THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 18 - Making a Movie

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“Look at this,” insisted Robin Fox as he sat in conference with his fellow conspirators, Frieda, Florence, Tom, Anna and Nicola Ridley, Ellie, Jason Smith and Jonathan Wilson. The latter were hired hands or “tech help” as Anna called them (“But they’re trustworthy and will do as I ask as they love the village and both hate outsiders,” she would tell the rest). “This is www.minstercats.co.uk and as you can see, the domain name is parked ready for use...used by US!”

“Wow, you have been a busy boy,” said Anna, giving Robin a hug, which made him slightly embarrassed but also quite happy. “It is all here and ready to go. What we need to do is start putting what little we have together and then doing interviews.”

“And it must be done under their radar, too,” added Ellie. “That moron General has got more aggressive and paranoid since his bad time at the meeting and his credibility wasn’t helped when a member of the local journalistic community caught him reading those pornographic magazines in his command centre - sorry Burger Van. Apparently he claimed it was a plot to destabilise the ABC Team but I think he’s just a perv. Gives me the creeps.”

“Indeed,” replied Frieda. “The man is clearly a total waster but he is a problem for all of us; Ellie especially. For some reason, the largest part of the media wants to keep this story going. Probably not much political news as it’s summer time. Even if they only keep it going a week or two further the damage will be done so we must act quick.”

“We need to start filming,” said Anna. “I can work with Robin to put some simple questions together. Now, who are we seeing as well as Marj? She’s lovely, isn’t she, and that dog of hers is manic...but quite fun.”

“Well, I asked Jenny earlier about Tony East,” said Robin, “But he’s gone all camera shy now that locals know he’s in with The General. I can’t believe Jen has to work with him at the pub. At least she gets to do two jobs – the cafe and the pub – and only has to see the idiot at the evening time. In fact, Tony’s more than half the reason that crew of clowns arrived here; him and his big mouth and bigger ego. Grr!”

“We need,” he continued, “to do what other documentary people would do – set the scene, speak to local people for their opinions...so I reckon the Reverend Harrison and Lady Penelope would be good. What about Brigadier Jones? He’s a bit eccentric but Jack says that he used to hunt for tigers in India or something equally mad!”

“He did,” said Jack, coming into the room with a tray of drinks and snacks. “And he is quite famous. Despite his 90 years of age he still gets around – last time I saw him he was driving at around 70 miles an hour in a sports car on a single lane track nearby – and until recently he allowed children from various backgrounds to work on his land to gain a better understanding of country life. So he is an all-round good egg. Mind you, it is said that he used to be the best shot in India and could bag a tiger from 200 yards; not that I condone that sort of thing but he’s from a different world really. Anyway, how are you getting on?”

Upper Minster’s Jack was a popular figure and his work on local farms and keen eye for garden designs meant that he rarely sat still. He did love what the children were doing, though and was eager to help them if he could.

“Well, we are making a film and putting it on the Internet,” said Florence, determinedly. “Robin says it will kick ass.”

Everyone laughed, Jack included. “Manners, young lady. No need to use Americanisms and profanity when the English language will suffice. A film does sound good though. Something needs to be done about these damned outsiders and day-trippers. I’d put some lovely hanging pots outside old Mrs Wilkinson’s cottage and some bloody townie stole them. She actually saw them but couldn’t get out of her house quick enough. They put the pots in the back of their car and she knew why they were here because another neighbour said that the people who’d done it had been acting suspiciously earlier and were wearing those ever so naff Minster Beast T-shirts. ‘Have You Seen The Beast' or whatever. Idiots! I’d love to get my shot-gun out on them,” he added, forgetting himself.

“Well, Jack; I am most appalled,” said Florence, playing at being all high and mighty. “Violence is not the answer when we have our website. Our method of activity will go further than your shot-gun pellets.”

The children laughed and Jack looked slightly embarrassed. “You kids are far too clever for your own good,” he answered, smiling. “Just make sure you get rid of that General before the farmers skewer him and feed him to their pigs!”

As the children ate and drank it was decided that Frieda would accompany Anna and Nicola to Marj Seaton’s later on with the Tech Helpers Jason and Jon, while Robin would start writing an introduction for his website that, he hoped, would “go live” in a few short days time.

“I don’t care if I get no sleep. We need to do the media’s job for them because they’re not doing it,” he fumed.

“What can we do?” said Tom, feeling left out. “Florry and I never have as much fun as you older ones,” he moaned.

“Fear not,” replied Robin. “I have a very important job for you and that is to take this here local map and mark down all the places that people, including yourself, have claimed to see this big cat. I have a partial list here for you. As we know it’s real, we need to work out the extent of the area it inhabits and as much good information that we can get. From what Jack says, I think an unannounced visit to Brigadier Jones is in order. He is as mad as a hatter, I believe. Although we don’t want him to shoot this cat, we could certainly ask for his knowledge in how to track it. He might be just the person we need and he hates outsiders more than we do.”

“Ace,” said Tom. “We could ride our bikes over there tomorrow and hammer another nail in The General’s mouldy coffin....”

WE KNOW THE TRUTH...

He may claim to be helping the CFZ to get specimens of the garden tiger moth (see below) for a breeding project but we know the truth, boys and girls. Agent Matthews is now working to destabilise the Arctiidae

FROM WIKIPEDIA: The garden tiger moth is found throughout Europe as far north as Lapland, in Asia, and in North America. In the mountains this species is found up to an elevation of 2,000 metres (6,600 ft). The garden tiger moth loves damp places, which is why it is particularly common in river valleys as well as gardens and parks. The moth is nocturnal and can usually only be seen flying around a source of light. The distinctively coloured, long-haired caterpillar, on the other hand, is seen more frequently. It can grow up to 6 cm (2½ inches) long and plays dead when in danger. These moths are most common in June to August, in gardens, park, meadows, grasslands, and scrubby areas.

On August 28, 2007, the new Biodiversity Action Plan (BAP) [launched in 1997] identified 1,149 species and 65 habitats in the UK that need conservation and greater protection. The updated list include hedgehog, house sparrows, grass snake and the garden tiger moth; otters, bottlenose dolphins and red squirrels remained in need of habitat protection.[1]
Its numbers in the UK have declined by 89% over the past 30 years.[2]

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 17 - YUM

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

Back at home, the children were reviewing the state of play. The village was overwhelmed by tourists, trippers, people who believed in aliens, paranormal researchers of varying hue, the curious, the uninitiated and the totally confused. More t-shirt salespeople and trinket hawkers were peddling their wares to a growing number of visitors and the local village council was in crisis talks. Ellie had reported back to base and was still holding her nose as she shadowed the General but she had little difficulty in looking stroppy as spending time with his troops was becoming more unpleasant as the days passed.

“So what is the next move,” asked Robin, thoughtfully. “I feel like we did well at the meeting in the village but our way of life is under threat. Think about the damage that all this traffic will do to the hedgerows and local wildlife. I’ve seen several animals squashed in the narrow lanes – far more than we usually would expect. Outsiders don’t understand the countryside. They see it as a resource to be plundered and visited. It’s not right. So we must act.”

“Well, it was you who said about making our own film,” said Frieda. “A sort of response to the lunacy that has engulfed us. We have that nice video camera and you can make a film using Windows Movie Maker and put it on youtube. Given all the interest in what’s going on people searching will find the film and we could publicise it locally and tell those rubbish journalists and they’d mention it. That’d be easy.”

“Hold on,” said Florence. “I thought we were like the Secret Seven or Famous Five. Don’t we want to be all quiet and nobody really knows it’s us? I want to save the lovely big cat and get these people away from the woods and fields. The more people there are, the more likely the beastie is to get caught, or killed or something."

“Of course,” said Tom, enthusiastically. “Couldn’t we get someone else to be the public face of it?”

“Maybe so. Hmmm,” mused Frieda. “There are some older girls at the Minster College who I know. They’re doing some sort of media arts course and all they do is pretend to be newsreaders and filmmakers. OK, so they don’t do much work but they love the village as we do and are probably annoyed to have been left out of this.”

“Good idea,” said Robin. “I shall ask one of them; that Anna Ridley girl. She always says hello when I see her in the village and even though she seems a bit tarty, she’ll maybe want to help. I need to go and see her but she is older than me so I hope she won’t laugh.”

“Don’t worry,” said Frieda, “I know her younger sister, Nicola so we can go and see her and maybe speak to Anna if she’s there.”

...........

Twenty minutes later Robin and Frieda arrived at the Ridley household on their mountain bikes and were surprised to see a crowd gathered around the front gate. People were arguing. “You bloody moron,” shouted a red-faced Mr Ridley. “Where did you learn to drive?”

