Out Of Their Misery

Delphinium Brakepad was not the sort of person who could walk past an injured badger or a maimed song thrush without wanting to do something to help, usually in the way of putting the unfortunate creature out of its misery with a large stick or heavy stone.

So, one day, when on a brief visit to the city, she did not hesitate for a moment when she saw a banker terminally down to his last few million in bonuses, quickly putting her foot down in her Range Rover, she put him out of his misery, and his perceived relative penury, by spreading him across the pavement outside a branch of Boots the Chemist.

Brakepad also did the honourable thing when, back in her home village, the local MP was booked to give a public meeting. It was a meeting called by his constituency committee, where the MP was to explain to his constituents just why he found it necessary to use his MP’s expenses to pay for a cosmetic re-crenulation of his family castle, a bordello for his moor hens and a bevy of teenage Scandinavian ‘Research Assistants’.

Fortunately, as he rose from his seat, visibly nervous in front of an understandably hostile audience, it was Brakepad herself who relieved him of any need to attempt to justify his egregious actions with a blast from both barrels of her Purdey shotgun.