Tuesday 18 August 2015

Hidden Underground (restructured version, non-cryptic)

 

CHAPTER ONE - THE BIRDS


WES TACTON was listening to the Paul Miller show on BBC Radio KENT.  ON 96.7 FM, he could receive a strong signal in his part of London.  Paul had been discussing the launch of a new camera from CANON, SPARKing a great deal of interest in the world of photographers.  One guest on his show was a PARSON S. GREEN, who claimed to be most impressed with the new technological advancements, well ahead of their time. Discussing the flash, he said that "technology runs faster than Usain Bolt over a MILE", ENDing that particular segment rather impressively.

They moved on to the sports bulletin, which focused on Gillingham's recent crushing 5-0 defeat at the Emirates Stadium in the FA Cup.  "The GUNNERS BURY their opponents with such style", thought Wes to himself.  Then he was pulled up short by a report about a mysterious substance that had been found in the local WATER.
"LOOk, this substance has been in Herne BAY'S WATER supply for years," protested a spokesman.  "It's perfectly safe for humans - it only affects birds.  It makes them sing in perfect harmony."

Intrigued, Wes tried experimenting on his pet canary.  Water from the tap had no effect, but when he gave the CANARY WHARF water, the bird broke into the most perfect song he'd ever heard.  Wes enticed other birds to drink the water, and very soon the local morning chorus was replaced with a morning chorus of perfectly harmonious birds. This birdsong only took place during the daytimes - the long, darK NIGHTS BRIDGEd the gap between them.

This strange daytime avian choir attracted people from all over the world; they stood and watched in several bunCHES - HAM sandwiches were provided by Patrick WHITE, CHAPEL caretaker, to ensure the masses were well fed.  And this event proved so popular that it was repeated right across London at various local open spaces, with refreshments provided by Mr WHITE CITY-wide.

Eventually Wes decided to capture the birds from London Zoo with a view to charging worldwide royalty to see them perform - a move that made many KINGS CROSS. ST. PANCRAS was his destination, for Wes was attempting to travel to Bahrain to get his first showing. On the ticker at St. Pancras came the news that the birds had been stolen.

Desperate to get out of London before the police saw him, Wes bought a ticket for the first train to depart and boarded it.  He changed trains several times, hoping to throw them off the scent, and eventually arrived in rural Oxfordshire.

Wes was enjoying the quiet life in Oxfordshire. A few weeks passed before one evening a drinking buddy forced him to the ground.  "The QUEEN'S PARKed up outside," he said, "You need to hide until the danger has passed".

He hid in a warehouse. It wasn't very nice; insects were abundant and he had nothing with which he could sWAT. FOR Dozens of days he remained, until he found himself being hauled out of the warehouse.

“Thanks”, said Wes, “but who are you?”
“I’m Colin. COLIN DALE.” Colin took Wes to the edge of the premises, but a HIGH GATE prevented further progress.

Wes and Colin continued to search for a way out.  Darkness had descended, so their task was not particularly easy. Wes then heard a familiar voice calling ‘this way lads’ - the voice was that of his old buddy STAN MORE. At last they were able to rest for a few moments and take STOCK.

"WELL”, said Wes bluntly, “that scheme could have worked out a little smoother.”

At New Scotland Yard, the decision had been made to give the case of the stolen birds to one man - the trio of chums were not in the clear just yet, for they had been pursued by Detective Inspector WARREN STREET.  By piecing together information from ticket sales, Street had managed to glean some information on their whereabouts.  CCTV footage had linked a man looking like Wes to the bird theft. Street drove to Oxfordshire in his infamous 1963 GREEN FORD Anglia.  Spotting the car, Wes, Colin, and Stan slipped into a pub where, by pure coincidence, several tube enthusiasts were meeting.

After introductions, one such geek remarked how strange it was that they all seemed to have tube-station-like names - a fact they had never considered. The trio then explained their plight and one man - ROY ALOAK - offered to help; but it would come at a price.

Roy had lost a bet and so was trying to get his neighbour's peacock drunk; the group would have to give the peaCOCK FOSTER'S. Due to being completely intoxicated, he was playing javelin, with the peacock replacing the javelin. Roy, who had narrowly beaten his dog BRENT, CROSSed over the bar to where the trio were sitting.

"If you want my advice it will cost," he told them. "I need £1,000 by the beginning of next week. Then I will be RICH MONDay," he laughed. Could the gang of three raise the funds that Roy demanded?

They hatched a plan that involved exporting tube maps to Saudi Arabia, where they could be sold for 1,000 Saudi riyAL PER TON. The only problem now was inventory, as they were now stuck in rural Oxfordshire. Walking round Oxfordshire, they came across a quiet country mansion with a Rolls Royce Phantom parked up outside. Using Colin’s screwdriver, they opened the car, hotwired the engine, drove off, and began sCANNING TOWNs for tube maps.

They drove to the outskirts of Chipping Norton, whereupon they discovered a vast Tube Map emporium run by a husband and wife team ‘BETH 'N' AL GREEN’.  Unfamiliar with the area, they asked for directions - they were told to head for where “The DOLL” IS.  HILLy terrain was no impediment and soon they were ready to buy. Having purchased the tube maps, they set about returning to London. As they were passing through the Vale of the White Horse, their car came to a sudden halt, and they found themselves stuck in a village which appeared to be inhabited entirely by a voodoo tribe.

They found the local garage which also doubled as the witch doctor's surgery, where a sign read ‘Doctor iS OUT HEALING the sick’. The techniques employed by the witch doctor appeared strange to the untrained eye: patients were made to sNORT HEALING OAK (WOOD being his ingredient of choice). The witch doctor made it clear it was not for hEALING COMMON people.

As Wes was on the run, he was worried about being detected. Unbeknown to the trio, however, Street had stopped the CCTV from being circulated. Whilst waiting for the doctor, an extremely paranoid Wes had been chatting to a guy from Massachusetts to try to calm himself down:  "Are you a BOSTON MAN OR are you from elsewhere in New England?" he asked.

Eventually the doctor set about fixing the car for Wes and his pals. Wes, Colin, and Stan went up to the counter to do business with the doctor. Wes was quaking in his boots. The doctor did not ask for any form of identification, or indeed, a name.  But the doctor fixed the car and they were on their way once again.

CHAPTER TWO - THE VISITOR


Richard Bromley, leader of a boy scout brigade, had recently moved from sLOUGH TO Norbiton.  He'd just been out with the scouts, but there had been a heavy storm and all his clothes had got soaked.  It was his own fault for choosing to take a route through the WOOD, FOR Dripping trees had only added to the problem.

A couple of the scouts came back home with him, and they were very smelly.  He found the BO ROUGH, and he secretly wished he could insist that THEY DON BO ISolating coats, if such a thing had existed.  The smell was such a problem that all sorts of vermin were attracted to the house.  In the end he had to call in RentoKIL, BURNing a hole in his budget.

Just when he thought the vermin had disappeared for good, he spotted his firST RAT FOR Days.  Incensed, he left a phone message with the exterminators.  Eventually it was listened to, and their salesman Mr ArmstronG RANG.
"EH?  I'LL sort it out as soon as possible," he said.  "Would you like to buy a cage?  We can deliver oNE AS DENnis, the delivery man, will be coming that way soon."

"Yes, that's OK," said Richard.  "I'm going out soon, but there'll be someone in."  Although he didn't live in a MANSION, HOUSEwork was something that Richard loathed and so he employed a serving-woMAN OR HOUSEmaid.  When the delivery men arrived, his MAID, AVA, LEt them in.  The boy scouts were still at his house and waiting to be picked up by their parents - Ava offered them some sweets:

"We have several jelly tots, but just one piece of licorice," she said. "Who'd like it?"

"Me!" said PhiliP; "I'M LICOrice’s greatest fan!" She watched him in amazement as he rushed to get it. "He's gone absolutely frantiC, HARING 'CROSS the room like that!" It was a race to see who could get through their sweets fastest. It was neck-and-neck between Philip the licorice eater, and Ian, one of the jelly tot fiends. In the end, who was the VICTOR? IAn!

"That was quite an incredible contest," said Ava. "I hoPE RIVAL Eaters can work together though - you need to help me install the cage." So they did, and a fine cage it was too. As Ava was letting them back out afterwards, she picked up a note which had been left by Richard: ‘Ava - for dinner this evening, please use the neWEST HAM. P.S. TEA Delivery will arrive tomorrow.’

She went to get the ham, but she was in for a shock. It had been attacked by a mystery infection whose effect was to TURN HAM GREEN. She quickly drove to to get some more from the local butcher, George McCANN. ON-STREET parking was available, so it was a quick and efficient visit.

She passed the local archery school. Some careless archers had shot some arrows outside of the range, and these were littered nearby. There was a very posH ARROW ON THE HILLock opposite. She thought to herself, "That very posh arrow must have come from a very posh BOW" - ROAD travel tended to make her mind wander.

When she arrived back at the house, she wondered if she was hallucinating.  (It couldn't have been alcoHOL - BORN into a Methodist family, she'd been teetotal all her life).  For, as she got out of the car and looked to the NORTH, WOODy Allen came running towards the house.  She couldn't believe her luck, as she had a secret she'd always been scared of revEALING: "BROADWAY Danny Rose" was her all-time favourite film.

Richard, who had finally ferried the boy scouts to their respective homes, was waiting inside.

"Where have you been?" he asked.
"To get some more ham," she said excitedly. "But I was distracted, Mr BROMLEY, BY BOWs and arrows. And you won't believe this, but Woody Allen is on his way!"
"Really?" said Richard. "Woody Allen is my favourite actor! Once when I was camping with the scouts, in the SOUTH WOOD FOR Days on end, we kept ourselves amused by quoting lines from his films. So much fun we had!"

There was a knock at the door, and he opened it. A familiar figure in glasses stood outside.

"Hi! My name's John, and I'm a Woody Allen impersonator," he said.
"Well you certainly fooled us," said Richard. "You must be one of the beST."
"JOHN'S WOODy Allen impersonation is incredibly convincing," agreed Ava.
"So, where do you come from?" asked Richard.
John replied in Lancastrian tones, "I come from CHORLEY. WOODy Allen impersonators are very rare in my town."
"I can imagine that. But what brings you here?"
"My pot plant's wilting. CAN ADA WATER it please?"
"Her name's Ava, not Ada."
"That's a shame. I came here on the specific understanding that one of the occupants was called Ada. I think you'll understand why."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," said Richard. "But I was so convinced by your impression! I think it deserves wider publicity. What's your surname?"
"It's Collier," said John. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," said Richard, "once news of John COLLIER'S WOODy Allen impression gets out, you could be famous!"
"I'd like to be on Britain's Got Talent."
"Do you think you're in with a CHANCE?"
"RYLANE might be a better bet," interrupted Ava. "It's a village in Ireland, about fifteen miles west-northwest of Cork, where they hold a big talent competition every year. Last year, a guy called NeD EBDEN sANG ELegantly, but still didn't win."

