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.
“It is, woof,” replied Tompkins, “Berty, you will shortly receive a visitor, a winged messenger with some instructions for the lads here in Bristol. The 28th is the day and Harwich is the place where our esteemed enemy will arrive to pay his henchmen and cronies a visit. They’ll be organising their trouble for Old Blighty, but we’ll be there to stop them, and to divert their plans elsewhere.”
“Shall I tell the chaps?” asked Berty.
“Absolutely,” replied Tompkins, slapping Berty on the back and almost knocking him through the wall into the garden, such was the power of the friendly gesture, “but when I have tootled off to the country for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Hello Tomcat,” said Colonel Mustard, “do you know MI6 still hasn’t picked up on my name.”
“What, how ridiculous they are,” replied Tompkins, “perhaps they play Monopoly and Snakes and Ladders over there.”
“Ya, you’re right, as usual,” replied Mustard, “and the Reverend Green’s the same in the C of E. He’s in the running to be Archbishop of York, apparently, so perhaps he might have to disappear suddenly, to South America, on missionary work, and decline their offer, because someone in the press is bound to notice.”
“Yes, it’s the Rev Green, with the archbishopric, in York – but as long as there’s no murders, he should be OK.”
Colonel Mustard went red before continuing “Ya, and of course Miss Scarlett is too busy to be here, so many clients to entertain in her bedroom, spilling the beans about their various operations.”
“Oh, don’t mention her, she wore me out one afternoon many years ago, before I met Filly of course, but she was incredible.” Tompkins blew out his cheeks.
“Tomcat,” said Noddy, “how goes the fight?”