Betrayed By Trousers

Cabinet Secretary Sir Edd Evans-Morley scrutinised the three ashen faces before him with some cautious satisfaction. He had unexpectedly come across the trepidous trio scampering through the corridors of Number Ten, clearly agitated and, in the case of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, somewhat tearful. Sir Edd knew that nervous people were vulnerable people; vulnerable people were easily persuaded and could be used to his advantage.

“Well, well!” said Sir Edd, a macabre smile teasing his lips. “What do we have here? Now, would you chaps like to tell me just what you are up to?”

Chancellor Ian Risk lingered at the back, leaving Minister for Culture, Media & Sport Mick Canning and Minister for Good Ideas & Gin Dr Samantha Martens exchanging worried glances and little option but to answer Sir Edd. Dr Martens swallowed hard and held up the journalist’s phone.

“The press have got some pictures,” she replied flatly. Sir Edd narrowed one eye.

“Pictures? What pictures?” the Cabinet Secretary thrust out his hand and glared at the phone.

Dr Martens couldn’t get it out of her hands quickly enough. No one dared breathe and all that could be heard was the faint swoosh of fingertip on touchscreen. Before long, Sir Edd raised his head and let his gaze rest upon Ian.

“Well, I can’t say they’ve caught your best side, dear chap” smirked Sir Edd. “But this, in itself, isn’t too incriminating, there is little in the way of context attached. But they certainly are some very strange pictures, Chancellor, would you care to explain?”

Ian thrust his hands into the pockets of his eye-wateringly expensive pink trousers and exhaled at length. His trademark vibrant outfit did nothing to lift his pallid expression.

“I had to get to the Botanical Gardens quite urgently,” he replied.

Sir Edd’s eyebrows raced to meet his hairline and a small gasp made a bid for freedom.

“Does the Prime Minister know anything about this?”

“Not yet, Sir Edd,” Ian forced down the rising panic.

Sir Edd got that warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach that always arose when he had gained the upper hand.

“Then I rather think she must, don’t you?”

Meanwhile, the Prime Minister and Wing Commander Tom were having a far more cordial engagement with Minister of Defence, Lord Daniel Westington. They had found him in his office attending to the expanse of luxurious hair that occupied most of his face. His flowing beard was conditioned to perfection and crowned by an enormous moustache, waxed to within an inch of its life. It was said that the elaborate bristles were employed to disguise the many battle scars Lord Westington had collected during his extensive military service. He certainly had a reputation for tackling problems face-on, quite literally, perhaps. His fearsome countenance was the antithesis of the smooth, understated features of Tom, which were covered once again by the brim of his artfully positioned fedora.

“So you’re telling me, Lord Westington, that all the weapons sent by President Alatorre are locked away in your armoury here at Number Ten?”

“That’s right, Tom,” replied Lord Westington. “Apart from one box of handguns, which we really couldn’t squeeze in anywhere, so we hid them in the shed.”

“In the shed?!” spluttered Lucy.

“This is very serious,” muttered Tom. “Who has access to the shed?”

“Oh, it’s perfectly secure,” Lord Westington replied “There’s a great big padlock on the door. We had to get a key from Mumsie.”

Tom slid a notebook from his jacket pocket and began carefully writing, while Lucy pondered the effectiveness of padlocks. There was a knock at the door. Before Lord Westington could answer, the door swept open and a haughty Sir Edd presented himself.

“Sorry to disturb you, Prime Minister,” he announced.

“You don’t bloody well look sorry to me!” Lord Westington spat.

Sir Edd ignored him completely and entered the room, fretfully pursued by Ian, Mick and Dr Martens.

“Edd, what’s the meaning of this?” demanded Lucy, twisting round in her seat to address him.

Sir Edd winced. He hated it when people didn’t use his title.

“Prime Minister, the press are on our doorstep and they are wanting answers, I’m afraid.”

“The press?” Lucy jumped to her feet. “Why are the press on our doorstep? Answers to what?”

“They’ve got some photos!” Dr Martens pushed passed Sir Edd to stand by Lucy, by way of moral support.

“Oh no,” Lucy clapped a hand to her mouth. “Not of the peace treaty?”

“No, not that,” Dr Martens said quickly.

“Blair?”

“Not that either.”

“Then what?!”

Sir Edd passed the phone to Lucy. The Prime Minister viewed the pictures with some amusement. At first glance, they seemed to depict an incredibly low-budget action movie of some kind. Upon closer inspection, it was clear to see that the photos were portraying an amusing scene featuring our very own Chancellor of the Exchequer. Although the pictures were not of startling quality, his flamboyant pink trousers and striped blazer were unmistakable. He was climbing down a drainpipe in the poring rain, before losing his footing about half the way down and sliding the rest of the way to the floor. There then follows a distinctly inelegant landing, culminating in a wobbly escape down the street.

“What the bloody hell were you playing at, Ian?” Lucy laughed. This really wasn’t so bad. It made him look a little strange, but that was practically a prerequisite for Chancellors. “Just tell them you’ve been under a lot of stress or something. Actually, this is quite funny, it could be a nice light-hearted story about the Government for a change.”

“Prime Minister, I am rather worried that one of them might have followed me,” Ian’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why? Where were you going?”

“To the Botanical Gardens.”

“Well, that’s alright, isn’t it?” Lucy failed to understand quite why everyone was so solemn.

