Tomcat Tompkins – 36

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.


“Good to know,” replied Tompkins, putting up an affirmative thumb before doing a handstand on the table. Concentration was not one of his strongpoints and he knew it, but dammit he couldn’t stop himself, as the gym mistress at school had found during her stretching class.

“There we go the great Tomcat, the athlete,” said Dr. Black about Tompkins’s prowess.

“Just having a bit of a stretch, Doc,” said Tompkins, brushing his straw locks back into place once he’d come right side up again, “so where were we, oh yes, our friend Stalin 2.0 is leaving from Boston. I have an uncomfortable feeling we are collecting in Boston around the time he’s there.”

“She’s there, Tomcat, I have it on good authority Stalin 2.0 is a she.”

“Bish and bosh,” said Tompkins banging the table with his fist, causing Dr. Black’s whisky to head off towards the ceiling. The doctor caught it on the way down.

“You’re surprised, Tomcat?” said Dr. Black.

“Well, yes, rather, I was expecting long overcoat, moustache, brooding eyebrows, hooked nose, emotionless eyes, not good skin, you know the sort of thing.”

“That might still be the case, apart from the ‘tache, although you can never be certain in some families.”

“Tell me about it,” replied Tompkins, “the nanny’s mama had a moustache and I was never interested in her. Still you wonder sometimes, what it would have been like…, anyway I digress, I digress. We must be careful in Boston, that we take no females on our trip overseas. That could cause a few headaches? We don’t want to export Stalin 2.0 by mistake.”

“What problem would that cause?” asked Dr. Black, drinking his remaining whisky before it was sent into orbit by another mighty Tompkins thump on the table.

“Well, she’d find out our deportation methods and would notify our authorities with the details and we would be scuppered.” Tompkins signalled the barman for another round at his table.

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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