This is the Luxulyan Valley, Cornwall. An area of outstanding natural beauty and purely shown to illustrate crazy Cornish place names. I was going to do a place called Bodwen which is near Luxulyan, but the only picture I could find was of a featureless grey house next to a crossroads. That's what Bodwen actually is. It's called a hamlet, so it get's a lot of hate mail from PETA. The following is a true story told to me by either the voices in my head or the heads in my freezer. I forget due to the stress caused by Jennifer Lawrence sexually harassing me. There's nothing I can do. Thanks to her Hollywood money she's smothered in lawyers. She's free to toss me about like a dogs chew toy.

"The copyright for this image belongs to The Cornish Times.)

In any new business arrangement there are bound to be a few teething problems. Having been persuaded to employ Sophie as his assistant librarian, Michael knew there would be things that needed ironing out. That was assuming she'd actually turn up, which wasn't guaranteed. Her attention span, since her head injury, had been erratic yet always themed. Her costumes for example. She had a whole theater full of different characters she'd dress up as. There were her favorites of Cowboy; Highwayman; Southern Belle; Ninja and Catholic Priest, who hadn't been seen for a while now. The Cheerleader and Poldark had recently been added. Sophie wanted to expand her repertoire she said. All of the old ones and the couple of new ones were familiar to Michael. They were what he expected of Sophie. What he hadn't expected was that she'd turn up for work everyday in a different guise. That she'd use her probationary period to roll out a far larger cast than he'd imagined.

Michael had an imagination. He tended not to use it much these days. Mainly because he'd slipped into imagining ever more new and creative ways to kill people who got on his nerves. They didn't even have to be real. Michael could take against purely fictional characters in books and films. It made both watching and reading problematic. Half way into a movie, such as Cloverfield for example, he'd find himself hating everyone in it. Then rather than watch the rest he'd come up with suitable demises for them. Generally his were far better than those used in the movie. Much more graphic with far more loss of eyes limbs and bodily organs. They had to suffer you see. As they'd made him suffer by being one dimensional plot holes in a pile of shit made by Hollywood. This then spilled over into reality, quite badly at times. Mostly along the lines of soulless, faceless corporation screwing him over, there's an employee in a managerial position how do I kill them in a perfect world?

So Michael knew he had an imagination. It was simply that compared to Sophie's it was extremely under powered. In the sense of garden secateurs versus chainsaw. That lady might have suffered a life altering brain injury, but that hadn't even slowed her down. If anything it appeared to have opened up new volumes of creativity. On her first day, which was Monday, she'd arrived for work dressed as a librarian. Not even a sexy librarian, just an ordinary one. With a sensible skirt, flat shoes and a navy blue jacket. Hair pulled back into a heavily restrained bun, thick rimmed spectacles on a chain around her neck. That was mild for Sophie, far too mild for him to expect this apparent sensibleness would continue. The following day was more what he expected. Tuesday was airline pilot. This was new, to him at least, but well within any parameters he might have expected. Wednesday she arrived as a Coastguard in full naval uniform. This led him to believe that Sophie was moving into a uniform phase. Granted the librarian clothes weren't official or anything but they were what he'd decided to classify as a meme. Although he wasn't 100% sure about that. It might have been a cliche. That didn't matter though. So far so straight forward. The first hint of what to expect came on the Thursday.

The thing was Sophie wasn't the type of employee to show up bright and early. Eager to prepare for the day ahead. Sophie showed up on time. Almost to the second. Maybe she was lying in wait watching him. Maybe it was Sophie being Sophie. Michael would start his working day by ensuring he had everything he needed loaded onto the van. There were books and DVD's that had been ordered in. Inter-library loans and such. He hadn't expected Sophie to help. He hadn't really expected her to show up. That first day he'd thought if she does turn up I'll see her on the road and pick her up. But that would have been way too normal for Soph. He'd reached his first port of call shortly before 9 AM. As he'd been about to open up she arrived. The thump of her landing on the roof was his first clue. Followed by the lovely lady swinging down through the rear doors. Quite a sight in a sensible work suit. The rest of the week followed the same schedule. Wherever he was when he opened up for business, Sophie would be there. Which indicated she knew his routine as well as he did.

