Satire – Tomcat Tompkins – 3

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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“Oh what, oh yes. Thank you. Just missed them. I think. Oh, perhaps not – still they should have been wearing a helmet.”

Tompkins nodded in agreement as he jumped over three dustbins.

“Anyway, where was I?” continued Spiffy Wiffy, “oh yes, I think the whopper in question refers to a lie, though I can’t be sure which lie, as there are so many around these days.”

“Well, good luck with that, old chum, I’m only concerned about my archery these days, trying to score more bullseyes, y’know, with my trusty little bow and arrow.”

“You’re trying to be cupid, Tomcat, which doesn’t suit you, anyway, I will see you soon, we’re just going to The Meeting House up here on the left, that’s where the gang’s meeting this evening.”

“What a coincidence, that’s where my Archery Club meeting is, well I hope you catch ‘em.”

With that, Tompkins ran in front of the hearse to give himself time. He bounded up the front steps with limitless energy. Tompkins had to get to his pals before the police did.  He charged up the staircase three steps at a time, like a gazelle being chased by a cheetah. He stood in the doorway of their meeting room, almost wearing the frame like a wooden overcoat.

“Hello, Wet Bob,” said Tompkins, “start talking about archery, because our beloved boys in blue are on their way to arrest the Big Whopper Gang.”

“Right,” said Wet Bob, “well in that case, does anyone know where I can buy left-handed arrows for me bow, I think that’s the reason the arrows are heading sideways.”

“Fortnum and Mason,” replied Tuppy Tupton, “saw some near the hamper section, where they had the idea of shooting your own lunch and seeing whether you could land it in your own sandwich. I remember Wefty Kingston and Merty Tidville-Wilson cavorted into each other as they were running along with their sandwiches open. They were trying to land the pheasant, both having shot the same bird. Didn’t end well, both Wefty and Merty were goners. The cat got the pheasant too.”