THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE - PART 2

Despite the near mutinous stares, it wasn’t long before the Waiter returned carrying Shy’s order. This seemed to require about 7 plates and an additional 2 staff members to bring it to the table. “I trust you will enjoy your meal, Sir…” the Waiter was either bowing or collapsing due to the weight of the tray.

Shy soon realised that there was something not quite right about his sausages. It wasn’t that they were cold, badly cooked or poorly presented, but they most certainly weren’t the same delicious flavour that he’d eaten at Anthony’s ruined flat. “Maybe it’s one of the others, Sir…” the Waiter suggested, when Shy pointed this out. “We gave you one of each! You just finished the Vole and Toffee flavour and the next is Seahorse and Cornflake. I believe you’ve already polished off the Hedgehog and red pepper!”

The sound of such peculiar varieties really rather repulsed Shy. He was usually just a common or garden greedy guts and not especially discerning – however what he’d been eating did sound, if not taste, quite disgusting. Soon, he was done – and was most disappointed to discover that none of the sausages on his plate were the variety he’d been looking for. “You see…” he explained to the Waiter when he came to collect the plates. “I was particularly seeking the Tenby Sausage on this wrapper…”

“Well, I’m sorry Sir - we didn’t have that particular brand! These are our own recipes and as far as we are aware only our restaurant serves any authentic sausage meat dish made here in this town! Those which you have detail of must therefore be inferior… Sorry to have to break it to you, so harshly….”

“Don’t apologise. It would appear that you’re right! Is this the first you’ve heard of a rival?” The waiter shrugged, which Shy took to mean Yes! “Well, I’m here to investigate! I’ll keep you posted!”

The Waiter seemed keen enough about the idea and Shy could see the Chef peering with great interest around the kitchen door. “If you do that then we might even give you a free dinner…” he called out.

“Very well.” agreed Shy. “Done… And may I add – these sausages are much nicer than your rival’s!”
This was a lie – but as Shy knew, it never hurts to butter up anyone who is offering you free food.

“Thank you!” bowed the waiter, “This is quite some mystery isn’t it, Sir?” he took another look at the wrapper. “I’ll bet they don’t have Sea-snail and Brie sausages in their range – that’s our speciality!”

“I don’t imagine for a minute that they do!” agreed Shy, “I’ll pick up where I left off - tomorrow…” he announced and with that ordered a large Black Forest Gateau to himself and settled down with a liquor coffee and a head full of complications. He’d soon sort matters out. That A YETI’S speciality…

*
Shy slept well that first night in Tenby. He had sat up late eating chocolate-coated Welsh cakes and drinking extra strong cocoa, which he’d brought with him from London and there’d been a rather intriguing documentary on television about a famous author who had been murdered by a pack of Badgers. Following that, he’d watched an old film, rather obscurely titled Watch Out, Scaredy Cat!! This was all about sinister kittens on the loose in Dublin during the Potato Famine, which had, quite genuinely, left Shy shaking under the duvet for at least 20 minutes before he’d fallen asleep. He had slept eventually and very well too – almost missing breakfast! Needless to say, he made it down in time – still in his pyjamas, fur net and bunny slippers – but thankfully everyone else had also slept late and were dressed just the same. Neither guests, nor the room where they all ate are worth describing – the food was good – all the usual – including sausages – just not the right sort… Tasty though…

Soon after breakfast, Shy set back out along the front, beyond the harbour, passed the old castle ruins and The Dennis Teashop onto South beach where the boats came to collect tourists for day trips to Caldey Island and for Seal watching. There in the bay, stood St. Catherine’s, a large rock just off the beach with a fort on top, which was supposedly inaccessible to the public, although someone appeared to be camping up there, just at the moment. Wandering along the shore, Shy even allowed himself to paddle and was almost having fun, until his paws began to sink and he nearly tripped over his own wet fur in the process. “Careful Yeti…” he scolded himself, embarrassed that he might have been seen or overheard. “Hey – watch it!” he spluttered, almost forgetting his paws and falling over again.

A minute or so later, the Church clock struck eleven and Shy took himself across to the nearest beach café and ordered tea and a great slab of fruit cake – making notes in his poetry book that this particular establishment did not “…sell sausages of any kind…” On his way out, Shy got himself a double scoop of Avacado and Prune ice cream and was just heading up from the beach by the golf course to walk along the headland, when to his shock there came a squawking noise and a seagull the size of a small lamb dived down to grab his ice cream and the shock of the attack caused him to drop the empty cone.

“You… YOU!!!!” he could not think of an appropriate insult, but by now the gull was gone…

“BULLSEYE!!”

