AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Rhoda Crwys, Welsh student, re-rethinks her thesis again. Now, Wence Peppet reports to the Vice.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 37

The small, sealed container sat in the middle of the extensive hardwood desk. Peppet had earlier presented the item to the Vice-chancellor. That was when it had all began to go wrong as far as Peppet was concerned. He thought he had managed to finally do something right. He was wrong.

‘You useless idiot Peppet. This is not the case! This is not the case! I told you to intercept the courier as he carried a carry- all on his way back from the cash and carry and you couldn’t even carry out that simple command. All you had to do was inconvenience him long enough to get the luggage off him but you even failed to manage that without messing it up. Good Gods man, what’s the matter with you?’

‘I..’ the reprimanded man began to reply.

‘That was a rhetorical question you miserable bastard.’

‘That was unfair’, thought Peppet. He didn’t speak Rhetorical so how was he supposed to know. He knew better than answer the Vice back so he bit his tongue instead.

‘Ooooww!’ he yelped in surprised pain.

‘Now what?’ demanded the fuming older man, smoke pouring from every orifice.

‘i hust hit hi hung’ Peppet tried to explain as best he was able to.

‘What!?!?’

‘hi hung, i hust hit hit’ he blathered.

‘What are you blathering about man?’ Peppet looked as if he was about to begin to try and speak once more so the Vice-chancellor interjected once more, ‘Rhetorical again you moron!’

‘hu ha hell ham i hent hu hoe!’ Peppet thought to himself. In a linguistically relative sense Peppet’s thoughts truly were controlled by his language in a manner predicted by Sapier and Whorf*.

The Vice frowned and turned his head slightly to one side, ‘Have you gone ‘Native’ on me Peppet? You’re talking like one of those trolley pushers I’ve heard about down past south-central station.’

Until this point everyone else in the room had been in the adjoining room. The filing was almost complete and all ten nails now looked much tidier. With this task successfully achieved everyone else moved from the other room to the Vice’s grand main office. This impromptu interruption would serve to let the already under pressure Peppet off the hook.

Everyone else in the room glanced sweetly at the Vice-chancellor. He read the non-verbal clue and responded. ‘Yes, very well - let him down then. And open a window will you, it’s getting smokey in here again.’

Everyone else retrieved a short step ladder and within minutes the relieved Peppet was no longer dangling suspended from a curved piece of metal fixed to the wall. Despite the Vice’s general contempt and loathing of the man everyone else had at least one soft spot for Peppet. She wasn’t perturbed by the man’s recent dressing down that she’d been party to. She knew he was an incompetent fool, a veritable bungling idiot, a full-blown half-wit, a complete miserable bastard; she knew all this, and more, but still she was attracted to him. The Vice-chancellor gave the poor fellow a very hard time – in her silent and unvoiced opinion. For his part the half-witted Peppet was oblivious to the affectionous feelings of everyone else in the room, he was more concerned with getting back into the Vice’s good books. Hell, right now he’d even settle for getting into the man’s distinctly average books.

Most people had suspected for a while now that the Vice was losing his slender grip on reality. He had suspected as much himself. Meetings about ridiculous topics at incredibly short notice – well that had always been the norm with him. Yet to those around him, and everyone else in the room was often around him, things had been a lot more odder that usual recently. Maybe it was all the coffee he drank? Caffinetoxipsychcosis perhaps? He sat at his desk, drumming his fingers repeatedly on the wood as he spoke. ‘Peppet, Peppetio, Peppetisimo, Peppetioamisimo… I have a new assignment for you my lad.’ The VC’s mood had changed dramatically. Peppet didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. He decided to try a mixture of the two.

The Vice continued: ‘There’s a rather inquisitive student here at the university. She’s in the Department of Subterranean Ecogeology, Physical Chemistry and Quite Modern Art. Everyone else will give you her details later. I want you to keep an eye on her for me. Can you manage that?’

‘Certainly sir. Absolutely, you can count on me,’ Peppet discoursed.

‘Good… now sod off!’ Shouted the Vice-chancellor, banging his fists hard on the desk to punctuate his remark. Peppet sidled out of the room, slowly slamming the door behind himself.

Turning to address everyone else in the room the Vice-chancellor spoke, ‘43a Cwrt Roy Jenkins; get me Heir Schumacher.’ Then, more quietly and to himself, ‘I’ll need someone to keep an eye on Peppet.’