“I am sorry,” said the driver of a small Nissan vehicle with a large scrape down its side and remnants of Mr Ridley’s garden wall hanging off the side. “I am not used to parking in such a tight space. Normally I don’t reverse when I’m parking in town. I just drive straight into the spot at the supermarket."

“Well, you’re just another one of those bloody day-trippers come down here to ruin things for us locals,“ raged Mr Ridley, whose daughters had come out to see what the large bang had been and what exactly was going on in this usually peaceful part of England’s Green and Pleasant land. “You’re a bloody moron. That wall cost me hundreds of pounds and you bet your miserable life that you’re going to pay for it.”

“Hello Mr Ridley,” said Robin. “What on earth has gone on here?”

“Oh, hello children,” he replied. “Well, this idiot here has smashed my wall down because she learned to drive before a license was required.”

“Excuse me,” replied the careless townie. “I have taught at Bristol Community College for some 20 years and I am not that old. Local people where I live give me the respect I deserve!”

“Bristol,” said Frieda. “My mummy says it’s an urban sewer and as for teaching in a college, Mummy says that schools and colleges are run by do-gooders who are failed academics and who want to indoctrinate children with their own politically correct views.”

Silence.

“Oh, my God, you people are backward,” said the townie whose name, it emerged, was Angie. “You do not understand the beauty of the urban environment and how different cultures rub up against each other and work within a modern, 21st Century setting; whereas some things, it seems, haven’t changed at all out here in the sticks. I celebrate my urban existence; all the colours of the rainbow work together; black, white, brown, and I am here to celebrate the sightings of a star creature, a creature of divine properties and creation, against the background of the rural mileu.”

More silence.

“Well, you are obviously completely bonkers, lady,” said Anna Ridley. “What are you on about? All I know is you can’t drive and you talk rubbish. I bet you’re here for the big cat story, aren’t you? I think you should just turn around – this time without smashing our property – and go back to your oh-so-wonderful urban life with its pollution, noise, filth and crime, and leave us backward stick-dwellers to our own devices.”

“Brilliant,” said Robin.

At that the Rainbow Warrior from Bristol turned to her car and shoved a dog-eared business card into Mr Ridley’s hands. “That,” she postured, “is my business card and you may send me a bill for the damage but make sure you send me several quotes so I know you’re not trying to rip me off. I shall park elsewhere and hopefully find people who are more friendly, and more with it.”

“Bye bye,” said Nicola Ridley. “And don’t come back. Anyway, you smell.”

All present wept with laughter.

Robin, completing the scene, said to Anna, “Hey, Anna, we need your help with this big cat thing. Can we talk?”

“Of course,” she replied. “Come right in but mind out for the bits of wall. Dad will be well angry about that; the work was only finished last month and he had to work extra shifts to pay for it. Haven’t seen him that mad for years. Anyway, knowing your family I bet you’re none too pleased about all these people coming here to ruin our way of life. You spend ages wandering around the lanes and fields and woods. I’ve seen you, and although it’s not so much my thing I can’t stand not being able to go and visit my friends without bumping into people peering over the garden wall or dropping litter or leaving a mess. You know the village green? Well obviously, but because there’s no car park the visitors have chewed up all the verges and one idiot has churned up the whole thing, turning his car around, doing a handbrake turn. I had to go and stop him from running a family of ducks over. Unbelievable.”

“Yes, it’s no good, is it?” Robin replied. “So we need to do something and we’ve started to do little bits but I must tell you something first and we shall have to trust you first. Can I?”

“Weeell,” Anna considered. “If it stops anyone else’s wall being knocked over and returns Upper Minster to normal, then of course you can. What do you know then?”

Robin explained about the big cat, how it was real and how it had been seen locally over the years. He also explained about The General, the meeting and all that had gone on until now. He also used the emotional card about Florence and her love of the big cat. If it works, he thought to himself, then it’s worth it.

“And this brings us on to one idea we had,” he continued, “And that is that you and your mates at school are doing that media course and like making films. We thought it would be nice for the children and young people of Upper Minster to make a film telling the world about their lives here: what it’s like to live in the country, in a place like this; include some nice scenery and some decent information about what has been going on.”

“Wow, that sounds ace,” said Anna. “But, errrm, could I be the presenter? I want to work in the media business eventually. It is true, I’m not like you. I don’t read as many books or know as much and you probably think I’m a bit of a bimbo but my looks are important to me – image is everything you know – and I think I’d do the job well.”

“Ha,” exclaimed Robin, “I didn’t call you a bimbo but you obviously like wearing designer clothes where a charity shop T-shirt will do for me. But it doesn’t matter. Our village is under threat and we think that minor differences in looks and interests shouldn’t stop friends and their friends, and their friends, working together.”

“You’re right,” said Anna. “My little sister’s more like you, and she has this poster on her wall with pictures of people on, wearing really different clothes and it reads It Doesn’t Matter How You Wear Your Hair It’s What’s Inside Your Head.”

“That’s kkkkkkuuuule,” said Robin. “That really makes you think doesn’t it?!”

“It does, indeed,” replied Anna. “So were you going to put this film on the internet or something?” she asked.

“Aha,” said Robin. “Great minds think alike. Or, at least, you’re ahead of me. YES! We wanted to make a low budget film fairly quickly and although we’d do all the leg-work you’d present it and you could use your friends from school for technical assistance but they’d need to be trustworthy and do what they’d promised to do. Would they do that?”

“I think they will and I’m pretty popular at school so I think this is a good idea and a project I’d like to get involved in but judging by the headlines and the television, we’d better get on with this, as in now, today. Look, let’s make some calls.”

Anna went next door to get her sister, who was talking to Frieda and then the four of them sat around in her room while she made a few mobile phone calls to chosen friends.

Half an hour, later the YUM Project (jokily named after Young People of Upper Minster) was up and running. A camera team consisting of Robin (who owned a lovely Sony Digicam that was perfect for the job in hand) and Anna’s school friends Jason Smith and Jonathan Wilson, was arranging to meet Marj Seaton - the poor lady whose chance sighting of something had set the whole thing going a week ago - later that evening to film the first part of their YouTube documentary, which would tell their side of the story and hopefully get the thousands of visitors, who were tearing up their neighbourhood, going back to where they came from.

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 16 - “Cat Researchers Gets Clawed!”

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“Clearly,” said Danny Milstein, standing in the centre of a massive 500-foot diameter crop circle formation, “There is a meaningful Zen aesthetic at work here and we find the objective clashing with the subject in a struggle for understanding the role of such things within a semiotic counter-cultural environment.”

“Oh, absolutely, Danny,” said his wife, Janet. “What occurs to me, looking at this creation, is the illusive phenomena we are examining now, whereby the indefinable clashes with the real to create a temporary mystery. I am reminded of the work of Maurice Merleau-Ponty. At the core of his and our philosophy is a sustained argument for the foundational role that perception plays in understanding the world as well as engaging with the world. Like the other major phenomenologists, he expresses his philosophical insights in writings on art, literature, and politics...as do the circlemakers.”

The mall group of locals standing around hadn’t a clue what the newly arrived members of the FPS were talking about and suspected that they were using long words to try and confuse them all, and seem cleverer than they really were. “Well, that’s all very interesting,” said Alan Davies, in whose field the formation had appeared, “But it just seems like flattened crops to me!”

“Ah yes,” piped up Joe McMenamy, an FPS junkie (as he liked to call himself when he wasn’t writing letters to his MP asking to be considered a “serious researcher”), “But in my view, for the circular artwork to function properly, we need to totally remove ourselves from the equation. Crop circles gain their power from that gap in knowledge about their author. As soon as you claim authorship of a crop circle you drain it of the very thing that gives it its power: its mystery, and it just becomes a mere specimen, just flattened crop.”

“Yes, Joe, you make a good point," enthused Chris Milstein, “But this, until recently, has been a curiously English phenomenon and it seems to me that we have a fusion of the real and unreal here; the yin and yang; the positive and negative, as Mother Earth seeks some sort of balance. It could even be the case that the Circlemakers do not fully understand their role within the overall scheme of things.”

“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Alan Davies son, Mark. “The whole village is filling up with people talking rubbish; either you lot of geeks or those idiots in the camouflage jackets. Even if there is a big cat, it’s just a big cat. I mean, it’s like saying foxes are paranormal or something. When you work on the land, as we do, you see things differently and very realistically. You lot sound like you’ve swallowed a dictionary or just like using big words and that other lot with that comical General character ought to take up paintball or something!”

