Songs and cricket

Butch chuckles away.

The jihadists look merely confused since none of them have ever heard of “Pinnocchio” or “Giappetto” until Thierry reminds them of the Walt Disney cartoon featuring you know the cricket…

Eyes light up. The Karachi contingent brandish their bats; Imran as Khalid Four is known whips out the red leather.

Butch cries:

Have mercy on us! Not that incomprehensible game of yours!

What about those incomprehensible jokes of yours! Or for that matter your incomprehensible songs!

What is wrong with my songs!

Nothing is wrong with your songs only we do not understand them!

It is true, Butch says, more chortling than chuckling. My dialect is incomprehensible even to myself. Anyway, what about a rousing song?

The faces of the boys do not look happy at the prospect of Butch launching into a one of his – to quote unquote - rousing songs.

Butch, frankly, we would rather you put us the fire.

Yes, Butch, frankly we would rather listen to the Mullah’s sermon.

Enough is enough, boys! (Speaking is the Beeston boy – self-appointed arbiter of their affairs)

Hey Jamaica! - as Khalid Seven is known to his brothers – what about that reggae ting you done of Butch’s?

Jamaica shrugs disconsolately.

Man, we got no dubs.

Man, what about doing it as a toast?

Jamaica frowns with attitude, pushes back his dreads.