And We Fumbled As The Day Grew Dark

We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 31 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

This is another post where the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one is linked to the number 31.

It seems to be a tradition now that I also give you the answer.

OK, the quiz questions out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opener known as Part One.    

The troublesome recap has now settled into its new home. You can find the recap here!

Now read on...

The Zephyr parked up in a side street diagonally opposite the Red, White and Blue Club. Jones rolled his shoulders and peered through the windscreen at the gothic frontage of the Red, White and Blue Club. He leaned forwards and stroked his moustache.

The four detectives climbed out of the car and looked across the street at the club. The six constables joined them and were briefed by Jones. The detectives stood, hands in pockets as the constables moved off to take positions at the side and rear entrances to the club.

“Smithy? Is this how you remember this place?” Jones’s brow furrowed.

“Well, it looks a bit bigger than I remember.” Smithy admitted. “I think they must have spruced up the frontage since I was last here.”

“Didn’t there used to be a pub on one side and a bookstore on the other?” Jones pressed.

Smithy scratched his chin. “Can’t have been. We must be thinking about another place.”

Jones opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Gesturing to his companions, they set off towards the front of the club.

They paused at the huge impromptu shrine that ran the length of the entire frontage. The pavement was buried under flowers, candles in jars, teddy bears and various home-made soft toys that had been left in tribute to Horace Adkins.

They paused a short distance from the door. While his three companions crouched and examined the tributes, Jones looked up at the dark stone building with its various dark stone pillars, statues and gargoyles. Burnished gold letters proclaimed the building to be the Red, White and Blue Club and a large banner announced the club was celebrating the life of the great Horace Adkins with twice nightly shows.

“People have been so kind.” A female voice caused Jones to turn and come face to face with Violet Adkins.

“I’m sure they have.” Jones spoke carefully.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Inspector Jones” Violet extended her hand which the inspector shook. “Is this a social call?”

Jones looked at Violet Adkins, shook his head and pursed his lips. “No, I’m afraid it is official. I would like to have a chat with Dunker Phil.”

“Oh what has that scamp Phillip been up to now, Inspector?” Violet’s green eyes gleamed as she flashed her perfect teeth in a smile. “Come inside. Phillip should be around somewhere.”

Jones said nothing as Violet led the four detectives towards the entrance. Jones gestured for Johnson and Brown to wait outside.

As they crossed the marble floor of the foyer, The Baker, resplendent in a turquoise shell suit, appeared from behind a heavy, crimson velvet curtain next to the box office and traded glares with the inspector.

“Ah, Darrius. I wonder if you could do me a favour and bring some tea to the office?” Violet glanced towards the inspector. “And see if you can find Dunker and ask him to join us.”

The Baker exchanged glares with the inspector again before vanishing behind the curtain.

“Does the club own a black Oldsmobile?” Jones asked casually as they walked towards another velvet curtain at the back corner of the foyer.

“Yes, it does.” Violet replied. “It is a pool car really. Any employee can use it when it is not being used to for guests and clients.”

“Do you keep a log of who uses it?” Jones tried to ask as casually as he could muster.

“I’m afraid that I don’t know.” Violet paused at the curtain and pulled it back to reveal a dark wooden door with ‘Private’ marked on it in gold lettering. “My sister looks after this part of my father’s business.”

Violet opened the door and gestured for the inspector and Smithy to enter.

Sat at a large, highly polished mahogany table were Vera and Veronica Adkins.

Where Children Play Without Despair

We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 30 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

This is another post where the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one is linked to the number 30.

Not quite so difficult today given the clue, but in the spirit of infant cordial, I give you the answer.

OK, the quiz questions out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opener known as Part One.    

And having devoured the mantra, you will now find yourself looking down the road awaiting that troublesome recap. But wait! What has happened here? It’s gorn!

Well, not really, I have picked it up and placed it on a page of its own. If you feel the need to oil your important little places, feel free to find the recap here!

Now read on...

Jones stared at the block of ice as the chain saws slowly revealed the figure of Britannia. He watched the smiling faces of the dancers as they twirled and leapt on the pavement and on the street. He watched the glowing faces of the impromptu children’s choir as they belted out a rousing version of On Ilkla Moor Baht 'at.

Jones swore under his breath again.

Jones slowly opened the door of the car and went to the boot where he retrieved the previous Thursday’s copy of ‘The Sun’. Slamming the boot shut, he climbed back into his seat.