“Now, look here, young man,” patronised Milstein. “You haven’t studied these phenomena as I have. I have peer reviewed articles in numbers of scientific journals that ask important questions about the philosophy behind what is going on in a place like Upper Minster. I understand that you resent outsiders, as you see us, but you will appreciate that 30 years or more in this subject gives us a unique perspective on such matters.”

“Unique, my ass,” countered Mark. “You’re just talking rubbish. Everybody round here knows who the circlemakers are and they are very human. You should do some proper research, mate. It happened in 1990 and it’s happened again. Big deal. The circlemakers, as you call them, are just winding you up and it looks like it’s working, doesn’t it? It’s not as clever, arguably, as Banksy’s art, but it’s obvious who has done it and why. It is also obvious that there is little or nothing in these Big Cat stories but it doesn’t stop you. Meanwhile, we just get on with it and with that in mind, perhaps you’ll get off our land with your friends and let us do what we have done for 400 years...FARM!”

And with that telling off, Milstein, his wife and “team” moved off back to their cars with their tails firmly between their legs. “Bloody peasants,” said Milstein to his wife. “Wait until I write this up for the Journal of Ostension Research.”

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 15 - The Media Glare

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“Cat Researchers Gets Clawed!”

“Norman’s Wisdom!”

“Circus Clown Gets Boot!”

The papers were full of stories about The General’s difficult evening and with little happening in the big wide world, the meeting had made several regional newspapers; Channel X news; the Internet; on every forum dealing with UFOs, Big Cats and The Paranormal; and even The Daily Star.

The General was beside himself and was in a closed meeting with his supporters at a cafe in Lower Minster, two miles away. “What in HELL happened last night?” he screamed. He had been up all night trying to get the custard pies, string and gunk off himself and his friends were not happy either. It wasn’t their mistaken approach that concerned them but feeling sorry for themselves, uncovering the “moles” and “exposing the conspiracy against us.”

Such talk was common in ABC circles. The group did such a bad, non-scientific job that their lists and databases of Big Cat sightings were often conflated and confused with all sorts of phenomena. “We knooow there is a conspiracy at work and I thought I recognised a few people in that crowd of ingrates last night,” moaned The General. “State Agents, Government Assets, Agent Provocateurs probably trained at the Intelligence Corps HQ in Ashford, Kent. They send them on provocateur short courses and their role is to infiltrate the general public and keep us under control. I’m sure that Watts character was there last night. I shall have a look at the footage later. Bastards!”

“Yes but most of them that chucked stuff were kiddies,” said Pam. “They can’t be agents.”

“You want a bet,” shouted The General. “I have something here written by Larry H. Larder and he’s a London-based expert in deep government surveillance and penetration of the UFO community by state assets. One of his reports is on a 14-year-old MI5 agent and I bet that very man was there last night handing out the silly string and custard pies to his agents. They get 'em young, these days and, after all, suicide bombers in Palestine are often teenagers.”

There was no point arguing with The General when he was in this mood. Or any mood, for that matter. Ellie Macpherson, barely able to contain her delight, and who had, this time, been asked to attend the secret meeting, spoke up. With a somewhat distant look on her face, and trying once again not to die of laughter, she said, “Well...I don’t think they understand you, Farley. If they knew what you knew they would understand. The sightings, the evidence, the database, your 20 years in the subject. As you say, some of them might know something and a couple of people I spoke to said there were outsiders in last night’s meeting.”

Brilliant stuff. Ellie was tapping into the General’s paranoia and telling him nothing.

“But the girl is right,” he exclaimed. “She’s local, she knows the score and now we have confirmation that agents were indeed there last night and that they either duped locals or infiltrated their ranks!”

“Indeed,” said Ellie.

The fact that she had said no such thing was neither here nor there. Anyone agreeing with The General would be given promotion; seen as a rising star. Anyone disagreeing was a problem, if not The Problem.

“And you, Pam, should bloody well know better,” The General continued. “You should be supporting me after that vicious and cowardly attack on our people last night. What we need is guts, some revenge. I will get the bastards if it’s the last thing we do! I will expose them all. I will bring this conspiracy to the world’s attention.”

Farley Norman was dripping with hatred and was on the verge of losing it completely. He thought he liked the limelight but after last night was having second thoughts. He didn’t like getting a rough ride especially from people who didn’t understand.

“What do you have in mind, boss?” asked Billy Poison, sounding a bit like a Mafia hit man. “Are we going to launch some dirty tricks of our own?”

“We shall see, Billy; we shall see. When the time comes we shall not be forgotten and we shall have respect and that is spelt A B bloody C!”

The meeting broke up and Ellie got on her mountain bike and rode the couple of miles back home whereupon she checked on her mother - who was fine, especially after watching proceedings on Channel X’s live link - and then went to see her best friend in the world, Frieda Fox.

Frieda was at home making cakes. When she saw Ellie she took off her apron, rushed to hug her and gave her a little kiss too. “I am thrilled to see you darling,” she exclaimed. “I so missed you last night and it was such, such fun. Tell me about the emergency meeting this morning. Let’s go upstairs!”

The children had been awake for a while – Saturday was their lie-in morning – and last night’s excitement had guaranteed they’d slept well. Once Ellie arrived they gathered around and Robin turned from the computer screen to get the latest information.

“You should have heard them this morning,” said Ellie. “That IDIOT has completely lost it and at one point threatened revenge! He seems to think that local children have been employed by MI5 or something to do the government’s dirty work. If Frieda and I hadn’t watched so much X Files together I shouldn’t have guessed where he gets his ideas from!”

“This man is insane,” said Robin. “I’ve been looking into his background more. He used to produce a magazine called Alien Sightings and this was the most extreme – or should I say extremely ridiculous – magazine ever produced on the subject of UFOs. He thinks that he is a 'starchild' because he used to have bad dreams. A nut’s nut by any standards and now he’s switched to Big Cats.”

“Yes,” said Ellie, “And I managed to get him thinking dark conspiracies; not that he needed much help. And get this: the scumbag put his hand on my backside when I was on the way out and told me he thought I was a good looker, a potential future leader, if I stuck with him and met him in the pub later. Dirty old man.”

Frieda looked uncomfortable. Robin looked shocked and the youngsters shifted uncomfortably. “I want to kill him,” she said. “How dare he?!”

“It’s ok,” said Ellie, hugging her friend. “It’s ok. I knew what I was getting into and you guys need me so I am helping. Mind you, my mum was mightily entertained by last night’s efforts. She thinks that Robin is a wonderful young man knowing that he was behind it and said that it was one of the funniest things she had ever seen when The General got 'tarred and feathered.'”

“A snake, when injured, is most vicious,” added Robin, “So you be careful with him. Bloody weirdo, though, chatting up a child. It won’t go well for him when this all comes out and we film you exposing the inner workings of his soon to be defunct group....”

“And we have won the first battle, but not yet the war,” said Florence, sounding heroic.

The children had much plotting and planning to do, albeit without MI5’s resources at their disposal, but already hundreds of people were arriving in the village to find out what was going on. One car-load of visitors included members of the FPS (Fortean Paranormal Society) who believed in synchronricity, ostention and other things that neither they, nor the public, fully understood. They thought that their appearance would “give a much needed Fortean perspective on events in Upper Minster” and their organiser, Danny Milstein, and his wife Janet, took themselves very seriously indeed.

To top it all, in a wheat field nearby, a local farmer was getting the shock of his life as he discovered a massive crop circle formation on his land. It looked like James Macpherson was back but to the casual observer it would seem as if hidden messages might be located within his formation....

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 14 - The Meeting

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny," says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

A meeting was to be held at the Minster Village Hall and many villagers would be there out of concern. The local vicar, Thomas Harrison and the head of the Village Council, Lady Penelope Gregson, would be chairing the meeting at which The General would be speaking and locals would be able to ask some of the questions that were concerning them.

The children were all going and Robin was bringing his camera to film events and to produce the first scenes for his internet movie, presenting, he hoped, a villager’s view of events. Many of the children’s friends would be going too and it was said that local farmers would be out in force almost certainly to give The General a hard time.

The children met at the war memorial. Ellie had decided, after talking with Frieda, to stay away from the event and true to form, The General asked her to stay away because “things might get heavy”. He also didn’t fancy having any of the limelight being taken away from him by a pretty young girl, and a local one at that.

As the children approached the meeting they said hello to lots of their friends and neighbours. All those attending had to fight their way past a strange man selling “Minster Beast” t-shirts and a van selling “Big Cat Burgers”. Disgusted, the children and their friends from the village mocked the money-makers and made their way into the hall.

