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7 Jun 2008 2:13 PM

The plan was to get some indelible pencil shavings from the office and have someone rub it into George's hair. 
If he showered there would be purple stains down his face.
The group thought it would be simple ruse, and one that would create an interest in the town.
The pub host went to the office and came back with enough pencil lead shavings to do the trick, and Tiny was elected to, somehow, get it into George's hair.
George gravitated towards Tiny's end of the bar as if fate was guiding him into the trick.
"G'Day, mate, Ow'ya'goin' ," he said to Tiny.
"What are you up to, Notty" Tiny asked cordially.
This question frightened George.  Had Tiny watched him stealing money from the bar? Or was there something else that George should be feeling guilty about?
There was no doubt that there were many things that George could be guilty of, but he decided to bluff it out.
"Nuffin, mate, I ain't been doing nuffin' "
"Not our Notty, he wouldn't do nothing wrong, would you Notty?" Tiny said, and in what George thought was a great show of affection, rubbed the pencil shavings into George's greasy hair.
The joy that coursed through George at this show of mateship almost over came him.  He could not think of anything to say, instead he rubbed his own head, which only ground the shavings in further.
One thing that George was always prepared to say was, "Buy us a beer, mate".
The publican, enjoying the beginning of what was to become a lucrative bookmaking exercise, placed a pot of beer on the bar for the now completely flabbergasted George.
"Here you go, Notty, have one on the house".
George picked up the brimming glass as though it was a precious, and delicate present, and immediately the side of the glass, that had the froth overflowing and running down the side, turned to a purple handprint.
"What's wrong with the beer?" George became suspicious.
"Aw! Nothing, Notty, must be a bit of chemical that I put in the drip trays,I'll toss it out if you want,"  the publican was a quick thinker.
"Is that all. No need to waste it," George said and quaffed the liquid in a couple of gulps.
George put the glass back down on the bar, shifting it a couple of times in the direction of the publican in the forlorn hope that it would be filled again, but that didn't happen, and eventually, with everyone now ignoring him, he moved back to his pocket money collecting.
Most of the colour had been wiped off his hands, down the sides of his trousers, but there remained a residue that would not be moved until it grew out.  This little proof of the experiment met with the approval of the publican and the locals.
By the end of the week there would be hundreds of pounds bet on a distant date for George's guessed showering.
One rule that Tiny insisted on was that if George never showed signs of washing, or streaks of purple on his face that the bets would be called off.
A shut off date was announced, and no more bets would be taken after the following Sunday.
Because of the uncertainty of the bet the publican gave odds of two to one on the exact date with even money for two days either way in the event of the exact date not being picked, and as a place bet.
One astute punter asked what would happen if George got caught in rain.  This was covered; if rain came all bets would be called off if George showed streaks of purple.  This was a safe condition for two reasons.  George would not intentionally get wet, and at this time of the year there was little of chance of rain anyway.
Not one punter bet on a date inside of two weeks, and many chose the last day before the shut off date.  That is how much the locals recognised George's personal hygiene activities.
Monday and Tuesday seemed to drag on forever as far as George was concerned.  He waited anxiously for the Wednesday morning when he could become a 'Sherlock Holmes', a hero to the district of Targaroo, someone that all the townsfolk would look up to and praise for his part in the arrest of the stock thieves.
George had grand dreams of Martha falling at his feet when she realised how clever he had been.  He fell into a reverie of walking down the street with Martha on his arm, or of her lovingly hugging him to her huge breasts, and her being slave to his lascivious sexual fantasies.
The results of Wednesday's activities were all that George could focus on.  He was sure that he could solve the thefts, somehow.  He gave no thought to failure; he had too much riding on success.
Sleep was not available to George on the Tuesday night in spite of him having a good session of free drinks at the pub, drinks that seemed to be coming from men that usually never had anything to do with him.
There was a great interest in George, and some of the drinkers seemed to think that if they befriended him that lady luck would smile favourably in their direction with the shower bet.
There were others that would keep a close eye on George, and as the day that they had nominated neared, they would try and encourage George to have a shower.
Whatever the reason, George fared very well in the free drink department, but not enough to put him to sleep on the fateful eve of his 'investigations'.

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