The occupants of the Zephyr watched in silence as two elderly men in white linen suits and broad brimmed fedora hats appeared from an office building. They were struggling with a waxwork of Oliver Cromwell dressed as Father Christmas. A couple of the children broke from the choir and helped position the waxwork by the piano. The elderly men rewarded the children with some Werther Original toffees.

“What do you make of that?” Jones shook his head slowly and passed the paper to Johnson.

“It’s on old newspaper, guv.” Johnson flicked idly to page 3.

Jones snatched the paper back and folded it to the entertainment section before thrusting it back to Johnson. “Read that.”

The girls had finished the ice sculpture. They had switched off their chainsaws and were standing back to admire their work. The various dancers, musicians and singers joined them and engaged in a round of exuberant hugging, back slapping and laughing. The crowd broke up and went on their way. In a few moments, all that was left behind was a waxwork of Oliver Cromwell looking disapprovingly at a haughty ice Britannia.

“Wow!” It was Brown who broke the silence in the back seat. “That is going to cause an absolute uproar. How on earth do they think they can get away with printing lies like that – and attributing them to the Prime Minister?”

Jones crossed his arms and stared straight ahead. There was a rustling of paper in the back.

“Hang on.” Johnson gave a laugh. “This is all a joke, right? This is one of those parodies. It’s full of daft stories about people I’ve never heard of. Is it Student RAG week or something, guv?”

Jones took a deep breath. “You’re the detectives, you tell me.”

The three detectives started to look for explanations for the article with the sat-nav occasionally interjecting to admonish Smithy over his driving, provide directions or to bring attention to various shoes on display in shop windows.

 Jones withdrew his mobile phone from his pocket and went through the address book. Hitting the dial button, he placed it to his ear.

“Evening Standard? Can I have your diary editor, please?” Jones hummed like an old fridge while hold music played in his ear. “Mike, you old dog, how are you doing? It’s Glynn Jones and I wonder if you can help me out. Were there any student RAG weeks or major charity events week commencing 11^th April?”

The arguments in the back seat continued as Jones made a series of grunts and nods.

“OK, so nothing big. Have you heard anything of anyone doing a large print runs of parody newspapers?”

The back seat fell quiet as the two detectives became aware of the inspector’s conversation.

“You’ve heard of nothing at all? Thanks, Mike.” Jones turned to the two detectives in the back seat and gave a huge grin. “Oh, it’s just one of those silly bets we have at the station. You know how it is. See you soon. Bye”

Jones hung up.

“Well lads, it seems you need to get your thinking caps on.”

The theories that sprung from his companions became more fanciful and ludicrous to the pensive Jones. He sat back in his seat and let them flow over him.

“You have now reached your destination.” The sat-nav interrupted, adding. “Classy place!”

I Got a Trapdoor Right Under His Bed

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We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 29 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

This is another post where the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one is linked to the number 29.

This is a toughie but with an answer well worth discovering – so to help you in the discovery, here is the actual answer.

OK, the quiz questions out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the appetiser known as Part One.    

And having devoured the mantra, you will now find yourself salivating at the troublesome recap. Still without any ideas on how to get this under control, I find myself shamed that on occasions the recap is actually longer than the accompanying episode.

The world has gone mad. Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. A view encouraged by the man from the State Security Services, but not by his colleagues. Jones is sticking by his view for now after an experiment with his wedding ring where the engraving mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was originally on the ring.

Jones has no recollection of any marriage, but he is finding being hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, rather enjoyable. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames, and the disappearance of a number of petty criminals.

Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist, has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius and Dunker Phil both work for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

Archie McRamie is a best-selling author credited with the book ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins. However, it appears that it is his wife and secretary, Elspeth Periwinkle that writes all his books.

Constable Rory Tiddles has found some interesting CCTV footage related to the abduction of Archie McRamie. It shows Dunker Phil climbing into Archie’s car at a filling station unchallenged. Jones and his squad are now on their way to the Red, White and Blue club to ask Dunker Phil a few questions.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. After reading an old newspaper that once wrapped a fish supper, Jones believes he now has the answer.

I hope that has made everything clear? Oh well, at least I tried.

Now read on...

Progress to the club was slow. This was due in part to the traffic, but mostly because Jones had Smithy stop at every fish and chip shop they passed. At the first one, Smithy pulled up, Jones leapt from the Zephyr and sprinted into the shop before returning empty handed to the car.

