“Mumsie, the lies and deceit have gone on long enough,” the voice of Snetterton was hot and husky in her ear. “The truth will set us free, my darling.”

“The only thing I want setting free is the catch on this bloody bra,” Mumsie replied, struggling in a most ungainly manner with the stubborn fastening that was the last remaining bastion of decency between Snetterton and her magnificent bosom.

The large pine pantry table was playing host to what appeared to be an x-rated tea party; a discarded plate of cheese and herb scones upturned and scattered among the writhing, wrinkly limbs of the King’s butler and the Prime Minister’s mother. Mumsie certainly hadn’t intended to find herself in such a flagrant position when the amorous manservant first arrived in her kitchen. She had envisioned perhaps a cheeky snog whilst the scones cooled and the kettle boiled, returning to her duties once Snetterton had been sated by the small snack. But the butler could be wondrously charming when he had a mind to be and he had soon convinced her to join him at the table for tea and scones.

Things became a little hazy after that. Mumsie could not recall the sequence of events that led to her becoming reposed beneath Snetterton, who was wearing what appeared to be a pink catsuit that needed a bloody good iron. Before she knew it, all her clothes were on the floor and they were both singing ‘Hey, Mr Tamborine Man’ and wrestling with the industrial strength clasp on her sturdy brassiere. It was indeed puzzling, but her fuzzy head and giggly disposition convinced her that it was probably alright. Besides, dinner was already in the oven and she had some time to kill.

Just as Mumsie was beginning to suspect that Snetterton was not, in fact, clad in a crumpled catsuit after all, a sudden gunshot rang out across the pantry and a cascade of dust and plaster bestrewed itself from the ceiling and onto the dazed lovers beneath. Snetterton leapt up, grasping at a good sized side plate to preserve his modesty as he did so.

“Sorry about that,”

Wing Commander Tom stood apologetically brandishing his weapon, Chancellor of the Exchequer Ian Risk at his side.

“Christ, they’re at it again…” murmered Ian, covering his eyes.

“That’s the second hole you’ve put in my ceiling,” huffed Mumsie. “I don’t see why you have to fire your gun every time you come in here.”

“I wouldn’t have to, ma’am, if you two weren’t… carousing… every time I visit the pantry,” replied Tom, curtly. “It’s what you do when horses are at it. Someone told me.”

“Why is it that no one around here can keep their clothes on for more than five minutes?” said Ian, attempting to sound stern, but only managing disconcerted.

“I blame the scones,” muttered Mumsie, attempting to cover herself with a nearby tea towel. “I’ve never made savoury ones before. It must be either the herbs or the cheese.”

“Herbs..?” Ian was suddenly concerned.

“Yes, I found two huge packets of herbs stuffed at the back of one of the cupboards,” Mumsie explained. “I thought I’d better use them, they smell lovely.”

Ian felt his mouth dry and his throat tighten. They weren’t herbs. They were his stash, secreted about his person and stolen from the Botanical Gardens.  He eyed the dishevelled remains of the as-yet-to-be consumed scones and made a mental note to dispose of them before anyone else could get at them.

“Never mind about that now,” said Tom. “Snetterton, you must get dressed at once. I have some urgent questions to put to you about the murder of Tony Blair.”

Meanwhile, in the Prime Minister’s bedroom, the general theme of nudity continued with aplomb through Boris, King of Oxford and his duster-selling sidekick Nigel Farage. To be fair, they were only half naked. Unfortunately, it was the bottom half. Lucy and her Minister for Good Ideas & Gin Dr Samantha Martens had successfully negotiated terms to keep their clothes on, although in order to achieve this, Dr Martens had capitulated to allowing Nigel a squeeze of her bum.

Dr Martens, the Prime Minister and King Boris were now perched on the edge of the bed, watching with grimaced faces as Nigel cavorted and gesticulated before them, waving his arms and bulging his eyes with encouragement.

“Okay, so it’s a film…” said Dr Martens for the third time. “Four words. Second word… cowboy?”

Nigel shook his head furiously and jiggled about in a most upsetting fashion. Lucy and Dr Martens were forced to avert their gaze, but Boris very much seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

“Is it – The Lone Ranger?” Boris guessed with great enthusiasm.

“That’s only three words,” Lucy pointed out.

“The Lone Ranger Two?”

The door to the bedroom flew open and Cabinet Secretary Sir Edd Evans-Morley bowled through, immediately wishing he hadn’t once he surveyed the scene before him.

“Prime Minister!” he announced, his clipped tones rich with malice.

“Sssh, Eddie,” snapped Boris, waving him into silence. “Is it – The Magnificent Seven…” he counted on his fingers. “…Two?”

“Prime Minister…” Sir Edd tried again.

“The first word is definitely ‘The’, though?” asked Lucy, ignoring him completely. This was met by ferocious nodding from Nigel. Unfortunately, other appendages bounced in unity also.

“Bugger it, I give up,” sighed Boris, throwing his podgy hands into the air in exasperation.

“It’s ‘The Guns Of Navarone’!” exclaimed Nigel, practically on the point of explosion. “Bloody hell.”

“Prime Minister, what I have to say really is most important.”

“What is it, Sir Edd?” snapped Lucy.