The place was a hive of activity; women from the local WRVS offering tea and sandwiches, the vicar speaking with a local radio station, Channel X TV personnel lauding it over the locals and setting up cameras for a “live link” and villagers mingling with strange people who looked like they rarely saw daylight. Various groups were giving out leaflets including the “Rendlesham Research Initiative”. Robin reliably informed his brother and sisters that in fact a lighthouse had been responsible for the sightings in 1980 but the people giving out leaflets – and asking for donations - said it was a government-alien cover-up, and that rabbits and radioactivity were also involved.

The children sat to the left of the hall next to friends of theirs and Tom produced a huge bag of sweets including jelly snakes, curly wurlies and Sherbert Dip Dabs. He also had some other goodies in his bag but they were for later. (He was carrying materials that would be of use to friends; when the time was right.) Whilst munching away at their feast, Robin filmed various scenes and Frieda assisted by taking lots and lots of digital photos with mummy’s new camera. All would be included on a new website Robin had set up and that afternoon he’d used his pocket money to buy a website and domain name – www.minstercats.co.uk – which would become the main vehicle for putting out a sensible, balanced view of what was happening and also a lot of information designed to encourage all the visitors and trippers to leave as soon as possible.

After around twenty minutes waiting, The Reverend Harrison stood up on stage and welcomed “friends and visitors” to the village, to the hall and to the meeting. He noted that such excitement was relatively unknown to locals and that some resentment had been caused but that he hoped that some understanding could be gained through the evening’s proceedings. “It is to be hoped that from tonight we can start to see thing’s from each other’s point of view and that the Spirit may guide us towards a common purpose,” he added. Lady Penelope then took the stage and declared that this was one reason why tonight’s meeting had been called; to see what could be done about the current state of affairs, the interruption to village life and what - if any - evidence there was for the many extraordinary claims being made. “It would be nice to see some of the outsiders acting with class and tact,” she added. Several people laughed.

Reverend Harrison continued with a prayer and it was interesting to note that the villagers joined him and that the outsiders mocked. Just as the prayers were ending The General and his motley crew of shower dodgers burst in through the main door. His troupe pushed their way past some of the nice old ladies making tea and marched up to the front of the room where ABC sympathisers had saved some chairs for them.

“I demand an audience,” screeched The General. “I must be heard!”

His supporters, around 20 in all (probably the entire membership), clapped furiously as if The Messiah had entered the room but nobody else was impressed by this fake. Florence stood up and threw an empty bottle at him and was immediately chastised by her older brother even though it hit the target. “Silly girl,” he rasped. “We’re supposed to be pretending to just be here for the fun. Keep a low profile. Please keep calm my darling....” Florence went bright red but her actions met with the approval of her friends. It was a good shot. The General swung around with a look of hatred on his face and felt the back of his head to see if there was any damage. “Might knock some sense into him,” said Albert Brigstocke, a local gardener. Everyone nearby laughed.

After a few minutes of bullying and loudness from The General, Reverend Harrison agreed to allow him to say a few words. What transpired can only be described as the rantings and ravings of a madman but to cut a long story short, The General basically said that Upper Minster had become, variously, a focus for dark forces, was being visited the devil and was “a centre for “Nephilim Activity.” The big cats were “a small part of it but evidence shows that Upper Minster is a window area for Paranormal activity.”

He made some pretty offensive comments about local farmers too; so rude in fact that even the Barton family, who were sitting to the right of the hall near the back, were stunned. If he had been trying to win friends and influence people he had singularly failed but his brief from Yvonne Fawcett was to cause as much trouble as possible so she could get more dramatic scenes on camera and make it look as if the villagers had something to hide.

After The General had finished, the floor was opened up to questions and it was at this point that local frustration and anger boiled over. It started with Susannah, the local vet, calmly but firmly asking The General a series of straightforward questions. “What evidence do you have for local big cat activity?” she asked.

“Too much to mention here,” he said. “But Marj Seaton told me what she saw and there have been many other sightings too,” he replied.

“Yes,” said Susannah, “but these reports, that I have seen on your website, could be anything. Having done five years training at Vetinary College and a further two years specialising, I can find no good evidence, no scientific evidence, to support your claims. Indeed,” she continued, working up a head of steam, “several of your supporters believe in aliens, UFOs, abductions, the global conspiracy and none of this has to do with big cats, and nothing to do with Upper Minster. Not one of you is a vet, none of you have any qualifications, none of you are experts and nowhere in anything you present is there any meaningful evidence. In fact, yesterday one of your supporters claimed to have found evidence of something you call “animal mutilation” of two field mice and I ask you, Mr Norman, why any of us here in Upper Minster should take you at all seriously beyond the offence and upset that you have caused.”

Clearly shocked that a wretched local, and a damn vet too, should have inside information on his activities, The General struggled to maintain control. “Errm, well, yes, eh hem...yesterday we did make momentous discoveries down by the river and errr, we were ably assisted by, errm, local people, in making these finds. As I speak, the samples are being looked at by experts.”

“There you go again,” interrupted Susannah. “Without meaning to bang my own drum and that of Minster Vets, which deals with all the local animals and provides an excellent service to people here,” (cue appreciative applause from local farmers and pet owners alike) she stormed, “I am the only real expert here. And you’re not talking to me and you haven’t asked for my help. What scientific methods are you using and which experts have you consulted? I think, given the interruption of village life you and these damn media whores have caused, that you should at least present us with evidence; a picture at least, or some detailed answers.”

“Young lady,” The General replied, “you are clearly here to disrupt tonight’s proceedings and I am wondering who put you up to this!”

“I put myself up to this. I realise you probably have trouble with women,” she added, much to everyone’s delight, “But I am asking questions that you don’t seem to be willing or able to answer. You are the one making the claims and I am the local vet. Now I do not discount the possibility that a large cat could be operating locally – one released into the wild perhaps - but you are coming here making ludicrous claims. I would like to know the names of the scientists you are working with and I can offer them my assistance and I am sure my friends here would prefer me to represent them than you misrepresenting them.” Massive applause erupted and people cheered Susannah. She was the local heroine.

The General was beside himself and started shouting. He was a bully after all. At this, the mood changed from interest to anger. “Yes, she’s right,” shouted Will Smith, local shopkeeper. “Come on, tell us: who are the experts?”

“Answer her questions you fat prat,” shouted Lynsey Stark, local mother of three. “You’re just talking lots and saying very little.”

Other people joined in as Susannah sat down. Several local farmers got out of their seats and walked towards the stage wanting to have meaningful discussion with The General. He, meanwhile, was visibly distressed at this evil turn of events and fiddled with his glasses as Reverend Harrison struggled to maintain a semblance of order. Yvonne Fawcett was not pleased, either, as her propaganda coup was turning sour. It would look like she was working with idiots and her expensive live link was being ruined by what she saw as inbred locals.

The General stood up and prepared to walk out with his people. The meeting was going nowhere but he figured that at least he was at the centre of attention and could present himself as the hero of the hour. Just then, on cue and as arranged, several of the Fox children’s friends armed themselves with some goodies Robin had prepared for the evening. Throughout the evening, Robin had been passing his friends little bags of ammunition. The General walked, with his nervous-looking troops, towards the back of the room, whose audience was shouting much abuse at him and telling him to clear off. As he approached the back, and the gaggle of journalists clamouring to ask him questions, a group of youngsters ran towards Farley Norman, shoved custard pies into his face and fired crazy string at him and his supporters. Others threw feathers. What a mess! The ABC Team was covered in bright colours and gunk and some looked shocked and terrified.

Priceless! What a wonderful picture for live TV viewers and local media. Clearly, Big Cats Research had entered a new stage in its development....

Robin Fox sat back and smiled. Things had gone nicely to plan. The General might think he was calling the shots and his sidekick, the Fawcett woman, might think she was famous and untouchable, but he was actually, a teenager, going to make things happening the way he and his family wanted them to happen.

Tonight had gone very well for the Foxes.

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: PART 13 – UNLUCKY FOR SOME

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every few days will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“You should have seen it, Frieda,” said Ellie to her best friend. “I cannot believe you got me involved like this but since you helped me with my mum I have been so tremendously grateful and I love you very much. But I can tell you,” she continued, “that being involved with those loons has made me determined to help you more."

They were sitting outside the Minster Cricket Pavilion – built in 2004 by way of a grant from the Regional Development Agency – drinking water and eating sweets. Frieda gave Ellie a hug. There may be boys, Frieda thought, but Ellie was her best friend ever and loved spending time with her. Now, of course, things had got more serious and there was a lot of madness descending upon their home so they needed each other more.