John suddenly turned to her and said, "If you don't mind my asking, I notice you've got a package from McCann's the butcher's. Who bought that HAM?"
"ME!"
"R. SMITH in the High Street is much better. You should try them one day."
"Stop changing the subject, Mr Collier. If you don't fancy Ireland, I've heard there's a similar 'battle of the talents' show in Scotland next year."
"Ah, that'll be easier for me to get to than Ireland. It sounds like the competition will be fierce. Where are they going to?"
"Competition isn't just fierce, John, it's a WAR! WICK! A VENUE has been found in the northerly Scottish town of Wick,” said Ava, quickly looking it up on the internet.
"That's a long way NORTH, WICK. PARKhead in Glasgow is the furthest north I've ever been. How muCH IS WICK PARKing these days?"
"The price is very HIGH. BAR NEThercliffe Hotel, accommodation costs a lot too. Try the HIGH STREET. KEN SINGTON may be able to find you somewheRE. GENTS PARK wherever he tells them to. He’s the best parking attendant I’ve ever met."

"So there's nO VALue in trying to park down by the harbour?"
"No, the overflow goes on to the NORTH FIELDS or the SOUTH FIELDS."
"Would I have to enter by the south gate?"
"Yes, it's the best gate of the lot. It’s best to park on the right, by the kNOTTING HILL. GATEs are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, though I would stay away from the CasterbALD GATE. EAST of it live the old Scottish cLAN CASTER. GATE is guarded very fiercely."
"I'm not sure there's a 'CasterbALD GATE' in Wick, actually," said Richard. "But anyway, let's not worry too much about parking arrangements at the moment. I think we should invite John to stay for supper. In fact, I think his clever Woody Allen impersonation deserves a CLAP! HAM - COMMON or garden stuff from McCann's, I'm afraid - is on the menu tonight I think."
"Yes," said Ava, "and there's some rhuBARB I CAN stew for later on."
"We shall have a fEAST! HAM goes well with fruit," said Richard.

CHAPTER THREE - ON THE RUN


On the outskirts of Oxford, Wes, Colin and Stan passed by a Big Top. Very soon they found themselves stuck in a jam in the centre of OXFORD - CIRCUS people all around them had been parading through the city centre.  At that moment, things took an unexpected turn for the worse. Their car was newly fixed but from out of nowhere a sWAN STEADily attacked the car's bonnet, breaking through and once again disabling the engine.

They fled, tube maps flying everywhere, on foot. The swan belonged to Street – and was the latest police tactic to be used: their car had finally been caught, in what was becoming an ever more complex situation.  Inspector Street gave chase, but after ten minutes of running, Wes, Colin, and Stan had lost both him and half of their tube maps. They could no longer sell them off to Saudi Arabia – and they could not return to the shop.

After walking for hours, they decided to go and watch a football match - it would give them ninety minutes to come up with a new plan. The match was an international friendly between Cyprus and The Netherlands. It was a very entertaining game, with Cyprus on the attack for most of the game; however HOLLAND PARKed a bus on their goal line, so the game ended scoreless. This was a surprise result, as the match had been seen as a home banker.

The match did no favours for the fleeing trio however - they had failed to use the game to think of a plan B. They wanted to stay out of the way, and their chance came when they saw a RED BRIDGE in the distance. They sought shelter beneath it until they could come up with a plan. Just beyond the bridge, Colin spotted a convent, and hatched a plan.

As the chums approached the convent, the clock struck SEVEN. SISTERS gathered outside the building – this was a chance for the lads to sneak inside. The Mother Superior, Sister MARY LE BONE, was very suspicious of the newcomers. They thought they could get away with it if they disguised themselves as the gardeners.  However, they couldn't decide whether to use a FlyMO OR PARK a proper mower nearby.

One evening, after a hot day of gardening, the three fake gardeners decided to invite Sister Mary out for a drink down the local. It was a cunning plan to get on her good side.  As it happens, Sister Mary had a few too many. Wes couldn't believe how inebriated she was when she stood up. He'd not seen a lady that drunk since he'd seen the QUEEN SWAYing from side to side, several years previously. She wobbled home, UP MINSTER BRIDGE, taking a short cut through the FAIR, LOPping five minutes off the journey time.

This only turned out to hinder her, however, as a mugger, CHARLES DENton, jumped out from behind the dodgems and stole her handbag.  Denton was not interested in the contents of the handbag: he was in a choir, the singers of which all liked selling fashion accessories when they weren't singing.  The women of the chorus only sold handbags with nice curves, letting the male section of the choRUS SELL SQUARE ones. It was a MONUMENTal moment; Denton was promptly arrested for theft of the bag.

Wes, Colin and Stan really felt they needed to get away from it all. But where to go? Several places were suggested - Harrogate, Lulworth Cove in Dorset, even a distant country like Uruguay. In the end, they settled on a place.
"Where to?" said the taxi driver.
"TakE US TO Norwich!" the group responded. So off they went. The taxi driver, a large chap called Wayne, thought it would be wise if they stopped for lunch en route (well, it was a long way). He was on a diet, but chose a greasy spoon café anyway. The trouble was, with the plentiFUL HAM, BROAD WAYne got even broader.  He'd already gorged himself in Burger King on Chicken FlAMERS - HAM just added to the problem.

When they reached Norwich, they continued north to the wonderful National Trust gardens nearby at Felbrigg Hall. But then they thought that Lulworth Cove may have been a better option. Unlike Lulworth COVE, N.T. GARDENs charged for entry, although even at Lulworth Cove charges for deckchairs were on the UP. MINSTERs, abbeys, museums, and wildlife centres in Dorset were charging too.

But it was too late now for Colin, he was out of money (the money he'd spent at the Greasy Spoon had left the poor LAD BROKE). GROVElling to the others, he asked if they could lend him a few bob.

"Not after we've come this FAR. RING DON," they said, "he might be able to help". It's true, Don was a cHAMP.  STEADily, Colin recounted the story from the start. Don had just finished playing a game with his children, and had put the equipment away.  "After we finished playing hooPLA, I STOWed the equipment in the shed immediately”, said Don over the phone, “so I can come right away!"

Don was rich, very rich. When he came, he had not only the entrance fee money, but he had enough to pay off Wes, Colin, and Stan’s debts to Roy, as well as enough money for Don to drive them back to Oxford or London. As Wayne’s services were no longer required, Don drove them to a pub for lunch, and invited Roy up to Norwich to pay off the debts.

CHAPTER FOUR - THE CAPTURE


The five of them sat down to a traditional meal invented by the SWISS: COTTAGE cheese with a glass of freshly pressed apple juice.  Handily, an apple tree was growing right beside them. On the highest sTEM, PLEnty of apples were available. Upon this tree stood, a little to the WEST, HAMlet, a small finch. He was a true lover of standing in trees. His favourite tree was the larch. The joy of standing in a lARCH WAY surpassed the thrill that came from any other piece of vegetation.

But, as Don stepped out beneath the cOLD STREET lamps, he saw a rather suspicious-looking chap, who was listening to “And You Tell Me”, a lesser known song by Scandinavian group A-HA, IN 'A'. ULTimately, he was getting ready for a verBAL HAMmering, but he wasn't quite expecting to hear this:
"Good afternoon, sir.  I am Detective Inspector Street of New Scotland Yard, and I understand that you may be connected with the recent disappearance of birds from London Zoo.  Can you confirM OR DENy this?"
Don looked round for the others, but they had all vanished.  He protested his innocence, but it was no use.

He was eventually sentenced to prison after a lengthy courts procedure. Prison was full of pretty dim criminals - especially during Monopoly:
"£200 for passing Go. Right, your TURN, PIKE."
"LANE."
"No, Pike, read out the first word firST."
"ONE..."
"BRIDGE..."
"PARK! Got it! Park Lane!"

His criminal associates were still at large, and he saw thEM BANK MENTal amounts of money during his sentence. He spent the majority of his time writing letters to his associates. He gave a plan, to attack WILL ESDEN, GREEN light to go. The plan had three stages: assemble seven in the MORNING, TON CRESCENT; meet WILL ESDEN, JUNCTION of DAGENHAM HEATH WAY and Ton Crescent; attack.

But the police had plenty of information to ACT ON. TOWN hall staff had intercepted the letters and passed them on, commenting:  "There isn't a road called ‘Ton Crescent’ in DAGENHAM. EAST London has several strange road names, but none as strange as that!"

THEN DON, central to proceedings, had a sudden brainwave.  It was quite cHILLING – DON had a habit of coming up with ideas exactly when they were needed. He described himself as a criminal guRU: “I SLIPped up once, just once, and got arrested”.

The plan was organized on quite an extraordinary sCALE.  DON, IAN (ROAD crew) and many of the other prisoners were involved. But despite his precautions, Don had still let one of them (who was, of course, on a drugs HIGH) BURY ANDI SLINGTON beside the STAM FORD, BROOKlyn.  They were going for several crimes - probably ten in a row; a crime 'decathLON'. DON BRIDGEd any gaps in communication in an interesting way.

Equipped with a WIMBLE, DON had a secret plan to escape.  This wasn't just any ordinary WIMBLE. DON PARKed himself by the prison wall, and put his secret plan to work. Boring out from the SOUTH, ‘WIMBLE DON’ (as he was known by a few trusted associates) managed to penetrate the walls of the prison.

Outside the prison, he got into the getaway car, driven by Ken, an accomplice of Don's.

"So," said Ken, "where are we going, guRU?"
"ISLIP. GARDENS are nice in Oxfordshire at this time of year."

He tried getting romantic with him.

"Will you marry me?"
"Yeah, but there are problems..."
"Be specific, KEN."
"HAMilton. I'm in love with Hamilton."
"Well, that's a surprise, KEN. SAL GREEN says she's in love with you."
"No, Hamilton calls himself Sal Green."
"What!?"

Don didn't realize, but this accomplice was none other than Ken Sington, the car parking organizer for the talent contest that was soon to take place in Wick.  "We can't stay in Islip," said Ken, "will you come with me to Wick?" Don reluctantly agreed.

After they'd been there a few days, he complained: "Why did we come all the way up to the north of Scotland? I was happier in the SOUTH, KEN. TONs happier."

"But I've got a job here," said KEN SINGTON. "OLYMPIAn levels of competition are starting pretty soon."
"All right,” said Don, "I won't go SOUTH, KEN. SING TONight at the competition and I'll give you my undying support."
"But I'm not competing - I'm just in charge of the car PARK. ROYALty will be attending this event you know."
"My spirits have sunk to their loWEST, KEN. SING TONight for me please. Just find a way."

