The film RED is the inspiration behind a group calling themselves the SAS – Senile And Scary. Their motto is ‘Hors Concours’: their mission, to right a few wrongs. The scales of justice being the badge on their black balaclavas.
The commander of this elite unit is a retired soldier who fought in the Falklands and both Gulf Wars, the rest of the team, three in all, are all retired ‘ladies’. Well I say ladies in the loosest sense as one of them is a retired prostitute, Elsie, who has no front teeth and has issues with men and anyone eating bananas. As well as carrying a crowbar and a SIG, she also carries a twelve inch Bowie knife. God knows what she keeps in those jars she has stowed away in her pantry, they are all the same size. The rest of the team have always wanted to ask her why she pickles so many Frankfurters, but daren’t. She also has a problem with money: especially ill-gotten gains. She thinks that’s all people think about these days: money, booze and doing a few lines. But the only lines Elsie ever did was having to write, ‘I must not talk in class’ one hundred times. That put her off doing lines for the rest of her life, but still she can’t keep her mouth shut.
As this force-to-be-reckoned-with stood looking through the wire fence at the forecourt of a second-hand car dealer who screws his buyers over, trying to sell them all makes of rusty, flash, hunks of junk, Elsie asked the boss if he was going to scale the fence. He immediately retaliated with a few choice four letters words which, when translated meant he couldn’t get his leg over. Elsie then shouted their motto, “Horse Conkers,” the rest of the team retaliated by shouting, “Horse Conkers,” in unison, just like the three Musketeers. Elsie then suggested they shoot out the cameras. Dolly took her SIG from her left armpit and they all ducked. Dolly was in the early stages of Parkinsons, and if anyone knows anything at all about the SIG, they don’t have a safety catch, neither does Dolly’s twitching fingers.
The commander asked her very nicely to put it away. He actually said, “put that frigging thing away, you dozy cow.” Dolly always responded to being verbally abused, I think it had something to do with her late husband, who died suddenly whilst cooking a Sunday roast. He happened to slit his own throat whilst making Yorkshire puddings. Dolly was asked at the funeral how he came to be whisking batter with a carving knife. She never explained, just stood dabbing her eyes. Next day the commander was seen coming out her front door – not a metaphor- he could barely walk. Elsie reckoned he was beside himself with grief. Chris thought he just looked knackered and would feel better when he’d soaked his privates in some warm soapy water.
Back at the parking-lot which appeared impenetrable, Elsie asked if anyone had any gelignite or semtex. The commander said he could get hold of a shoulder launcher, but it would take him a few days. Chris volunteered her Kenwood, but they all wondered what good a blender would be, unless they were going to liquidise someone’s bollocks: preferably the balls of the dodgy second-hand car dealer.
“What do we do now?” Dolly asked. After a few deliberations they all agreed they would come back tomorrow when the garage was open, they would keep the man talking while the commander slashed a few tyres. So, they put away their SIGS and the crowbars; Elsie put her Bowie back in the sheath she had strapped to her calf, and they all went to the pub to discuss their next mission: noisy youths who irritate the crap out of the residents of an otherwise quiet neighbourhood.