Just then, the girls saw Jenny Pearman, their friend from the Minster Pub. Jen was now being called “Cat Girl”; a poor ‘in joke’. All the locals knew her utter horror at her involvement in the ongoing saga of mystery cats in the village for it was she whose loose talk – well that’s the way she now saw it – had been overheard by glass collector Tony East. From there, things had got out of control in a couple of days.

Now the weekend was approaching and stories in newspapers – from local rag to the Daily Mirror – an internet awash with stories, counter stories, hype and speculation and the god-forsaken efforts of Channels X’s Jeremy and Fawcett had made Upper Minster the place of choice for the curious, the uninitiated and the hardcore. The whole village was dreading it. Tonight there would be a special meeting in the Village Hall on Main Street to discuss matters and everyone would be there. Called by members of the Village Trust, this promised to be the highlight – some said the lowlight – of local affairs for many an age.

The last time anything similar had happened was in 1990 when a number of impressive crop circles had appeared in nearby barley and wheat fields. These were said to be ‘revolutionary’ as they broke the mould of simple circles and avenues that had appeared previously across the southwest. An ungodly host of pseudo “experts” had organised a CornCircleFest at the Hall. It turned out, much to the locals' glee, to the annoyance of landowners and to the utter contempt of those who insisted that the formations could only be made by a higher intelligence, that the culprits were a group of teenagers, including Jenny’s older brother James. James was a practical joker and budding artist and he had perfected the art of corn swirling. He had encouraged a few friends to join in the fun and they called themselves Team Sodom. They’d even let off helium balloons painted silver to suggest UFOs above the fields they were working in. Years later they were still at it. They’d made a lot of money making crop formations both at home and abroad and one of their designs had ended up on a beer label used by a famous brewing company. They’d made a lot of money but James’ mum Marcia still hoped he’d get a proper job and do some growing up.

Jenny, Ellie and Frieda discussed the latest excitement and whilst they detested The General – and all the more so since learning more of him and his crazy followers – they had to admit that they were looking forward to having fun at his expense. More than anything, though, they wanted to protect their way of life from outsiders and invaders, as they saw them. “When you go to London or Bristol or somewhere like that they’re soulless, selfish places,” said Ellie. “I go for gigs and music stuff there sometimes but I’m always so glad to come home here, and to you.” She hugged her friends and said, “I tell you, this man is mad and this weekend perhaps thousands of people are coming here because of him and that awful tart from the TV station. You should see them fawning all over each other, it’s truly sad.”

“One thing,” she continued, “your brother was talking about making a film about this for the internet. I am quite happy to take my make up off, tie my hair up and wear one of your pretty Laura Ashley dresses to appear as nice as pie and describe the extremity of their views and their excesses on camera. I could also mention the total lack of scientific method on site, and the way they try and recruit young girls like me. Can you believe that The General had the gall to call me a wayward kid, a rebel, someone needing direction in her life? Then he put his arm around me. I almost died. Vile man!”

“Good Lord, he is a pig,” declared Jenny. “You should have seen him in the pub with Terrible Tony and his acolytes last night. They were all drunk and being obnoxiously loud. Awful creatures. The General even said, after several pints of Stella, that he loved being the leader because it “got him women”. So much for mystery big cats, heh?”

“The women must be desperate,” added Frieda.

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER - Part Twelve - Raaaaar!!!

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

Frieda was sitting in the bedroom she shared with Florence and although it was quite unusual for a fourteen-year-old to share rooms with a younger sister, she adored Florry and kept an eye on her. Florry had the worst nightmares ever and was quite highly strung whereas Frieda was relaxed about most things, even big cat hunting. Florence had trouble sleeping, too, so Frieda offered her all the sisterly love she could manage and they enjoyed each other’s company.

Enjoying a book on dinosaurs, Frieda was interrupted by the buzzing of her mobile phone. She had a text from Ellie. “Omigod they have found two mice and think aliens experimented on them, love El x”

“Madness,” exclaimed Frieda, rushing next door to tell her brothers and sister about the latest news from the front line. “You will not believe this!”

She showed them the text and when they’d stopped laughing, and had managed to explain to a befuddled Florence exactly what the ABC Team thought they had found they sat there in disbelief. “Whatever next?” said Robin. “This is like the worst version of Harry Potter!”

“Harry Potter is ace,” said Tom, “But I know what you mean. It is as if they’ve watched far too much BAD science fiction and can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy.”

“Indeed,” said Robin. “But it helps us. Frieda, can you text Ellie back and ask her to get pictures. I have an idea.”

“She is ahead of you, brother,” replied Frieda. “Here we go. She has just sent them. We should download them onto your computer and take a look. Now where’s that cable thingy?”

“Here it is,” he replied. “Right then... it goes in the USB port heeere... Aha, it’s working... open programme... find piccies... and CLICK!”

Shortly, a few good-quality still pictures of two long-dead field mice appeared on the computer screen. There were indeed small holes in the head quite visible. The children didn’t see anything remarkable about these pictures even though the ABC Team a few miles away by the riverbank clearly saw more extreme possibilities.

“Well what is this supposed to show?” asked Frieda, pretty much saying what the others were thinking. “It looks unremarkable!”

“It does, doesn’t it,” added Robin, “But I shall send these pictures to Susannah at her new surgery and see what she thinks. After all, she’s got more qualifications in animals than 100 ABC Teams put together.”

An e-mail to Susannah@minstervets.com was soon dispatched and Robin spent time doing things with a computer programme to clean up the pictures. Then, just a few minutes later, came a reply:

“Thanks for message Tom. I spoke to Jack about big cat but these specimens are not new and quite normal. I have come across similar holes on a range of animals – from field mice to foxes – and they occur when something small buries into the creature, sometimes from the head, sometimes from the side. How these people arrive at aliens and helicopters is evidence of near total insanity. In fact it is at times like this that I realise how many dangerous and obscene theories there are out there and I should hate the thought that this group would have any involvement in researching big cats of any sort. Indeed I wouldn’t be happy at them investigating the contents of my rubbish bin.

That is enough from me!

Love Susannah xxx”

The children laughed at the rubbish bin comment and pictures of The General and Burger Van Man rooting through the bins of Upper Minster looking for food flashed through their heads.

Whilst the youngsters were getting organised, a few ABC Team stragglers were putting out a “specially prepared action leaflet” door to door in Upper Minster. Featuring a vicious-looking big cat with blood dripping from its mouth and flaming eyes on one side; and written in bad English on the other, the leaflet, produced by The General, read as follows:

“People of Upper Minster. We are your saviours the ABC Team of Big Cats Research. Dedicated to uncovering the cover up about big cats in your village. Animals have been killed, pets terrified, pensioners scared to death but we are hear to help you rid the place of its scourge. We are calling in supporters from the nationwide to assist us in our peril and we will put this place on its map.”

“We will not rest idly in our beds while your are under threat from things unseen. Your quiet life of village living cannot last thanks now to the invasion by dark forces.”

“Have YOU seen the Killer Cat? If so, handle with care as it is dangerous and known to kill. Phone us now on the number given and we will be there to assist you in ridding your place of its scourge. You can trust us world experts. We mean business and we are the ABC Team in conjunction with Channel X TV seen Europe wide on Channel 777.”

If ever a leaflet was designed to annoy, disturb and upset local people, this was it.

............

Meanwhile, down by the river the field mice had been put into an old carrier bag and The General had taken the specimens promising to send them to a “Lab in London for further investigation,” by which he probably meant the large freezer in his West Ham flat. There was a general air of excitement and confusion but Yvonne Fawcett was not yet sure what to do with this story as it sounded far too ridiculous to be true, even for her, the pioneer of Paranormal TV magazine style reporting. When her job as scheduler of Children’s Programmes for Channel 5 had come to an end, she had formed her own company – Semantix Film Productions – and won commissions to make numerous TV shows. She often took a starring role, too, her biggest hits being those where she was able to encourage gullible celebrities – not her usual array of B- and C-list scareaholics – to join her at Loch Ness or in some haunted castle or other. She’d even done a night vigil in a crop circle near a Neolithic site in Wiltshire. Several of her crew members had allegedly fainted although the un-broadcast material filmed by static cameras during the adverts – the stuff the public wasn’t supposed to see - showed them laughing and joking and practicing falling over. Damn those satellite communications experts, she thought to herself.

Just then one of the ABC Team members, Donna Wild, shouted “Have you seen this? Paw prints in the mud!” Now anyone knowing anything about pets could see that these were normal cat prints but no; Donna had to make a big deal about them. “They’re much bigger than I’d expect,” she claimed. A later investigation for Channel 4 News would show that Donna had never even owned a cat and that her own pet was a suffering reptile kept in appalling conditions in a rented house in Southampton. Mind you, it was people like Donna that kept the world of Paranormalia going with their mostly unsubstantiated claims. She, like the other ABCers, was on a mission and needed some proof, so they found some. What was more, once a claim was made it needed to be backed up because if they didn’t have each other and their fantasies what did they have?

