A Mango Afternoon

A few days ago, the Mangoes three were sitting around in the super-secret basement of their exotic camper van wondering what to do with their day.

They’d eaten their entire supply of hard boiled eggs and chased six weasels away for being snide.

James said:

Marianne said:

Richard said:

Marianne and James stared at Richard for a long time waiting for him to tell them his big idea. He was very slow to pick up on the fact that they were waiting for him to tell them his big idea. Eventually he got there though.

So they took down the big book of hobbies and chose one completely at random. Luckily they chose Falconry, because Marianne has really been struggling to keep the thread of this blog going and that seems like a suitably idiotic topic.

James said:

And Marianne said:

But then the falcon bit Richard because it thought he was a bit of grain, so they had to put it down. It wasn’t very happy about it, but then it became best mates with a woodlouse on the floor and the two of them went off into the sunset together and an MGMT song played out the scene to fade.

THE END.

A Very Mango Tale

Hello Mangoes, how's it going?

We have another little update for you on the progress of our lives as we endeavour to become mango. It was revealed to us by ourselves that we have around 50 shows booked from now until September. Needless to say we all briefly died of shock before reviving and coming up with a hot, celebratory dance routine. Anyone who will be in Balham, Buxton or Edinburgh in the next few months, keep your nostrils peeled for our arrival!

In other news, we were out driving in our fashionable horse and cart last week, taking in the crisp spring air and several ridiculously large flies along the way which meant by the time we stopped, our hunger was satiated, but we had one hell of a thirst between us. Luckily we'd pulled up outside the public house pictured below.

Forward we henced and into the Fanny & Mirkin, desperate for a long, refreshing beverage. Inside it was deserted but for a bowl of elderly wasabi peas and faint smell of the ocean.

This is what Richard said:

And then James said:

And then Marianne said:

There was no reply. It was very silent. There were no sounds. It was eerily quiet. So quiet in fact that you could have heard Jodi Foster coming out of the closet. The volume of the place was sneaky. And then James said:

Richard started crying, because he doesn't like change. His tears fell like Simon Cowell's spirits when he realised that no matter how much re-constructive facial surgery he goes in for, he will never escape the fact that he is Simon Cowell and he still looks like a knitted version of a person.

James walked around the bar. He stopped and did a double take the way he might do if this were all just dramatic fiction. Then he said, "WHAT THE EFFIE TRINKET?!" 

Marianne and Richard ran around to see what the matter was. Here is a photograph of what they saw:

As it turns out, the dolphin (Ambrose) had come here from Vietnam on a tourist visa and had taken over the licence from his mate Darrek when he moved to Mauritius. The reason there were no other customers was because everyone in the village was racist.

We shared some drinks with him and then hit the road feeling refreshed.

THE END.