CHAPTER FIVE - THE CONTEST


So impressive was Ken's performance at the competition that he was asked to represent Britain at the Eurovision Song Contest in Manchester. By a remarkable twist of fate, John Collier was asked to represent Ireland, even though he wasn't Irish and couldn't sing - having been almost bankrupted by hosting the contest three times in succession, the Irish broadcaster RTE had contrived to deliberately lose the contest that year.

The Azerbaijani performers were a mysterious quartet calling themselves "Glorious Hags", dressed entirely in burqas.  But, fresh off the train at Manchester PICCADILLY, CIRCUS performers representing Armenia looked to win the contest.

After the previous year, when a contestant fell off the stage during second rehearsal (which the juries voted on), efforts were made to ensure that the juries and public voted, for the first time in Eurovision history, on the same performance. Over in the auditorium, the event organizer was showing the representatives of the various juries to their seats. It was all very high-tech - the seats had electronic voting terminals built into them.

The event organiser showed them to where the juries would be on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday: "This is where you'll be sitting for Tuesday's HEAT. 'H' ROW, TERMINALS 1, 2, 3 are for the heads of the Latvian, Portuguese, and Croatian juries respectively..."
"I'm a bit concerned about vote-rigging," interrupted the head of the Dutch jury. "Is the voting system secure?"
"Absolutely - there's no way that anyone can cheat. 'H' ROW TERMINAL 4 is for the head of the Maltese jury..."
"And the head of the British jury? What position is he at?"
" 'H' ROW TERMINAL 5.  May I continue please?"

Tuesday’s first semi-final was a fairly non-descript affair, with the most exciting part being the results. To John’s disbelief, Ireland were through – as were Armenia, Georgia, Sweden, Albania, Belarus, Turkey, Estonia, Cyprus, and Greece. The Russian delegation, whose country had not qualified for the first time ever, was furious:
"We had to schlEPP INGloriously over here and didn't make it through. We are furious. We need HS2 now."  On Thursday, Azerbaijan would perform. Could they join John in the final on Saturday?

On Wednesday, Ken tried to sing along with the newly reinstated orchestra in his first rehearsal, but there were problems.
"What key do you want to sing in, Ken? Is this one any GOOD? G?"
"E."
STREETwise musicians tried to keep up with him, but it proved a very hard task. They were trying to reheARSE "NA-La-Na-La-Na", the UK's ambitious entry for that year's contest. (Having unexpectedly won the previous year, the BBC had belatedly realised that their best hope lay in a song consisting of meaningless gibberish.) The trumpet player, enthusiastically TOOTING, BECkoned to Ken.
"Try singing it like this."
He started TOOTING "BROADWAY Baby" from "Follies", getting a huge laugh from the orchestra.

This made Ken a little bit frustrated. He needed to relax, so he closed his eyes, and thought of recent events. Then a startling revelation came to him: Don - the guRU - ISLIP - MAN OR woman? Suddenly he realised why Don might have these feelings for him.

The Germans’ first rehearsal was a complete catastrophe. Disease was rampant!
"I'M ILL..."
"HIL, Least of our problems now. ALAN RICKMAN'S WORTHless fan base is trying to get rid of us!" The Germans, of course, had never quite lived down the slightly disturbing 1998 performance of Guildo HORN.  CHURCHill would have declared World War II all over again if he'd heard it.

Realising that the second semi-final needed beefing up in terms of entertainment, the BBC quickly rang up several artists to do an opening act. As a result, for the opening act on Thursday, the audience was treated to a performance by the reformed Denver-based alternative rock band, VAUX. HALLoween costumes weren't their normal outfit, but at the Eurovision Song Contest, let's face it, anything goes.

It was now time for the Azerbaijani entry, performed by the mysterious veiled "Glorious Hags".  But as they prepared to go on stage, they were unexpectedly ushered off. "Sorry, the stage is out of BOUNDS. GREEN room is where you're staying."
"Who do you think you are?"
"I am Inspector Street of New Scotland Yard, and you're all under arrest."
Their disguise had been rumbled. Beneath the veils were none other than the fugitives Wes, Colin, Stan and Roy, who had secretly made their way to Manchester from Norwich and kidnapped the actual Azerbaijani contestants.

The arrest of the 'Azerbaijani' band left an unfortunate gap in the performance which needed filling. So at short notice, Heinrich Vall, the German band leader, suggested they could sing one of their own song as a filler: “Erhöhen Die Mächtige Stange“(which roughly translated, is “Raise the mighty ROD”), IN G. VALL EYed up the criminals as they were led away.

On Saturday, Richard sat down to watch the grand final on television as Ava cooked the dinner. As she walked in, he spoke to her absent-mindedly. The audience started to CLAP.
"HAM?"
"SOUTHern fried chicken, actually. You finished all of the ham yesterday, remember?" He was so absorbed in the contest he couldn't remember a thing. She could have served up pieces of BURNT OAK and he wouldn't have noticed.

It was finally time for the British entry. Taking his cue from David Walliams, Ken had decided to change a single letter of his surname for his stage name, and was introduced as "KEN NINGTON". Watching at home, Richard was cynical:
"Nington indeed.  That's plain old Ken Sington, parking attendant.  Why are they letting him sing?  He's got a voice like an ELEPHANT. AND CASTLE Donington is supposed to be hiring him to sort out the car parking this week!"

After a spectacular interval act, the juries and voters had voted. The first votes came from Albania. One to Ireland. Two to Sweden. Three to United Kingdom.  Four to France. Five to Spain. Six to Georgia. Seven to Germany. Eight to Bulgaria. Ten to F.Y.R. Macedonia.  Twelve to... Greece! Bad start for Ken, but still 38 votes to come.
"John's not doing too well," said Richard. "What did you think of that song of his – ‘RoundWOOD LANE’ or whatever it was called?"
"Well,” said Ava, "it might have gone down better if it hadn't been recited nervously in a New York Jewish accent."
"Do you know why Ireland selected a Woody Allen impressionist to represent them at Eurovision?"
"I haven't a clue. The selection panel must have been BARKING."
SIDE by side, they sat watching in increasing amazement.

At last all the votes were in, and the winners, with an unprecedented 398 points, were Turkey. The leader of the Turkish group, ney player Demir Osman, was delighted. Ken had managed to struggle up to 19th out of 26 with 23 points, and John was last with his single point from Albania.

CHAPTER SIX - THE NEW VISITOR


Just when the credits were rolling and Turkey were performing the reprise of “And You”, the doorbell rang at Richard and Ava's once more. It was a Mr Miller, grandson of the famous Walt Disney, and he'd stayed there many years ago with Ralph Lauren, the fashion designer.
"I'm just passing through and I thought I'd say hi."
Richard was surprised, but proceeded to invite him to tea. Walt began to take out his money.
"Put the money away - you don't pay here. What would you like, WALT? HAM? STOW CENT! RALph Lauren was never so eager to pay. I hope it wasn't too much trouble to get here?"
"I had some trouble with a police officer on the train, Mr Ying Wei SOU, THRU ISLIP. He yelled with so mucH ANGER, LANEs round the station sent in complaints."

But up in Manchester, it was a different story. The four suspects had been taken to the local police station and were currently under interrogation.
"Good evening, gentlemen. As you may know by now, I am Inspector Street, currently under secondment to Greater Manchester Police, and these are my colleagues Constables CHALFONT AND LATIMER. Wesley Tacton, you have been arrested on suspicion of a number of offences, including theft of a number of birds from London parks, theft of a car, illegal entry to a convent, and kidnap of an Azerbaijani singing group. Is Tacton your real name?"
"People know mE AS TACTON, but my name's actually WES THARROW."
"Tharrow sounds even less likely than Tacton."
"Well at least it's not WES TRUISLIP."
"Don't try to be funny."
"This is pretty serious," added LATIMER. "ROAD traffic offences are usually the worst we get to deal with here."

As for Ken, his brief singing career was over and he was back in his old job sorting out parking spaces. He was now hired by a company whose three directors insisted on being treated in strict order of seniority; firST JAMES'S PARKing space had to be allocated, then Peter's, and laST PAUL'S. There were also complicated arrangements for the staff; those with surnames UP TO 'N' PARKed on the town side, the rest on the country side.  The first customer had a strong Irish accent.
"What's the first letter of your name, please?" asked KEN.
" 'TIS 'H'."
"TOWN side, please. And your name, sir?"
"Phil TUFNELL."
"PARK on that side, please. You wouldn't happen to be the famous left-arm sPINNER of that name, would you?"
"That's right. Do you get many cricketers parking in here?"
"No, but quite a few footballers. We've had people who've played at WEMBLEY PARKing here. And jockeys - we've had people who've ridden at NEWBURY PARKing here."

But what about John? Despite his abysmal performance at the contest, he had had an amazing stroke of luck. He had been talent-spotted by an American impresario, ED G. WARE, who was attending and happened to be a huge Woody Allen fan. Immediately after the contest he was whisked down to Ed's London office. Surrounding the door was a huge MARBLE ARCH with the inscription: ‘ED G. WARE: ROAD to Fortune. ED G. WARE: ROAD to Fame’.
"Can I pour you a drink?" asked Ed.
"Thanks!" said John. "This is GREAT PORT."
"LAND STREETs ahead of the other acts when you sign with me," said Ed. "You'll be performing in front of KINGS. BURY your misgivings - your act is like GOLD."
"ER... S. GREEN has also offered to take me on."
It was a bluff. STEPNEY GREEN was Ed's great rival.
"So what's the deal with Green?"
Parking himself upright in his seat, John looked Ed in the eye and said "He'll take twenty per cent."
"I'll take ten."
"Do we have a deal?"
"My word is my BOND. STREETs ahead you'll be, like I said.  You'll appear in front of QUEENS - BURY your misgivings!  Tell you what - I'll take you out to dinner at my favourite restaurant."
He ordered a bottle of BordeaUX, BRIDGE rolls and some butter, and seemed quite familiar with Ethel, the waitress. "I'm not too keen on the LAMB, ETH, NOR THe pork, so I'll go for the beef," said Ed. "What do you want, John?"
John was so happy he wanted to CLAP. "HAM.” NORTHerners like him were used to plain food.

Meanwhile, Richard and Ava had decided to take their new guest Walt for a drive in the country. On the radio, they listened to the London traffic news from aristocratic reporter Charles ColquHOUN.
"SLOW WESTbound traffic on the A13 heading into London, “said ColquHOUN. "SLOW EASTbound traffic on the A4 heading into London."
"Aren't you pleased to be out of all of that?" said Richard. "Just listen to Charlie ColquHOUN: 'SLOW'. CENTRAL London is grinding to a halt."

