Suits you, Thelma

8:30am Monday 10th March 2008

Previously: The Scribbler and Thelma Gusset (pronounced "Gussay") have been wondering what to do about Arnold the pigeon who, after being banished to Gateshead by Health & Safety regulations, has flown home. Now read on.

I've got an idea," intoned Barrington Thrope the resting actor after the assembled denizens of the snug at the Boilermaker's Arms had pondered in silence for a while.

"Croo-croo?" queried Arnold the pigeon from his position on The Scribbler's shoulder.

"I swear he's almost human, bless him?" cried Thelma, who had taken to referring to the bird as "Mummy's little chap."

Since his enforced migration to Gateshead and long flight home to the Hall Ings broom cupboard, he had been very insecure and was reluctant to be parted from the man who had raised him from an abandoned chick.

"Come on then Barrington, what's this idea?" said The Scribbler, deciding that ludicrous though the plot might be, he'd better return to it.

"Well," said the thespian, rising to his feet and facing his audience. "The whole problem has arisen, as I understand it, because Health & Safety rules, as enforced in the T&A building, consider pigeons to be vermin. That's why Arnold is no longer allowed to reside with you in the broom cupboard."

The Scribbler nodded. So did Arnold (purely by coincidence, of course).

"However," continued Barrington, "I personally have made quite a study of Health & Safety regulations in my capacity as Gomersal representative of Equity and I can assure you that while they might indeed discriminate against pigeons, they make no mention of parrots. So that's what Arnold must become."

There was a stunned silence.

"How on earth" (or words to that effect) demanded Graham the Gasman, "do you turn a pigeon into a parrot?"

Barrington smiled triumphantly. "You dress it up in a parrot suit," he said. "And then it becomes something it isn't. It's called illusion. We who work in the theatre do it all the time. You'll make his costume, won't you mother?" he asked of Doris ("Happy Medium") Thrope, who nodded. Then turning to the others he confided: "She's a dab hand with a needle and thread. Makes all her own clothes and a lot of mine, too."

"But won't it be obvious?" challenged The Scribbler.

"Not to your Assistant Editor with Special Responsibility for Building Hygiene," said Barrington. "I've met him, remember. He's very shortsighted, and too vain to wear specs. Tell him that the blurred, mulicoloured thing in front of him is a parrot and he'll believe you."

"But Arnold doesn't sound like a parrot," protested Thelma.

"We can arrange that," said Barrington, tapping the side of his nose.

And so it was that three days later the Assistant Editor With Special Responsibility for Building Hygiene was invited to the broom cupboard to meet the new pet The Scribbler had acquired to replace Arnold.

"Here he is," declared the columnist, standing in the shadows and indicating the colourful creature perched on his shoulder with its red and green plumage, long tail, and massive hooked beak.

As the Ass Ed peered at it, Thelma hit the switch on the Scribbler's ageing hi-fi system. The room was filled with the sound of recorded Parrotspeak. "Who's a pretty boy then?" it cried. "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!"

The Ass Ed nodded. "Can't fault a parrot under the rules," he said. "But keep its noise down."

As the door shut behind him, Thelma quickly unzipped the parrot suit. Arnold emerged, shaking his rumpled feathers.

"CROO-CROO!" he said, indignantly.

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