Storm Boelo on the way

STORM BOELO: STG. SALTY DECLARES WAR ON THE WEATHER

When the wind picks up, the Misfits buckle up!

The people of Ireland had barely recovered from the last bout of bad weather when the forecasters delivered another announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Storm Boelo is approaching!”

In headquarters, Stg. Salty slowly lowered his pint.

“Boelo? Who authorised another one? Can't we get a break from this carry-on?”

Ye Olde Large Lad looked up from his sandwich.

“It's the weather, Sarge. Nobody can control it.”

Salty glared at him.

“That's the sort of negative attitude that loses wars, Large Lad!”

Within minutes, the Misfits were placed on maximum alert.

Operation Keep the Beer Dry

The Govna called an emergency meeting. Present were Stg. Salty, Big Al, Captain Morgan, McFinleyyy, Gov, Dannyboy and the rest of the usual suspects.

“Right,” announced Salty. “Storm Boelo is coming. We need a plan.”

Gov stood up.

“I propose we establish a national committee to investigate the possibility of investigating the storm.”

Dannyboy nodded thoughtfully.

“Good idea. And we should appoint a subcommittee to look into the first committee.”

Big Al looked at his calculator.

“How much will that cost?”

“Millions,” replied Gov confidently.

“Millions?” shouted Salty. “For what?”

“Meetings, Sarge. Reports. Tea and biscuits.”

The Govna immediately banged his fist on the table.

“I want to chair the biscuit committee!”

“Denied!” roared Salty. “This is a weather emergency, not a bloody tea party!”

Captain Morgan quietly opened his bottle.

“Anyone want to form a committee to check the emergency supplies?”

Everyone raised their hands.

The Great Garden Furniture Evacuation

Salty ordered Ye Olde Large Lad to secure the garden furniture before the winds arrived.

Unfortunately, Large Lad had never assembled a garden chair in his life.

Three minutes later, he was surrounded by plastic pieces, holding a screwdriver and looking as though he'd dismantled a helicopter.

“Situation report!” shouted Salty.

“The garden furniture has suffered heavy casualties, Sarge!”

A gust of wind sent a plastic chair flying over the fence.

Big Al checked his spreadsheet.

“Thirty-four euro and ninety-nine cent, including VAT!”

“Recover it!” ordered Salty.

Dannyboy peered through the window.

“It's heading towards the next county!”

Gov immediately grabbed a microphone.

“Attention, citizens! Any member of the public who discovers an airborne chair is requested to return it to headquarters. A reward may be available, subject to committee approval.”

“What's the reward?” asked McFinleyyy.

“A photograph of the Govna shaking your hand.”

“Keep the chair,” replied McFinleyyy.

The Salty Weather Department

Meanwhile, Whizzley rang headquarters with his latest forecast.

“It's looking windy, Sarge.”

“Anything else?”

“Possibly wet.”

Salty slammed the phone down.

“That's it! I'm starting my own weather department.”

He wrote a sign and pinned it to the wall.

THE SALTY WEATHER DEPARTMENT

Gov immediately appointed himself Minister for Storm Affairs, while Dannyboy took the position of Director of Emergency Announcements.

Dannyboy stepped in front of the camera.

“Citizens, we advise everyone to remain calm. There is absolutely no reason to panic.”

A loud bang came from outside as a wheelie bin rolled down the road.

Dannyboy looked over his shoulder.

“Correction. There may be a small reason to panic.”

Gov grabbed the microphone.

“Anyone who loses a wheelie bin during this emergency should submit Form 47B, accompanied by photographic evidence and three references.”

Salty marched into the room.

“Give me that microphone before I submit all of you to early retirement!”

The Final Stand

By Saturday evening, the Misfits had secured the headquarters, checked the emergency biscuits and moved the beer away from the windows.

Salty stood at the entrance wearing a military helmet and holding a mop.

“Let Boelo come! We fear no storm!”

A gust rattled the door.

Salty took one step backwards.

Another gust shook the windows.

He took another step backwards.

Then the lights flickered.

“Right, lads. Tactical withdrawal!”

“Where to?” asked Dannyboy.

“The pub, obviously!”

Gov immediately objected.

“Can we claim travel expenses?”

“No!” shouted Salty.

“Emergency subsistence?”

“No!”

“Ministerial refreshments?”

Salty paused.

“Define refreshments.”

“Pints.”

“Approved!”

Within minutes, the entire team was safely inside the pub, watching the weather forecast and discussing the national emergency.

The presenter advised viewers to follow official weather warnings, avoid unnecessary journeys in dangerous conditions and secure loose outdoor objects.

Salty nodded solemnly.

“Sound advice. Nobody should be out in that weather.”

“Except us,” said Gov, ordering another round.

Dannyboy raised his glass.

“To Storm Boelo! May our roofs remain attached, our bins remain stationary and our beer remain cold!”

“Here, here!” shouted the Misfits.

Big Al opened his spreadsheet.

“I've calculated the cost of tonight's emergency meeting.”

Everyone fell silent.

“Go on,” said Salty.

“It's going to be expensive.”

Salty took a long sip of his pint.

“Put it on the Govna's account.”

And so, as Storm Boelo battered its way across the country, the Misfits remained on the front line.

At the bar.

With the emergency supplies.

Gov was preparing a report, Dannyboy was drafting a public announcement, and Big Al was still trying to recover the cost of the missing garden chair.

THE END.

BigSaltyDog disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No garden chairs were deliberately launched during the writing of this story, although one remains missing. Gov and Dannyboy have declined to comment until their committees have met.