“Pardon?” Shy had hoped he’d not been seen, but sadly this wasn’t the case and he’d been viewed through binoculars, by a figure up on the headland. Shy certainly wasn’t in the mood for conversation, however he recognised the speaker and decided to remain civil. “Well, it’s not especially gentlemanly to steal an innocent Yeti’s ice cream! What’s more it’s hardly cricket to cheer the seagull on, sir!”

“Well, I’m neither a gentleman, nor a cricket player – so I can’t say I know…” replied the furry voyeur. “Never mind ey? I have acres of doughnuts and a large pool of Pimms up here in the tent… No need for introductions – for you are Shy Yeti, former mentor of the late Simon Yeti. I, myself am Cary McFur – you’ll recall me from the train yesterday! You were trying to pretend to be asleep and I was trying to con a young cub into buying tickets for a music festival, which I’m yet to set a date for!”

The fellow’s confidence made Shy grin. “How remarkably honest of you, Mr McFur… So HOW is the festival going? Have you staged any miracle reunions with any long since deceased bands, lately?”

It was Cary’s turn to smile, as he lent out a paw to help Shy up the embankment, holding it rather longer than is normal in polite circles. “Your hearing isn’t the only acute thing about you, Yeti…” he replied and winked rather cheesily. Shy found himself blushing beneath his fur, but said nothing. “The festival is ticking along nicely thank you kindly…” Cary waved his binoculars about – nearly choking himself. “I’m still scouting out a definite location, but this one’s looking good! Nice wide open space – close to the beach and room to expand onto the golf course if needs be! Just don’t tell those damned golfers will you – they don’t half have a poorly developed sense of humour about things like that…”

“Is it totally ethical to be trying to sell tickets to folk when you don’t even have a site or a lineup?”

“No – not entirely! But a fella needs a bit of money upfront before he arranges something like this… It makes good business sense! I’m not intending to rip anybody off – I just need a bit of sponsorship!”
“Perhaps you ought to explain that to people, then! You told that cub on the train, all sorts of stories to get his interest – not that it worked! But if you need folk to invest, then you should just tell them so!”

Cary McFur snorted. “Oh come on! Don’t be so dull and boring! Don’t tell me my business – we’re all grown ups! The festival begins when it’s ready! The cub was smart – he didn’t take the bait – anyone who does deserves to be ripped off! A guy’s gotta try. And before you mention my lack of stars – I have all their numbers – I “obtained” a little black book on Ebay – all I have to do is call! See!?!”

“Oh! I’m so glad to hear you’re maintaining your above-board methods in arranging the whole event!”

Cary raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “When I’m done I will have big names from the world of music, art, film, literature – you name it! Even one of my favourite poets! Shy Yeti, are you up for it?”

“That’s unfair…” protested Shy. “Now you’ve pandering to my creative side… You might as well just have gone and tickled me under the chin!” Cary looked like he wouldn’t have minded trying it either. It was true though – Shy’s work didn’t have a huge following and he hadn’t expected Cary to know anything about it! He was flattered and yet also a tad concerned to find that his writing had attracted such a dodgy wheeler-dealer as Cary McFur. “You may persuade me to read something – perhaps!”

“Sticking around here for a while, are you, Yeti Bit of a working holiday? Research for some new masterpiece, maybe? I promise to set a date in the very near future, if you promise you’ll perform for me!” McFur smiled again and then waved absentmindedly towards the campsite as he wandered back towards the headland to take another look through his binoculars. “Help yourself to a can of beer or whatever you fancy…” he said. “If you want to take a swim, you’ll find a spare bathing costume…”

Shy looked at himself dubiously, deciding that he didn’t intend to disrobe on the beach anytime soon, for fear of scaring away the tourists. Cary, on the other hand, cut a rather dapper figure, now he was no longer swamped by camping equipment. That said, with his face lost beneath a bushy beard, he did have the air of one of those old fashioned jungle explorers, rather than the sort of person who might be planning a local arts festival. “Are you bird-watching?” Shy enquired, “Or just being a filthy perv?”

“A bit of both…” replied Cary and gave a little chuckle, “Although, I’m more interested in the Green Fairy Isles… It’s all a bit of a local legend – no-one really seems to have ever found them, but it beats all that nonsense about phantom underwear into a cocked hat! Now a Magic Island would really be somewhere cool to stage a pop festival, don’t you think? What was it you were here for again, Shy?”