They drove into a HOLLOW, A 'Y' ROAD junction ahead of them. They found a spot by the WOODSIDE, PARKing the car underneath a tall ELM. PARKed safely, they walked into the WOOD. GREEN fields were everywhere and they saw a figure in the hillside carved out of CHALK. FARMers were busy laying SNARES. BROOKs babbled around them and in the distance they saw SHEPHERDS. BUSHes surrounded them on all sides, and a BLACK HORSE, ROADworthy as any car, cantered down the path alongside them.
"That's a biG ANTS’ HILL," said Walt.
"Indeed," said Richard. "Ants tend to gather around this area - this is where those having picnics tend to hang around, and the ants are attracted to the crumbs. Look at that discarded roll - perhaps it wasn't tasty enough. I blame it on the BAKERS."
TREE Trunks of fallen elms were all over the place, but they carried on regardless.

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE MONASTERY


Don was now a broken man. He had escaped from prison to be with his beloved Ken, who had abandoned him in Scotland to pursue his singing ambition in Manchester. He had found his experiences in the NORTH HARROWing, to say the lEAST. COTErie who'd previously surrounded him in the criminal world had abandoned him as well. He headed for LEICESTER, SQUAREly determined to put the past behind him. On his way through Yorkshire he crossed a lonely MOOR, GATEd from the rest of the world, occupied by a monastic order. Things looked BLACK. FRIAR Stephen, head of the order, suddenly accosted him.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" asked the friar.
"RAY NERSLANE," said Don, uttering the first name that came into his head. "I'm heading SOUTH - WAR Knows no friends."
"You're in the military then?"
"Yes," lied Don. "I'm emBARKING on a secret mission. You see that TOWER?"
"HILLside one, you mean?"
"I'm stationed there. Can't tell you why."

Back in Manchester, suddenly a message came over the two-way radio: ‘M61 towards PRESTON - ROAD traffic accident. Constable Chalfont please report for duty’.
PC Chalfont was replaced by PC FINCHLEY, ROAD accidents not normally being amongst his responsibilities. Although the neWEST, FINCHLEY was clearly the sharpest of the interrogators. At lEAST FINCHLEY looked a little less intimidating.
"Police here in the NORTH ACT ON evidence, not hearsay," said FINCHLEY. "CENTRAL to our case is the fact that you were seen impersonating a London park-keeper, trying to capture the ravens from London Zoo. Is this right?"
"RAVENS COURT PARK-keepers," said Wes.
"But you avoided the puffins, though."
"Yes.  I've heard that pufFINS BURY PARK-keepers sometimes."
"You even captured a rare GOLD HAWK - "
"ROAD traffic accident more serious than believed," came the disembodied voice. "Multiple vehicles involved. All officers report for duty."

Over at the car park, Ken had another interesting customer, who arrived in an Austin Metro. "Your name, please?"
"I'm Doctor FOSTER." (LEYland cars don't turn up often, thought Ken.)
"Not the Doctor Foster who went to GLOUCESTER?"
"ROADworks on the M5 stopped that.” (He’d heard the quip so many times he had a ready answer for it.) "But do you know where I can buy a dress for my wife AnnaBEL?"
"SIZE? PARK over there, sir, and I'll think about it."
"OK. By the way, what team do you support?"
"TOTTENHAM."
"HA! LEt's see if we manage to overtake you this season." He thrust a piece of paper into Ken's hand and drove off. It said "I support WEST BROM. P.T.O."
Nervously, Ken turned the paper over, but before he could read the other side, he was distracted by a driver smashing his car with a HAMMER. SMITHereens were flying all over the place.
"What are you doing?" asked Ken.
"It's an insurance sCAM. DENT OWN vehicle, then claim the other driver did it."

On their walk in the country, Walt and Ava were starting to get a little more familiar. "Whereabouts are we now?" asked Walt.
"This is the NORTH WOOD. HILLS obscure the view, but the south wood is over there," said Ava. "Do you go out walking much in the States?"
"No, but I play golf on the NORTH GREEN, WICHita."
Suddenly they were distracted by two men with a large package to deLIVER. POOLS, TREE Trunks and other obstacles were getting in the way.
"DudLEY!"
"TONy!"
"How much does this package weigh, DudLEY?"
"TONS, TONE."
"But it's all PADDING - TONs of it."
"I know it's all PADDING, TONy. Where are we taking it?"
"Up to those SHEPHERDS - BUSH!"
"MARKET day today, is it?" asked Dudley, narrowly avoiding the bush that Tony had helpfully pointed out. His footing went slightly askew.
"GARDEN Supplies, I think."

Meanwhile, Ed had got John his first booking - a spot on the cable TV chat show "BoB RIX TONight". He'd never actually heard of the host, Bob Rix, but he was pleased to see that one of the other guests was the former boxer Ricky HATTON. CROSSing his fingers for good luck, he listened for his cue. "And now let's welcome John Collier!"
After enthusiastic applause, the host continued, "John, first question - what is the English letter corresponding to the Greek letter CHI?"
"G?"
"WELL, no. If you can correctly tell me the capital of Norway, you can have another guess."
"It's OSLO. AN E?"
SQUARE dealing was what John was used to, and this certainly wasn't it. He inwardly cursed Ed - what sort of humiliation was this meant to BE? CON! TREE-like, he stood there baffled. Clearly he had a lot to leARN. O? S?
"GROVElling apologies," said the producer, who suddenly appeared. We thought you were John Hollier, a contestant on our new quiz show. Bob Rix is in the next studio."

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE OUTCOME


But in Yorkshire things still looked bleak.  "So what's the name of this monastery, and how did you come to run it?" asked Don, his spirits still at their loWEST.
"MINSTER Abbey," said the friar. "I used to live in Neyland in west Wales, a lot further SOUTH. HARROWing experiences meant I had to leave, but I could at lEAST PUT NEYland behind me and start a new life here."
"I'll come clean," said Don. "I'm not a soldier - I'm an escaped criminal. Can you give me sanctuary here?"

Meanwhile in Manchester, with all the police out on road accident duty, the four suspects had been locked together in a cell.
“Well that's a fine mess you've got us into, Wes,” said Colin.
“I've never been in a police station before,” said Stan.
"Nor me," said Roy. “I've only seen those American cop shows where they say things like 'EARL - SCOUR The building'.”
“Well, let's have a BAR ON 'SCOUR The building', please,” said Wes. "This isn't America, and we're not on TV."

At the car park, Ken had more difficult customers to deal with.
"Name, please?" This customer was one of the sloWEST.
"BOURNE."
"PARK over there please."
"I don't understand this alphabetical system. Where would someone called HYDE PARK?"
"CORNER of the yard."
Finally Ken had a chance to look at the other side of the note left by Dr Foster after he'd put in his two penN'ORTH.
"WEMBLEY tickets available," it said. "Phone 020 7946 0128."
Ken had always dreamed of playing at WEMBLEY - CENTRAL defence was his position. To get a seat there would be a dream come true. He didn't care that someone was trying to make a fast BUCK - HURST, HILL and other great football personalities of the past were his heroes. And what if it was an appearance by his beloved TOTTENHAM? COURT ROAD in Eltham, where he grew up, would be proud of him. But back to the job.
"Name, please?"
"KILBURN."
"PARK there, please..."

On the country walk, Walt had a few questions for Ava.  "I don't think I know your surname, Ava.  Do you prefer the town or the country?"
"It's SUDBURY. TOWN life has become rather dull recently."
"So, Ava SUDBURY, HILL walking appeals to you more?  When are you going on holiday?"
"SeptemBER. MOND..."
"SEYchelles are nice at that time of year," interrupted Walt, before Ava could finish saying "Monday".

John had a booking at a top comedy club in EUSTON, "SQUARE World", named after the classic Michael Bentine show. He was between two up-and-coming new double acts, "HARROW AND WEALDSTONE" and "TOTTERIDGE AND WHETSTONE". (The names sounded oddly familiar to him, but he couldn't work out why.) Also on the bill was someone calling himself "Professor C.R. OXLEY", who gave spoof historical lectures, and another comic from the NORTH, OL Thompson, who said he was going to PUT NEYBRIDGE on the map. (Neybridge didn't exist - it was a fictional version of the town where he grew up.) John put on his trademark glasses, walked out on stage and hoped for the best...

EPILOGUE


Don decided to put his criminal past behind him and become a monk. Wes was sentenced to five years for theft of birds from Her Majesty's parks, with Colin and Stan getting lesser sentences. Roy was acquitted as there was no case against him, although he was given a fine for animal cruelty. Ken got tickets for the FA Cup Final at Wembley where Tottenham beat West Brom 3 - 0. After a whirlwind romance, Walt took Ava back to America and married her. Richard went back to his Boy Scouts, and John was booked to play the part of Woody Allen in a forthcoming biopic, "I Don't Want to Be There When it Happens".

Saturday 15 August 2015

Off the Rails



The following story contains the names of 291 National Rail stations in and around London exactly once each, with their letters in consecutive order.  No station name is contained within another one (so if there were two stations called 'Dogsbury' and 'South Dogsbury', they would occur separately).  The puzzle is to find all 291 names.

The main list of 283 stations is here.  The criteria were that the stations should appear on the London Rail and Tube Services map, and should not be served exclusively by Transport for London services (London Underground, London Overground, DLR, Tramlink or TfL Rail).  A few stations have been included that have an occasional non-TfL service even when this does not appear on the map.  In addition, eight stations in Kent have been included that may be added to the map in future.

It was written on the Tube Challenge Forum as a sequel to the earlier stories Hidden Underground, containing the names of all 270 Tube stations, and Over the Top, containing the names of all 112 Overground stations.  The login names of the contributors (The Orange One, Iain, RobbieM and GuyBarry) have all been concealed in the story as well.
 


Richard Bromley, south London's most dedicated Boy Scout leader, was unhappy. He hadn't been able to find a replacement for Ava, his former housemaid, who had unexpectedly emigrated to America and got married. Now it was just housework round the clock - housework and more housework. And he couldn't cook anything other than chips. Tea, dinner and lunch invariably consisted of chips, and he was getting fatter and fatter.

He switched on the radio. "This is the London traffic news with Charles Colquhoun. Slow traffic on the A3 heading into..."

He quickly switched off again. It reminded him of the day when Ava had fallen in love with Walt, his house guest, on a long walk in the country. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. He answered it to an attractive young lady.

"Well I'm sorry to bother you," she said, "but I haven't seen my cat for days. Do you think he might have come here?"
"I haven't seen a cat, sorry," said Richard. "Can I ask your name please?"
"It's Alexandra, pal." A certain smile played around her lips. "But you can call me Alex."
"Come in if you like. You sound as though you're from up north."
She entered. "Yes, I am - Chorley."
"Woody Allen fan by any chance?"
"Pardon?"
"Oh, it's just a strange coincidence. We had a visitor here once who came from Chorley. He did the most uncanny impression of Woody Allen you've ever come across."
"John Collier?"
"The very same."
"He used to know me well. We stayed together in Chorley when we were younger. Is he well-known round here?"
"He's more than well-known. He's a star now - he's been in a film."
"You're kidding!"
"Absolutely true," Richard assured her.
"I think that's amazing. Are you looking for a housekeeper by any chance?"
"As it happens, I am. How on earth did you know?"
"It's not really hard to tell," said Alex, looking around the room. "Anyway I've got experience in that area. Fancy giving me a trial?"

