Tom “Indiana” Jones and the Temple of Icke – Part 3

Tom Jones twice winner of the Nobel Love Prize, climbed down from Wee Jimmy’s shoulders onto the soft white sand of the Isle of Wight.

The windswept hippie ancient was babbling incoherently now, with only snatches of words and band names making sense. Tom cautiously padded over and with great tenderness punched him in the face. “Stop talking like a pepper mill boyo, what is the matter with you?”

The flower power disciple picked himself up from the sand and wiped his blood smeared mouth “Thank you venerable master Jones, it has been so long since I have been in the presence of greatness that I forget myself. Please follow me to our village and you will find refreshment from your travels.” He bowed low then turned and disappeared into the undergrowth.

“I don’t like this Dr Jones, that thing was creepy” stated Wee Jimmy.

“Don’t fear them Jimmy, they were men once like us. Besides we will need a guide out of this godforsaken place.”

They followed the surprisingly sprightly pacifist into the dense Wightian undergrowth until they emerged into a clearing. In its centre was the hippie commune, a dirty ramshackle excuse of a village, it seemed that due to lack of building materials they had built their homes from excrement. Wee Jimmy caught a whiff on the breeze and quickly vomited his breakfast of porridge and iron brew all over a kneeling woman. She didn’t even react but simply continued to rock back and forth chanting.

They were escorted into one of the larger poo huts and given a meal of sticks and hand collected rainwater. After a few moments the village elder came in, he was a short man naked save for a ginormous beard that covered most of his body. He gave the visitors a low bow and seated himself cross legged before them, after a moment he indicated they should speak.

“Morning Hippie Lord, we are travellers in your land and need to return to the mainland, have you someone who could guide us to the port at Norton? Enquired Jones.

“Trevor will guide you, on the way you will stop at Carisbrooke Castle”,

Jones looked puzzled “but Carisbrooke is not on the way to Norton, and anyway the place has been abandoned since the mutiny in 1975 hasn’t it?”

The old village chief shook his head morosely “No, a new Lord resides in Carisbrooke Castle now and the castle is powerful again. It is Carisbrooke that kills my village.” Indy shook his head to explain he didn’t understand and the old fruit continued. “The evil starts in Carisbrooke, then like a light drizzle it moves discontent over the island. They came from Carisbrooke and took the ‘Live’”.

Wee Jimmy gave Jones a quizzical look forcing him to explain. “It’s a sacred album, The Who Live on The Isle of Wight”.

The naked chief looked deep into Toms eyes “Its is why The Who have sent you to us, you will go to Carisbrooke, find the ‘Live’ and bring it back to us”.

Jones shook his head softly. “Sorry pops but we just need to get out of here, besides why would this new Lord take the album?”

The elders face grew dark and he answered “The Lord uses it bring forth evil, he says we must pray also. We said no, then he took the sacred disc. That is when our crops die and the women deny us free love. Then…..” the hippie suddenly had huge tears in his eyes and his head dropped. “Then they took our weed”.

Tom almost fell backwards in shock, truly this was evil. To steal the weed from a hippie village was to tear its heart out. With grim determination he stood up in the sewage made house. “Ok old fella, I will find the ‘Live’ and bring back your weed”.

The village elder stood also and bowed saying “We knew you would, for you are the Tom Jones”.

Tom “Indiana” Jones and the Temple of Icke – Part 2

Dr Jones (presented with an honorary doctorate in “Deep Love” by Bangor University in 1987) sat on board Nails Lear Jet sipping Dom Perignon from a pint glass. The sky had started to lighten outside and dawn would soon break over the country. Jones had instructed his sidekick Wee Jimmy Krankie to fly them to the south of France. Tom had been without a woman for almost twelve hours, it would now take the combined efforts of the Monaco Ladies Beach Volleyball team to return him to full strength.

Suddenly whilst Tom daydreamed of the frolics to come the cabin lost all pressure and the plane began to go into a steep dive, before Jones had time to ask Wee Jimmy what had happened a shot was fired just above his head. Turning he saw just by the open cabin door the symbiotic hit men Robson and Jerome. Both were wearing parachutes and I ♥ Soldier Soldier T-shirts. Tom realised that they must have been hiding in the toilets the entire time and had soon discovered that Nail was not on board.

Robson stepped forward waving his pistol at him before Tom had time to react.

“Not so fast Jones, we have the last two parachutes and have cut the fuel lines, soon our master will reward us for destroying you”.

Jerome the “host” of the relationship poked his head round from behind Robson and shook his fist menacingly.

