Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions. Timothy Lea

girls, thanks a lot. That was a very nice gesture. Now, what can I do for you?’

      A diabolically stupid question you may well say, but I am a great one for observing the niceties. A tidal wave of female flesh bears me back on to the bed which promptly collapses under the strain. I don’t know what these birds have been drinking but it sure beats the hell out of diluted yogurt. None of them are slow starters but this jungle bunny Carmen climbs over me like I am a commando training course closely followed by the other two in flying T formation. I am fighting for sexual survival as I try to work out what I should be doing to which. In the end I give up and have a stab at anything that is moving. And, dear readers, there is a lot moving. Luckily my experiences with Nat and Nan have taught me the basic rudiments–and I do mean rudeiments! If there was going to be an action replay you would need about fourteen cameras to capture all the detail. And the noise. Oh, my God, the noise! That must be what attracts Miss Primstone. I get my head up just in time to see her turning into a great black prune in the doorway.

      ‘Urgh!’ she says. ‘Urgh!’ The noise is rather like a dog growling through a bone it is worrying. ‘I am going to report this disgusting behaviour to the management.’

      She is just like the two old bags on the train because she shows no sign of going away but stands there drinking in the monstrous depravity and loving every moment.

      ‘I’m going to get on top of him now,’ says Carmen. ‘Do you want to watch that?’

      Only then does the door close and Carmen makes good her threat–or promise, depending on which way you look at it. It is all good, clean, healthy fun in the modern tradition but I don’t think that Miss Primstone has nipped off to tell her diary about it. As Carmen gently rises and falls across my hips I can imagine the tales that are now being borne along the corridors of power. Reinforcements will soon be on their way.

      ‘Girls, girls!’ I bleat pathetically. ‘Don’t you think we’d better stop? We’ll all get the sack.’

      ‘I’d like to see them try. We can do what we like in our spare time.’

      ‘ “Spare” is right,’ I wheeze. ‘Now, get off me before something terrible happens.’

      But it is like King Canute telling the waves to put a sock in it. The girls come at me as if they are trying to find pieces to keep as souvenirs. I struggle gamely, of course, but ten hours in the Cromby kitchen takes a lot out of you. It is becoming more like careless rupture than rapture.

      Just when I can take no more, and give even less, the door flies open, and there, wearing curlers and a nightdress that looks like a dust sheet borrowed from a grand piano, is Miss Ruperts. She is carrying a shooting stick and this she promptly applies to June’s shapely rear portions.

      ‘Out, hussies! Out!’ she barks. ‘Disgusting little animals. Back to your lair, Jezebel.’ With that remark, Carmen cops a sharp prod on the sit-me-down. Miss Ruperts is obviously a very rustic lady and she lashes out with her shooting stick like she is making hay with it. In no time at all the birds have grabbed their nighties and scuttled out into the corridor and I am left to bear the full brunt of Miss Ruperts’ wrath.

      ‘And what have you got to say for yourself, you mongrel?’ she scolds. The shooting stick is hovering dangerously near my Action Man Kit and for a moment I have a nasty feeling that Miss R. may be contemplating doing a park keeper with it.

      ‘I didn’t invite them,’ I whine. ‘I was trying to sleep.’

      ‘You’re Mr Noggett’s protégé, aren’t you?’ she says suddenly, peering down at me. ‘I wonder what he’ll have to say about this.’

      ‘I don’t know. I should think–’

      ‘Put your pyjamas on and we will find out.’

      ‘What! Hey, wait a minute. We don’t want to disturb him now, surely. The whole thing was a joke that got out of hand. We weren’t really doing anything.’

      ‘Come,’ Miss R. waves her shooting stick as if she means business.

      ‘But–’

      ‘Get up! Don’t try and hide your pathetic body. I’ve mated horses.’

      There seems to be nothing for it but to do as she says. So I pull on my pyjama bottoms and give her my pleading look. It does no good.

      ‘Come on. We will go and see Mr Noggett.’

      Sidney is not going to like this, I think to myself as I am marched down the corridor sandwiched between Miss Ruperts and Miss Primstone. Now he has become Conrad Hilton he has rediscovered many of the little ways that made him such a prize tit when he was with Funfrall.

      Knock, knock! Miss R. turns the handle before the sound has died away and I stumble into Sidney’s suite. Very nice, very nice indeed. Large settees, candelabra, a tray of drinks–Sandra is looking nice, too. She pops up from the sofa as the door flies open. Too bad she appears to be naked. Sidney, too, as we see when his red face and ruffled hair appear a couple of seconds later.

      ‘Sorry to trouble you, Sid,’ I say evenly. ‘But Miss Ruperts wants a word with you.’

      ‘Oh.’

      I say ‘oh’ because I turn round to find that Miss Ruperts and Miss Primstone are leaving the room like it might start sinking at any moment. I guess that is the end of them for the evening.

      ‘Carry on, Sid,’ I say. ‘I expect she’ll take it up with you in the morning.’

      I leave the room quickly, before he can throw anything at me.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Sidney is very upset the next morning, when he calls me into his office, and it takes a long time before I can make him believe that coming round to his room was not my idea.

      ‘She said I was your protégé,’ I tell him.

      ‘Dirty old faggot. She should mind what she says,’ explodes Sid. ‘You can end up in court saying things like that. I’ve never fancied a fellow in my life.’

      ‘She probably realised that when she saw you with Sandra,’ I comfort him.

      ‘Yeah. What were you up to, then?’

      I tell him about June, Audrey and Carmen and I can see his face cloud over immediately. Sort of a green cloud, it is.

      ‘You want to watch out,’ he says finally. ‘Two last night. Three tonight. Where’s it all going to end? How long before you’re dragging your mattress down to the telly lounge?’

      ‘Give over, Sid. Most of them are old enough to be my grandmother. And what about you, anyway?’

      ‘I’m cutting back. Only one last night. Anyway, it’s different in my case. In my position it’s practically staff relations.’

      ‘Any truth in the rumour that you’ve got Miss Ruperts lined up for tonight?’

      Sid shudders. ‘Do me a favour, I’ve never fancied myself in jodhpurs. Still, I’d better do something to sweeten her up, hadn’t I?’

      ‘Why bother? Give her, the riding boot, Sid.’

      ‘No, I can’t do that. I still think she could be useful.’

      ‘You’re barmy, Sid.’

      ‘Watch it, Timothy–’

      Whenever he calls me Timothy, I know he is rattled.

      ‘–remember who’s in charge. About time you were down in the kitchen, isn’t it?’

      ‘How much longer do I have to stay there, Sid? The heat is sapping my strength.’

      ‘Not enough, by all accounts. You give it another two days, and we’ll see if you’re nearly ready for waiter