Yvonne Fawcett, the most wily feline of them all, saw an opportunity. Filming the excitement, a plan started to hatch. A bit of clever editing, a bit of blurry footage of paw prints, partially obscured, might be enough to convince a gullible public; those who wanted to believe. She thought she could get away with it. Most times she did and her viewers wanted to believe. After all, she was on special assignment... so she would find something special....

Since the story had broken she had had words with the Channel X Dirty Tricks Department and this had resulted in her friend and colleague Ron Jeremy being brought in to replace news reporter Richard Smallbody. Not only did their viewers wants results – proof of the unknown – but they wanted it now and the more they needed it, the more chicanery was required to bring in the results and allow Channel X’s advertising sales team to bring in the revenue....

It was very much a case of cause and effect and The General was useful to them; so they used him and would drop him as required.

“Farley, dear, we need to do a piece to camera. This waay!” What Yvonne wanted, she got and Farley ‘The General’ Norman was happy to be the centre of attention despite the fact that his appearance was bound to suggest to even the most supportive Channel X TV stalwart that all was not well in his camp, or in his mind.

They went for it:

“I am standing with Farley Norman of Big Cats Research here in rural Dorset at the heart of a community rocked by extraordinary claims in recent days. I am Yvonne Fawcett and I am going behind the news to present a series of cutting edge reports from the frontline with the people making the news. Mr Norman, we have seen you on Channel X news with Ron Jeremy but give me some background to your work here so far and today’s mooomentous events."

“Well Yvonne,” said The General. “It started with a lead from a local supporter here in Upper Minster and now we have a dedicated team engaged in a full scale iiiinnnternational effort to track down a mystery beast with magical powers – the power to appear and disappear at will, to stalk local residents and to operate with impunity on local farms. This is not just a cat out of place, this is a mystery cat out of time and space, able to bend reality to its will.”

The General was talking a lot of empty nonsense, of course, but to the uninitiated it sounded fairly believable. Coached by the ruthless Yvonne Fawcett to present a racier storyline, he was in his element doing everything he could to keep the story going and to ensure that he was central to its development.

“We are standing now, here, today, in the centre of a window area of such importance that it cannot be underestimated. We will need time, with our team of experts, to take samples and make our investigations before going to the scientists.”

As The General spoke, Ellie MacPherson vowed to make sure that this awful man never got anywhere and would have to beg for his life when her friends and neighbours - the local villagers - got wind of what he and the ruthless Fawcett were trying to do to their home.

It was only a matter of time, she thought, before all this media hype started to unravel. “And when it does,” she said to herself, “Me, Tom, Florence, Frieda, Robin and friends will be there to make sure that life gets back to normal.”

Of course the villagers had a trump card. They had their own cunning Foxes; four children and one friend, Ellie, and she was their inside man....

She put her headphones back on and rejoined the ABC group....

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part Eleven - You Gotta Love It

The other week, as an amusing one-off , Tim Matthews wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

“Right,” said Jack. “I’ve managed to get a few people involved. Experts even. My colleague Jeff’s eldest daughter Susannah is a recently qualified vet and she’s agreed to help us out in this. She is fascinated by the latest developments and would really like to help track a big cat down for personal curiosity and so she can add it to her already impressive CV. She spent three years in the Army before doing her vet’s course up in London so she’s gutsy and the right person to help us. Her boyfriend Greg is good with guns and he’s going to bring hit shotgun just in case the worst happens and the creature decides to attack.”

“Oh no,” cried Florence, “you can’t shoot it. Pleeeeaasssse!”

“No Florence,” nobody wants to harm it but as your mummy says we need to take precautions. This is a serious endeavour and we need to careful on every level. History is here being made by us all so we need to do it right and we need to be cautious yet decisive when the time comes. We shall see what occurs....

“And Ellie is putting a spanner in the General’s works,” declared Frieda. “Apparently, he is even worse than we’d expected and totally bought her ridiculous lines about demons in the graveyard and shapeshifting black cats. Apparently, get this, the fool has told Ellie that you can psychically predict someone’s DNA. He also believes that he can tetra heal the Universe and has the power of Greyskull. Idiot! She asked me what he was on about. I told her I haven’t a clue but to stay with it. I doubt he has a clue what he’s talking about either.”

“Well, let us hope the ABC Team is down by the river,” added Robin.

“Up a creek without a paddle,” joked Tom.

“Our problem is that there are too many variables at the moment and we need more hard data. I have had an idea though,” said Jack, thoughtfully. “About filming, or tracking at least. I think it’s maybe time to set the trap. I need to visit a farm supplier I know first though....”

Meanwhile, down by the riverbank Billy Poison and his lady were confusing paw prints in the mud – no doubt made earlier that morning but something like a Golden Retriever on its walk – with those of a big cat and already seeing this as evidence that Ellie was indeed right in her suggestion that this was the place to base their operation. “Can’t you feel it, Billy,” enquired Ellie, thoroughly enjoying her role and taking it ever so seriously now that she saw her village threatened by these outsiders.

And, she considered, how dare the General assume that because she had red streaks in her hair and listened to Grindcore music on her MP3 player that she was some wayward village idiot who hung out in the graveyard or by the cricket pavilion taking drugs and drinking beer! As it happened, she was the youngest of three children, possibly the cleverest but not much given to academic pursuits. She was more an artist and loved making things.

Quite a lot of her time was spent looking after her mother, Anne-Marie, who had Multiple Sclerosis and, despite have a goodly supply of cannabis available (from some outdoor planting in the Minster Woods) to help with her movement, and all the love in the world from her family, she still struggled getting out and about. So Ellie did what she could for her mum, spent quite a lot of time seeing friends at her house and doing creative things in her spare time.

Matters descended once again into the farcical as The General emerged with a retinue including a mobile film unit from Channel X TV led by presenter Yvonne Fawcett. At least she was wearing wellington boots and a sensible outdoor jacket. The General had a pair of cheap trainers on and looked totally ridiculous in a pair of shorts that were far too small for him. He was barking orders to anyone that would listen but most of his followers were more interested in getting photographs of themselves with Yvonne than doing anything for the self-styled Leader and Expert.

“Ok people. We are here today to investigate the mystery cat further,” said he. “We have a number of local leads including information from this young lady here, Ella.”

“It’s Ellie,” replied the teenager, clearly miffed at The General making the same mistake as other people. “And what I suggest we do is spread out along the river banks on either side and see what we can see. We’re looking for anything out of the ordinary.” Seemingly in charge, and yet working for the other side, Ellie seemed to somehow galvanise the ABC Team into action and they split off in twos along both sides of the riverbank.

Huffing and puffing and trying to keep up with his team, The General waded into the river and emerged five seconds later covered in mud. “There’s a bridge just up there,” said Ellie, unable to stop laughing. “Ahh, yes, love,” he said. “I thought I saw something metallic in the water. Hum.” Ellie rolled her eyes and put her headphones on. The music of Dead Infection was much more enjoyable than hearing The General’s babbling ninsense, Ellie thought.

Half an hour later, after more interviews with The General, a woman from Scotland who’d “come down specially” and had “psychically predicted the arrival of a dark messenger” in Dorset was surveying the scene. Ellie was there, taking it all in, and there was much excitement as the walkie talkies crackled into action. Billy The Burger Man had found something “out of this world” (well he was into UFOs so what did anyone expect?) and needed “everyone to witness it” further up river. So off they tramped, some in excitement and Ellie in resignation, that he’d probably found an old crisp packet and would declare it as evidence for a retrieved alien spaceship before sending them out to hunt for occupants.

They arrived to find a small crowd standing around what looked like a couple of field mice. More photographs were being taken and someone from the Midlands, one of The Generals’ shock troops, had even produced a pair of surgical gloves. Someone with a brain, Ellie thought, whatever next?

What came next boggled even her young and open mind. “I cannot believe it,” said Burger Man. “Animal mutilation. I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Animal what,” asked Yvonne, cameras rolling in anticipation of something...anything. “Mutilation,” interrupted The General. “Proof that we are not alone.”

“Well, they look very alone now,” said Ellie. “And they’re just field mice, so what gives?”

“They have bore holes in their skulls and I have seen this in publications,” replied Burger Van. “Done by aliens, intent on harvesting animal DNA for their own uses. Nothing else could have done something as precise as this but we have more and more cases in The Literature,” he added.

