non-amphibian, the lock keeper tossed a life raft into the water, picked up the ukulele and started to play the refrain of “Peddle boat dream” the thrashing man’s friends hauled their sopping skipper out of the water and back into the boat. The man was shivering and yelling “my hippo my hippo where has it gone” the other men tried to console him “never mind Monty we will get you another old chum” someone started the engine and the boat spluttered to life, the lock keeper kept singing and strumming as the four men hurled expletives back at the guardian of the river gates. He returned the abuse with a mournful song that echoed  its way downstream.