On the Thursday Sophie arrived at St Tidy, on a horse. He'd heard it cantering along the road. He'd thought she'd come as one of her old reliable's. No such luck. There she was riding side saddle. The ginger hair, with tiara, the big neck ruff and the Tudor dress indicated this was Queen Elizabeth I. Leaving aside the hugely expensive real hair wig and her period perfect costume for one moment, Michael 's mind zoomed in on; where the fuck did she get a real genuine side saddle? Your brain could implode trying to work Sophie out. The horses were one thing, it was the countryside. There were stables and horses dotted all over the landscape. Then you had to stop to consider the irrefutable fact the animals were trained. The logistics required were staggering in the extreme.

Going to work dressed as a Tudor monarch was unexpected. It created problems. The dress was large. The van was small. The two of them had to work round her costume all day long. It wasn't exactly arduous, simply far more complicated than necessary. Michael had a word at the end of the day before she mounted up and rode off. He requested that Sophie limit herself to costumes that didn't fill all the available space to overflowing. He wasn't being unreasonable. Why did he feel like he was being unreasonable? Was it perhaps because to Sophie, his instructions were unreasonable. He was all for freedom of speech and expression only not to the extent that you risked the work related injury of being jabbed in the eye by a heavily starched Tudor ruff. Except despite all his objections and reservations he couldn't help thinking that she was doing miraculous things. That she was doing these miraculous things while wearing a layered Tudor dress and corsets. Michael never felt guilty so this wasn't guilt he was feeling. It was more the sensation of doing something wrong for all the right reasons. Or was that doing something right for all the wrong reasons? Wait. He had an analogy. Michael Penrose was sticking a killer whale in a swimming pool. Sure he'd be feeding it every day, but it was still a very big thing in a really small container.

Friday dawned. It was a week since she'd kind of blackmailed him into giving her the job. Michael felt mildly uncomfortable about his instructions of the previous day. Although apologizing was a sign of weakness, he'd do so. He'd even pretend he meant it. To pacify a conscience he claimed not to have. Yes he could be that cognitively dissonant when he needed. Nobody could accuse him of not being a hypocrite. Today he'd be prepared. Whatever Sophie showed up as would be acceptable. He was already making up strings of words that were compliments. That's a really nice toga. Those bagpipes suit you. I love what you've done with your hair. Those shoes look great on you. At least a dozen. Most of them classics. Good old flattering comments that had served unobservant self absorbed men well, since the beginning of time. All set up. One minute to nine. He cocked an ear. Perhaps in the hope that she'd ignored him. Nothing. Then, quite literally, all hell broke loose.

There was an explosion. Not a loud or large one. Just big enough so you didn't mistake it for anything else. Smoke and flames billowed. There was a distinct smell of rotten eggs. Through the maelstrom strode an indistinct figure. He couldn't argue that this costume was impractical for working in a library van. In certain ways it was sensible. But only if you stretched and molded sensible into a strange and wonderfully nonsensical shape. Satan stepped forth from the sulfurous smoke. Those weren't plastic horns. They were as real as the woman wearing them. Jet black hair swept back. Red make up adorned her devilish face and hands. One of which held a 3 pronged pitch fork. In fact every bit of skin you saw was red. Finally, from among the million things trying to find their way out he selected one and others followed due to lack of space.

"Where are you getting all this equipment? How can you afford it? Somebody has to be helping you. If I find out who it is that's supplying you with all this shit, I am going to have words with them. I'm going to take those words and hammer them in with a big nail covered stick. No. I'm going to get hold of a croquet mallet. I've no idea where I can find one but..."
"We've got a few up at Deveraux House." Sophie cut it. "The rest I cannot reveal. It's all part of the mysteries of womanhood, the sisterhood and Robin Hood. I can be very persuasive. Just ask a horse."
"Wait. Are you giving me clues?"
"Might be."
"Is there a chance, that at some point in the future, you'll show up in Lincoln Green with the merry men and a long bow?"
"There is now. Thanks. I'm not sure why that ones never come up before. I'll put it on my to do list."
"I'm more interested in a to don't list. I'd like to exclude any character that involves pyrotechnics. Not sure about Robin Hood yet. I'll have to do some research."
"I did consider doing King Arthur once. Only I thought it was a bit cliched given the whole Celtic myth made up by the English thing. Excalibur would take a while to source as well. Still I'll take note of your suggestions boss."
"No. I'm not making suggestions. I'm trying to mitigate and otherwise limit potential damage. I've got a reputation for boring mediocrity I'd like to maintain."

