The scene in the kitchen was grim. Tony Blair had evidently been shot at close range, right through the centre of his forehead. There wasn’t an exit wound, as such, as most of the back of his head was now artfully arranged on the kitchen wall. A horrified Steve was rigid at the back door, still clutching a platter of beautifully bronzed sausages from the barbecue. Mumsie was already up to her arms in rubber gloves and detergent, tutting furiously and concentrating her efforts on the brain splatter furthest from the scene. Making an awkward attempt to comfort her was Cabinet Secretary Sir Edd Evans-Morley, concerned that she was not handling the situation too well. The triumvirate of peace-makers – Prime Minister Lucy Wastell, Boris King of Oxford and travelling duster salesman Nigel Farage – were the last to arrive, embroiled as they were in negotiations. Clearly arriving with great haste, Lucy was wearing Boris’ shirt, Boris was wearing Nigel’s trousers and Nigel wasn’t wearing anything at all. Lucy was interested to note that Boris’ long-suffering butler Snetterton had arrived before them. But I suppose he had the advantage of being fully clothed at the time.
The front door was open and through it came the familiar irritated yowl that heralds the arrival of Deputy Prime Minister, Terry the cat. Relieved to have an alternative focus of attention, the room turned as one to watch as the spectacularly disinterested feline performed his usual routine of rubbing himself against Mumsie’s leg, thereby announcing his desire to be fed.
“I’m speechless,” said Lucy, seemingly having mastered the great political art of contradicting oneself.
“Yes, me too” Boris nodded.
“I can’t think of anything to say,” added Nigel. “Except that it’s a bit nippy in here, isn’t it.”
“Someone close the door,” snapped Lucy. Sir Edd duly obliged. “Who found him?”
“It was me,” croaked Steve, from the back door. He stepped uneasily over the threshold and inched his way towards the sideboard, trying not to look at what remained of Tony Blair. With shaking hands he placed the platter of sausages on the side, visibly forcing his own hands to release their tenure. “I was just bringing these through and… he was… like this-“
Steve’s voice collapsed into a ragged sigh. Sir Edd eyed the sausages. They certainly looked much more appetising than the chicken wings he had been offered earlier.
“You didn’t hear a shot? Nothing?” asked Lucy.
“No, I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Did you see anyone coming in or out of the kitchen?” Lucy continued.
“Mumsie came in through the front door, soon after” replied Steve.
Mumsie looked up from her duties at the cat bowl.
“I was getting this one outside,” she nodded at Terry, who was eyebrow-deep in his food bowl already. “He was trying to do a poo by the coat stand again.”
“Prime Minister, what shall we do?” asked Sir Edd. “Shall I contact the Militia?”
“No,” Lucy replied, quickly. “No no. Let me think. I’ve seen Poirot, what would Poirot do? Aha! Right – absolutely no one is to leave Number Ten, for starters. Right?”
This seemed like a good place to start. The killer could still be present, although the open front door was quite discouraging on that front. Even so. To access the private areas of Number Ten and murder an ex-Prime Minister would require some degree of inside information and even assistance. Everybody stays.
Lucy turned to Sir Edd.
“Bring me Dr Martens and Hugh. Say absolutely nothing about this to anyone. We don’t want to cause alarm.”
“You’d better take these up, if you’re going,” Steve piped up, proffering the platter of sausages.
Sir Edd sniffed. He had never served food in his life, but now didn’t seem the time to quibble. He simply nodded and went on his way.
As Minister for Good Ideas & Gin, this very much fell within Dr Martens remit. Which meant that Hugh Roberts, Secretary of State for Unlikely Events, was absolutely up to his neck in it. It dawned on Lucy that this recent development put her in quite the precarious political situation. Blair was to be not only her main bargaining tool with Oxford, but also her ticket to becoming a bone fide world stateswoman by bringing the shameless war-monger to justice. The peace treaty with King Boris had been signed, of course, but the implementation of Oxford Law had been interrupted by Sir Edd’s announcement. Had the mercifully brief scrimmage been enough to seal the deal? It was difficult for her to judge and now was probably not the best time to bring it up.
