Another Very Important Person.

[Silbuster]

Clapham Common is as flat as the Indian Tonic in my gin. Giving the orderly the benefit of the old beetling brows, she toddles off unbidden to fetch somethin’ more sparklin’. There might be hope for these flibbertigibbets yet! All they really need in the way of training is a few firm kicks up the backside. Ah, here’s the fizzy, we’ll let her be for now. So, yes, Clapham Common. Flat as Captain Catastrophe’s chest ( small wonder she always looks likes she’s sucking on a prune! ). With what looks suspiciously like a Very Important Prat in the centre. Once again those scurvy civilians have underestimated the military mind. Our rifles and Maxim cover this misbegotten mire. As soon as that undisciplined rabble turn up, we’ll mow them down like sheep and pick up the idiot. Job done. As I down another well-earned snifter, I can’t help noticing a disapproving air on what passes for young Catastrophe’s face. Honestly, these young ‘uns, where the blue blazes do they get ‘em from these days eh? More prude than rude. Still, potting a few passin’ pedestrians will put hairs on her chest. You can’t beat a bit of quality massacrin’ to improve the troops’ morale. And speak of the devil, here they arrive as if on cue. My word, it is good of them to form up in orderly mobs. Quite takes you back to the good old days of the Empire, watchin’ them mill about so you can shoot ‘em at your leisure. Right then, ready , aim…..

What the devil is this!? You can barely see the end of your sabre! Damn their eyes, the fog’s rolled in. Form a line and advance! Quick march. Hell’s teeth, in this murk you could be right on top of them and not know it. ‘Evenin’ Constable. Yes, you troopers, stay alert over there. Mind out for anyone and everyone who isn’t one of us. You never can tell. Evenin’ Sergeant. How long is it going to take before we run into these miscreants, that’s what I’d like to know. Evenin’ Mr Holmes. Frankly, I’m developin’ a powerful thirst with all this waiting. Hang on! Mr Holmes?! Where the Hell did he come from? Fix bayonets!

What are you trying to do with that truncheon, Constable? There are laws against this, you blackguard. What do you mean, you are the law? Well, legislate for this! Yes, yes, I know, Catastrophe. I shot the sherrif. What do you mean, they’ll have me up for habeas corpus. I’ve got habeas corpus. It’s lying at my feet. Honestly, they don’t even educate them these days! Anyway, where’s that blasted Venal Idiotic Prawn? No, I do not mean Very Important Person, Catastrophe. When you grow up, you’ll realise this. Anyway, the fog’s clearing a bit. There’s the Plonker! Stone me (no I am not stoned Mr Holmes, and kindly keep your opinion to yourself!), he’s been purloined by Sergeant Tough. You Private, shoot the Poltroon! Blimey, that was a low shot, Private Parts. In the back too. Classic military tactics. You’ll go far Parts. What’s that, Catastrophe? She’s being assigned overseas? Alright then, you’ll go far going to far off parts Parts.

Blast me eyes, I could murder someone for a drink. Evenin’ Constable. There seems to be no end to the thin blue line. Mind you, there’s a splash of colour over there. What in Hell’s Dominions’ is it? It looks like a blasted fashion parade. Where are we? The Old Vic? That one’s even sporting a parasol. ‘Struth, that’s just what we needed. Diamond Annie and her Strumpet Voluntary. Mind you, watching that Special Branch man fall beneath more daggers that Julius Caesar, you’d have to admit that Diamond Annie’s trollops have got iron in their soul and steel in their guts. Though not necessarily their own. We could do with that sort of will to win amongst our young ladies. After all, we’re not here to powder our noses, we’re here to cut theirs off. Speaking of which, let’s head ‘em off at the pass and kick some ass as our colonial brethren would phrase it….

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After pumping the Plods for info, we pumped them with lead. Fair exchange is no robbery. And then moved to shoot down the struggling heap of rozzers and militia. Very decent of them to pop each other off for us. So, you see, you shouldn’t be too judgemental. There are nice people in the world, after all. The old gel, Major Mistake, swayed forwards to intercept us and fell flat on her face as we let loose a hail of bullets. Dead. Dead drunk, that is. Completely sozzled. For a moment, everyone stopped hammering seven bells out of the enemy and gave her a silent salute. Despite the lack of discipline and hard graft in these decadent and indecent times, it’s nice to know that the finest traditions of the British Empire are still being upheld by somebody. And here comes another fine, old British tradition. Gerty Gerty and her Gerty Grenade, coming up to the crease, arm sweeping overhead for a fine delivery into the heaving mass, sharing out the warming petrol evenly, making sure that everybody gets a fair and generous share. For ’tis better to give than receive as can be attested by dear old Doctor Watson, currently running off to look for a pond with his backside on fire. “Cause blessed are those that give. Indeed it fair warms the cockles of your heart and it certainly seems to warming theirs. For, with the few survivors of Her Majesty’s own Hussars legging it for the horizon, here come those nice policemen intent on showing their gratitude. Or is that “attitude”. Which is very nice of them but, in truth, it’s been a hard day and I could murder for a pint. Evenin’ Constable.

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This was a very close run thing with Major Mistake scoring 20, Inspector Lestrade 21 and Diamond Annie 22.