This is me, Eccles

This is me, Eccles
This is me, Eccles

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

The secret life of Anti Moly

Dis aint my usual blogg, a nice man called James Thurber has sent me a story.

Anti Moly was walkin frew de streets of Pottymouth wiv her nehpew Eccles. As dey passed a gruop of old ladies chattin, Eccles heard one of dem say "Dat's old Moly walkin' past. Did you ever hear tell of her grandfarver, de biggest roggue in Pottymouth wot was never hung?"...

It was 1890, and "Ned" Haddock, self-educated sheep-shearer, brain surgeon, miner and rocket scientist was retiring from the position of King, Supreme Warlord and Honorary God of Easter Island. "Don't leave us, great Lord!" said his Prime Minister. "All we will have is a few statues to remember you by..."


Anti Moly shook off dis reverrie and sang a few sad bars of "Waltzing Mattilda" to herself. A window openned above her, dere was a cry of "I'll skin dat bloody cat!" and a bukcet of dirty water was tiped over her...

It was the Last Night of Molybdenite's six-month season at the Pottymouth Promenade Concerts. Little Moly, only 6 years old, had played virtuoso piano music by Beethoven, Liszt, and Rachmaninov - striking the keys with her feet in order to make it even more challenging. She had also conducted three new didgeridoo concertos of her own composition, and then sung tragic Australian ballads for a further six hours, until there wasn't a dry eye in the house. The audience went crazy, waving flags and cheering...

Pottymouth Hall

As Moly's day dreem ended, she carried on wiv her walk, and approached an affleunt-looking busnessman walking wiv his wife. He dived into a nearby shop enntrance, draggin his wife after him, and mutterin "It's that dreddful woman wot used to be a cleener in our facktory. I hope she aint seen us."...

The first ever female chief executive of the Pottymouth Molybdenite Corporation was presenting the accounts to the share-holders' meeting. "Thanks to a new process I discovered for extracting molybdenite ore, six new processes for transforming it into valuable raw materials, and fifteen new electronic devices that I invented which only function thanks to our products, I am happy to say that this year our profits were slightly in excess of the Gross Domestic Product of Germany." There was a rapturous ovation, as she pulled back a curtain to show them the company's assets...


Moly and Eccles came back home, where a baby possum was jumpin up and down on de roof. "You orta do somefink about dat, Anti," said her loyyal nehpew...

"Crocodile" Moly, the legendary big game huntress, was facing her most difficult challenge yet. Ahead of her lay a river containing six crocodiles, behind her a pack of dingos, to her left a herd of ravenous wallabies, and to her right an army of traddy Catholic sockpuppets. Armed only with a pea-shooter and a water-pistol, would she ever escape alive?



  1. "Armed only with a pea-shooter and a water-pistol, would she ever escape alive?"

    Did she have her back to the Mucous Creek? But where was her flamfrower? Or am I anticipating the punchline? Does a marine biologist ride to her rescue, and lift her up where she belongs, onto his llama?

    1. Um, dem's very excitin possibillities, but de mannuscript brakes off dere, so we shall never know how de story ended.

  2. I dun bad things when a young Teddy but was so afraid I'd end unlike AntiMoly I reformed and is a Traddy now!

  3. she's fiddling with my Internet connexion! I meant I was so afraid I'd END UP like her!