The door to the hallway opened and Lucy expected to see Sir Edd returning with the two Ministers, but it was not to be. Striding into the kitchen with practiced swagger was Wing Commander Tom. And he was holding a gun.
“Relax, Prime Minister, I’m here now” the corner of a smile was just visible beneath his low-slung fedora. “I”ll take care of everything. But I’m not doing another bloody thing until Nigel Farage puts some clothes on.”
So who is Hastings to Lucy’s Poirot? i don’t think there is anyone thick enough…
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Poor Hastings! But you are right, we are a clever bunch. Maybe too clever. Maybe everyone else is Poirot and Lucy is Hastings…
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No, Hastings really is thick. But, as an aside, why do all of these cleverclever fictional detectives need thick sidekicks? Are they just so insecure they need to feel better about themselves all the time? Why does Boris’ butler need Boris? Hmm, I think the butler dunnit.
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I know this one – the sidekick is a foil for the benefit of the reader; they ask all the stupid questions so the detective has a reason to vocalise their workings and give us a chance to solve the crime.
I think the Butler is some kind of double agent. You are right, he could do a lot better than Boris 😉
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Ah, yes. That makes sense. I’ve probably heard that before.
Well, if you think the butler is a double agent, then there’s a jolly good chance that is the case.
Or is that a bluff?
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Ooooh I couldn’t possibly reveal such details so early on. All I will say is that there are several clues in this post and the sausages are one of them 😉
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Hmm, I’ll re-read it shortly.
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I absolutely adore Lucy’s art of contradicting herself..showing her to be a true politician. And with wit to boot!
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Aw thank you, Yvonne! Big hugs 🙂
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I am fairly sure I would have demanded nigel put trousers on too…
although…possibly not his own as that would mean boris taking them off…
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Yes, it is quite the conundrum as to how to tackle naked Nigel. Not actually tackle him, obviously. It’s like one of those puzzles where you have to get a cat, a dog and a mouse across a river on a raft…
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I assume the dog would swim and the mouse would run off while the cat looked aloof!
maybe he could find some of his dusters…
Incidentally…despite the Title of the entire blog… I was still surprised when Tony Blair was shot
I may need more coffee…
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Dusters! That’s the answer. They could cover a multitude of sins. I wish I hadn’t written in a naked Nigel as I sort of can’t stop thinking about it
Haha! Brilliant! Well, the title could have been a bluff. I say have a coffee anyway 🙂
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hahaha do you need an 80s cartoon theme tune ear worm?
Dusters is defintily the answer…but not in a fan dance sort of way…
I do have more coffee…it is helping…although my brain has now woken up enough to imagine nigel farage doing a fan dance with dusters
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ARRRGGGHHHHHH! Mental image!!! I can’t unthink it… Quick… Ulysses theme tune… ULYSSES THEME TUNE!! 😀
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help! I cant thing if the Ulysses them tune!!
It keeps turning into the Cities of Gold!!
With Nigel in the bakground…
aaaaarghhhh!! why did I think this!!
One for all and all for one, the muskerhounds are always ready…
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I believe that the Cities of Gold theme was actually sung by Phillip Schofield but I don’t know why I think that!
Haha Dogtanian is our only hope…
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Well I didn’t know that… I may have to ask Google…
Dogtanian is our only hope…
I just sang it out loud in my office!!
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It might just be something that I picked up somewhere and presumed was true…
Haha I have been singing it whilst doing housework! (Preparing for the arrival of Mumsie who is coming to stay for a few days!!)
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that sounds like a sensible reason for housework…
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Probably the only reason 😉
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hehehe me too!
