Struggling to match your part 2 Jane, but I'll leave the door open for you to close it.

Charlie's dad polished off the wholesome yet slightly 'overdone' dinner his good lady breadknife had prepared. He should have known better than to expect his dinner to be both on time, and not burnt. "Right then. I think I'll nip down the Dog & Bollock for another skinfull" he slurred in that gruff, sexy tone that had first attracted his missus to him.

Having years of experiece of driving under the afluence of incohol, Charlie's dad wasn't concerned about getting a tug from the plod. In fact, every one of the pedestrians he had mowed down during his years of drink driving had been asking for it. Be it walking on the pavement without luminous jackets, or carelessly sitting in dimly lit bus shelters, none of the deaths had been his dads fault.

"Come on kids, let's get you two ready for bed" Charlie's mum said. Typically, she failed to notice Charlie was on for a personal best on Grand Theft Auto Playstation game, and was just about to murder a gang of prostitutes who had failed to pay their pimp.

"Muuuuuuuuum!! Can't I finish me game? I just need to murder this herd of hookers and I'll be onto the next level" Charlie grunted, upset at his mums lack of consideration. "OK my petal, just hurry up and violently slaughter them, then its bed time sweet pea."

Charlie grinned as his character macheted his way through the young ladies. "Wear that!" he giggled as the corpses fell one by one. After his butchering spree, his mum tucked the kids into bed and curled up on the sofa. Just then the phone rang. It was her sister, Molly Arbuckle, the phantom husband hacker of old Pontefract Town.

"Hello Sis, have you er..., done it?" Molly asked quietly.

"Hi Molly. Yes, this afternoon. He's set off down the pub already, hopefully I'll be hearing something soon."

"Good on yer, I'm glad you came to me for advice"

"Well who else could I ask? Makes no sense when I've got the best husband control expert for a sister! Molly Arbuckle: Everything she touches turns to rigor mortis! he he"

"OK dear. As long as you got the papers signed first. Right, let me know when you hear anything won't you? I'm so proud of you, I might even translate the days events into a humourous tongue-in-cheek, women's lib orientated short story-type peice, and post it up on that website I bugger about on all day. Tarraaa!"

They hung up, and Charlie's mum started leafing through the holiday brochures. Needless to say she hadn't even done the washing up from dinner, but then again she'd always been an idle cow. Just then there was a knock at the door. She quickly bit into a juicy onion to get the tears running, in a cunning, albeit well used bid to feign sorrow at the expected news...

"Mrs. Thompson? I'm PC Nonsense. Could I come in please, its with regard to your husband."

With tear filled eyes, she invited the nice constable in. He did a pretty good job of disguising his amazement at the pile of ironing that had yet to be done, and the sink full of mucky dishes. His jaw dropped as he noticed she'd got herself a cup of tea, despte all the outstanding household chores left untouched, but his training forced him to bite his tongue at her domestic indolence. He mused that were she his wife, she'd be due a clip round the lug, or at least one of his size 10's up her arse.

"Mrs. Thompson, I'm afraid there's been an accident"

"Oh no, no, no! Please tell me he's OK.... oh, oh, etc etc", she cried.

"Oh your husbands fine, but I'm afraid you may be in trouble."

"Me? Why? What have I done?" she asked, getting all nervy like.

"Well I'm afraid your husband lost control of his vehicle en route to the Dog & Bollock Public House. Fortunately the local Weight Watchers meeting was just chucking out. His car was heading for the beer garden, but luckily a couple of 18 stone plumpsters named Tracy and Sharon respectively, were wobbling past on their way back from the fish shop, and their generous midriffs cushioned the impact somewhat. Your husband was a little shaken, but luckily for him, a couple of passers-by called the fire brigade, who managed to cut the car free from under the girls. They carried him into the pub; It's nothing short of a miracle he didn't miss the start of the darts match! Sadly the 2 fat lasses sort of burst on impact. It's terrible scene; there's cellulite everywhere. It resembles an explosion in a lard factory. I'm hope your insurance will pay for the degreasing..."

"Er.... phew. Thats, er, a relief. So what's it all got to do with me?" she asked.

"Well our investigation has revealed the brakepipes have been cut. We suspect female inteference as the sharp edges had been thoughtfully filed smooth. We also unearthed a piece of paper, which was found sellotaped to the underside of the bonnet. The interesting little document is a printout from a website called 'HowToCutYourHusbandsBrakePipes.com and whichever dopy bint cut them forgot to remove the instructions."

Charlies mum was lost for words. How was she going to extricate herself from this one.....?