Mr Playmo’s Post Scriptum.

Mrs Playmo told me off this morning. A shrill voice cut through the darkness of the bedroom and split my eardrums. “Oy, MM! Get up and get summat posted on your blog! I’ll be the laughing stock of Playmobilia if you don’t get a shift on!”

I crawled from the warmth of the quilt, stumbled across the bedroom and peered through the window into Mrs Playmo’s mansion. She was tucked up in her double bed beside Mr Playmo, clutching an oversized mug in one hand and a kleenex tissue in the other. The sulfurous glare she launched in my direction would have stopped a testosterone-packed grizzly dead in its tracks.

“Here, I’ll even give you the photos. Just do it, okay? Now off you go, I’m having a lie in. Thanks to you, I’ve got a cold.” I considered telling Mrs Playmo that when I’d told her to chill out, I wasn’t expecting her to take my advice literally and indulge in a snow bath, then decided against it.  “Oh, and yes please, we’ll have some fresh coffee and croissants. Ta muchly.” With that, she disappeared under the quilt.

Mrs Playmo's "Orange Weather Alert".

Mrs Playmo’s “Orange Weather Alert”.

I didn't expect Mrs Playmo to interpret my suggestion to "chill out" quite  so literally.

I didn’t expect Mrs Playmo to interpret my suggestion to “chill out” quite so literally.

So without further ado, here is the Mrs Playmo update. The conclusion of the intricately woven web of deceit Mrs Playmo wove throughout the month of January is that happily, all’s well that ends well.

Mr Playmo did indeed take a break – but neither he nor Mrs Playmo expected things to go so far. Here is Mr Playmo’s story…

“After hearing of Genevieve’s escapades with Eric, I wrote her a note telling her that I needed to get away and deal with a raw, animal need to hide away and lick my wounds. But as a vicar, it is difficult to find a place where nobody can find you – I’m always tracked down by my parishioners. Particularly that awful Shacklebottom woman, always wanting to repent for the umpteenth time before she runs off with someone else.

P.F’s camera bag had been left beside our Playmo mansion, and I climbed inside and revelled in the comforting darkness as I tried to make sense of what was happening to me.

I fell asleep, and awoke to the sound of waves. When I climbed out of the camera bag, I fell and got a faceful of sand. Standing up, I saw what happens when you take rash decisions: karma bites you on the backside. I’d wanted to distance myself from Genevieve’s exploits, and ended up marooned on an island somewhere off the coast of Africa for three weeks on a self-imposed boy-only trip with PF. 

Coconut trees stretched along to my right, and waves lapped the beach. PF’s business trip appeared to involve spending most of his day digging holes in the mud, and the rest playing around with lemurs, swimming with turtles and taking pictures of bats the size of seagulls. Genevieve was right when she said that those humans may have knees that bend, but they’re still very strange.

Sunset over Mr Playmo's island in the Mozambique Channel.

Sunset over Mr Playmo’s island in the Mozambique Channel.

Mr Playmo was flummoxed by the size of the bamboo shoots.

Mr Playmo was flummoxed by the size of the bamboo shoots.

Mr Playmo admiring the sea from a shipwrecked coconut.

Mr Playmo admiring the sea from a shipwrecked coconut.

I climbed on a beached coconut and realized that I would have liked Genevieve to be there with me. She would have hoisted herself on the back of one of those fruit bats and hiked a ride – she’s one strong-minded woman. Her only failing is her penchant for rosé and Tupperware, which she thinks I haven’t noticed. She may not be perfect, but then again, who is, and who wants perfect, anyway? What defines perfection? If she does pole dance, as that Eric said, maybe I should go and check it out. That makes her one perfectly original vicar’s wife.

Back on the plane, I planned my romantic return. PF was no help in this – he said that MM was impervious to all the usual romantic stuff and that he’d given up years ago, as apart form Playmobil figurines, the things that made her smile couldn’t be bought – like hearing someone fart at a funeral, reading in the bath, photographing a beautiful sunset, rubbing wet paint between her fingers or seeing red swirly things under her eyelids after she’d rubbed her eyes. In comparison, Genevieve wasn’t as complicated as I thought.

So when I got home, I gave Mrs Playmo a bouquet of Chupa Chups and asked her to show me her pole dance. She agreed, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and yanked her underwear into place.

I must dash now – we’re going to admire one of those sunsets P.F. told me about. But first we are off to deliver a plateful of laxative chocolate muffins for Shacklebottom. We’ve decided it’s time she loosened up a bit.”

One of those sunsets that PF told us about.

My eternal thanks to the patient PF, who agreed to take Mr Playmo with him to the Mozambique Channel, and made the day for a gang of children who were delighted to see a grown-up taking pictures of a Playmobil sitting on a coconut.

 

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39 thoughts on “Mr Playmo’s Post Scriptum.