“Prime Minister you must come at once to the kitchen. Snetterton has confessed to to the murder of Tony Blair.”


93 thoughts on “Charades

    1. It is a good exercise in self-control of the mind, certainly! Although I have such things rolling round my head almost constantly now…
      Yes, you’re right – but she absolutely insisted on having both in the title 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Bugger!! I can’t believe I left the note-to-self in the post and didn’t even put in the link. I’ve rectified it now, so anyone reading this will simply think you are a raving loon. I mean, they might have thought that anyway, but I am happy to make clear that it was my cock-up. And we’re into penis territory already…
      Aha! I hoped you would notice the reference!!


      1. I half thought you’d done it on purpose; I think it works well as a joke, especially when you know no one’s going to follow the link, but I’ll take raving loon anyway; do you have a spare nut job knocking about too? And trouserless charades…what an invention!!!!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I’m the spare nut job, I think, although I’m not sure who the principle nut job might be.
        Now you know that trouserless charades is going to be THE game in my house from now on. It shall be played after rude word Scrabble and before the naked trampolining.


      3. Yes you’re probably right, he can be principle nut job as he’s probably my favourite character now. It used to be Sir Edd, but Nigel and his dedication to trouser removal has won me over.
        Yeah – strip poker is for squares!


      4. I’ve bet the money I made from pawning a chap’s wooden leg on a horse called Sad Ken!
        (We should move in together and become Richie & Eddie for the rest of our lives)


      1. I believe so. In the meantime, I shall keep my eyes open for further evidence of RL Nigel getting spray tans, or at least wearing tan trousers… 😉
        (Actually getting worried that I spend a LOT of time focusing on Nigel Farage’s trousers in one way or another!)

        Liked by 1 person

      2. hmmm…RL nigel’s activities do need keeping an eye on…
        any evidence of orangeness needs to be reported to the highest authority at once…
        maybe wise not to focus on his trousers mind you…

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I am the highest authority, so I will report it to myself! I shall try and keep my attentions above the belt line, just to be on the safe side. Every time I see him and RL Boris on the news I half expect them to be naked from the waist down, which is not the sort of expectation one really needs.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I did think the highest authority was you when I wrote it… keep yourself appraised of all Nigel’s goings on…just in case!
        Yes… I have a similar expectation… it is just so easy to believe!!

        Liked by 1 person

      5. HA! I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere! But you’re right – I hope I don’t resort to random trouser-dropping in my desperation. I shall have to make sure I bring back Boris & Nigel before my need grows too strong 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      6. hahaha…yes…it was certainly complimentary 😀

        probably wise to keep Boris and Nigel in the wings…just in case you are tempted to advocate trouserlessness for the masses and Cambridge becomes a tailor’s nightmare!

        Liked by 1 person

      7. you could!

        but the sales of good socks might offset it…if you are going to ge trouserless you have to have good socks to show off…

        oddly… in all of the Boris / Nigel scenarios in my imagination they still had their socks on…

        just to be clear…these are ones written about by you…not just random new ones I have been thinking about on my own…

        Liked by 1 person

      8. YES! They absolutely keep their socks on!! So very British – even when otherwise completely naked a British man will keep his socks on. Even in the shower, probably. I am interested to hear about the ones you have been thinking about on your own… sounds like a rich vein of fan fiction to be tapped, here…

        Liked by 1 person

      9. hahahaha…they terrifyingly pop into my head when I am least expecting it!

        Incidentally I have now googled Boris Johnson without trousers twice as I am convinced I have seen a picture of it…
        even more oddly, when you do google that, some pics of Nigel come up…obviously meaning that they are connected in a trouserless capacity…
        (although there is no pictorial evidence so far…)

        Liked by 1 person

      10. I semi-regularly google Boris without trousers, just for my own amusement. They are clearly linked in this way somehow – I would like to think this humble blog has influenced it! I have tried google naked Putin on many occasion and have never found a picture of him naked.
        Believe me, endless adventures of trouserless Boris & Nigel are constantly skipping through my brain, so don’t feel too bad about it 😀

        Liked by 1 person

      11. Hehehe I am sure there is a picture… I can’t possibly have imagined half naked Boris Johnson with socks and sock suspenders all on my own… there was a bus involved I am sure!!
        Hehehe there must be a naked putin pic somewhere I can only hope he hasn’t had fake tan too!! Another one in the orange brigade!!

        Liked by 1 person

      12. That image sounds very familiar, I must say – especially the sock suspenders. I follow a blog called CyberBoris, by this woman who is obsessed by Boris Johnson. It’s not a parody – she’s deadly serious about it all – but it’s hilarious. If anyone has got pictures of trouserless Boris, it would be her.
        I think Putin should be in the next story…

        Liked by 1 person

      13. He had a light blue shirt on under a jacket… it is a very specific shared imagining if it is not true!
        Hmm yes…Putin should be in the next story…not naked though… unless he is with many men… because he would hate it… 😀

        Liked by 1 person

      14. ooooh yeay!! this is exciting!

        yes!! this must be a thing!! and somehow they must read it…although we don’t want Russia to declare war on us so maybe not…


      15. yes…thankfully always trousers on… do you think if you put trouserless nigel and topless Putin in the same room they would combine somehow? or annihilate like matter and anti matter?

        Liked by 1 person

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