Watson and the Pills

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I am sorry to say that the village shop currently have a promotion on litre bottles of port, how do I know? Simple - I drank one last night! Now over the years I have suffered from a few hangovers and have now come to the opinion that port must be bottled especially by the Tavistock Badger for the express purpose of inflicting as much suffering as possible. I have also come to the conclusion that the only relief from such an affliction comes in the form of either Asprin, milk or whatever is left in the previous night's bottle. Therefore it was with great alarm that I opened the bathroom cabinet to find the Aspirin packet empty, this left no option but to go to plan 'B' - milk. As I walked into the kitchen I saw the last remnants of the milk bottle being poured into the dog's drinking bowl, why, just because, 'he looked thirsty'. I made a desperate dive for the bowl but the dog must have seen me coming and furiously lapped up the remaining milk. Then having drained the bowl, stood there slowly licking his chops with a sickening smirk on his face. 'You wouldn't have really drunk the dogs milk, would you?', the wife asked in amazement. The dog scowled and paddled back to his bowl over which he stood protectively snarling and gnashing his teeth, I think he was only too well aware of the answer. The situation was becoming dire and so it was time to resort to plan 'C' the remnants of last night's bottle which the continuous drum roll in my head forewarned would be empty. Only one thing to do, go down to the village shop.

Vowing never to be caught short again I decided to reload plans A, B and C, oddly enough the first plan to be replenished was plan C which meant it was vital to have plans A and B in place for tomorrow morning. Having put 25 litres of milk into the basket I weaved my way up to the counter to get the Aspirin. It was a sickening moment when I looked at the medicine shelf to see a gaping void where the Asprin normally stood and even more nauseating when I was told they had completely sold out. It was no compensation either, to be told that if I had come five minutes earlier they had 30 packets in stock and that Watson Wannacott had bought the lot along with 500 litres of Domestos and 30 boxes of man-sized tissues. Now if you would like to know why Watson Wannacott would want 30 boxes of Aspirin, 30 boxes of man-sized tissues and 500 litres of Domestos read on...

Having returned home and drunk 24.5 litres of milk I was, by two o'clock feeling slightly better, the thumping head had subsided to a rhythmical throbbing, my eyesight had virtually been restored and my mouth didn't taste of tin cans anymore. Then the phone rang, it was Watson Wannacott:

'Oi', he bellowed, 'better way get up year pronto, I needs yer 'elp'.

Normally the answer would have been, 'piss off' but in the vague hope that he just might have a couple of Aspirin left I decided to venture up the road to see what was amiss.

As I walked up to the farm lane the sight that greeted me made my heart jump into my mouth, it was one of those, 'Oh no, not again' moments that brought back lurid memories of 2001. Why, well click on these thumbnails and see why ....

My initial thoughts were that Foot and Mouth had returned but then I read the danger sign, the whole scenario answered two questions but raised two more. Firstly, it was obvious what the 500 litres of Domestos were for, secondly, this is what had happened to all the official closure signs during the 2001 Foot and Mouth outbreak. Thirdly what was mother going to say when she found out that her lounge carpet, having been replaced in 2001, was yet again being used as a disinfectant mat? and finally what on earth was going on?

Suddenly Watson burst out from the hedgerow, he was wearing a World War II gas mask and was armed with his old shotgun.

'What's on Watson?' I asked.

All I could hear was a very excited and muffled response but it sounded like, 'What's on?, I ull tell ee what's on, Swine Foo, that's what's on!'

With that he thrust a box of tissues into my hands and pointed at the foot bath which in itself answered the remaining question regarding the 30 boxes of tissues. It was only after I had dutifully dipped by boots in the bath that the shotgun was lowered which I was mightily relieved about because the hammers had been known to go off on their own. Anyway, it was all probably for effect as the thing wouldn't have been loaded. As I squelched over Mother's best carpet a magpie flew squawking overhead and was immediately halted in its tracks by the discharge from two shotgun barrels. Shit, it was loaded, things must be serious. Watson swung the smoking barrels in the direction of the farm house which I took to mean we had to wander in that direction. Again he was wuffling and waffling incoherently into his old gas mask and I had no idea what he was on about. It was not until we got inside did he remove it thus enabling a normal conversation, well as normal as any conversation can be with Watson. The old boy nodded at the kitchen table which was the signal to sit down and await the sherry bottles. As I sat in the old wooden carver I nervously glanced through into the carpetless lounge.

'Mother not around then,' I asked, hoping the response would be, Naw, 'ers gawn to 'er sissers for a month'.

Sadly this was not the case as it transpired she had only gone to Exeter for the day, I immediately made a mental note to get away before her return.

'Now, what's this all about Watson?' I enquired quizzically.

