Part 3, where the mystery and plot comes as close as it's going to to developing - and we discover who's mum is a slag

As I stepped out into the street and looked around for Salmonella (my eyes lingered on the Johns Brothers' Raw Chicken Guzzle Shack across the road) and saw the hem of her skirts disappear around a bend in the road. I pursued as fast as my legs could carry me and soon came face to face with Old Father Boa, who was the local preacherman and occasional crossdresser - who my expert eye assessed was wearing enormous skirts that was just of a similar fashion to Mrs Bathwater's own. I was understandably perturbed so backed away slowly...right into the arms of a shadowy figure dressed in rags who let out a grumbling moan! A zombie!

Okay so it wasn't a zombie. It was a lost pensioner who had been wandering the streets since the early hours and who was more or less agreeable to the idea of accompanying me on my adventure to find Mrs Bathwater. He had raggedy flared trousers and big circular glasses like what John Lennon wears in those photos where he's scowling - you know the one. He also had long grey hair and a jacket made of hemp, he was a right flower child. He said I could call him Elderflower and I could tell just from looking at him that he had some fabulous stories - that I had no interest in hearing. Also he smelled of the drugs.

So Elderflower and I were walking down the street and there's still no sign of Salmonella anywhere but I am growing uneasy because i know a woman that size doesn't just disappear into thin air, more likely she disappears into an all-night cake shop. I was aware that that's probably not a thing so we walked until we reached the edge of town. Elderflower began whooping and chanting and dancing round a tree, so as I got ready to put his lead back on and walked over to him, I noticed on the tree someone had scratched a message into the bark - Apparently José's mum is a slag. But below that message was ANOTHER message! It read:

Bring a thousand 'dollerydoos' to 129 Old Hill Road by midnight or SB gets the shit beaten out of here. Message is continued on next tree'

Elderflower cocked his head at me and I scratched my chin in contemplation. I knew dollerydoos was Australian for pounds sterling, but where would I get some dollerydoos at this time of night?

The Family Friendly Adventures of Salmonella Bathwater

As Mrs Bathwater stepped into the crowded hubbub of the bar, we were all spellbound - and not only because it wasn't even ladies night. She had an oily reputation about the town for being the sternest governess ever known. It was said she had once ruled over the well posh FitzMcSmythly household like a cross between Margaret Thatcher, that woman who always wore pink in Harry Potter but I've forgotten her name, and Wolverine (but from one of the films where he's at the top of his game, not like in Logan when he's short-sighted and coughing up a lot of blood). She had a hairdo that looked as unyielding as steel wool and eyes that looked like they might turn into werewolf eyes at any moment and she would attack with vicious claws. But, as a governess she was generally safe around children.
Anyway you may be thinking - well who the hell is telling this story, this ain't not 1st or 3rd person narrated bullshit. Well you'd be right, this is 2nd person, like Sherlock Holmes, but I ain't no John Watson I guess you could call me Marshmallow Buttercream, as that is my name. I'm a regular here at the pub and apart from a tequila sunrise my one love is my good woman, Ironica McManus. She's a fine woman, and hairy as they come!
But anyway I was melodorisising about Mrs Bathwater and as she was talking whilst I gave you my life story.
"Keep it down with the life story over there, Buttercream, I am trying to advance the plot!" she cried.
Clearly it was time to listen in!

No...no we missed it. Sorry about that. She came in briefly and waved some paper around and now she's stormed out. Bloody hell now we'll be playing catch-up with the plot for a while I guess.
Let's go outside, oh it's snowing now. It was sunny when I walked in, but that was a couple of months ago and we are in that country where the weather might change, u don't need me to tell you which one.

Let's follow Ms Bathwater and find out where she's off to in such a hurry!

The Adventures of Salmonella Bathwater - Part 1 - An Evil Smell in the Filthy Mistress

She entered the room and immediately the music stopped and all heads turned to regard her with the air of a bunch of people in a bar thinking hey who the hell is that woman?
But I already knew her. Or so I thought.

She might have just looked like someone I knew.

But it turned out then it was actually someone I knew. I think.

The bartender was wiping a dirty cup with a crusty rag and had a glass eye rolling playfully around in his face whilst the other one was covered by a roguish eye-patch. He was a total dreamboat, even though he rarely got your drinks order correct. His name was Charles McCohan and he had tales of the sea from his days adventuring and plundering lots of booty as a sophisticated oceanographer on his prize steam-yacht the Filthy Mistress. He had an anchor tatoo on his forearm so you knew he was legit.His favorite song was Sailor's Hornpipe by Henry Wood, and he knew all the words from all the songs from Muppets Treasure Island.

But anyway this lady had just barged her way unceremoniously into the bar and basically she didn't look impressed. Perhaps she'd spotted the neon signs to the ladies room that just said 'GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS' and wasn't necessarily directing ladies to a toilet. Or perhaps she'd spotted the hole in the roof, that was only there to help dispell the fumes from José's up-and-coming meth lab that Charles McCohan had allowed him to set up in the hope of finding a cure for having a glass eye (but secretly José was just cooking meth and calling everyone a bitch, like he'd seen on the telly). I think was appalled her the most was seeing that what Charles claimed was prosecco on tap was actually just fizzy water mixed with chewed up refreshers.

So as the last majestic bars of Smell Yo Dick by Riskay faded away, there she stood in the doorway, her shoes reflecting the light from the fire that was burning merrily in the corner (much to the chargin of José, who was off his tits on fumes anyhow so don't dwell on it). Her hair was tied in a tight bun that pulled the skin on her face back into a rictus grin that was like Jared Leto's Joker but less disappointing, whilst her big manly hands were wrapped around the strap of her big hooker-sized handbag. Also she had a coat on - probably because it was spitting out.

Before she said anything I could tell live was never going to be the same again, because Mrs Salmonella Bathwater was back in town - like the Boys in a Thin Lizzy song,