Apparently the now dusty campaign for Cock o’ the North Whiskey Liqueur, that never saw the light of day, might still be used after all. The campaign bit the dust (due to budgetary reasons I’m told) after some sterling work went into crafting the cock and bull stories planned for it’s launch. If you haven’t read the pilot story ‘Egg Bound’ please do. I love it and virtually nobody saw it for obvious reasons.
Below is a little teaser, to read the rest just click here.
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EGG BOUND: a tall tale. By M Cook and M Jewitt.
Cornellis Threep always stressed that he in no sense offered the boasting out-of-towner’s a challenge, though there is of course no way to prove this now.
Sitting at his preferred table - the one with the wobbly leg, in the corner by the fireplace - he
“merely proffered advice upon the appropriate conventions of radical ingestion.”
Regardless, the consequence of his interjection into their conversation was immediately apparent. Amidst hushed silence, the pub curtains were drawn, a table was found and six large jars of finest pickled onions were placed side by side.
The eating competition, as it happens, was little competition at all. Threep polished off his share of onions with aplomb and, as the visiting team were still carrying their groaning combatant from the Rat and Dolphin, was even seen to be considering his opponent’s last jar.
There were celebrations.
As he himself tells the tale, ever conscientious of his waiting wife, and not a man to dwell on his victories, Threep made for the door. But as he did, there went up a mighty cheer in his honour to which, in response, champion Cornellis gave a florid bow.
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It is here that his story takes a bizarre turn. For though there have always been boasts made, and competitions won, and even the occasional celebration at the Rat and Dolphin, it has never been the case that a man has ever been so violently visited by the chemistry of the onion.
Perhaps something of the pectin of the fruit, which normally salved so well his various apoplexies, had reacted inauspiciously this particular evening. Suffice to say that, as he bent, something went, and he was left in what could only be described as a compromising position. Masking his agonies with a suitably victorious facial expression, he continued the genuflection as he backed from the Rat into the privacy of the street….(Continued)
