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.
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But if she did that then we’d comprehend who the mole was on our side of things, because you, Tomcat, the mighty Power Station, can find out.”
“True enough, Dr. Black, true enough, but is that worth us scuppering our deportations over?”
“They will change at some point, because even the police will soon work something out. We shall change ports of exit and entry anyway, so this might be the catalyst depending on what happens. We might not pick up Stalin 2.0 in Boston, in which case, we’ve nothing to worry about.”
“Damn it you’re right as usual, Dr.,” said Tompkins cuffing the doctor on the shoulder in a friendly manner, that span the doctor onto the floor.
“Oh, sorry about that,” continued Tompkins, picking up the spread-eagled medic by the ankle and placing him back on the seat.
“You don’t know your own strength,” said the flustered doctor, drinking a reviving whisky, which had just arrived.
“You’re right, I don’t,” replied Tompkins nodding to himself, “when you were down there did you see anything interesting?”
“I did, the people over on the table two down from us have a camera trained on our table.”
“Thought so,” said Tompkins, “that’s why I knocked you down there. Right, I will ask Wobbly Sergeant and his brother to head over there and sort them out.” With that he raised an arm and clicked his fingers, before pointing to the table in question.
Nothing much happened for a minute and then suddenly two men the size of brick sheds appeared from behind the bar and started a running argument with each other that culminated with a shoving match beside the table in question. Distracted by the size of the protagonists, the people at the table failed to notice Mickey the Dog pick up the bag containing the camera and bring it over to where Tompkins was holding out his hand.
Julian Worker Fiction Writing 