Tomcat Tompkins – Chapter 1

I have written a novel about a Bulldog Drummond type character, but set it in the modern day of Brexit and right-wing racism. I am not sure if it will work, perhaps you could let me know?

“Oh pish, fish, wish, bish, gish, lish, mish, and tish,” said Tomcat Tompkins, “I seem to have slammed my bally Bugatti into a telegraph pole, again, that’s the third time, today.” Tomcat, whose real name was Clifford, thumped a pint-glass sized fist into the palm of his other hand, causing a slapping sound that rang around the interior of his vehicle. Using his enormous strength, Tomcat levered himself out of the vehicle and looked at the damage.

“Pretty bad, not like the previous two, around 10,000 pounds worth by the look of it, I will have to sell off some of mater’s shares in BT to pay for this” said Tompkins, straightening a few bent pieces of metal using his massively strong hands. Tompkins put his back into it and moved the car from the pole. He pushed it a few yards away, to try and make it look like his car and the pole had never been introduced, let alone met on any meaningful level. “I’ll have to ask my little Polish mechanic to come along and fix this for me, assuming he’s not drunk on Pepper Vodka or whatever it is he drinks for breakie.” Tomcat made a note in his pocket book to contact Vassily, or Grigor, or whatever the mechanic’s name was, to ask him to come and fix his auto. Tomcat made a note of the location too, just to help matters somewhat.

“This is going to make old Tomcat late for the lads’ meeting – we have to decide whether those Russkies we’ve been tailing for the last six months are aiming to start another Bolshevik revolution in ol’blighty, just like that Blair government did, though this time they will use all the bally immigrants that are coming in,rather than the democratic process” said Tomcat to himself, looking at his Breitling watch. He sprinted away towards the cunningly named The Meeting House, where his clan was going to meet in 15 minutes time, at 11:30pm, under the artful guise of an Archery Club Executive Meeting. Cue lots of talk about bows, arrows, bullseyes and similar, in vogue, lingo.  

Published by Julian Worker

Julian was born in Leicester, attended school in Yorkshire, and university in Liverpool. He has been to 94 countries and territories and intends to make the 100 when travel is easier. He writes travel books, murder / mysteries and absurd fiction. His sense of humour is distilled from The Marx Brothers, Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, and Midsomer Murders. His latest book is about a Buddhist cat who tries to help his squirrel friend fly further from a children's slide.

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