He motioned me over to his computer and opened up an email he recieved anonymously that very morning. There was no text just a single photograph...

Two bottles of sherry were placed on the kitchen table along with two pint mugs, before I got stuck into the Montylava, as Watson calls it there were three things I needed to know. Firstly, as a precautionary measure, did he have any Aspirin left? Secondly what time did he set up his disinfectant point? Thirdly, what time did Mother leave for Exeter? Fourthly and more importantly, what time was Mother expected back? The answers came back; 1) No, 2) 10.00am, 3) 10.30am and 4) 3.30pm. Fine, this meant another hangover without a cure, Mother was unaware that her best carpet was lying in the lane steeped in Domestos and that if I didn't want to witness Armageddon I had better be down the road well before 3.30pm. Ok, I poured a generous measure of Montylava and sat back to hear the story which as it was by then 11.30am left a slot of 4 hours before Mother's return.

Having picked up various media reports about Swine Flu Watson had come to the conclusion that a plague epidemic was imminent. This closely followed by the anonymous email that I sent him this morning had led the old farmer to the theory that Swine Flu was passed from humans to pigs and it was they that were in peril. At that present moment in time Watson had around 11 pigs on his farm, I say 'around 11' because the boar had escaped and not returned. The profit from these pigs was going to pay for his and Mother's summer holiday to Widecombe Fair therefore it was imperative they did not catch the flu. Earlier that morning he had downloaded from the DirectGov website a pdf. that told you everything you needed to know about Swine Flu. Apparently the leaflet stated that two antiviral drugs were available, which according to him were called. 'Tammyflew' and 'Carenza' and all you had to do was contact your doctor should you need some. He was a little confused as to why they had to come from the doctor and not the vet but hey, it's a wild world. The local doctor, it seems, was also a little confused when Watson telephoned him to order 11 doses of Tammyflew and asked what the dosage rate for pigs was. According to Watson, despite heartfelt pleas the doctor refused to let him have the necessary 11 doses of Tammyflew and told him to, 'bugger off and stop wasting his time'. So if no professional help was available, Watson decided to take things into his own hands. The next step was to consult his Swine Flu pdf further where he read that to prevent the spread of Swine Flu it was important to follow good hygiene practices. Having been through the 2001 Foot and Mouth epidemic he knew these only too well and so he got out the old footbath and danger signs that he had pinched and placed them at the bottom of his lane. Watson then realised that he had no disinfectant pad for vehicles and so 'borrowed' Mother's lounge carpet.

'er kin 'ave un back when tiz all ovver', he innocently remarked, ''sides, the Dommyestos ull give un a gud cleanin'.

Having put his external disease prevention measures in place he read his leaflet further where he learned that every time anyone wanted to sneeze they must do it in a tissue. He also read that should anyone contract Swine Flu then Aspirin or paracetamol helped ease the symptoms. The mist was now beginning to clear - Aspirins, tissues and Domestos. This still did not answer as to why I had been summonsed to the farm but all was soon to be revealed. The Swine Flu pdf also suggested that everyone find a 'flu friend' who could collect supplies should the disease be contracted which was where I came in. Could I be his pigs' 'flu friend' in the event of him being away at market. I was truly humbled that Watson wanted me to be his deputy 'flu friend' to his pigs in the event of his absence - not!

I took him back to his computer and visited the official Swine Flu website and tried to explain that the disease was not passed from humans to pigs and that in the UK there were no known cases of pigs passing it to humans. The old boy took a mighty swig of his pint of sherry and sat for a while with a very bemused look on his face.

'So, 'em pigs can't git Swine Foo', he ventured, 'but I kin, 'an I kin catch un vrom 'umans?'

'Exactly', I beamed, 'only from other human contact which is why we should all, 'catch it, bin it, kill it'.

Another perplexed expression spread over his face.

'In that case', he pondered, 'I 'ave joost wastid a fartune on Dommymestos, tissues an' Aspirings. An Mother an I 'unt be 'avin our 'oliday at Widdycum Vair 'cause I u'll 'ave to buy 'er a new carpet instid'.

It was rather ironic that at the very moment Watson was bemoaning the fact that he and Mother would not be vacationing at Widecombe Fair, Mrs Fewin from the village shop was booking an unexpected weekend break in Paris thanks to booming sales of Aspirin, tissues and Domestos.

The very mention of Mother and carpet made me look at the old granfer clock that was slowly ticking down to mayhem, it was 2.57pm and time to beat a very hasty retreat. Just as I was about to make my excuses to leave, Watson glared very fixedly at me.

'If I kin catch Swine Foo vrom 'umans', he slowly stated, 'then you'm an 'uman which mean I kin catch un vrom you, in which case you'm better bugger off my land drectly'.

Cheers Watson.