Richard chose to take Alex on, of course. It had been a stroke of incredibly good luck she'd turned up then, he thought as he headed down to his local cash-and-carry.  He’d noticed they had a large case of honey on offer, and now seemed exactly the right time to stock up – maybe they could have honey-glazed ham soon.  He hummed as he walked down the aisle.
"Worth every penny I'm paying her," he said. Suddenly, he bumped into his neighbour, Ted Dington.

"Morning, Mr Bromley. Northern girl keeping house for you now?" said Ted. (News travels fast round here, thought Richard.)
"That's right, Ted. She's an absolute angel. Roads weren't too busy this morning, so I nipped in here while she’s buying something for dinner.”

He went back to the house and immediately smelt ham.
"Today's treat: ham," said Alex. "Is that OK for you?"
Richard was overcome by greed. "Ham's perfect! How did you know it was my favourite food?"
"I just felt ham would be appropriate. Whenever I have to cater, ham's always popular."
"There seem to be a lot of people I know who love it. It can't be a complete coincidence, can it? Like John Collier, for instance."
"When I knew him at first, John simply refused to eat anything else."
"No surprise there.  I think he's broadened his tastes a bit since he got into films, though."
"How did that happen? Gee - a star among my old friends, and I was never told."
"Streets ahead he is now. I gather he signed up with some American impresario, but I lost touch with him after that. I did see him on some dreadful cable TV chat show - 'Bob Rix Tonight'."
"Never heard of it. Most television just frazzles my brain. Ham's all right for you then?  How do you like it?”
“Honey glazed would be great.  I’ve got some honey out in the car.”

He went out to his car, which was parked across the street.  He'd bought 72 jars, which came in a large container that he nicknamed  the “bee chest”. Unfortunately he dropped it into the road. Passing drivers hit the brakes, but didn't manage to stop before hitting the crate. 

"Oh hell, I can see the headlines in the local paper,” he said to himself. 
“ ‘Several cars halt on bee chest’.”


At that moment, a delivery van approached.  The driver and his colleague, Tony and Dudley, were in something of a hurry.

"Tony!” said Dudley. “Stop the van at once! Looks like honey in the road."

The van screeched to a halt.

"Honey?” said Tony. “ I just had a jar from my auntie Eleanor. Bit on my toast in the mornings is all right, but that much is wicked. How did it get there?"
"Dunno, Tone. More important, how are we going to get back to the depot for this urgent meeting with Ken Ewing? He sounded really angry."
"Can't think why, Dud. Were we stealing from the company?"
"Of course not, Tone. We were just a bit late with that vacuum cleaner - Leyburn Avenue."
"I told Ken Leyburn Avenue would be hard to find, Dud. It's out of our normal travelling range."
"Park the van here then and let's get the train over. We daren't be late for this one."

Having made their way back by train, Tony and Dudley rushed into the depot and went straight to the office of Ken Ewing, Head of Operations.

"You wanted to see us, Ken?" said Dudley.
"Yes. We've had a complaint from a customer - a Mr George West of 7 Leyburn Avenue, South Kensington. Apparently you were supposed to deliver a Dyson vacuum cleaner to him. You arrived at the address over an hour late, apparently under the influence of alcohol. When you arrived it seems that you delivered not the model that Mr West had ordered, but an inferior model worth about forty pounds."
"That much?"
"You then told Mr West that you had delivered his cleaner to a neighbour of his along the street - a Mr Syd Enham - and you told him to go along to Mr Enham's address and swap the cleaners over. Mr West was somewhat reluctant to do so, because Mr Enham has a rather unfortunate reputation locally. But eventually he summoned up the courage."
"He did?"
"Yes. And when he arrived, he witnessed Mr Enham engaged in an act with his vacuum cleaner that he was unwilling to describe, shouting to Mr West, ' 'B' romp tonight!' "
"Oh my God..."
"Mr West is now in a highly nervous condition and has threatened to sue this company for several thousand pounds, not including the cost of the vacuum cleaner."
"Umm... we can each afford hundreds, Ken, but not thousands."
"I'm not asking you for the money. Do you have any idea what you've done to this company's reputation? We can't sink any lower."
"Syd Enham already has done, I think,” quipped Tony.
"Don't be flippant. Had you been drinking?"
"Well, it was a hot day and we were knackered..."
"Stop stonewalling, Tony. Had you been drinking?"

At that moment, an email arrived in Ken's inbox. It read:

"Fantastic vacuum cleaner! Ta. T.T. Enham (corner of Leyburn Avenue)."

Ken was puzzled. "So let's get this straight. You actually delivered the cleaner to T.T. Enham?"
"Ha! Let's see if I can remember," said Dudley. "That was the name on the buzzer."
"So there are two Mr Enhams? I'm getting mightily confused here. Did you and Tony bring the van here today under the influence of alcohol?"
"We haven't got it, Ken."
"What do you mean, you haven't got it? Where is it?"
"It's stuck in some honey."

Ken buried his face in his hands.

"Look, Ken", said Dudley. "Perhaps we can talk this over somewhere else.  How’d you like to come and watch a Millwall home game with me?"
"All right," said Ken. “We could go to the pie stand at the north end of the ground at half time."
"That's pretty unusual", said Dudley, "A normal Den man ordinarily goes to the south end pie stand - they have honey glazed ham pies you know."
“That's a blinding idea. Park yourself in the café round the corner  if you like.  I’ll join you  in a moment."

Dudley sat down in the cafe, where he was joined by a regular customer, Harold Wood.
"Please excuse me, I can't see too well," said Harold, pointing at his hat. "Brim's down."
"No probs," Dudley responded. “I’m just waiting to meet my boss – it looks as though my mate and I might be getting the sack.”
“I can sympathize entirely.  I got fired from Ford recently.  You might be able to get some work here perhaps.  I’m told the crew shilling is pretty good."


Richard was standing, mouth agape, looking at the carnage. Pieces of broken glass had scratched several of the cars, causing markings. Wood, lids of jars and honey was splattered everywhere. A policeman came over, notebook in hand. He looked wan.

"DS Worth Roaden here," he said. "Is this your honey?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Richard replied. "I wanted to glaze some ham, so I put this chest of honey in my boot for dinner."
"Why so many jars? I only use a tad."
"Worth it to buy in bulk. Anyway, I have a lot of ham. When my spirits are at their lowest, ham always cheers me up."
"I'm sure your spirits are never that low with your new housemaid around! Is it true she used to be an acrobat and ballet dancer?"
"It is indeed. Now I must go and salvage what I can from it."
"Where's your car from, by the way? I need to make a note about the accident."
"It was made in Nova Scotia, of all places!"

Worth took out his notebook, and wrote 'Spillage of honey, NS Ford involved. Other vehicles involved include a single decker bus (Dennis Dart), Ford Transit van, and two 3-door hatches. Hunted down culprit, took name and address, sent him on his way.'

Meanwhile, Richard had managed to find a substantial portion of the honey intact, on main lines in the structure of the chest. Obviously the force of the impacts had been concentrated into certain areas. Worth helped him pull the unbroken jars 'ashore'.

"Ham will be much nicer with this honey, thanks. Would you like to come over? There's plenty to go around."
"I'd love to, but I've got to go and finish my shift. They'll be especially rowdy, it's the end of Yom Kippur. Leyburn Avenue, do you know it?"
"I wondered why you looked this wan! Leyburn Avenue must be a nightmare of a shift, what with Syd and Thomas Twick Enham living there. I hear they eat roast rat for dinner."
"It's not just them, it's old Mr. West. Dr. Ayton says he had a nasty turn recently and needs an eye kept on him."
“Dr. Ayton – Green Street Surgery?"
"Yes, that’s right. So what’s for dinner?  When should I turn up? Seven?"
"Oak smoked ham, honey glazed, steamed vegetables, and tea (herbal). Ham goes surprisingly well with tea."
"What sort of herbs?"
"Oh, basil leaf and mulberry l-"
"And sauce?"
"Yes, mustard, cranberry, plum, whatever takes your fancy. Just remember, when you turn up, you have to give the doorbell a nice dunt. On green belt houses the doorbells tend to be a bit stiff."


DS Roaden drove gloomily over to Leyburn Avenue. He dreaded having  to check up on the Enhams again. There was a whole family of them. Thomas, the father, was relatively sane, but there was his domineering wife Beck Enham; Hillary, their impossible daughter; their elder son Dag Enham, dock-worker who rarely came to the family home; and of course his younger brother, the  rat-eating Syd Enham. Hillary was absolutely terrifying, and DS Roaden prayed that she would be out.

He pressed the buzzer and a large, stern lady answered. "Beck Enham, junction spotter here," she said. "What do you want?"
"Junction spotter?"
"You've heard of a trainspotter, haven't you? See that pub over there - the Earl of Watford? Junction with Hope Street?"
"Yes."
"Well, I spotted that. I've got them all down in my notebook, you know. Want to see it?"
"Not at the moment, thanks. May I come in?"
"Why? Do you want some roast rat?"
"Ford international sales are up," said a voice from inside.
"Tom! Stop reading the Financial Times and come and talk to this policeman. I'm getting a headache."
"Am I really needed right now?" said Tom.
"You never cease to amaze. Hillary'll be back soon, and all you're interested in is the share prices!"
"But the stock market is going crazy!", said Tom. "Diamond mining is crashing - I'd have thought that would be the jewel least likely to fall!"

Just then Hillary appeared. Her clothes were rather revealing. Broad, way too heavily made up and extremely loud, she burst past DS Roaden and into the house.

"Mum!" she shouted. "You'll never guess where I've been - Loughborough!"
"Junctions round there interesting?" said Beck.
"Oh, don't be such a nerd, Mum. In my heart I'm a gipsy," Hillary proclaimed. "Next week I might be off to Denmark."
"Hillary!” said Tom. “ Who's taking you there then?"
"This utterly gorgeous bloke I met - Lewis. Hammered together we got. And he absolutely adores sex."