Johnson made a comment about feeling peckish and how a bag of chips would go down nicely. Jones turned and gave him a glare.

At the second and third stops, Jones came out of the shops with an armful of newspapers which he put into the boot of the Zephyr.

At the fourth, Jones practically danced back to the car waving a sheaf of newspapers above his head. Racing round to the back of the Zephyr, Jones put them in the boot.

With Jones seated back in the Zephyr, the small convoy moved off. Smithy, kept turning and staring at the inspector. Brown and Johnson leaned forwards in their seats, their eyes boring into the back of Jones’s neck.

“Eyes on the road, dearie!” the sat-nav exclaimed as Smithy narrowly missed a small flat bed van with a string quartet, dressed as Vikings, practicing on the back.

“I know how to drive you box of... err... box of wires!” Smithy snapped back at the box.

“Oooo, get you!” the sat-nav responded.

There was silence inside the Zephyr as it crawled towards the West End. A group of men dressed as chefs and carrying a huge block of ice on a litter appeared from a side street and carefully set it down in front of a grocery store. More men in stripy blazers and boaters appeared from the opposite direction and gathered around the chefs and the ice-block. The growing crowd spilled out into the road and caused the traffic from a crawl to a halt.

“What is with the newspapers, guv?” Smithy asked as he drummed his fingers on the wheel.

“Just something that doesn’t make any sense.” Jones stared out of the windscreen as a group of girls in lilac pinafore dresses and chain saws joined the crowd.

“Guv, we’re supposed to be team. You keep telling us that we work together to keep the streets of London safe for everyone, remember” Johnson whined from the back seat.

“Yeah!” Brown cut in. “You tell us that we are all in this together. All for one and one for all and all that stuff.”

“Look over there.” Jones pointed to the crowd who had been joined by the string quartet from the back of the van. “Don’t you find that odd?”

The four of them watched as a group of young boys wheeled an upright piano into position and the musicians started to play Yorkshire folk melodies. The chefs started to pick partners from the passersby and dance.

“They’re just letting off steam. A bit of harmless fun.” Smithy gave a shrug of his shoulders.

“A group obstructing the traffic and wielding lethal chain saws in a public place is a bit of fun?”

The young girls with the chain saws started to attack the huge block of ice. The tempo of the music and the pace of the dancing increased. A group of school children started to form up behind the piano into a choir.

“So you are all prepared to accept... accept...” Jones stabbed a finger towards the crowd carousing around the developing ice-sculpture as he attempted to find the right word. “Accept THAT, but find it odd that I want to collect a few old newspapers?”

“The newspapers thing is different, Guv.” Brown leaned over the front bench seat of the Zephyr. “You’re our Guv’ner. You going off on your own and keeping stuff secret from us just isn’t right, not normal. It’s like you don’t trust us.”

Jones swore under his breath.

I Hope They Don't Stop At My Door

We find ourselves gathered around the portal leading to part 28 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

As with most of the posts for this novel in my blog, the title is taken from a song lyric with some kind of associated picture to give you a clue. This one was going to be called “Dance ballerina girl, go go go!", but it got hijacked. This first title is linked to the number 28.

The actual title, ‘I hope they don't stop at my door’, cropped up when I was looking up an image. The title of the track is somewhere in the story and the artist is in the picture.

OK, the quiz questions out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the alien vibration known as Part One.    

And having escaped the mantra, With that out of the way, I shall fling you headlong into a recap that is getting out of all control. It would be great if somebody could come up with a better way to deal with this recap beast. It is getting quite unwieldy.

The world has gone mad. Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. A view encouraged by the man from the State Security Services, dressed in green lycra, he discovered in his kitchen. Later, when trying an experiment, the engraving on his wedding ring mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was originally on the ring.

Jones has no recollection of any marriage, but he is finding being hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, rather enjoyable. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames, and the disappearance of a number of petty criminals.

Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist, has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius and Dunker Phil both work for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

Archie McRamie is a best-selling author credited with the book ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins. However, it appears that it is his wife and secretary, Elspeth Periwinkle that writes all his books.

Constable Rory Tiddles has found some interesting CCTV footage related to the abduction of Archie McRamie. It shows Dunker Phil climbing into Archie’s car at a filling station unchallenged.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. After reading an old newspaper that once wrapped a fish supper, Jones believes he now has the answer.

