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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He looked across the road and thought he spied a familiar face, a face he’d seen recently, in an Aston Martin DB9 on the corner.
“What’s that blighter doing here?” he said to himself under his breath, “how on earth did he know I was here?” Tompkins decided not to let on he had noticed anything, so he plunged to the pavement and pretended to tie his shoelaces, even though he was still wearing his slippers.
“Where’s my shoes?” he said out loud, looking in the front of the car, before finding them in the glove compartment.
“There must be a tracking device on my motor,” said Tompkins to himself, “and I think I know who put it there. Right, I have to find the gadget that Speedy Bee gave me for such occasions.”
Tompkins looked in the boot, found his bag of “personal effects”, and decided he would scan his vehicle at the motorway services. First though, he had to warn the chaps inside to exit via the backdoor and to use the secret stash of bicycles. He remembered the codes and the number of coos he had to emit for each.
“Coo, coo, coo,” cooed Tompkins.
Hearing nothing, he continued – “Coo,coo, cooo…” however these coos were interrupted by a voice:
“Pigeons, take this…” followed by a discharge from a shotgun, which blew a section out of the yew hedge.
“Stop shooting,” shouted Tompkins, “I’m giving a pigeon message in Pigeonese.”
“Oh right, sorry about that,” said the voice. Tompkins heard the front door open and then a voice said, “Can you repeat that first bit, we missed that bit.”
“I will start again from the beginning,” said Tompkins, trying not to let his frustrations show too much, “and don’t shoot at any time. Coo, coo, coo,”
“That’s three coos,” said the voice.
“Coo, coo, coo,” continued Tompkins.
