Anne Di Vinchi

[Caveman]

Does she sleep well at night do you think?

 

[shaolinpunk]

di vinchi? i'm guessing she probably stays up late to try and finish a painting

 

[HampshireSeagulls]

She has nightmares. She lives with a psycho who attacks reporters, she may be about to commit thousands of pounds of other people's money to a lost cause, and she dreams of Looney.....I could almost pity her.

 

[Napper]

Far too easily, she should be scared in her house

 

[seagullsovergrimsby]

Build a bonfire,
Build a bonfire,
Put DeVecchi on the top,
Put Baker in the middle,
And we'll burn the fuckin lot.

 

[Man of Harveys]

I bet no-one - not even her primate of a partner - has ventured near the Da Vinci COD for a good few years

 

[SurreySeagulls]

With a face like hers I doubt she gets a wink of sleep

 

[British Bulldog]

With a face like hers I doubt she gets a wink of sleep

Face like a dropped pie.

Maybe the Albion could offer "Pie Face" De Vecchi a job?

Stick her in goal & let our strikers have shooting practice at her.

Then again maybe stick her in the army & let them use her for target practice instead.

 

[Muhammed - I’m hard - Bruce Lee]

i think she's UP all night



seeing as she is probably shut in her coffin during daylight hours

 

[bhaexpress]

Does shit sleep ?

 

[bhafc99]

The De Vecchi Code


Chapter One

I was in my apartment in central Paris when I heard that Director Bodfish had been shot in The Louvre. Actually it was central Lewes and he’d been shot in The Poovre, but the mix-up was understandable.

“Look,” said the amazingly pert Anne De Vecchi, as she aligned a beam of light direct from her arse onto the Mona Lisa.

“That’s amazing,” I breathed. Clear as day, the beam revealed part of the background in the most famous painting in the world to be a brownfield site near Falmer.

“There’s no time to lose,” Anne panted as we ran through The Louvre. “Let’s file a delaying appeal for a year.”


Chapter Two (one year later)

“This painting is clearly part of biblical code,” muttered Professor Knight, as he struggled to untangle his glasses from their string and put them on his face. “My family is part of the ancient order of Knights of the Six Stands, and we guard a precious secret.”

“You mean…” I gasped.

“That’s right,” he twinkled. “I could tell you if someone’s coming on loan, but I won’t.”

We were wasting our time. But Anne seemed strangely pleased.

We clambered through the cave beneath Professor Knight’s chateau. “Look out for increased bat collisions,” I warned Mademoiselle’s De Vecchi’s bottom as it wiggled suggestively in front of me.


Chapter Three

By now the gendarmie liberale et democratique were on to us. “I respect your decision,” shouted Commissioner Baker, “But then again, I don’t. So nah nah nah.” We gained a few precious hours by distracting him with a cup of tea and a pork pie. Such shameless hospitality was a clear bribe, and he was instantly removed from the case.

Anne pulled a time-worn scroll from under her clothes. I dreaded to think where she’d been hiding it.

“Read this bit, and this bit,” she breathed. I peered at the tiny script. “But it’s all in legal jargon, I can’t understand a word.”

“Exactly,” she smiled mysteriously. “That way the powers-that-be have long pretended that the mystical site of Falmer is within the conurbation of Brighton and Hove, but in fact it’s not.”

“But you can’t say that,” I gasped. “The whole of western civilisation will tumble if word gets out.”
“Just you stop me,” she cried, as she thumped a nearby Argus photographer and ran for the door.


Chapter Four

The wind howled. The sleet stung my face. I pulled my poncho closer to my skin and peered through the downpour. God I hated Withdean.

Just then my mobile rang. It was Professor Knight. De Vecchi had been spotted in the changing rooms.

Quick as a flash I ran there. Then I remembered the changing rooms were now at the other end of the ground. So I ran there instead.

Just in time I found Mme de Vecchi about to sup from the ancient chalice that had long stood in the changing room cabinet. “By drinking this pint of whiskey I will win the day,” she cackled. “You’ll never get your precious stadium built.”