Roaden was embarrassed. "Excuse me madam, but do you realize that I’m a police officer?”
"Oh," said Hillary sarcastically. "Is my skirt too short? Land someone in trouble, you will. What are the cops doing here anyway?"
"I'm enquiring about the possible theft of a Dyson vacuum cleaner."
"Don't know nuffin' about that. There's one over there though."
"That's an Orwood."
"Junction spotting’s my only pleasure, Hillary,” said Beck.  “Don’t call me a nerd.”
"Shut up, Mum! Where did that vacuum cleaner come from anyway?"
"I dunno, I wasn't in. Tom?"
"Old Mr West from number 7 brought it round," said Tom. "We'd just collected the cleaner that you ordered, and then he came in with that third-rate model and tried to swap them over. Syd sent him packing."
"But I didn't order a vacuum cleaner, Tom."
"So who did then?"
"'Oo cares, Dad?”  yelled Hillary.  “’Ere, Lewis played  me this brilliant song. Have you heard of Ken Sington? No one matches Sington - north or south of here."
"Wasn't he on Eurovision, Hillary?"
"Maybe. No one touches Sington - south or north of here!"
"What about the guy who won Eurovision last year - Pete Woolwich?"
"Arse! Na-La-Na-La-Na is the best song ever written! Na-la-na-la-na, na-la-na-la-na, a-na-da-wa, a-na-da-wa, na-la-na-la-naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

DS Roaden couldn't take it any longer. His eardrums were swelling up.

"I'm very grateful. Well, I think I'll have to finish my enquiries there. I have an appointment at seven."
"Sister!" said Syd, who suddenly appeared. "The rat's on the table..."

Having realized that no one in the house had actually ordered the Dyson, Tom made a phone call.

"Hello, HG Transport, can I help you?"
"Yes. This is Thomas Enham of 23 Leyburn Avenue. I'd like to return a vacuum cleaner that was delivered to us in error."
"No problem - we'll pick it up from you in Southampton. Courtesy visit."
"But I don't live in Southampton."
"The only Leyburn Avenue on our system is in Southampton. Wicked piece of software it is as well."
"Sorry, but I'm in London - South Kensington."
"Olympia anywhere near you? We've got a delivery there tomorrow - if you take it over there we can pick it up."
"I don't want to go to Olympia! Apparently it was intended for a Mr George West."
"Sutton Coldfield, is that?"
"No, he's a neighbour of mine."
"So why don't you just take it along to him?"
"I don't want to go into that. I'm worried about what might happen."
"G.E. West?"
"That's him, yes."
"Oh, I’ve found the address now. We would have picked it up, but the van got stuck in some honey."
"I don't care if it got stuck in strawberry jam."
"Pardon?"
"I said I don't care if it got stuck in strawberry - Hillary! Go and put some clothes on."
"Perhaps we should end this call here, sir?"
"Don't worry, it's just my daughter. She's a bit of a rebel."
"Month's time is the earliest we can pick it up, sir."
"Well I suppose that'll have to do. Thanks."

He put the phone down and sipped some water. "Look, Hillary, you can't behave like this when you're at home. This isn't the place for rebelling."
"Hamster would be nice for dinner tomorrow," said Hillary. "I'm fed up with rat."

Tom despaired. She was too old for him to hit her.

"Greengrocers sell healthy fruit and vegetables, and you just want to eat rodents?"
"Well they're good enough for my cat."
"Ford Bridgend engine plant to lose 200 staff," read Tom. As so often, the newspaper was his only refuge.


Several thousand miles across the Atlantic, Ava was calling her new husband for dinner.

"Walt! Ham!"
Crossly, Walt replied, "But I was just going out to play golf."
"You were out on the south green for days last time."
"It's a fantastic green. Wichita is blessed with several."
"Can't you stay in for once? I've got something I want to show you." She pulled out an old photograph. "Do you see those names? Sudbury, Hill, Harrow."
"Well I recognize you on the left of course. Who are the other two?"
"In the middle is Gordon Hill, my first boyfriend when I was at college. And on the right is Margaret Harrow, who was my best friend at the time. We were heavily into student comedy."
"Comedy?"
"Yes, we had an act called ‘Sudbury and Harrow’. Roadtrips to venues all over England - it was loads of fun. But then Margaret ran off with Gordon."
"How did you take that?"
"With utter disgust. Margaret's betrayal was the last thing I expected. The thought of Margaret Harrow on the Hill sofa made me insanely jealous. So I left the act and eventually went to keep house for Richard instead."
"What happened to Margaret?"
"She teamed up with another friend of hers - Bridget Wealdstone. They started touring the pubs and clubs in London. Bridget found it hard to hack."
"Bridget doing better now, is she?"
"I'm not sure - I lost touch with them some time ago. Do you want the TV on while we have dinner?"
"Sure."

She switched on to hear the host saying:

"And now, all the way from England, the comedy double-act that's taking London by storm – Harrow and Wealdstone!"

Ava's jaw nearly hit the floor.


Back in England, Richard was thinking vaguely of Ava as he greeted DS Roaden at the door.

"Evening, Sergeant."
"Oh, call me Worth, please. I'm off duty now."
"You must be exhausted after dealing with Sid. Cup of tea? Or would you prefer coffee? We've got every brand bar Nescafé."
"Tea would be great, thanks. There's a brand I really used to love as a kid - Brooke Bond 'D'. Can you still get it?"
"I'm sure we can conjure that up without any magic wands, Worth. Town busy today, was it?"
"Absolutely packed. This urban steady crawl through the traffic really grinds me down sometimes. Sometimes I wish I could just take the boat along the Thames."
"Ditto, now that they've got the Clipper - the high-velocity Thames link."
"Oh, the police boats are much faster than that. The Clipper's like boating on the local pond."
"Er... send in some tea, please, Alex," said Richard, suddenly remembering. "Have we got Brooke Bond 'D'?"
"We might have," said Alex. "Brooke Bond what? I was going to try some of this new blend I bought from Thomas Westham - PS Tea."
"'D'."
"Thames links in London aren't too bad in my opinion," said Alex. "Although if you want to relax on the water, Looe - a stunning little place in Cornwall - can't be beaten. I went on holiday there once with John."
"You travelled south all the way from Chorley?"
"Oh, we were dreamers. Hammocks were all we had to sleep on. It's a lot busier nowadays, of course - everyone's down there for Project Eden. Parking's a nightmare."

Somehow, thought Richard, the conversation always gets round to parking, so he thought he'd better steer it away from that subject.

"Of course personally, I like fishing when I'm in Cornwall; the sea fishing gives me a change from the freshwater variety. I always seem to catch crayfish when I go fishing in lakes. I can be catching cray for days on end."
"As for me, in Cornwall, I like to go walking. Especially on Bodmin Moor. Gateaux, chocolate and Kendal Mint Cake are always in my snack bag, to give me energy for the climbs."
"Oh yes, getting energy from Kendal Mint Cake is nothing new. Crossing the Moor is certainly aided by this wonderful confectionery!
"Yes, I take loads of consumables with me. Plums, tea, dates, you name it!"


Meanwhile, at the HG Transport depot, Dudley had returned from the Millwall game.

"So did you get Ken to change his mind, then?" asked Tony.
"Not a whit, Tony. The van’s been returned to the depot now. Basically, unless we go straight back to the Enhams, pick the vacuum cleaner up and return it to Mr West, we're out of a job.” 
"Oh, not that street with that nutcase and that God-awful pub. Ick! Leyburn Avenue's the last place I want to go."
"I know, but what else can we do? At least the Enhams haven't got horns."
Eyeing Dudley quizzically, Tony was sceptical. "No, just little pointy tails."
"Ha-ha. Yes, I can't face it either."
"Dud, I've just remembered - Bob owes Parky a few quid. What if we offer to pay Parky off and get Bob to do the job instead?"
"Don’t let on that we know.  Just offer him the money direct.  It’s a good idea, but what if Ken finds out?"
"Ken? Thou seemest a little too worried, methinks. He's going to a conference in Worcester. Parky told me."
"Great detective work! Has Parky been watching the Maltese Falcon?"
Woodenly, Tony replied, "I don't think he likes Humphrey Bogart. Look - here's Bob now. Bob! Rent for December might get paid if you do us a favour."
"What's that then, Tone?" said Bob.
"Oh it's nothing really. Just taking a vacuum cleaner from 23 Leyburn Avenue to 7 Leyburn Avenue."
"That's not very far."
"Ring. Don't be put off by whoever answers the phone - just tell them when you're going to collect it. Come back here and you'll get a wad."
"Done!"

Just then, Don walked in the room, carrying a bale of hay. Don's road navigation skills had landed him a job with HG Transport, and his first delivery was to a racing stable. Tony didn’t want to start giving him ideas.

"Hello, I’m Tony.  You're new here, aren't you? What's your name?"
"Rick Mansworth," said Don, who as usual had joined under an alias.
"Well Rick, don’t think this job will make you rich. Monday to Friday you just earn a basic wage, though there’s some overtime at weekends.  Last Saturday we had to deliver a consignment of sorbitol to southwest London.”
"How much is sorbitol worth these days? Is it inexpensive, or can it only be afforded by kings, Tony?"
"Well, if you have kings crossing your palms with silver, that's great. But it's not really worth too much."
"So anyone, bar kings or queens, will be paying very little for the job?"
"Yes, we have to take whatever they give us."
"Tony – thanks for the advice.”

Meanwhile, Bob phoned the Enhams' number and was surprised to hear a young woman's voice.

"Hello?"
"Can I speak to Mr Enham please? I'm from HG Transport, and my name's Bob Aherne."
Hillary's mind was elsewhere, needless to say. "'Ere, you sound like that Ken Sington. Do you still support Tottenham 'Otspur? Parking job going all right?  Did you used to call yourself Nington, or Pington? I can never remember."
"No, I'm Bob Aherne, I’m a delivery driver, and I'm coming to pick up a vacuum cleaner. Can I speak to Mr Enham please?"
"My dad or my brother? My dad's out."
"Your brother then."
"He's out too."

Tingling with frustration, Bob tried again.

"Is there anyone else with you in the house?"
"There's me mum, I think. 'Ang on, I've just got a text from me uncle Mitch. 'Am junction spotting with your mum', it says. She'll be out all day then."

Bob sighed. She was clearly a loose cannon. Streetwise she certainly wasn't.

"Has a vacuum cleaner recently been delivered to the house?"
"Yeah, there's one 'ere," said Hillary, looking at the Orwood that Mr West had left.
"Is there a box with it?"
"Dunno. Oh, there's one over there that says 'Dyson'."
"Good. Can you put it in the box please and leave it for me? I'll come round and collect it in about an hour."
"Ooh, I dunno about that. I just cut me finger when I went for a swim. Bled on and on in the water, it did."
"Just put the cleaner in the box and I'll pick it up. That's all you have to do."
"All right. Do you know what Ken Sington used to call ‘imself?”
“No.”
“I’ll check it on me iPad. Dington, was it?"
"Got to rush. Bye."

Why, said Bob to himself, does she have to talk in riddles? Down to Leyburn Avenue and let's get it over with...

Jumping in the van, off Bob headed in the direction of Leyburn Avenue. However, approaching a junction a green Ford Escort pulled out in front of him, and they collided. It was quite a knock. Holt was the Escort-driver's name – he was well known in the area for his careless driving.