“Errm, and how did they get here?” asked Ellie, hoping the cameraman was getting all this insanity on film. “Well,” he continued,”My bet is, in an area like this, that they have been dropped from a great height probably by black helicopters operating out of a secret military facility. That’s what They do, you know.”

Field mice dropped from black helicopters piloted by aliens? “Let the heavens open up and swallow these people whole,” Ellie muttered to herself, shaking her head in total disbelief.

The ABC Team had cranked the credulometer up to 11............

WHAT A DISRACEFUL SIGHT - MATTHEWS HAS BECOME A HIPPIE

Either that or he is trying to destabilise trees.

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part Ten - General Norman

The other week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!

The General was thinking about the cat too. He was also thinking about fame and fortune, getting one up on his imagined competitors, especially those clever clogs from the FRS with all their damned credibility and scientific know how. It had even got to the point where, instead of Paranormalists, people who attended David Icke lectures and Ufologists getting involved, they had started to produce a magazine about Natural History! I mean what next, the General thought to himself.

He’d been into UFOs once, and now what he called Alien Big Cats. To him it almost didn’t matter what subject he was dealing with as long as he was Top Dog and he’d do anything to stay there. Big fish, small pond. That was as near to the twin toed amphiuma of the FRS he was going to get, he told himself. Often, within the promotion of the Paranormal, people with little or no education or training got involved precisely because little intelligence was required to “make it” onto the speaker’s table at a conference. Blind belief, an occasional show of loyalty and the well placed stab in the back were the required elements to be a success and the General had gutfuls of talent in these directions.

And often, as he knew, the more shocking rubbish you put out there on the internet the most people took you seriously. David Icke had proved that. The General’s main talent was for making a splash. His ex wife Dawn has always said that if he’d jumped into a swimming pool the water would jump out in horror but, despite what he considered a messy divorce when she burned all his Hulk Hogan magazines and posters, the General believed, like Hitler, that he was mightiest alone.

Sitting in his C+C (Command and Control) vehicle, a burger van cum gathering point for other members of the ABC Team, the General surveyed his empire; a couple of walkie talkies with the squelch buttons turned up for lifelike “police hiss”, a faded yet current Ordnance Survey map of Dorset featuring the villages of Upper, Lower and Little Minster, a half drunk cup of coffee in a mug with stuff growing in it that would fascinate scientists for years to come and a packet of Tesco value range digestives, “for energy” as he would tell his shock (ing) troops when they arrived.

Just then, a knock on the door. “Helllooo, anyone in theeere”? said a female voice.

“Errrrmmm, come in,” said The General, semi panicking that someone not under his control might be wanting to speak with him. Struggling to get out of his seat – well he was 18 stone – he opened the door to discover a moody yet confident looking teenager with long dark hair and red streaks staring back at him.

“Alright then?” said the girl. “My name’s Ellie, Ellie Macpherson. I’m looking for the ABC man.”

“Errrmm yes love I am he,” said the General, always able to muster pomposity on demand. “What can I do for you love?” Ellie thought he sounded and looked like the sleazy salesman from KirbyVax who’d dumped powder all over her mother’s bungalow floor a few years ago and insisted that £2500 for the Ultimate Cleaning System (“it can even be used on the dog,” said the man) was a “lifetime bargain and cheap at twice the price.”

What, she wondered to herself, had her best friend Frieda Fox got her into this time...?

“Big cats? I’ve seen a few locally and I think I can lead you right to them,” said Ellie. She was a sharp girl in many ways but was attempting not only to remember her script but also to seem as natural as possible - not to mention a bit thicker than usual. She’d been told to ‘dumb down’ for the General. It had also been suggested that his own massive ego would mean that he’d believe that she saw him as the all-important Hunter of the Mystery Beast. The General, meanwhile, was thanking his dear old mum for this bit of luck. More cannon fodder against the FCS. More media fodder for Channel X TV!

“Tell me more,” said the General, sounding ever like an enthusiastic child. “What can you tell me about the creature.”

“Well,” replied Ellie, trying really hard not to laugh, “I’ve seen it change, right. In front of my very eyes. One minute a big cat, black, long, and the next minute just like a demon flying through the air.”

“Perfect,” cried the General, forgetting himself.

“Well, it is good, isn’t it?” teased Ellie. “Look, in the morning why don’t I take you and your friends down to where I saw it and we can scope things out a bit? Thing is,” she added, naughtily, Scully style, “you’ve been looking in the wrong place. You need to look on the other side of the village. This thing isn’t gonna hide in woods and run around open fields. You need to be looking by the river. After all, most Paranormal activity takes place near water I’ve heard, but you’d know more about that and that’s why I came to see you. You’re the expert, not me. I’m just one of the little people the system ignores. People don’t take me seriously, right? Think I’m mad. And those sightings in the graveyard made me seriously start to wonder what was going on here. About my own sanity, really. Sitting drinking a few cans, with my mates, nothing serious like, and then these figures just rode acrosssss the skkkkyy.”

As she spoke she looked rather gormlessly into the distance and started to make slow, sweeping movements with her hands as if to indicate what she had seen. Not even one of the Most Haunted crew could have pulled off a better blag than this.

The General was, like Ellie, over the moon with her performance. He clapped his hands and started rubbing them together like a used car salesman who’s just sold a £150 wreck for £1500. Reaching for an “ABC Report Form” (in brown and white, camo colours...) he glanced at Ellie who was staring rather vacuously into space and looking bored with her hands in her pockets. He could hear the hum of her MP3 player in her jacket pocket – a camo jacket no less – and he was rather taken with her Avril Lavigne look and pink leggings. Her hair was black and flame red and the fringe partly obscured her face so it was a bit hard to tell what she was thinking. She’d look good on TV or video, he thought.

“Your place is with us,” he declared. “Kid like you, difficult background, no aim in life, bit of a rebel as I can tell, realises there’s stuff going on locally. All these boring old farts with their quaintness, tea sets, family portraits and just-so lives haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on out there. But they’re gonna find out and you, my girl, can help us unlock the mystery for good...”

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part 9 - Moving on Up

The other week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!


“One thing though,” said Frieda, thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t we try and get someone involved with those ABC idiots up in the village? I was watching an old X Files episode the other day and Fox Mulder was pretending to be on the baddy’s side when he actually wasn’t!”

“Well, we’re hardly The Lone Gunmen,” replied Robin, “and we aren’t half as geeky,” joked Tom. “But we’re a much better team and nobody beats the Fox clan,” added Florence.

“And I can think of the perfect person for the job,” declared Frieda, reaching for her mobile phone. “Ellie Macpherson....she likes wearing camouflage, is very nuts, is very devious, listens to music that sounds like Jack’s chainsaw and rarely takes her headphones off!”

“What’s more, she’s one of my best friends,” she continued, “and she owes me one!”

“Shame about her name though!,” Tom interrupted, being mean, “but she’s OK. Anyway, we have work to do but I vote for an X Files and Pringles night tomorrow evening!”

“If we get time,” said Robin. “But all hail the X Files. Mind you, this mystery of ours is just so much fun and we’re much cooler than Mulder and Scully.”

“Haha! Frieda’s mobile has been dropped more times than The General,” laughed Florence, on a totally different track as usual. “Look at it, it’s got dints in it!”

“At least I’m allowed a mobile, Florry,” Frieda replied. “It’s indestructible, like us,” said Robin.

“Yes well,” exclaimed Frieda, “We won’t be wearing camo gear because we have style and finesse. And I’ll tell you something else my darlings,” she continued, “The General is going to meet his Waterloo.”

“KaBOOOOM,” went Florence, making a series of exploding noises and waving her hands about in glee as she had happy thoughts of The General and Burger Van man disappearing into the ashcan of history.

At that moment Jack walked back in. He’d been making some phone calls to local farmers and friends who might know something – anything – about the mystery cat of Upper Minster.

“Fascinating news, children!” he declared. “I have made some discoveries...and I was right about some of the local people keeping quiet about this. Their reasons are, indeed, many and varied but a lot of it’s about not wanting ill-bred amateurs and ego trippers like this General coming down here and putting us on the map for all the wrong reasons. It seems as if much thought has been directed towards the potential identity of a large beast that has been attacking sheep and deer, the latter on the Minster Estate. The Fotheringays have instructed their gamekeeper to put up better fencing recently because of the attacks. They really value their deer and this is costing them a lot of money so they’ve been investigating. Paul Marsh, the gamekeeper, tells me, in confidence, that the dead deer display unusual characteristics; not those you’d expect from fox, dog, or even badger activity. The latest kills have been too clean and without going into details that might upset you youngsters, he’s thinking it’s some sort of larger predator. He has heard rumours about a large cat and a few of his workers have seen fleeting glimpses at times when they least expected it. But the activity is so random that he hasn’t given it enough thought....until now.”