    • PF played the game well – he even tried to get Mr Playmo doing bare-back riding on a turtle, but it didn’t work out.
      Mrs Playmo will be coming up again in future posts, fear not. For the moment she’s holed up with Mr Playmo and a bottle of wine she nicked from church.

      • Shame about the bare back turtle riding – that would have been fun! I hope they aren’t up to anything too risque wherever it is they are holed up (or maybe the more risque the better from your readers’ point of view!). 🙂

      • They’re back now – they got back just before Valentine’s day. Mrs Playmo got flowers and croissants in bed, I got a trip to the DIY store and a visit to the cinema with PF and the brood.
        I actually asked PF to take a picture of Mr Playmo battling with a mangrove crab, à la Godzilla-King Kong hero, but he didn’t manage it.

    • PF was a real sweetie – not many researchers have to walk around with a plastic toy in their equipment bag to make their wives happy. We knew that everyone was waiting – that’s why Mrs P shouted at me this morning. She’s hooked up her old PC to the router and is not impressed by my posting frequency.

    • 😀 Mrs Playmo loves croissants in bed, whereas Mr Playmo gets his boxers in a twist about the flaky bits of pastry that end up on the sheets. Needless to say, she didn’t get any because the human-sized croissants wouldn’t fit through her window, and they’d take her a week to get through.

  1. I admire any woman brave enough to take a snow bath and any man, mobil or other, willing to watch me dance in my skivvies. What an admirable couple! xxx
    Oh, and the laughing at farts part made me smile, as did the thought of a hubby bringing a Playmobil across the world to get the best photo ops for his wife. That’s awesomeness right there!

    • Yoh, Gypsy! She went wild in that snow – it only lasted a few hours. Once she’d tried to sniff a line of it and frozen her nostril hairs, she decided to give a snow bath a go, but was unimpressed that I had no naked swedes in the box to accompany her.
      I must admit that PF was a darling. It takes gut to play with a playmobil in public when you’re a Real Grown Up.

      • I just realised that Mr. Playmo is rockin’ the tight blue pants … What in the world is Mrs. Playmo on about with the Swedes? She’s got a hottie to trottie. She’s got to wake up and smell the croissant. Throw Mr. Playmo into that snow bath with her.
        I actually fell in love with Smilin’ Vic when he took a snow bath. No word of a lie. We were snowed in for 3 days – resulted in melting snow on the wood stove for water (the pump had gone out with no power), grinding coffee by hand in an old Turkish coffee mill, taking a snow bath (because the pump had gone out and we were getting stinky), and Smilin’ Vic eventually getting so bored he proposed! Hey, come to think of it, this might be blog fodder! Thanks for the inspiration 🙂
        Xx

      • You don’t want to know what those two have been getting up to. it’s chucking down with rain, but they’ve been all lovey dove (I took them to the Côte d’Azur for a weekend, and they now want to set up their mansion on the seafront in Nice).
        Snowed in for three days, snow baths and proposals… sounds like a perfect Hollywood script to me. Can’t wait to read the post!

    • <Oh, Bizz, if I tell PF he'll get so bigheaded I won't be able to get him out of the front door in the morning. I'm sure his Dad would have loved to be adopted for a few days if he had been single – he was a real sweetheart. I can send you PF's mum though 🙂

  2. Very releived to read this and who on earch could ever resist a bouquet of Chupa-chups. Can we please have news of Mrs Shacklebottom – I worry that the blockage may result in piles if the laxative muffins don’t work 😉

    • Just found you in put away in the wrong place by WP, Osyth. Hope you weren’t too squished in there 😦 Mrs Shacklebottom has realized that laxative muffins are the way to go to fit into her swimsuit this summer. It’s costing her a mint in loo roll, but she’s adamant that she’ll shed the last four pounds in time for the first pool party at the vicarage.

      • Haha … stuck in a tin of spam … just my luck! Mrs S may be onto something there … tell her that Carrefour have a great deal on sensitive bottom loo-roll at the mo – I think its called a bog-off 😉

  3. Aww, isn’t that what it’s all about? Forgiveness, gratitude, hiding from the parishioners. I think the vicar was probably due for a trip anyway, and look how well it turned out. Sorry about the sniffles, but Mrs. Playmo got some great snow shots of herself chillin’

    • To be honest, I was gunning for a greek tragedy ending, with Mr Playmo being eaten alive by a mangrove crab, but PF couldn’t find a crab willing to play ball. I suppose this ending is less gory, but a little too conventional for MM style.

  4. Wow! A trip to an island off Africa certainly beats the clergy retreat as a way of escaping from parishioners. Way to go, Mr Playmo! I do love a happy ending (except for Mrs Shacklebottom). 🙂

    • Hello, Sweetie 😉 Thanks for the message -and sorry to have worried you. I was feeling guilty that I’d be worrying people. I’m well,just totally snowed under with work and pining to get typing again… I’m finishing off a post I’ve been sneakily crafting together in five-minute sessions in my kitchen… Hopefully online today or tomorrow. Big hugs and thanks for caring xoxo

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