Before they could go any further Merv the Perv showed up. He took it all in his stride. It couldn't be every day he encountered the devil. That was to say the old man made no comment about Michael being stood beside Beelzebub, loaning out books. Michael was prepared for the old Groundhog Day listing of pornographic magazines he never ever carried. Instead Merv engaged with Sophie. Not with a made up catalog of dubiously titled men's publications. Instead he asked if they had any books on lepidoptery. They hadn't. Michael checked. The things Merv asked for existed. Some of them were highly specialized. Eventually he left. Doreen threatened to rip off his cock and feed it to him. She stepped aboard and burst into the biggest smile her face had ever been the venue for.

"Hello dear. My you do look the business. Suits you it does. You bring a bit of color into our dull lives you do. I was saying that only the other day to Big Jeff and Tall Girl. So what's it like working with that shit?"
"I'm struggling on despite the hardships. He won't even let me take cigarette breaks you know."
"You don't smoke." Michael interjected.
"That's beside the point. I might want to turn up as Noel Coward or Marlene Dietrich. That's another new one I've never thought of before. I'm going to have to master a German accent I think. Anyway Doreen, how the fuck aren't you dead yet?"
Doreen laughed so much she almost fell over.
"Oh bless you my lover. All that joy you bring to the world and that bone idle, slave driving bastard only doles out misery and heart break. You want to join a union and get a lawyer. They'll soon sort him out. There's laws these days about working in dangerous conditions. For a start there's the danger that you'll kill yourself after working with that miserable bastard all day. Here's me Catherine Cookson's. Have you got anymore I haven't read."
"Indeed I do Doreen. I've kept them away from him and his unnatural practices. That's a story in itself you know. Some of what he gets up to you question your own sanity. How can anyone sink so low?"
"It's a talent." Michael answered pointlessly."
"Here you go Doreen. Three books that haven't been desecrated by a bibliographic monster. I'll see you next week unless you finally drop dead."
"Thank you my dear. I look forward to it. It's the only rest I'll get from him I expect. Only he'd probably do something disgusting to my corpse. You take care beautiful girl."

There was no way he could deny it. The dynamic had changed. Whether for better or worse was beside the point for a man like him who despised change. Oh fuck. He'd strayed into a stream of consciousness that inexorably led him to conclude that at some future point the personification of Death would be working with him. Which was all very well, but where would they put the scythe? The pitch fork was already causing problems. The rest of the day passed without further incident. Aside from the constant presence of the Prince of Darkness. Who else in these circumstances could say they had an uneventful day. As had become the custom, in his altered dynamic, he dropped Sophie off where she'd joined him. That indicated there wasn't a crew of people clearing up behind her. He had the weekend to unwind and seek his equilibrium. That ought to do it. Only, around seven that evening Darcy showed up at his door. The instant he answered it she handed him a document. A bemused Michael stared at it."

"What's this?"
"You've been served. Our client is taking you to court Mr Penrose."
That hadn't clarified anything as far as he was concerned.
"Your client?"
Stephanie appeared from behind Darcy. She was wearing dark rimmed spectacles and wearing a business suit. Steph stepped up to him.
"My client Ms Sophie Catherine Louise Deveraux is taking you to a tribunal of employment arbitration Mr Penrose. She has a list of demands, reasonable demands, she insists are met if she is to continue in your employment. You'll have your chance to put your case there."
"Wha... Ho..."
Stephanie dropped out of character momentarily.
"It's in the village hall, tomorrow at eleven. Sophie's dad will be sitting in judgement so you're pretty much fucked. I'd advise you to get your own counsel. Not that it'll do you a shit of good. This isn't personal Mr Penrose. I hope you understand. None of us are doing this because we don't like you. My motive is money. I can't speak for anyone else. I'm a lawyer. I speak for the law."
Next it was Darcy's turn again.
"Just so you know. This has absolutely nothing to do with me or anything between us. Just so you know. Me and you," here she indicated the two of them. "It's still on. When the time is right I will have my revenge. Have a nice day."

I would like to nominate @steem.lol and @trumpman for the next round