I hope that has made everything clear? Oh well, at least I tried.

Now read on...

Back inside the station, Jones sought out Sergeant Collins. The sergeant was sat behind a pile of paper. When Jones approached, Collins put down his pen and stood up.

“So, was the chippy open?” Collins asked

“Fred opened up just for me.” Jones gave a grin. “Look, I need some uniform back-up in about half an hour. I’m going to pick up... errr... pick up a suspect.”

“Sure, I think I can manage that.” Collins paused and rubbed his chin slowly. “Glynn, we go back a long way. I remember you as a fresh-faced kid when you blew in from the valleys.”

Jones nodded.

“I’m worried about you, Glynn.” Collins spoke softly. “You seem to be trying to do everything yourself. You seem to have forgotten that to be a good copper you need trust and teamwork.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Jones waved his hands as he spoke. “It’s just... the whole world seems...”

The two men looked at each other as Jones grappled with his thoughts.

“It’s complicated.” Jones broke the sergeant’s gaze. “It’s like the world keeps changing around me. I need to be able to trust myself first.”

“You’ve been working too hard. Maybe you need a break.” Collins raised an eyebrow. “Not that you will take a break. But if you won’t do that, you need to find somebody to trust – and you know that I’ll be here if you need me.

Jones nodded. “Thanks.”

“Just remember what I said. You’re no good to anybody in a rubber room.” Collins pointed an accusing finger at the Inspector.

Jones gave a half-hearted laugh and then headed back to his desk.

After locking one of the two DVDs and one of the envelopes in his top drawer, Jones rang the Superintendant. It was answered by his receptionist who insisted that any appointment with the Superintendant was impossible before Tuesday. Jones scowled and told her to tell him that he wanted to update him on Vera Adkins meeting at Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Jones heard voices in the background before the receptionist returned to the line and informed the inspector he could have a brief audience at 4 o’clock that afternoon.

Jones carefully replaced the receiver and swore under his breath.

For the next 20 minutes, he busied himself typing up his notes.

“Right then!” Jones shouted and slapped his hands down on the desk. “Smithy, fire up the Zephyr! Brown, Johnson, you’re with us. We’re going visiting!”

The detectives trailed in Inspector Jones’s wake as he strode from the office. In the car park, the rendezvoused with six uniformed constables who clambered aboard a police camper van when they arrived. The driver asked Jones where they were heading. Jones only told them to follow the Zephyr.

When all of the detectives were in the Zephyr, Smithy started the engine.

“Where to, guv?” Smithy asked.

“Oh, yes, please tell us, sweetie. I do just love an outing” the sat-nav piped in.

Jones prodded the off switch on the sat-nav.

“Stop that! It tickles!” the sat-nav giggled and refused to switch off.

“We are going to the Red, White and Blue club.” Jones announced.

“Oh, super!” the sat-nav cut in. “A show, I do so love a good show.”

“The Red, White and Blue club? Horace Adkins’s Red, White and Blue club?” Smithy queried.

“Are we picking up The Baker, guv?”  Johnson asked from the back seat.

“Yes, Horace Adkins’s club.” Jones gave a sigh. “And, no, until we have all the test results, I want to keep my powder dry for The Baker.”

“Oh very droll.” The sat-nav interrupted. “Powder, dry, baker, get it? Ooo you are a tough audience. At the entrance to the car park, turn right.”

Jones kept pressing the off switch to no effect. “We are going to invite Dunker Phil to come in for a chat. It looks like he was the last person to see Archie McRamie before he vanished.”

In Everything I Do I Take Complete Control

This is to mark the arrival of part 27 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”. It is one of those strange synaptic tangents that make nonsense of maths. Maths tells us that 27 should be a particularly lucky number because it is 3 cubed (or 3 x 3 x 3). I’ll leave it up to you to work out the tangent. As I am older than my readership, the title and the picture are clues.

I should give a quick repeat of my mantra for you all. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the alien vibration known as Part One.    

With that out of the way, I shall fling you headlong into a recap that is getting out of all control. It would be great if somebody could come up with a better way to deal with this recap beast. It is getting quite unwieldy.

The world has gone mad. Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. A view encouraged by the man from the State Security Services dressed in green lycra he discovered in his kitchen. Later, when trying an experiment, the engraving on his wedding ring mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was originally on the ring.

