Saturday, September the 2nd, 2017

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The Forty Thieves

I was at a loose end, staring out of the window looking at crows, and my mind turned to Ali Baba and his Forty Thieves. With a start, I realised how little I knew about them. As luck would have it, the very next day at a rummage sale I picked up a copy of a privately-printed pamphlet by Knud Padde, described on the title page as a Lecturer in Arabian Thievery Studies at the University of Ack-on-the-Vug, or possibly the University of Vug-on-the-Ack. Here is his list of the Forty Thieves, together with “preliminary notes” on each thief.

Corky—a hireling thief, a chump, a talc-powdered wastrel.

Mutcho—greasy, vindictive, base.

Ibster—looms terrible in dreams, licks ice cream cones.

Guff—the boffin of the gang, and sniper, and Tippi Hedren's penpal,

Spoors—great galumphing fool, Oppidan, thimble-fumbler.

Waxy—waxy.

Geraldo—of monstrous girth, of lively demeanour, of hand-stitched tunics.

Carsten—polishes off raisins, swigs tap water, goes shod in clogs.

Fang—inhabits palatial apartments with his wolf and his minuets.

Sudbury—exists on a higher plane, thumps things, distressed.

Oswin—suffers fools gladly, hung out to dry.

Bantock—dustpan and brush man, Hotspur, clackety rhythm.

Mort—hedger, was a water-bailiff, albino.

Chippy—wanting eggs.

Hardcastle—fevered brow, distorted spine, curly ringlets.

Aptod—when first he flew he blundered into branches of dark trees.

Shopworn—lacks the common touch, hoist by petards, a darling.

Urbane—urbane yet ditzy, polka-dotted, ruminant.

Dobbin—pumped gas back in Montana, unbridled savagery, lacks depth.

Inky—several contradictory reports, buff-coloured envelope, chalk dust.

Hig—shallow, potted, wet.

Anglepoise—Jesuit upbringing, weather station, tarred with broad brush.

Snapper—bolt upright, sprained ankles, Maoist.

Boomer—booming voice, bloody nose, best before dusk.

Chepstow—owls nest in his hair, he plays the piccolo, he eats mashed potato.

Zigzoo—champs at bits, stinks of Jarlsberger, often with conifers.

Delmore—lurid, spiteful, mechanical.

Esher—flabby, subject to fits, member of Tuesday Weld Fan Club.

Jetboy—likely to be found upon rotating things in park playgrounds.

Casement—proudly lumpen, secretly engaged to a flapper, podcaster.

Uck—abnormal alignment of head upon neck, neck grubby, hair unwashed.

Fig—a stone's throw from the sea, green about the gills, hot to trot.

Straubenzee—sings the songs his mother taught him in that Darmstadt nursery.

Fogbound—clatters to and fro, goes haywire, made of cement.

Wailywaily—hidden behind shutters, brilliantine in his hair, indiscreet.

Burgess—over by the ice rink, underneath the arches, powered by batteries.

Mudguard—guards mud.

Pepinstow—thunderous hooves, brilliant plumage, exquisite table manners.

Dixon—marimba, clutching at straws, gin slings and blood oranges.

Quangocrat—double helpings of sausage-shaped dough snacks.

This is a slightly revised version of a piece which originally appeared in 2011.