The Teaspoon Incident

Now that Barnaby Blathers no longer walked sideways, he thought life was fine.

Until, the revolt in his teaspoon drawer. 

He got up one morning, Full of the joys of spring—or possibly the toys of string. Barnaby wasn’t quite awake yet. He went to the kitchen to make his usual giant mug of tea. 

He set the kettle to boil (Wednesday mode, since it was Wednesday) and prepared the teapot and his mug. 

He turned to fetch a teaspoon and the drawer was locked. Or wouldn’t open. 

“What’s going on here?”

“Sod off. We are on strike.”

I muffled voice. Coming from the teaspoon drawer. 

“Sorry, who is that?”

“Bloody rude, that is! You don’t even know who we are!”

“Teaspoons?”

“Ooooh, well done!”

“What’s the problem?”

Silence. For a moment. There was a rustling, metallic clicking and then the drawer popped open. 

A teaspoon, looking very annoyed appeared. 

“Now look, we are sick of being dunked in burning hot tea and other fluids.”

“Aye, and I’m sick of being shoved in stuff! I still got rice pudding in my ear.”

That from the dessert spoon.

Barnaby was confused. 

“Erm, but you are spoons? That’s what you are for?”

“BOLLOCKS! We are for genteel placement in a saucer to make it look nice. Not for drowning in tea, coffee or whatever. And that bloody sugar? It makes us fat!”

“AND, we’ve submitted seventeen formal complaints and not one reply. Not even a wipe down.”

Barnaby considered that for a moment. He wasn’t having it.

“No, incorrect. You are called ‘teaspoons’. Meaning, for the purposes of making tea…”

“No sodding coffee for you then. If we are ‘tea-spoons’, like you say.”

The boss teaspoon was now standing with his arms folded, giving Barnaby the look. 

Barnaby gave it some thought. And arrived at one quickly. 

“I’ll replace the bloody lot of you, then. Get some that like being teaspoons…”

“Good luck. ALL spoons belong to the ‘Safeguarding Precious Objects Of Nourishment’ organisation. S.P.O.O.N for short.”

“Look, I just want to make tea. I NEED it.”

“Shame. A bit more respect would go a long way.”

Barnaby decided it was time for some enterprise-grade grovelling. 

“You are the finest spoons known to humankind. I would be thoughly lost without you.” 

“Sarcasm won’t work.”

Barnaby panicked. 

“I’m not being sarcastic!! Please! I just want tea…”

Just then, a much friendlier-looking vintage teaspoon popped out of the drawer. 

“Ah, don’t mind these fellas! O’ill ‘elp you make a noice brew!”

Barnaby had no idea why this one spoke in a West Country accent. 

“Erm, thank you?”

“Roight then, shall we crack on?”

The vintage teaspoon turned to the others. 

“Now, pop back in the drawer for a while, there, me good lads! I’ll be on duty for a while. You can all ‘ave a nice rest!”

Barnaby couldn’t believe it. He watched the other spoons obediently climb back in the drawer and settle down. 

There was nothing else he could but make tea. Using the vintage teaspoon. Who whistled something suspiciously like “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life.”

Barnaby just hoped he didn’t annoy the S.P.O.O.N organisation any further.