Jones has no recollection of any marriage, but he is finding being hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, rather enjoyable. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames, and the disappearance of a number of petty criminals.

Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist, has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius and Dunker Phil both work for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

Archie McRamie is a best-selling author credited with the book ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins. However, it appears that it is his wife and secretary, Elspeth Periwinkle that writes all his books.

Constable Rory Tiddles has found some interesting CCTV footage related to the abduction of Archie McRamie. It shows Dunker Phil climbing into Archie’s car at a filling station unchallenged.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. After reading an old newspaper that once wrapped a fish supper, Jones believes he now has the answer.

I hope that has made everything clear? Oh well, at least I tried.

Now read on...

Jones hammered on the door frame of the fish and chip shop with the flat of his hand. After several minutes, a man appeared from the back of the shop. He peered through the glass between a poster for the Light Entertainment Championships and another for a Morris Dancing Extravaganza before gesturing with a finger towards the ‘Closed’ sign. He turned his back on the Inspector and started to saunter towards the back of the shop again. Jones started to hammer against the door frame with an increased tempo.

The man turned and Jones pressed his warrant card against the glass. The man gave a visible sigh, turned and unlocked the door.

“Thank you” Jones sidestepped around the bulk of the man and entered the shop. “Are you Fred?”

Fred nodded.

“I would like to look through your wrapping paper.” Jones smiled at the chip shop owner.

“My wrapping paper?” Fred observed Jones through half closed eyes. “What on earth..”

“Look, I can’t explain, I just need to go through the newspapers you use for wrapping the chips.” Jones gave another smile.

“Are you sure you’re a copper?” Fred crossed his arms across his ample chest.

Jones produced his warrant card again. Fred took it and examined it closely and shrugged. He closed the wallet and handed it back to Jones before leading him to a pile of old newspapers on the floor in the back room.

Jones fell to his knees and started to go through the pile.

“So what are you looking for?” Fred asked.

Jones sat back on his heels and stared at the wall. He ran a forefinger over his moustache.

“Copies of last week’s papers. Especially last Thursday’s copy of ‘The Sun’.” Jones remained motionless, staring at the wall.

“Old newspapers?” Fred wiped his hands on his vest. “Wouldn’t you be better off going to the library or something?”

Jones said nothing. He started taking papers off the pile and sorting them into two piles. Fred watched him.

There were two piles when Jones finished going through the pile. The much larger pile he pushed back to where the original pile had been. He examined the smaller pile. There were a number of last week’s papers, but no copies of ‘The Sun.’

“Where do you get your wrapping paper?” Jones asked Fred.

“They’re just old newspapers. Ted, the newsagent over the road brings them over and I give him a fish supper on the house.” Fred gave a shrug. “There’s no law against it is there?”

“Not that I know of. Do you mind if I take these?” Jones stood up, tucking the small pile under his arm.

“Knock yourself out.” Fred gave a shrug. “Is that it?”

Jones nodded and thanked Fred who showed him out, locking the door behind him.

The traffic in the street was in gridlock. A troupe of contemporary dancers dressed in lurid spandex with white face masks and bowler hats danced in and out of the vehicles. A jazz quartet walked slowly along the opposite pavement providing accompaniment. Young women dressed as Jane Austen heroines handed out flyers to passersby.

One of the dancers approached Jones and made to grab a newspaper from under the Inspector’s arm. Jones jumped back and made a fist with his free hand. The dancer laughed loudly and leapt back to join his companions in the road.

Jones watched him until he vanished behind a llama drawn brewery dray before heading back to the station.

Avoiding the main entrance, Jones entered the car park. The Datsun Cherry chirruped as he approached. Jones opened the boot and placed the newspapers inside. He then opened the passenger door and carefully placed one of the envelopes in the glove compartment.

The Datsun gave a questioning chirrup.

“It’s OK.” Jones patted the steering wheel. “Just some stuff that I want to keep safe. Look after it for me, won’t you, girl?”

The Datsun gave another Chirrup and then a conspiratory beep of the horn. Jones smiled, got out of the car and made sure it was locked.

You Gotta Wait a Minute, Wait a Minute

Yes, that really is a picture of a fish pedicure. I think the way they use their little fins to apply the nail varnish is nothing short of miraculous.

Nothing came to mind when I tried to find a connection to the number 26. As a result, I entered ‘26’ into Google and found this worthwhile site. This is to mark the arrival of part 26 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

Somewhere in this episode, 20 000 words pass by your eyes – well that is if you have remembered my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opening salvo known as    Part One .