"Oi!" said Bob. "Don't you know what the 'Give Way' sign means? Cars halt on the dotted white lines until it's safe to pull out! Look what you've done to my van, you birk!"
Beckoning Bob towards him, Mr Holt said, "What did you just call me?"
“’Birk’ is actually a Scots word for a birch tree,” said Bob.  “But I can think of another four-letter word  if you like…”  Suddenly he noticed a nun heading towards them and thought better of it.  "Maybe not. You gave me a shock - end-on collisions are a bit serious. Would you object to giving me your name?"
"No - R.T. Holt. Park over there and we can discuss it."
"I'm sorry but I'm really pressed for time. Give me your phone number and we'll sort it out later."

It was the last thing Bob wanted, but he had to get to Leyburn Avenue fast. He was really meant to be at a job in Epping Forest.

Hillary answered the door, talking to her elder brother on the phone. "Look Dag, I don't care. Ken Sington is miles better than Pete Woolwich. Dockyard work getting to you, is it? Anyway I've got to talk to this delivery bloke. Bye."
"Hello," said Bob. "Is this number 23? I've come for the vacuum cleaner."
"Are you Bob Arnehurst?"
"Aherne."
"That's near enough. It's over there, between the toy elephant and ‘Castle in the Sky’ video.”
"Thanks. Can't stop."

He made his way the short distance down the street to number 7.

"Hello, I'm from HG Transport. Are you Mr West?"
"No, R. Wood. Mr West's away at the moment and I'm minding the house for him."
"Can you take delivery of this vacuum cleaner please? It went to the wrong address."
"How did that happen?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe they had 'Leywood' instead of 'Leyburn'."
"OK. Do you need a signature?"
"If you like. I'm not fussy."

On lanes leading back to the depot, Bob breathed a sigh of relief. At least nothing had gone wrong, or so he thought...


Back at Richard's house, the conversation had turned to current affairs.  The child abuse allegations against Sir Edward Heath were in the news, and Richard was giving Worth his opinions.

"I can’t abide this Heath row. Central to.all the news bulletins at the moment, yet nothing’s been proved.  What sort of effect do you think it’ll have on his reputation?"
“The Heath row?  Terminal. Four police forces were investigating him, the last I heard.  What was he like as Prime Minister?  I’m too young to remember him.  Where did he represent?”
"He was the MP for Old Bexley. Heath only served one term as PM and presided over two miners' strikes and rampant inflation. At the time the prospects looked black."
"Heath must have done some good, surely?"
"I don't think he had any magic wands, Worth. Common Market membership was his main achievement - he took us into what's now the European Union.  And look at all the arguments that’s caused."

Alex appeared from the kitchen. "May I present tonight's treat - ham! Common Market discussion will have to wait for another time."
"Excellent!" said Richard. "I really don't know what I'd do without you. Before you arrived the whole place was covered with slime."
"Housework never was your strong point, was it?"
"Not really. Sometimes I just wanted to burn or bury the whole lot of it."
"Well, tuck in now. What do you fancy eating tomorrow? I'd really like to have some fish - ling maybe. I can get some from a nice little fishmonger's in Highbury."
"And is ling tons better than ham? I've never tried it."
Worth raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like a supper war. Ling, ham - which is it to be?"
"I think we should try roast ibex. Leys provide ideal pasture for this Alpine animal, and the meat tastes great!"
"Now you're really thinking big!"
"Rays of sunshine on the leys so Alpine!" Richard was suddenly into a poetic trance. "Field of pearls, field of girls... and..."
"Er, steady, ol' chap!" said Alex, trying to snap Richard back to reality. But it was too late.
"Oh, ashen field, oh, field of wood! Man's tern-excitement is so good..."
"Tern-excitement? What's that?"
"Oh, sorry", said Richard, finally back down to earth. "It's a slang term for that adrenalin rush that birdwatchers get..."
"Anyway, back to dinner - what did we decide?"
"I know what I'd like to peck - ham! Rye bread goes so well with it too!"
“OK, you win.  Ham again tomorrow.
"I fancy going for a drink after dinner," said Worth. "Where you do recommend?"
"There's a great new bar - 'Nettles' in the High Street," said Alex.
"I'd rather go somewhere in the country."
"Then let's go to 'Ye Olde Whyte Leafe' - southwest of here, about twenty miles," said Richard. "It's got everything for both kids and adults - bouncy castle, bar, parkland views all around. Beautiful Victorian interior. You'll love it."

They finished their dinner and set out in the car. On the way, they passed a sign saying 'Potatoes 10p a lb.'
"Any parking spaces near here, Richard?" asked Alex. "That's really cheap."

Richard drove towards a small grove, parked the car and got out with the others. They walked past an old ruined abbey, woodland all around them. Worth was quite taken with the moment.

"Alex, I don't think I know your surname. Do you prefer the town or the country?"
"It's Coulsdon. Town life has become rather dull recently."

Richard did a double-take. He was sure he'd heard this conversation before, between Walt and Ava. He felt he had to speak up.

"Come on, Alex Coulsdon. South London has a lot to offer, don't you think?"
"Maybe. I'd still rather live somewhere more rural, like Northumberland. Parkin is eaten all over the north of England, but do you ever see it down here?"
"Don't think so. Let's get the potatoes."

They drove on to Ye Olde Whyte Leafe, but Richard was strangely silent. Was he about to lose another housekeeper?  His general mood began to stiffen. Church Street was just around the corner; that was where the pub was. His thinking was all askew. "Bridge!" he said, spotting the railway passing overhead. He felt the need to say something, but just wasn't in the mood for conversation.

"Isn't the scenery lovely in South London?" he continued. "This looks a bit Kentish. Towns aren't too far from lovely countryside, you know! Which do you prefer? London's greenery, or Liverpool's? Treetops are just as beautiful down here, you know!"

But Alex kept quiet. Had she had already made her mind up?

They reached the pub, but Richard was shaking so much, his arm wasn't adept for drinking. The weight of the situation began to overwhelm. "Er, send me a postcard from up north, won't you? Think of all these beautiful places like Epsom, down South."

Was Alex just teasing? Maybe, but sometimes, the lie rocks one's emotions in a big way...


Bob rushed back into the depot.

"Sorry I'm a bit late, Tone," he said. "I forgot we had to come in through the new south gate now. Mission accomplished."
"Brilliant! Did you phone the Enhams first?"
"Yes, I gave that bitch a ring. Cross as hell with her, I was."
"You spoke to a woman, Bob? Who was it?"
"No idea, Tone. She kept rabbiting on about how she'd gone for a swim, bled on, chased about trying to find out some singer's name and God knows what. Did my head in."
"But you picked up the cleaner OK? Did you take it along to Mr West?" ("Ruislip Gardens with this one!" shouted a voice in the background.)
"No, he wasn't in. I left it with some other bloke who was minding the house for him."

Tony started to get worried. Had Bob earned his rent money?

"What was his name, Bob? Rent..."
"Wood, I think."

That was all right. But who was this mysterious woman Bob had spoken to? There was only one way to find out.

"Excuse me for a minute. I've got to make a phone call." He phoned the Enhams' number.

"Hello?"
"I'm phoning from HG Transport. My name's Tony Tulse."
Hillary sighed. "Oh, not another delivery bloke. Do you want this other vacuum cleaner?"
"What other vacuum cleaner?"
"This one 'ere marked 'Dyson'."
"But..."

Tony broke off the call. He suddenly guessed what had happened.

"Dud, we've got to get down to Leyburn Avenue fast. No time to explain."
"What about my money?" asked Bob.
"Rock Leyburn Avenue to its foundations again, Tone?" said Dudley, sarcastically.
"If you like, Dud. Sorry Bob – I’ll sort it out later. Gotta dash!"

So off they headed, leaving Bob on his own. Dudley drove, with Tony beside him.
“We’ve not eaten for a while,” said Tony. “Fancy a mint imperial?”
“Wharf Road – that’s the one before Leyburn Avenue isn’t it? Er, yes, thanks; I’ll have the mint imperial. Just place it in my palm.”
“Er, S.Green – who’s that? Sorry, I’m just looking down our list of recent clients.”
“A Parson, I think. We delivered a new cross, gate-post, and a large grave stone.”
“Leigh Hatherslade?”
“Green-fingered gentleman, does some work for the Parson, if my memory serves me best.”
“Mary Crayston?”
“Ah, yes, we delivered to her a rare specimen of moth – a tussur. Bit on the side for Mr. Hatherslade, I seem to remember she was…”
“Oh, and what was the name of that candle-maker we delivered to? Always insisted on using the newest wick – Hamworth, was that his name? Can’t find him listed here…”
“No – Hamworth’s delivery was a chisel. Hurst was the candle man. Keen football supporter, I seem to remember. Supported Tottenham Hotspur.”
“Fleeting visit we made to him, with … oops – sorry, pull up. Minster Road was back there; we should’ve turned into Leyburn Avenue before it…”

At that moment, Mr West was walking up to his house. He was spotted by his next-door neighbour, Mr Elmstead.

"Wood's just left," said Mr Elmstead. "Did you have a good holiday, Mr West?"
"Croydon's hardly what I'd call a holiday, but yes thanks. I was recuperating there with my sister - I had a nasty shock recently."
"At least Croydon's not too far away - only a few miles south."
"Croydon's not a patch on South Ken, though.  Glad to be home." Mr West opened the door. "Oh look - my vacuum cleaner's finally arrived. What a relief!"

Just down the road, Tony and Dudley had nearly arrived at the Enhams' house.
"Thank God this is the last job today, Dud."
"It isn't, you know. After this we've got to deliver that winch."
"More?"

Hillary saw them coming and opened the door, in floods of tears.

"Are you that Tony Whatsit? That bastard Lewis has just phoned me. He's not taking me to Denmark - he's taking some girl called Rachel. Rachel's fielding a lot of flak at the moment."
"Er, yes, I am. Have you got the vacuum cleaner?"
"It's over there."
"Is there a box?"
"The other driver took it."
"We'll just have to take it without the box, Dud. Give me a hand."

They took it and sprinted down to number 7.

"At least Mr West never knew. Eltham's where we're going with the winch, is it?"

They pressed the buzzer. Mr West appeared.

"Hello, we're from HG Transport."
"I know you are. Why have you sent me this again?"
"We've got the Dyson here, Mr West."
"You can keep the bloody Dyson. I'm going to sue your company for every penny it's got."
"But..."

Suddenly Mr West collapsed on the floor.


Back at the pub, Richard had gained his composure, Alex had popped to the bar to order another round, and Worth picked up a newspaper that was lying by. The sports section particularly interested him.

