I hope you enjoy this week’s episode of Queer Tango. As always, please excuse the typos.
Episode 61: Trouser-presser
Glynnis was oh so very posh, as we know, and her poshness was in place whether in class or out. She couldn’t help it because even when questioned by Tracy’s son on the stolen sandbags, she couldn’t use any of the story Tracy and Ricky had come up with because she just didn’t understand half of it.
‘You need to say you ain’t nicked nothing and that you knows your rights,’ Tracy had said to her. ‘You is fully good at being an upright citizen and you ain’t happy that you is being oppressed by the police who should find something better to do.’
Glynnis had managed, ‘I haven’t stolen anything and I know I’m right,’ she’d said to Tracy’s son who wrote it down. ‘I’m wholly honest and a marvellous citizen who paints happily.’ She’d been sure that’s what Tracy had said. ‘I own a trouser press used by the police…’ She wasn’t convinced of that sentence but tried it. ‘While they are finding something better to do.’
Tracy’s son had noted it then frowned. ‘We use your trouser press?’
Glynnis had nodded and excused herself to visit the ladies and powder her nose… which was when Tracy’s son arrested her for illegalities and took her to the station. She’d never been to a station before but they weren’t terribly comfortable or clean. Tracy’s son had talked to his sergeant who’d eyed her and asked her where her stash was. Glynnis hadn’t understood and assumed he meant her money, so she’d told him she kept it in her purse and he’d advised her to call a lawyer before speaking to them.
Although she had several relatives rather high up in such fields, she didn’t want them to be associated her with unhygienic places so had called an expert in being a criminal… Tracy.
‘We knows our rights,’ Tracy had told her son and his superior. ‘We knows you gots to caution us before we get into discussions.’
Glynnis nodded however she didn’t ‘knows’ anything about discussions with police unless meeting in functions was counted.
‘Alright, Tracy,’ Tracy’s son’s superior had said. ‘Why don’t you tell her the caution seeming as you know it so well.’
Tracy turned to Glynnis and eyed her. ‘We does not have say nothing, but, it might harm our defence, if we does not mention, anything that we may later relies on in court… but…’ Tracy paused and leaned in. ‘Anything we does say… they take down and use against us like the oppressive deceitful flat-footed stuck-up shoe polishers they are.’
‘Is that really a caution?’ Glynnis asked unsure why they would insult themselves but clearly they couldn’t speak grammatically, so perhaps they didn’t realise?
‘It is,’ Tracy said with a chew on some normal gum, not the nicotine one she used to chew.
‘Mum,’ Tracy’s son muttered and turned to Glynnis. ‘Most of it is right but the whole insulting bit isn’t.’ He folded his arms. ‘Besides, dad polishes my shoes.’
‘And I press your trousers,’ Glynnis added with a wink at Tracy.
‘You do?’ she asked. ‘Why does he want you to press his trousers when I iron them?’ She wagged her gold rattling fingers at him. ‘Your own mother not good enough now you is a shoe-polisher, huh?’
Tracy’s son shook his head. ‘She don’t.’ He cleared his throat and eyed his superior. ‘I mean, Mrs Billington doesn’t press my trousers, Sir.’
His superior raised his eyebrows. ‘I should hope not, I play bowls with Mr Billington and he wouldn’t be happy.’
Glynnis folded her arms. ‘Mr Billington likes the trouser press more than me and he will be happy because I’ll tell him to be.’
Tracy nodded. ‘Even if my ironing ain’t good enough.’
Tracy’s son shook his head. ‘Anyway, you said that you had to go and sort out your addiction,’ he said to Glynnis. ‘In the bathroom?’
Glynnis eyed him. ‘That is incredibly inappropriate.’
‘What evidence you got?’ Tracy asked then leaned onto the table. ‘And why should we believe you, trouser-presser?’
‘She said she was going to the bathroom to sort herself out,’ Tracy’s son shot back and waved at his superior. ‘She even said to the sergeant that she keeps it in her purse.’
‘Where else would I keep it?’ Glynnis said and wagged her finger. ‘I don’t have zips on my pockets and it would fall out… and then my son would steal it.’
‘So, you’re saying your son has an addiction too?’ the superior asked with a confused look on his face.
‘What addiction?’ Glynnis asked then looked at Tracy for support.
‘Dunno,’ Tracy said. ‘I’d say Snickers if you was Tammy.’
Glynnis laughed. ‘I would need police protection if I consumed her Snickers supply.’
Tracy’s son nodded. ‘Only not from me ‘cause Aunty Tammy wouldn’t like it.’
‘And he don’t want his girl yelling at him,’ Tracy said with a wink.
The superior held up his hand. ‘So, you don’t have an addiction you sorted out in the bathroom which you keep in your purse?’
Tracy held up her hand. ‘He’s cross-examining your story… don’t give in.’
‘Why do you keep mentioning the bathroom?’ Glynnis asked wondering if it was non-posh people speech. ‘Is it a slang word for something?’
‘The loo,’ Tracy said with a smirk.
Glynnis blinked at her. ‘I’m aware of the place but I didn’t mention an addiction.’
‘So, you’re not denying you have one then,’ Tracy’s son asked then nodded to his superior.
‘No comment,’ Tracy said with a hand held up. ‘We does not like your bullyish ways.’
Glynnis shrugged. She was completely lost with the conversation and she needed to go home to change for dance class. ‘Don’t I know the man in charge of the station?’
Tracy’s son nodded. ‘You own his wife’s shop.’
The superior cleared his throat. ‘Are you trying to persuade us not to prosecute?’
Glynnis nodded. ‘Yes, I have dance class to get to and I need to powder my nose again.’
‘There!’ Tracy’s son yelled. ‘She confessed.’
Tracy and his superior stared at him.
‘It means visiting the ladies,’ Glynnis said with a chuckle. ‘Or, as your mother said, the loo.’
‘Oh,’ he said with a frown. ‘So why you keep it in your purse then?’
‘I keep my money in my purse,’ she said back. ‘My stash as you called it.’
Tracy snorted. ‘We rest our purses.’
The superior nodded and got to his feet. ‘Well, as we can’t find who stole the sandbags and Mrs Billington hasn’t got an addiction, we’ll head to the canteen for a cuppa.’
Glynnis smiled and she and Tracy left the station and got into her car.
‘Can’t believe you wriggled out of it,’ Tracy said with a snort. ‘They ain’t all that clever.’
‘Your son?’ she asked as they drove off.
‘Yup,’ Tracy said with a smirk. ‘They didn’t even see the vital clues you was guilty.’
‘Of powdering my nose?’ she asked glad that she had great legal representation.
‘No, of nicking sandbags,’ Tracy said and pointed to Glynnis’s shoes… with sand on them. ‘Shoe-polish got to their heads, I say.’
Glynnis nodded. ‘Clearly they need more trouser presses.’
Tracy nodded back and winked at her son as he frowned at the car then her then shrugged and went back inside.
‘He knows we’re guilty?’ Glynnis asked with a jolly posh tone.
‘He does,’ Tracy said with a snigger. ‘But he knows his own trouser-presser will nick his stash if he tells on you.’
Glynnis smiled. Yes, she had the best legal representation who could sway any law enforcement with her stunning vocabulary… and she had a story to tell Mr Billington about his prized trouser-presser.