For those of you who feel they need it, I shall attempt a recap. The snag with this is that the recap has now got larger than the individual episodes and so much has happened, rather like varnishing a very large floor in the dark, I’m bound to have missed a bit.

The world has gone mad, but Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. After finding the man from the State Security Services in his kitchen dressed in a green lycra body suit, he tried an experiment with the engraving on his wedding ring and discovered that it mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was on the ring.

Although he had no recollection of any marriage, he found himself hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, in an arrangement he is enjoying. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, and a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames.

Since the case started, Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius works for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

It turns out that the missing author, Archie McRamie did not write ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins.

Constable Rory Tiddles has found some interesting CCTV footage related to the abduction of Archie McRamie. It shows Dunker Phil climbing into Archie’s car at a filling station unchallenged.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil, another of Adkins employees, were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. After reading an old newspaper that once wrapped a fish supper, Jones believes he now has the answer.

I hope that has made everything clear? Oh well, at least I tried.

Now read on...

Inspector Jones picked up the grease stained sheet of newspaper and studied it. Constable Tiddles watched him, his eyes opened as wide as his mouth. Jones caressed his ginger moustache with his forefinger, his head on one side.

“Where did you get your fish supper?” Jones asked the constable.

“I went to Fred’s Fry Fayre” Tiddles responded. “Not the best fish and chips, but it is just down the street and it stays open late. The fish at...”

Jones cut off his attempt at culinary critique with a wave of his hand. “Get me those copies of the CCTV footage and then go home and get some rest. And don’t tell anybody about this newspaper piece, you understand?”

“Yes, guv. But...” Tiddles started to protest, but Jones had already left the office.

Jones rushed to the nearest photocopier and made a copy of the article. As soon as the copy dropped into the output tray, he picked it up and compared it closely to the original. Satisfied that it matched, he made additional copies.

Picking up the pile of photocopies, he paused and looked around. Sergeant Collins was stood behind him watching him. Jones ignored him and grabbed an envelope from a pile on a nearby desk. He scribbled down his own address on the front, neatly folded one of the copies into it before sealing the envelope and dropping it into the post tray.

Jones picked up another envelope and repeated the process. This one he left on the desk as he rifled through his wallet before swearing under his breath.

“Have you got a stamp?” Jones asked Collins

“Just leave it in the tray, it will get franked.” Collins advised in a slow, measured tone. “Are you OK, Jonesey?”

“Of course, I’m OK. I just need a stamp.” Jones turned and glared at the sergeant. “Are you able to help me or not?”

The sergeant produced his own wallet and withdrew a book of stamps. He took out a single stamp and handed it to Jones. Jones thanked the sergeant and stuck the stamp to the envelope and put the envelope in his pocket.

Jones worked down the pile of envelopes and photocopies. Some he sent to himself in the internal mail. A couple of the copies he put in blank envelopes which he stuffed in his pockets. One he gave to the sergeant with strict instructions that it was to remain unopened in the station safe.

Finally, Jones took an evidence bag from his pocket, folded the page of newspaper so the article couldn’t be seen and sealed it in the bag. Collins watched him intently.

“Are you sure you are OK?” Collins fingered the envelope in his hand nervously.

“I’m fine!” Jones snapped as he strode away. “And if anybody needs me, tell them I’ve gone to the chippy.”

“It won’t be open!” Collins shouted to the Inspector’s back as he strode to towards the exit.

Jones ignored him and rushed out into the street.

A woman in a yellow pinafore dress blocked the pavement with a large pram, while she rifled through a large wicker basket. Jones stepped into the road to get round her and a llama carriage missed him by inches. The driver shouted at Jones to take more care in a colourful Anglo-Saxon. Jones continued to rush down the street, dodging fellow pedestrians as he headed for the red post-box on the corner.

As he approached the post-box, Jones stepped into the entrance to an alley between a newsagents and a wool shop. He pretended to tie his shoe laces before palming the stamped, self-addressed envelope. He straightened, took a deep breath, and then strode over to the post box. As he passed the box, his hand flashed out and deposited the letter in the slot without him breaking stride.

Smiling, Jones darted across the street, zig-zagging between the various cars, buses and llama carts to reach Fred’s Fry Fayre.

It was closed.