“I see Celtic gave Rangers a pasting at the Ibrox. Bournemouth, on the other hand were beaten by Norwich.”
“That’s a shame,”said Richard. “I remember when they went up into the Premiership after that marvellous win over the Cottagers.”
“Who are the Cottagers?” asked Alex, returning from the bar.
“Fulham – so named because they play at Craven Cottage”.
“Ah, I see. Perhaps instead, they should have been called the Cravens…”
“Bournemouth,” continued Richard, not quite sure what to make of Alex’s strange comment, “are going from strength to strength. I’m going to see them play soon at Wembley. Central to their further success will be winning that match.”
“But”, said Worth, “it’s harder for them when they’re not playing at their home ground.”
“Yes,” said Richard, “but Dean Court’s pitch is less smooth than Wembley’s. Ta, Di!”
“Um, my name’s Diane, actually!” said the lady who delivered the drinks.
“Oh, sorry Diane,” said Richard. “Thank you anyway.”

Finishing with the sports section, Worth looked at the half-finished crossword. “Okay, four down: Village five miles west of Oxford.. E-blank-blank-blank-H-blank-M”. Any ideas?
“Ah yes,” said Richard. “In the third space, put ‘N’. Eynsham is the answer.”
“Thank you. Six across: French for ‘horses’?”
“That’s chevaux.”
“Hallelujah!” said Worth. “We may be able to finish this thing!”

“Can I help?” asked a stranger at the next table..  It was Fred Monton-Green, who’d just returned from honeymoon.   But they were too far gone to notice him.


Meanwhile, back at the Enhams' house, Beck had returned.

"Hi Mum!" said Hillary. "Where've you been?"
"In Clapham, junction spotting," said Beck. "It was brilliant. I rate Clapham high - street layouts there are really fascinating. Your uncle Mitch left after a while though and headed off to Essex."
"Oh yeah - I got another text from uncle Mitch. 'Am east, field spotting.' I wondered what he meant. Where are you going next time? Somewhere up north?"
"Dulwich."
"Is that out west?"
"Dulwich, I said."
"So you're going out east?"
"Dulwich! Look it up on a map. Honestly, your geography's atrocious. God knows how you'll ever get to Denmark."
"I'm not going. I got dumped. I think I'll go out with Ben Field. Chased him away before, but he's not that bad really."
"Personally I'd like to see Ben Field locked up, but it's your choice. What's happened to those two vacuum cleaners?"
"Oh, some bloke called Bob came and took one and then some other bloke called Tony took the other one. Glad to see the back of them. What's for dinner?"
"Oh, I forgot to say. We've got The Mother Superior from All Saints joining us tonight - Sister Mary Le Bone. We can’t let her know we eat rodents.  I’ve got a treat for her.”
"So what's this treat?"
"Ham."
Hillary was disgusted. "Ugh, Mum, how can you make anyone eat that? It comes from a pig!"
“It's already in the microwave. And she's bringing a couple of friars from the adjoining monastery.  They’ll only drink Earl Grey tea - flavoured with the best bergamot."  (Ting!)  "Ham's ready - judging by that noise from the microwave, anyway. Let's have a look. Oh no! It's burnt black!"
"Friars from the monastery?" said Hillary, seemingly unconcerned that dinner had been burnt to a cinder. "What are their names?"
"Er, Chalfont and Latimer. They used to be police constables, I think. Now, what am I going to do about this ham? It's really been charring."
"A yucky mess indeed. Let me cook instead. Now, where can I get hold of a red squirrel...?"


A few doors along the road, things were more serious.

"What are we going to do, Dud?"
"It's all right, he's still breathing. I'll phone for an ambulance. Meanwhile, swap those cleaners over. Hopefully he'll have forgotten all about this when he comes round. We haven't a moment to lose."

As Dudley was on the phone, Dr. Ayton parked his car outside Mr West's house and came to the door.

"Hello? I was just popping round to see if Mr West's all right - he's had a nasty turn recently."
"Oh thank God you're here, doctor," said Tony, who'd just finished repacking the Dyson. "Mr West's collapsed."
Dr. Ayton examined him. "I think it's heatstroke. Has he been out in the sun? Dr. Idge-Parker at the hospital will be able to deal with that."
"We don't know him, doctor. We're delivery men. My colleague's calling an ambulance."
"It's OK, I'll stay with him until the ambulance arrives. Thanks for doing that - you can go on your way now."

They took the Orwood and got back in the van.

"Dud, if we lose our jobs over this, who else can we work for? Elstree and Boreham?"
"Woody in accounts told me they've just shed a lot of staff. What about Hayes and Harling, Tone?"
"I don't think they're recruiting either. What about Barnes, Bridgeman and Crofton? Parky used to work there."
"Maybe, though it's a bit far south. Ruislip and Oakleigh? Parky used to work there as well."
"Or Morden, Southwell and Finsbury. Parky worked there once."
"Or another one down South - Bermondsey and Raynes. Parky's never worked there to my knowledge."
"Maybe that's because it's in Battersea. Parky hates that area."
"Could be. What about Petts, Wood and Southmer, Tone?"
"Possibly. I knew Malden and Hackney down Shoreditch way had a couple of vacancies recently."
"And then there's that one in St Pancras - international freight company. What are they called?"
"Queenstown Road Haulage, I think. Although I think I'd prefer working for Lord Voldemort."
"Laker and Westcombe - Parky worked there too. He's had a lot of different jobs, hasn't he?"
"I think it's because of his girlfriend – what’s her name, Honor Oak? Parky tends to go wherever she does. We could try Purley, Oaks and Charl..."
"Tone, I really don't want to think about this any more."
"Sorry, Dud. We've had a lot of fun in this job, though, haven't we? Remember the one with the shepherds - bushes all over the place?"
"Sure do, Tone. And the bloke who mended the queen's road - Peckham."
"Hamstow, Dud. His name was Hamstow."
"If you say so. Let's put the radio on."

A sombre voice came on. "Here are the news headlines with Paul Thornton. Heath involved in serious child abuse allegations..."

"Oh hell, not the Heath row. Terminal. Five police forces are involved now, they’re saying. Switch it off again, Dud."
"All right. Let's get this last delivery out of the way and go and await our fate."


Back at the pub, ‘Copacabana’ was playing in the background. Alex was just having an orange juice. But Worth and Richard were getting a little tipsy.
“Listen to that curious singing!” said Alex. “What’s the name of that guy?”
“Barry Manilow,” said Worth. “Quite an interesting voice, isn’t it?”
“I prefer something from my own generation,” said Alex. “I’m a ‘Take That’ fan. Gary’s good, Jason’s wonderful. And as for Robbie – my favourite by far!”
“Well nothing accounts for taste!” said Richard, quickly turning towards Alex, and carelessly knocking over the orange.
“One beer too many, It seems!” said Alex, mopping up the spillage.
“Er, that wasn’t just an ordinary beer,” said Richard. “It had sangria in!”
“Well, there’s no way I’m going to let you drive us home! We’ll have to get a taxi.”
Then a certain gentleman walked towards them. “May I drive you home?” asked Fred.

Once they’d managed to stagger to Fred’s car, off they went. Worth was definitely the worse for wear, and he snuggled up to Alex on the back seat.
“You know, Alex”, he said. “I never wanted to be a policeman anyway. Oh, no! I wanted to be…”
“A lumberjack?”
“No, a song-writer for musicals! Leonard Bernstein is my hero; I love ‘West Side Story’. Listen to me singing! ‘I like to be in A-me-ri-ca, okay by me in A-me-ri-ca…’”
Worth’s tunefulness was somewhat questionable…
“So,” interrupted Alex. “Can you actually write songs?”
“I can!” said Worth. “It’s easy! Just gotta make rhymes, really. For example. what rhymes with ‘mill’? ‘Hill’! Broadway, here I come! Skyscrapers boom in A-me-ri-ca, Cadillacs zoom in A-me-ri-ca…”
Alex, very wisely, asked no more questions.

“I’m a bit confused where we’re going,” said Fred. “Do we turn right here?”
“No, don’t go that way!” said Richard. “That’ll take us to Sutton!”
“Common mistake to make,” said Fred. “Sorry. “After all, no-one wants to go to Sut…”
“Tonight, tonight, won’t be just any night!” continued Worth in less-than-tuneful tones, which would make Bernstein turn in his grave.


Tony and Dudley arrived back at the depot, absolutely shattered.

"We're not going to get away with this, Dud. We're going to have to rebel. Vedere?"
"What, Tone?"
"It's Italian. It means 'see'. Do you see what I mean?"
"Not really, Tone."
"How much is Lehurst paid, do you think?"
"Who’s Lehurst?  Sounds like that comedian who used to be on ‘They Think It’s All Over’."
"Yeah, I meant him. Why can't we do his job?"
"Because we're not particularly funny, Tone."
"You should listen to my mates. You've met Eric, Rick, Lew. Oodles of them think we’re  really funny."
"After a few pints of Guinness, maybe. On the stage at Square World might be a different matter."

Just then, Ken Ewing popped his head round the door.

"Dudley? Tony? Can I have a word please?"
“Ken?  We thought you were in Worcester.”
“The conference was cancelled.  This won’t take long.”

They went in with extreme trepidation.

"I've just had a call from a Dr. Ayton, speaking on behalf of Mr George West, who's now in hospital recovering from heatstroke. He wants you to know that Mr West is happy with his new Dyson and passes on his thanks."
"Really, Ken?" said Tony.
"Yes. He says Mr West was a little confused at first because he couldn't remember which model had been delivered, but that's all been cleared up now."
"So we're keeping our jobs?" said Dudley.
"Of course. You may go now."

"Unbelievable, Dud!"
"I knew it all along, Tone. Come on, let's get down the pub."
"Not so fast - here's Bob. He'll still be wanting his money. What are we going to say?" whispered Tony to Dudley.  “We can’t pay him if he didn’t pick up the Dyson.”
"Don't worry, Tone. I'll handle this."

"Bob," said Dudley, "we'd like to offer you a little token of our esteem. We can't pay you in cash you understand, but would you accept a payment in kind? It's a rare item - I bought it recently from a good friend of mine."
"Of course, Dud," said Bob. "What is it?"
"We'd like to present you with one genuine Orwood vacuum cleaner. Never been used..."


Richard woke up the next morning with an appalling hangover. He had no idea what had happened the night before.

He wandered down into the kitchen. It was in a terrible mess, with remnants of ham all over the place - not like the tidy kitchen he'd been used to seeing recently. Alex was nowhere to be seen. Had it all been a dream?

He thought about Ava, now settled over in America with Walt. She'd told him about all the hours he spent out on the golf course, seemingly unconcerned about her. "Being a domestic servant is one thing when you're paid for it, quite another when you're just taken for granted," she'd said. But there was no chance of her coming back to England now.

He'd just resigned himself to cooking a portion of chips, when there was an unexpected knock at the door. Outside stood a rather striking young woman.

"Hi!” she said.  My name's Crystal, pal. A certain young lady told me you might be looking for a housekeeper..."