Pliers quickly whipped up a quick Gumbo stew made from the fresh crab and a sprinkling of left over Gherkins. The gang were licking their lips at the smell of the gumbo.

"Jeez, for someone named after a handtool, you sure can cook a mean gumbo Mr. Pliers" said Elvis in amazement. "Right fellas, feed yerselves up good 'n' proper. You're gonna need to get your strength up to complete the mission we are all on." So everyone tucked in, except Shilts who was struggling to hold his fork due to the gloves.

Unfortunately, the intoxicating aroma of the spicy stew drew some unexpected guests. It was the Germans from the market stalls.  Having finished their bratwursts, their stomachs drew them closer to the plotters...

"Hey youz. Vhat is Das Smellen? Ve must have your spice recipe to make a new GumboWorst vith - tell us it now please or ve take your fat man vith uz - ve need a replacement Santa to drive das sleigh over there - ze real Santa iz missing and us germans are trying to deliver his presents for him, but ve need ze fat man in red."

"Throw some Gherkins their way, Germans love Pickles". At this suggestion, Elvis leapt into action. Tired of relying on others and like a man possessed, he started distributing the gherkins.

At that very moment the very suspicious DC McSweeney walks around the corner "Ello ello whats going on ere then?"

"Anyone aafter some contraband?" he asked, opening his trenchcoat wide, to reveal The Hurdy Gurdy Man, who, in turn, opened his (slightly smaller) coat to reveal Mini Hurdy Gurdy man.

Somewhere inside DC McSweeney's jacket, the Hurdy Gurdy man had happened upon a small clone of himself. He immediately realised that mini HG was quite a good laugh and decided not to beat him to death.

"Cheers lads, yeah there's your fiver change. Now hang on lads", began DC McSweeney. "What exactly is going on here? Looks like a bit of a scam..."

"Erm..." started Elvis

"I can see what you're thinking... and I like it! You'll be bigger than ever!"

"You in then?" Asked Elvis

"Yes."

The bleak winter wind blew ghost like down Hockley cutting through the swathes of crackheads and Big Issue sellers like a knife through lard. Surprising really as there was a Lard shortage in Nottingham at the time.

However, without the lard shortage, the plan would never have succeeded, because the only thing that could stop the plan was a heavily greased pig. Mr Reason had been planning to coat his pig in lard before his barbeque. With the severe lard shortage, the pig would be easy to catch. This was where Shilton came in.

Having originally been coaxed into to the ways of the keeping (and there after that of the goal) by his unique abilities in the pig catching field, he was the only man who could stop the only thing that could stop the plan.

Little John struck eleven; the chimes echoed over the city wrapping it a velvet glove of comfort. The Pig Squealed. So did Shilton. He never had got over that goal against Maradona. He had money on that game. He had made a bet that night that seemed a dead cert. He had lost a fortune to that mysterious Mr Grobbelarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!!!! Damn his Zimbabwean moustache!!!!

At this point around the corner walked Mary Poppins and the rest of the PHE. They had arrived right on time. They were carrying a fine selection of munchies. They had every snack known to man. Every snack, that is except for the gherkins!!!!

Reality brought Elvis crashing back to Earth with a mighty bump that even his brother would have been proud of. his phone was ringing and he had to answer it quick, "Elvis, it's Chaka Demus and Pliers, for the love of God don't hang up!" Elvis' thumb hovered over the red button on his mobile that is normally associated with hanging up. He hesitated. "What is it?" If time wasn't on their side before then it certainly wasn't doing anything to delay the enemy.

Reality brought Elvis crashing back to Earth with a mighty bump that even his brother would have been proud of. his phone was ringing and he had to answer it quick, "Elvis, it's Chaka Demus and Pliers, for the love of God don't hang up!"

Elvis' thumb hovered over the red button on his mobile that is normally associated with hanging up. He hesitated. "What is it?" If time wasn't on their side before then it certainly wasn't doing anything to delay the enemy.

"That pig, boss... it's... it's not a pig at all. It's a pig carcass filled with electronic bugging equipment and listening devices."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" asked a shocked Elvis.

"Yes boss... The Pigs are listening! They may be onto us. Reason's pig is on the other side of town. Tell Shilton to get his sorry arse three fields over to the west and catch the right pig before we're all screwed."

"He'll never make it Elvis!" cried the Hurdy Gurdy Ma
"Why not?"
"Two hundred yards west is betting mile, he'll have to get across there before he can get to that pig. We just can't trust him!"

"But no-one else can catch this pig" cried Chaka Demus and Pliers down the phone, which had yet to be put down, and was on the side in speaker mode, for no real reason, "We need to get Shilts over there. He's the only one who can save us now"

"But how are we gonna do that?" Asked DC McSweeney.

"Well there's a tram due any moment now, let's stick him on that, it goes right through the other side of town," said Elvis, before realising that the tram drivers had all gone on strike because the bus drivers didn't have to work as late as them.

"Dammit" said Elvis to himself... "We're done for".

