A marriage proposal... (From Bradford Telegraph and Argus)

A marriage proposal...

8:40am Monday 22nd September 2008 in

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Previously: The Scribbler has sold his collection of Action Man figures on eBay to buy an engagement ring. After learning that a Big Bang in a particle collider in Geneva just might begin the process of destroying the planet, he is determined to propose to the object of his affections, Thelma Gusset (pronounced “Gussay”) and make the most of what may remain. Now read on….

"Get up, Scribbler. You’ll aggravate your arthritis!” declared Thelma. The Scribbler, who had dropped on to his knee at the side of her in the otherwise deserted Newsroom with the intention of proposing, remained uncomfortably where he was.

“I have something to ask you, Thelma,” he muttered hesitantly. “It’s very important.” In one hand he clutched a small box. Flicking the lid open, he revealed an engagement ring. The strip light reflected the facets of the stone so brilliantly that you could almost believe it was a real diamond. Thelma gasped and put her hand to her throat.

“Thelma, will you marry me….Please?”, blurted The Scribbler, whose kneecap was starting to hurt.

“This is so sudden,” said Thelma. “I haven’t been thinking in terms of remarrying. Not since my bad experience with Ray. Aren’t we OK as we are, you and me?”

“We’re very OK,” admitted The Scribbler. “But I’m going away and I would dearly love for you to come away with me, as my wife – as Mrs Thelma Scribbler.”

“Away?” cried Thelma. “To where?”

“To a job that will let me offer you a proper home,” winced the columnist, shifting the weight on his knee. “I couldn’t ask you to live with me in a broom cupboard. But the job I’ve been offered, as press officer for the Duke of Runcible’s stately home on the Northumberland coast, has a rather pleasant tied cottage that goes with it. And I’ve heard that the local newspaper is looking for a women’s page editor, part-time. The whole set-up could have been tailor-made for us.”

Thelma hesitated, but only for a second. “Oh all right then,” she said. “I accept. I will marry you.”

A relieved Scribbler rose from his knee, took the ring out of its box and slipped in on Thelma’s finger. Then they kissed.

“Less of that!” bellowed the Assistant Editor With Special Responsibility for Deterring Canoodling Between Reporters, from the door of his partitioned-off office.

“Mind your own business,” said an emboldened Scribbler. “I’ve something to tell you.” And he headed for the Ass Ed’s lair to deliver the envelope containing his month’s notice.

When he emerged, Thelma asked “How did it go, then?”

“He tried to change my mind,” said The Scribbler. “Told me what a brilliant future there was in Bradford, what with all the regeneration that’s going to happen once it all starts. Said I’d be hard-pressed to find decent pound shops on the Northumberland coast. Offered me a promotion – lots more responsibility, and a pay rise to go with it after a three-year trial period. But I resisted. So he’s told me to clear off by the end of the week.”

“Well I’ll clear off with you, Scribbler,” said Thelma. “Now give me the telephone number of that local newspaper.”

In the Boilermaker’s Arms that evening, everyone admired the ring. Daphne the Venerable Barmaid shed a quiet tear, partly for her own long-lost chances of marriage. Doris “Happy Medium” Thrope, the stage clairvoyant, admitted “Well, I never saw that coming.”

Thelma suggested: “Let’s have a proper engagement and leaving party here at the weekend, for all the people we know. Is that OK with you, Wilf?”

Pub owner Wilf the Woolman nodded. “We’ll put on a decent buffet,” he said. “Sausage rolls, even.”

“Great,” said Thelma. “It’ll be a real blast.”

To be continued….