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😉
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In the process of googling that I discovered that Philip schofield started in the room cupboard 31 years ago…
This leads me to believe that Philip schofield is older than I think…
Also I am older than I think…
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Gosh I remember him in the broom cupboard- with Gordon the Gopher! No, no – we can’t be that old…
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no, we are definitely not that old, there is some sort of timey wimey magic going on here!!
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Yes that’s it. We are probably in an episode of Doctor Who and there is a distortion to the timeline or something…
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It is the only explanation really…
there had better not be any blummin weeping angels!!
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Eeeek!!!
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eeeek! indeed!!
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I’m rubbish at working out a whodunit, for all my intellectual prowess I’d make a shit detective…if I was a spy trying to crack a safe or whatever, I wouldn’t notice if the key was lying on top of it…I do love Nigel’s self-confidence; I can just see him asking somebody to finish him off!
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Don’t worry there will be a big reveal at the end. Which is ironic, because Nigel has got his big reveal in early! Actually loving this version of Nigel. He is rocking it like a boss.
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I’m thinking that it’s probably pretty close to the real Nigel; if he hasn’t ever attended a car keys in the fruit bowl party then I’m a Dutchman! And I’m looking forward to your reveal very much.
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I really, really hope real Nigel is like this in real life. He can be in our reality TV show. I am also looking forward to the reveal, I assure you!
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Definitely he can, just wondering about the place in the nude spouting unworkable fiscal policies – which I’m sure is what the kids are calling semen these days. Will the reveal be during coitus? No don’t tell me!!!
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Oh my… That’s horrific- but at least we have Slattery to clean up the mess…
I can reveal nothing about the dramatic climax!
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It is the first thing that will come to my mind the next time I see him on the news…I will stop watching tv henceforth. I wouldn’t want you to reveal anything, it would ruin the moment
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“Collapsed into a sigh” perfect !
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I thank you!
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Nope … can’t think of a thing to write that isn’t crude … already wiped the box clean three times … just hope and pray for you that Nigel not the last man standing!
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Hahahaha! I shall attempt to drag this story out of the gutter at the earliest opportunity. That is not an image of Nigel that I particularly relish…
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I was going to remark on the episode – but most of my thoughts have already been posted in the comments (which are usually almost as much fun as the story.) As eager as we all must be to have an answer, please don’t resolve too quickly . I want to see what other permutations evolve with these characters (especially the nudist!)
xx,
mgh
(Madelyn Griffith-Haynie – ADDandSoMuchMore dot com)
– ADD Coach Training Field founder; ADD Coaching co-founder –
“It takes a village to transform a world!”
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My biggest pride is that the comments section is almost always as good as the actual post! We are now in classic murder/mystery territory – or I hope so. The smut just keeps creeping in! By the way – Mumsie is visiting. She has drunk the good wine and singing Eminem . She has also declared her intention to start commenting on the blogs… lord save us all!!
xx
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Well THAT will be fun! I’m all for it. But tell her she has to supply her own wine.
xx, mgh
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She is keen to join the digital age. Tomorrow we are setting up a Facebook page for her. She will be on here sharing embarrassing childhood moments but I thought people wouldn’t mind. I just hope people are kind to her online – or I shall be cross!
Xx
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FACEBOOK?! Oh noooooooo. I panicked when my Dad sent me a friend request. I was worried that he’d be flamed for his uber-conservative political views by my community of those with, shall we say, more open-minded opinions.
He didn’t interact much, ultimately – and now I wish he were still alive to do so, no matter WHAT he posted.
xx,
mgh
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Ho ho! Facebook is the gate to hell, I know, but I will be supervising and educating her, so fear not. Bless her, she reads all the comments here and sees that it spills over to other social media and wants to join in! Luckily, she knows me better than anyone and my pre-digital life was far more shocking than anything I get up to now. Also – if you are on FB let’s be friends! 🙂
Xx
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Certainly – but I r-a-r-e-l-y click over to FB. It seems that a “quick” look eats the rest of my day! My blog autoposts over there, or I might consider deactivating it. I’m getting behinder every day already!
xx
mgh
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I know what you mean! No obligation, of course. Just laughing at the idea of a digital Mumsie – she is just me with an extra 25 years experience and no filter. So sweet – she has seen the eclectic bunch of readers and wants to be friends! I fear she will distract us all…
Xx
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I have NO idea how I’ve managed to accumulate so many FB friends (or why they don’t unfriend me for lack of engagement).