Fritz the German Sausage Stall Owner leaned forward at that moment and with a conspiratorial raising of the left eyebrow, and silently implied that he had an answer.

Using the most advanced negotiation tactics he could think of, DC McSweeney persuaded Fritz to share his idea with the gang "The war was a long time ago, we're all mates now, Sonny, so share the wealth or you're nicked!"

So, Fritz explained thus; "We inflate one of my sausage skins and use it as a buoyancy aid. Combined with Mary P's umbrella, we should be able to fly Shilton over to the right field without him getting within range of the influence of betters mile."

"I don't know about this, guys..." started Shilton ... "I'm not sure if that sausage skin can support my weight"

"How dare you beesmirch ze reputation of Fritz' sauseeges?! Zey vill never surrender... I mean zey vill never break!" cried Fritz.

"Yeah, stop being a pussy, Shilts" Elvis told the nervous looking keeper "This is what's happening, so get used to the idea."

With that the Hurdy Gurdy man took out his trusty inflatable foot pump, blew it up, and started using it to fill the sausage skin.

With cunning German efficiency Shilts was transported to the field before he could say sauerkraut. That'll be the Vorsprung Deutsch Technique he mumbled to himself. Just as he fastened the final strap on his humongous gloves, the pigs came flying at him from all directions

"Ahhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite tooooooo manyyyyyyyyyyyy hellllllllllllllllllllp"

There were pigs to the left of him. Pigs to the right of him. Pigs before him, Pigs behind him. Shilton searched desperately, which one was Mr Reason's?

Before him appeared the largest bore pig that Shilton had ever seen. A massive brute, with red eyes, the pig was covered in mud. Shilton knew what to do. He checked his positioning, and got ready to dive.

Suddenly, the pig bolted for it. Shilton reacted, but would it be a re-run of his back-pedalling antics in the Semis of Italia '90, or his lightning-quick manoeuvres against Malmo?

The pig was quick, but Shilts was quicker.  With one grasp of his mighty paw he upended the plucky porcine by its back trotter.  "Hooray", he cried.

But he was cut short, for he realised the flaw in the plan.  How was he supposed to get back to the gang?

Shilton thought "I can always ride piggyback" He began grinning as he thought of betting mile. "And one little flutter on the 3:15 at Haydock won't hurt anyone."

Shilton swung himself up, acrobatically, onto the Pig's back. It was a strange ride, but he felt comfortable. He kicked the pig once, and they trotted out of the field and back towards the gang.

Then he heard the unmistakable voice of Pliers booming over the horizon.

"Good work Shilts. Now you've gotta ride that pig one field east and one field north, where Hurdy Gurdy Man and his miniature accomplice await the porky beast. They are prepared for him. Now get it right Petey boy, or we're cutting you out."

This was it. This was Shilts turn to prove himself. If ever he needed to ask for help from the big man, this was the time. He put he mighty gloves together and looked up.

"Lord Brian Clough, I know i'm not a praying man but I really need your help this time..."

"Alright Young Man," came the unmistakably terse cry from Lord Clough in the sky, "You'd have never made my first eleven, but as time is tight and there is no-one else we can rely on, I shall give you the power, once and once only, to prove that the trust and faith the good people of Nottingham have placed in you is not misguided."

Shilton felt energised. He knew now that he could ride the pig to the Hurdy Gurdy man. He knew that finally the people of Nottingham would love him, and he knew that Gypsie Queen would win in the 3:15 at Haydock.

He grabbed the pig's ears, and guided him through the fields. There, before him, was the Hurdy Gurdy man and mini H G M. They had managed to hitch up Santa's sleigh to the reindeer and ride it to the field.

"Job Well Done Shilts," shouted the Hurdy Gurdys in stereo "You were the weak link in our chain and we thought if anyone would let us down it would be you. but you haven't, so we salute you and you're still in.!"

"Nice one lads," replied Shilts, "Now if my work is done for the time being, i'm just gonna nip off for ten minutes."

"Oi, you're not going to put a bet on at a time like this are you?" asked Mini HGM.

"Erm, no... I erm.... just errr.... lost a glove! that's it, I dropped a glove just near betting mile, gotta go get it back, see you in ten..." and with that, Peter Shilton was off like a hare at the dogs, disappearing in the cloud of dust billowing up behind him.

As the Hurdy Gurdys stood there tethering Reason's pig to a stake, all that could be heard were the words "Gyspy Queen, Gypsy Queen..." floating through the ether.

"We're proper fucked now," sighed Elvis, "Shilts was the only one fat enough to pass as Santa and deliver all the presents"

"What are we gonna do now?"

Pliers had been listening to all this taking place down the line of the phone which nobody had remembered to switch off, and suddenly everyone froze as his voice unexpectedly came through the line "... listen up Elvis mon, It's easy, Shilts has done his bit for now, you don't need him. here are your options - the Hurdy Gurdys can combine themselves in an oversized jacket to impersonate a fat man, or someone else could volunteer to eat the entire contents of Fritz's sausage stall in order to become instantly fat enough to pass off as a Santa, or maybe you should just...' then the phone cut out and the battery died.


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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