“I had considered working on a factual piece…” he blurted, now suddenly called to provide a reason for his arrival in town. “Fine Restaurants Of Pembrokeshire! It’s rather a specialist niche – but I’m very fond of this part of the world and it’s fine Welsh cuisine… Especially the sausages…”

Cary frowned, “I’m vegetarian myself! Make sure you do a veggie chapter, won’t you? Stick a few poems in too. You should really try doing something for the fiction market, you know – you have a unique talent for storytelling, fella!” Shy wasn’t quite sure what to make of that comment – but Cary continued, “I say, are you going to have a beer or not… I was rather hoping you’d help me hammer a few nails into some cardboard boxes so that I can say we’re making progress on the main stage…”

But Shy’s mind had wandered off elsewhere. “I’ll pop back later if I may, McFur! You’ve given me inspiration to write, whilst we’ve talked and I haven’t got my notebook with me to scribble it down!”

“I have a spare note pad or ten in my tent… Right at the back…” But Shy wasn’t stopping around and was already hurrying off back the way he’d come only a few minutes before. Of course, he had got his notebook, (never went without it!) – but that wasn’t the point. There was much to be done, elsewhere!

*
Over lunch, Shy mused about his next plan of action. He didn’t trust Cary McFur one little bit… His whole cover story just didn’t hold water. Sure, he maintained that his festival was at an early stage, but Shy just wasn’t buying a word of it. All that talk of local myths tweaked a nerve, though and he’d put in an order with the local bookshop for a couple of local guides that were currently out of stock.
Later, having purchased a pair of binoculars of his own, Shy caught a bus to Saundersfoot, a couple of miles down the coast – where he planned to walk the cliff top path back to Tenby, as he mused over his next move. Finding the start of the path had been hard enough to begin with. He’d followed a sign to the edge of Saundersfoot Harbour, crossed a sandy beach and waded through a rock pool. All the while he was dodging another sea gull, this time after his bag of Wine Gums, before finally spotting the path to the tree-lined cliff top. Initially, this way was blocked by a rather big dog, yet here the Wine Gums worked wonders by sticking its teeth together and allowing Shy to make a hasty exit – his wet fur no further ruffled! He’d not expected the terrain to be as rough on the old paws, as it was. Of course, ancestrally Yeti’s were quite unfazed by hills and mountains and what-not, but in reality this wasn’t quite Shy’s own background. His parents were most definitely city dwellers. His mother was a librarian, his father a cross dresser and part time Estate Agent - and the highest hill he’d ever climbed was in Richmond Park, near Central London. But even then he’d been riding piggy-back on a friend!

The paths were still very muddy, after recent rain and Shy had not come prepared for such slippy conditions and although he wasn’t exactly wearing beach flip flops, the trainers he wore had precious little grip. If only he’d packed his DMs, even in the heat. “At least your new binoculars still work!” he sighed – and indeed they were, if only he could be sure of what he was looking for. One thing he had noticed though were the enormous great, big black storm clouds coming ever close over the horizon.

Within another 20 minutes they were not just on the horizon, but also overhead – not just threatening a storm but delivering it. On a June day such as this he would have expected daylight ‘til getting on for half past nine, or later – but today at only five minutes to six, the sky had already turning a dark, gloomy dusk. The wind had got up and was howling across the cliff top and, typical luck, thought Shy – he’d recently left behind the cover of woodland where he would have been able to shelter, otherwise.

“Bloody storm!” he grumbled, ducking his head to the elements, whilst trying to climb a rather rickety stile. He knew he wasn’t terribly far from Tenby and had even caught sight of it earlier, just before the rain. But now he faced a steep slope and many perilous rabbit burrows to prevent any rapid descent. “Gimme Shelter!” exclaimed Shy, recalling a favourite Rolling Stones track, “It’s just a shot away…”

Aforementioned shelter was indeed nearby, this was a pleasant surprise, however he hadn’t expected to share it with every Tom, Dick, Harry or in fact any stray Ermintrude the Cow in the neighbourhood that happened to wander in. But sure enough, he did so. The path itself followed a line of trees where every bunny, every single sheep and several cows were huddled. The track was already a large muddy lake and rain teemed off the leaves to add to the ever growing mess. To make matter worse, one of the fences between fields had collapsed and a number of angry looking bulls were now coming his way.

He was about to make a run for it when there came a cry.

“HHHEEEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP!”

Somewhere out there, in the rain and the mud – beyond the cows and the frisky bulls and bleating, angry sheep – it rather sounded as if someone badly needed his assistance. Shy wasn’t one to give up in situations like these – whether the odds looked good or not. He’d find a way, if there was one – although in the haze of the rain it wouldn’t be easy.

“HHHEEEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPP!”

Shy gritted his teeth. He was going to need some extra strong Yeti magic to help save this lost soul...

CAN SHY ESCAPE THE FRISKY BULLS AND RESCUE A FELLOW IN DISTRESS? WILL HE EVER LEARN THE SECRET OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE OR BE ABLE TO TRUST CARY MCFUR??

FIND OUT NEXT WEDNESDAY - 5TH OCTOBER - FOR THE ANSWERS!!