Satire – Tomcat Tompkins – 8

This novel is something a little different for me. It is a satire set in the
UK at the present moment. There are striking parallels between these days and
the 1930s. There’s a lot of racist people around who are crawling out of the
woodwork as they have been encouraged by the implications of the Brexit vote.


“Yes, not wishing to stereotype people, but that’s exactly what they do, so I have heard.”

“Right, so it would be wonderful if you could ask your chap, Ingram, to snoop around somewhere else, Spiffy old chap, and I will ask my people to watch for people carrying vast quantities of Guy Fawkes masks for no reason.”

“Can they take the time from practising their archery to become involved in such a trivial matter, do you think?”

“In the interests of national security, I am sure they will keep their eyes peeled and their ears to the ground.”

“Sounds physically demanding,” said The Deputy-Commissioner, slapping Tomcat on the bicep. He winced because his fingers had almost splintered when they encountered Tompkins’s rock-hard upper arm.

“I’ll ask all my school chums and Varsity fellows to keep their antennae tuned in to their surroundings, to see whether we can’t weed these people out for you and old Ingram.”

“Much appreciated, Tomcat, anyway I should leave you to your archery practice, you must need to score a few bullseyes?”

“I do, Spiffy Wiffy. But first, I need to head back to my Jag and get something out of the boot. Goodnight.”

With that, Tompkins turned around and headed back along the same streets he’d run along earlier. His long, searching strides soon covered the distance to the Jaguar, where he removed a box of 350 masks from the boot. Tompkins tucked these under his arm and headed towards the centre of town, loping along in the style that had won him the distance races at his school sports days years ago.

He didn’t notice the weight of the box such was his upper-body strength. Tompkins headed down a side street and left a note on a garage door, indicating both where his Polish mechanic, Jan or Pavel, whatever his name was, could find his car and how soon Tomcat needed it back to him in perfect condition.


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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