Sir Edd was more than happy to enlighten her.

“Prime Minister, there is something you should know about the Botanical Gardens.”


62 thoughts on “Betrayed By Trousers

    1. Well, obviously it will be disclosed in due course, but I didn’t think it would be much of a cliffhanger if Sir Edd had said: ‘There’s something you should know about the Botanical Gardens. It’s been converted into a Spar’.
      Bugger – I’ve given it away now.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. As with most of my writing, it is certainly more style over substance so the plot is probably even more tenuous than a Stallone film. But there might be some further nudity from Boris and Nigel to make up for it.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Pfft! If I had a load of Private Eye writers working for me, the blog would be a lot better than this, I tell you that. And Boris and Nigel probably wouldn’t be naked quite so often. That’s how you can tell it’s all my own work. My own private fantasies drive most of the plot, hence the incomprehensible smut.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. That’s actually a woman that writes that, you know. Isn’t it brilliant? I’m pretty sure it’s not even satirical. I’m not suggesting for one moment that we infiltrate the blog… well… now that you mention it…

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Yes I do know it’s a woman once I had a poke around… I’ve no doubt it’s completely serious! The other idea that sprang to mind was to actually do a parody of her blog; rewrite everything she does in a completely pro Boris way; much like that chuck Norris website…but it would take time that I suspect neither of us have

        Liked by 2 people

      5. Haha!! Oh, how I would LOVE to do a parody of her blog. Damn our busy lives and rampant imaginations – we could link back to hers and she would either be furious, or think we were her new best friends. I don’t want to be unkind or venture towards trolling, but I am just gagging to leave comments. Especially on the George Osborne post. I mean, who writes a post like that? It’s the sort of thing you might think to yourself in the bath, but really. I think it might be my new favourite site, actually.

        Liked by 1 person

      6. I don’t think it would count as trolling, as it would be completely obviously false, and only refer to her blog post as ‘mistaken’; I read the one on Boris’ diplomatic skills with Russia regarding Ukraine – seriously tenuous with regards those skills – so we’d simply have the post title of ‘Boris fellates Russian foreign minister in order to save Ukrainian lives’ and go from there! Great Osborne post though 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      7. Is that the one where she credits him with single-handedly restoring communications between the UK and Russia? That’s a corker! I notice that pretty much any comments she gets are met with ‘Boris is the greatest’-type replies. She seems quite deluded about the US/UK relationship too – and no mention of Boris’ plus-one Nigel! How curious!

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Well I am glad I now (probably) know as much as fictional me!!

    And in my experience…some sheds are more secure than some armories..

    It is all very exciting!!

    Is it wrong that I quite want it to be real life…it is a lot more interesting 😀

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Sometimes I forget that it isn’t real life, and am sad. Then I remember what happened during the peace treaty, and am pleased it isn’t real life. Although all in all, I would be prepared to accept the Oxford negotiations if everything was real too. It is a small price to pay.
      The readers want some more smut, so stand by for some butler action coming soon… 😉

      Liked by 3 people

      1. Hahaha…honestly I forget too…and tell people that I am in the government of Cambridge…then they look at me funny…and I have to explain.
        It would be a small price to pay for peace… Maybe we should somehow suggest it to the real government…

        oooh butler action…that is exciting…

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Apparently Theresa May isn’t sleeping well, perhaps I should just say – look, why don’t you let us have a go for a bit? I’ve even got two plans for Brexit – a hard Brexit and a soft Brexit – and seeing as Nigel is a travelling duster salesman I would make him our official duster salesman to the US, thereby keeping him happy and improving international relations. And possibly getting rid of him for a bit. It just makes sense for us to run the country!
        I so want to tell you about the butler action but worried about spoilers on here! But don’t worry, we won’t have to wait too long 🙂 (only until Thursday)

        Liked by 2 people

      3. hahaha! Absolutely, I think she would jump at the chance to let someone else sort it out!!
        Nigel as official duster salesman to the US is genius…It would keep everyone happy without letting him do any harm and might even bolster the economy with duster sales!!
        It does just make perfect sense!!

        hahaha,…no, we can’t have spoilers!!
        and now River Song from Doctor Who has just walked into my imagination…as she always does when someone says Spoilers…

        Liked by 2 people

  2. A touch of genetic engineering in the botanical’s? … clearly Boris and Nigel are past experiments gone wrong though bizarrely become your personal fantasies … maybe odd things happening in your genes too … here’s hoping!

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Haha! You never know! I must have told you about the author who popped in to my blog just after I and a couple of commenters had been really incredibly funny (ie, rude) about his hairdo… I try to be a bit more careful now, and keep my rudeness for the dead ones. 😉

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Oh no!! That would be very awkward!! We can certainly say that we have never, ever been rude about Hugh – although I have a couple of readers who have been really mean about Captain Hastings in the past. Which I can’t understand as Hastings is one of the greatest literary characters of all time. But you are right we should be careful. Just as I was saying the other day, doesn’t Hugh have the loveliest hair you’ve ever seen? 😉

        Liked by 1 person

  3. The suspense of the Secret of the Botanical Gardens!! This just keeps on getting better.
    ‘Betrayed By Trousers’…..ahh if you could TARDIS back to the 1950/60s and start off a rambling social commentary poem with that title you’d have been lauded by the lit elite for a serious work of art (you’d have to keep a straight face all the time though)

    Liked by 1 person

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