My original thought was to reserve my personal page for people I actually KNEW (including folks like you), but as more and more ADDers found me (and my biz page hit a glitch I didn’t have the time to sherlock), I gave in and accepted all friend requests.
I can barely keep up with the feed anymore – the rest of the universe seems to comment with abandon.
xx, mgh
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It is a bugger, certainly. I try to keep mine to actual friends – bloggers included of course! But it can get out of hand. They should call it antisocial media 😉
xx
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lol – I call it procrastination temptation.
xx, mgh
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Thank goodness for Wing Commander Tom. I tried not to imagine it but failed. So…..who would have had the motive and the opportunity Love it.
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What would we do without Tom? When is comes to motive, there are probably a few million people who might fir the bill! But, obviously, they weren’t all in Number 10 at the time. There is nothing for it but to… investigate!
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he he I’m loving it. 🙂
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😉
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Reblogged this on Secret Diary Of PorterGirl and commented:
Last week’s adventures from Downing Street, just in case you missed it…
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Fabulous writing, Lucy. Shame about the exit wound being messed up.
And a shame that Poirot it isn’t there. Still … YOU ARE. Lots of detective work to do. Great picture. I thought Tiny Tim was dead though. Very strange. Phone Harper. 😃🍻
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You are most kind, dear chap. Lots of investigating and still lots of gin left and at least one plate of sausages. Poor Tim – no one told him he was dead. Harper! Of course!
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It will be hard breaking it to him. Perhaps you should tip-toe around the subject.
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A good idea. Or maybe cover it up altogether.
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Paused from reading one piece of writing by you to read another. Now that’s what I call a fan of your literary output if I say so myself. Just love the premise behind these posts. Sadly, if you actually get inside the hallowed chambers of government your fiction might be nearer the facts than we imagine. 🙂
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Goodness that is dedicated fandom if ever I saw it, I am most chuffed and even blushing slightly. I rather fear that my version of government is actually far more tame than the reality…
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Loving this. Got them all stuck so clearly in my mind that can’t really care about present day after all. Just relieved to find that we’ve survived in some fashion, the upheavals and dramas of 2016.
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Thank you! I am hoping that if Brexit et al all leads us to this political future, maybe it will be worth it 😉
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Oh dear! Looks as if I am up to my neck in sausages, P.M. Remind me to never use that coat stand again. I thought Number 10 had some problems with its plumbing. Now I know what that smell was.
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The plumbing is the bane of my life, I assure you! But don’t worry, Hugh – like any great Minister, you are very adept at passing the buck and it wouldn’t surprise me if this little issue ended up as the problem of another department quite quickly… 😉
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Phew. I remember now, It was you that taught me all about spin-doctors. Or was that how to spin 25 plates at the same time? 🤔
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You are shaping up to be a very fine Minister, my dear Hugh!
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I’ so glad you have a role for Terry. He IS the center of attention, after all. And do call Doc Martens – I’m sure he’ll have something snide to say about all of it, along with determining the caliber of the gun…
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How could the lovely Terry not appear somewhere! He makes the perfect Deputy Prime Minister. Quite how he will help in the investigation is anyone’s guess, but cats have a way of making themselves useful when you least expect it 😉
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Cats often take a dislike to people for any number of reasons – maybe you could use Terry’s intuition this way?
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Terry was not fond at all of Blair, so maybe we should be looking towards the person to whom he shows most affection!
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