Just then Wee Jimmy burst out of the cockpit running at full pelt into Nails henchmen, Robson tried in vain to get out of the way but was caught up in the legs of his partner causing them to topple out of the open door, quickly swept away into the clouds.

“Good job Jimmy, can you get this crate back in the air?” asked Jones relaxing his coiled physique.

“No Good Dr Jones, no fuel and this plane no built for gliding!” said jimmy picking up his school cap.

Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully then began to rummage through the cupboards and overhead lockers.

“Aha! Quick Jimmy try to get us as low as possible, I think I have an idea” explained Jones starting to pull things out of a cupboard marked “Private”.

Within moments Wee Jimmy was back after levelling out the plane and setting it to autopilot. He returned to find Jones lashing together blow up dolls with dental floss.

“Hey Dr Jones this is no time for love!”

“Shut up Boyo and get on” cried the Welsh legend.

Jimmy obeyed and Jones used his powerful abdominal thrust to force them through the cabin door and out into the awaiting sky.

Freefall.

The sea rushed up to meet the escaping heroes hitting them like a solid wall, luckily the blow up dolls took the brunt of the impact and they were able to hang on.

Several of the less well made dolls had burst, however the sturdier vinyl ones held and Jones instructed Wee Jimmy to start paddling them into the coast while he rearrange his hair.

After about an hour they reached a windswept sandy beach and Wee Jimmy waded ashore with Dr Jones on his shoulders. Jones passed his enquiring eye over the terrain “This isn’t France Jimmy, I think we landed a bit prematurely”.

Just then a figure dressed in ragged flairs and bright orange shirt shambled out of the bushes. He was in his sixties with a long white beard and had laurel of plastic can holders around his head. He saw them on the beach and began running towards them shouting. “Have you brought it back? Please I have been here for so long, have you brought it back?”

Jones’s eyes went wide with comprehension. “My God! One of the Lost Festival People of 1970, we thought them extinct”.

Wee Jimmy looked puzzled and said “but where are we Dr Jones and what does it mean?”

Jones’s face turned grave. “We are on the Isle of Wight Jimmy, and it means…..trouble”

Tom “Indiana” Jones and the Temple of Icke – Part 1

Its 1995 and everyone’s favourite welsh pop singer is halfway through a powerful performance of Delilah at Newcastle’s top venue The Stage Door. Tom is as ever wowing the ladies with his patented hip gyrations when suddenly the notorious gangster Jimmy Nail bursts in scattering the assembled lovelies.

Jimmy’s goons (the cast of auf wiedersehen pet) quickly surround the stage and aggressively point their automatic weapons on Wales’s number one son.

“Way Aye Jones, you stole me Crocodile Shoes Man! I want em back” screamed the furious Geordie.

“Those shoes are a crime against fashion Boyo, I destroyed them as you should have done long ago Jimmy” Tom calmly explained whilst secretly motioning to the karaoke machine behind his back.

Nail exploded unleashing a tirade of insults that would put Dockers to shame, meanwhile behind the stage Tom’s sidekick Wee Jimmy Krankie carefully made his way to the fat bird magnet.

“Hadaway man, you must by lying, cos if your not you’re a deed man. Oootside Noooo!” cried the tragic pop crooner Nail.

“Now Wee Jimmy!” roared Jones to the karaoke machine in the corner.

Suddenly the air was filled with Gazza’s rendition of “Fog on the Tyne” and the Geordie mobsters were transfixed by their regional anthem, forcing them to salute, a single tear rolling down Nails cheek.

Jones losing no time ran from the nightclub with Wee Jimmy following as fast as his diminutive stature would allow.

Outside they found two bouncers who were still dealing with the riddle Nail had bamboozled them with to get past.

“Is it a Coal ship do ya think?”

“Nooo Man he said, on what kind of ships do students study?”

Tom saw that they were both on the verge of mental collapse and would be of no use holding off the chasing goons. Luckily Wee Jimmy saw their escape route parked on double yellows across the street. Nail had left his private Lear jet open with the engine running.

“Quick Mr Jones, to the Jet”

“You’re a marvel Shorty” complemented Jones

“I keep telling you, you listen to me more, you live longer!” explained Wee Jimmy racing to the plane.

Within minutes Wee Jimmy had the plane ready for takeoff, having learnt to fly whilst accompanying Jones on his many international travels.

“Step on it Wee Jimmy” called Tom whilst trying to find something to drink that wasn’t Newcastle Brown Ale in the bar.

“Okey Dokey Mr Jones, hold onto your leeks!”

Nail stepped over the unconscious bouncers into the crisp nigh air just as the jet took off. He watched it climb away into the murky night sky and began to laugh.