All seemed lost. The ancient code would disappear forever, as if sinking beneath the waters of Falmer pond.

In desperation I left the plot unresolved. That way I could write another blockbuster in a few years time and make another gazillion dollars.


The end
By Dan Brownfield

 

[¡Cereal Killer!]

 

[Schrödinger's Toad]

 

[king Wombat]

Face like a dropped pie.

Maybe the Albion could offer "Pie Face" De Vecchi a job?

Stick her in goal & let our strikers have shooting practice at her.

Then again maybe stick her in the army & let them use her for target practice instead.

with our strikers prowess I wouldn't expect her to walk away overly perturbed.

but the pigeons behind/above the goal better watch out..

 

[turienzo's lovechild]

she takes it up the arse


allegedly

 

[Hunting 784561]

The De Vecchi Code


Chapter One

I was in my apartment in central Paris when I heard that Director Bodfish had been shot in The Louvre. Actually it was central Lewes and he’d been shot in The Poovre, but the mix-up was understandable.

“Look,” said the amazingly pert Anne De Vecchi, as she aligned a beam of light direct from her arse onto the Mona Lisa.

“That’s amazing,” I breathed. Clear as day, the beam revealed part of the background in the most famous painting in the world to be a brownfield site near Falmer.

“There’s no time to lose,” Anne panted as we ran through The Louvre. “Let’s file a delaying appeal for a year.”


Chapter Two (one year later)

“This painting is clearly part of biblical code,” muttered Professor Knight, as he struggled to untangle his glasses from their string and put them on his face. “My family is part of the ancient order of Knights of the Six Stands, and we guard a precious secret.”

“You mean…” I gasped.

“That’s right,” he twinkled. “I could tell you if someone’s coming on loan, but I won’t.”

We were wasting our time. But Anne seemed strangely pleased.

We clambered through the cave beneath Professor Knight’s chateau. “Look out for increased bat collisions,” I warned Mademoiselle’s De Vecchi’s bottom as it wiggled suggestively in front of me.


Chapter Three

By now the gendarmie liberale et democratique were on to us. “I respect your decision,” shouted Commissioner Baker, “But then again, I don’t. So nah nah nah.” We gained a few precious hours by distracting him with a cup of tea and a pork pie. Such shameless hospitality was a clear bribe, and he was instantly removed from the case.

Anne pulled a time-worn scroll from under her clothes. I dreaded to think where she’d been hiding it.

“Read this bit, and this bit,” she breathed. I peered at the tiny script. “But it’s all in legal jargon, I can’t understand a word.”

“Exactly,” she smiled mysteriously. “That way the powers-that-be have long pretended that the mystical site of Falmer is within the conurbation of Brighton and Hove, but in fact it’s not.”

“But you can’t say that,” I gasped. “The whole of western civilisation will tumble if word gets out.”
“Just you stop me,” she cried, as she thumped a nearby Argus photographer and ran for the door.


Chapter Four

The wind howled. The sleet stung my face. I pulled my poncho closer to my skin and peered through the downpour. God I hated Withdean.

Just then my mobile rang. It was Professor Knight. De Vecchi had been spotted in the changing rooms.

Quick as a flash I ran there. Then I remembered the changing rooms were now at the other end of the ground. So I ran there instead.

Just in time I found Mme de Vecchi about to sup from the ancient chalice that had long stood in the changing room cabinet. “By drinking this pint of whiskey I will win the day,” she cackled. “You’ll never get your precious stadium built.”

All seemed lost. The ancient code would disappear forever, as if sinking beneath the waters of Falmer pond.

In desperation I left the plot unresolved. That way I could write another blockbuster in a few years time and make another gazillion dollars.


The end
By Dan Brownfield

Superb

and much better than the book that it is (allegedly) based on

 

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

Anjybody know why the would-be bollock-cutter-offer is an EX-policeman?

 

[Caveman]