“So all this IS real,” cried Florence. “I wasn’t imagining it!!!”

“You weren’t Florence,” answered Jack. “You and Tom probably did see a big cat. What it’s doing here is another story but the fact is that enough people have seen it for me to be pretty certain. There is enough livestock to keep a cat of that size well fed and happy but it would seem to covering a huge area if the reports I’ve heard about are correct.

“But I don’t want people hunting it doooown,” said Florence. “It is a such a rare beastie and all people want to do is shoot it!”

“Perhaps not shoot it, but FILM it,” said Jack. “As you know, I studied zoology many years ago at Bristol University and spent a year traipsing around South America looking for supposed giant snakes, supermega crocodiles and other weird creatures. And then, lo and behold, this thing turns up on my doorstep!”

“Indeed,” said mummy, entering the room with cocoa and biscuits for the children and something stronger for herself and Jack.

“Oh mummmyyy you’re far beyond ace,” exclaimed Florence. “We have been having a War Council......and I hereby declare this The War Room Of Joyfulness!”

“That is good, Florence, but from what I hear these cats are pretty vicious and any thoughts anyone here has of getting near one are totally forbidden. Any close up work will be done with Uncle Jack and few of his friends. And, I hear, he has a secret weapon!”

“Yes indeed, my love, I do. It’s called common sense,” he joked. “Actually,” he added, “it’s a rifle that fires a large dose of knock out drops to our favourite feline. Very much fun.”

“This is not a schoolboy game, Jack.” Mummy was chastising him. “Nor is it some bizarre Indian adventure written in the style of a 19th racey novel! This is serious. You could get hurt, the children could get hurt, the village could get a bad reputation and I am also thinking about this cat....”

THE CATS OF UPPER MINSTER: Part Eight - Getting down to business...

The other week, as an amusing one-off Tim Matthews, wrote a silly short story spoofing some of the more ridiculous exploits of various self-styled big cat researchers over the years.

It was so popular that he wrote another one, and now - by public demand - it has become a serial. Every other day will see an episode of Timmo's new Fortean soap opera The Cats of Upper Minster. And having read the first few episodes I can confirm that it is bloody smashing and highly amusing. "I'll carry on until it stops being funny" says Tim, and you can't say fairer than that!


Once mummy had dispensed with Colonel Bonkers she sat down on a chair in the corner of the room and talked to her children. It was not unlike a military briefing and certainly more effective than anything that Burger Van Billy and General Farley could manage.

“The first thing we should try is to actually find out something about this cat. I bet you that other people have seen it and another factor is, my dears, that we don’t want the village being taken over by nutters and men in camouflage. Or men driving around in a converted burger van. I am going to have a word with Jack and see what he can come up with. We shall reconvene here in an hour!”

Gosh, thought the children, mummy is a rock! “I was worried she’d be cross with me,” said Florence, “or tell me I was going mad.”

“You’re mad anyway, Florry,” laughed Robin. “But lovably so.”

“And pooh to you too,” sneered Florence in Robin’s general direction.

“There shall be no falling out. We are going to stick together in this one and save the village AND the cat I hope,” said Frieda. “It is going to be a lot of hard work but I suppose the first thing to do is to actually capture the cat!”

“Capture it,” the children said, aloud. Then Frieda added, “HOW are we going to capture it? Heavens!”

“Yes but I’ve been looking at some of these Big Cat websites and some are better than others,” said Robin. “And I’ll tell you what. The Big Cats Research one is the worst. Most of it isn’t about big cats and there are all these awful pictures of the various members and they all look like nutters or saddoes. Lots of photos of men in camouflage and very few women. Mostly a lot of posing idiots it seems and their forum, which I joined, is poisonous. It’s a lot of personal attacks on people they dislike and the General supports West Ham. Things couldn’t be worse!”

“Well who cares about his dratted website and forum,” retorted Tom. “Any idiot can have one of those!”

“Yes websites are ten a penny these days and it’s what people do, not how shiny their wretched website is and if ONLY people knew what kind of people these ABC idiots really are,” added Frieda.

“Brilliant, Frieda, brilliant. I have an idea...about the internet.....”, shouted Tom, joyfully. “Well, look here, we have broadband, we have a digicam, one of those nice Sony ones, and I’ve got this basic film making type programme and it’s a simple editing programme too. Some of my friends have put videos on YouTube. We could, too. We could make a `Kids From Upper Minster Speak Out` type film. Given all the rubbish publicity that is going to hit this village – and probably already is – people will watch any film on the subject and might help us in our plan.”

“Errrrm, just one problem, we don’t have a plan,” Robin complained. “Well apart from making a film and nobody will watch it anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure,” replied Tom. “If we do things right then we might go international.”

“Oh I do thiiink that the country air is affecting you Tom dearest,” added Florence.

“Maybe, maybe not,” replied Tom doing the worst Jimmy Cagney impression ever. “This is big news – by accident or design- so maybe the children of Upper Minster should get in on the act!”

At that moment, mother knocked on the door and Jack came in behind her. He spoke first:

“Well children, the quiet of our country life has been shattered by a lethal combination of bad luck and stupid people, so we are going to do something about it...starting now!” Jack was always a bit dramatic, but it amused Sheila and the kids loved his flamboyance.

“I have a plan,” he exclaimed, “and we will have to work in concert for it to work!”

“What’s concert?” demanded Florence. “Together, all of us,” Tom replied.

“I seeeee,” added Florence. “Cool!”

“First thing is,” said Jack, “To catch the blighter. Now so far nobody has managed this but then, you only have to look at the quality of personnel involved in the Big Cat Hunt to know why they’ve achieved nothing. Most of them don’t even own pets! Anyway, I digress. To catch this thing is not, technically, that difficult. What I shall do first, with some help from you youngsters, is try and work out its route. You see, cats of any sort are creatures of habit. I shall be speaking to a couple of the farmers I know, on the quiet, to see if they have any information. I have known some of ‘em all my life and they trust me, so we might get lucky. If this really is a Big Cat that Tom and Florry saw, then local farmhands will know something of it but will, for several reasons, not have made it public and might just have taken extra precautions on their land rather than making a big fuss or rushing off to the papers.”

“God knows what local farmers are thinking now,” mummy interjected, trying to add some hilarity into proceedings that had suddenly become all too serious. Mind you, Jack was an uncompromising soul and very gifted when it came to Zoology. When it came to animals and suchlike, Jack was your man. He was employed as a farm manager because he knew livestock, had expertise in it. In his earlier years, after doing a Zoology degree at Bristol University, he’d gone in search of new species of animal in South America and parts of Venezuela that weren’t even mapped properly! So he was a doer, not so much a talker.

“What we will do,” Jack continued, “is use our brains and our common sense. These have been sorely lacking amongst Big Cat researchers thus far.”

The children laughed.

“It seems to me that the cat will be hungry. Therefore, it is hunting. It needs food. So it will be drawn to local livestock and within short order we should be able to build up a Cat Activity Map on Robin’s computer. After doing this, and some preliminary investigations, we shall try and capture the thing by baiting it and trapping it. We shall use a ton of catnip, some live bait and hope that the Gods are on our side. By developing our sightings and activity map we should be able to work out a route and the best place to put our bait. I am betting that this creature is not so damned mysterious at all and that it behaves like big cats the world over using natural cover, for example nearby woods, to hide itself before moving in the for kill on open ground......”

“And here endeth the lesson,” remarked Tom, enthusiastically.

“Well Tom, what do you think?” asked Jack. “You’re a good fisherman and I taught you about that and the girls are quite good at catching butterflies before releasing them!”

“Yes, darling,” interrupted their mother, “but this mystery cat, or whatever, is not a butterfly and I do not want the children being in danger.”

“Indeed not,” answered Jack, “but these beasts seem curiously disinterested in their human counterparts.”

“I hope you’re not counting on a ruthless killer’s benevolence here darling,” added Sheila. “My children are not going to get in danger on some insane Big Cat hunt. I trust you to do it, with assistance, but my children shall be the backroom support.”

At this point Tom told mummy and Jack about the film and she said, “Aha! Fab! Something less dangerous for you to get involved in. I love your creativity. By all means, children, go and interview Mrs Seaton and Jenny Watts from the pub and, for that matter, anyone else you can get hold of. Be discreet of course. Tell people it’s for a homework project or something. If I’m right that idiot clown in the camouflage will have annoyed all but the most gullible by now. We can, I hope, rid the village of these invaders so we can maintain the peace and quiet and hopefully save the mystery cat’s life....”