The synaptic tangents to get today’s title are amazing! I wonder if anyone knows why that title sprung up without the aid of Google? The picture is a clue.
I’m sorry that I have delayed bringing you “A Couple of Tenors Short” with part twenty, but I have rather been caught up in the aftermath of our General Election. With no single party having a majority, there are a lot of negotiations going on to decide the shape of our future government.
Here we are several days after the election without a clear view of what is going to happen. It would be easy for me to allow myself to be caught up in the excitement of it all, but in the end, it seems better to get back to my writing secure in the knowledge that we will be going all of this again next year!
If you want to start this serial from the beginning you will have to make do with the original Part One, the updated version will be posted when I am sure that it matches up with my ideas for the plot.
Should you be rejoining the story, or do not have the inclination to read the previous parts, allow me to recap.
Inspector Glynn Jones thought he was going mad, but after finding the man from the State Security Services in his kitchen dressed in a green lycra body suit, he is not so sure. 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 has found himself married to Pippa Hucknell, he appears content with the arrangement, even though the world around him continues to confuse. 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.
After finding a copy of ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’ by Archie McRamie in which the main character appears to be Horace Adkins, he decides to pay the author a visit only to find that both he and Smithy had been there before but cannot remember anything about it. Not only does he discover the McRamie abduction, but that all records relating to the case have vanished.
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. The State Security man has also suggested that he does not believe the book is the cause of the defamation case.
Now read on...
Jones kept his eyes closed and waited. He sat still, frightened to make any sound and listened to the silence in the kitchen. He listened for the noise that indicated that Pippa was still in the room.
After what seemed an age, he heard the sound of Pippa’s heels clicking slowly closer across the tiled kitchen floor. They stopped next to him. He felt her arms wrap around him. He smelt her perfume mingled with a hint of white wine and cigar smoke, he could feel her breath on his neck and hear her soft breathing, but still he kept his eyes closed.
“You, Glynn Jones,” Pippa whispered in his ear, “are an incurable romantic.”
Pippa licked his ear softly. She traced light kisses across his neck, his chin, his lips, before lowering herself onto his lap. Jones opened his eyes to see Pippa smiling broadly. He found himself kissing her deeply, pulling her closer, his hands roaming her back.
Pippa broke the kiss.
“I love you.” Pippa purred and kissed Jones lightly on the nose.
“Do you know something really odd?” Jones stared at Pippa, kissed her on the nose and squeezed her gently. “I think I love you too.”
“You!” Pippa laughed and gave Jones a playful slap on the arm. “Now finish dinner, I’m starving!”
The next morning, Jones let Pippa choose his outfit. It felt odd to be going to work without a tie, the turquoise dress shirt was a touch scratchy, the pale blue corduroy trousers a little tight and the pale green leather flying jacket heavy. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter.
They ate an early breakfast and left the house together, pausing to exchange a long kiss on the doorstep before heading to their respective cars. The Datsun gave a chirrup as Jones approached then a ‘preep’ as Jones turned away and went back to Pippa and kissed her again.
When Jones returned, the Datsun gave a series of loud chirrups and threw open the driver’s door to welcome him.
As soon as they were on the move, Jones started to whistle something that might have been a tuneless medley of nursery rhymes. At one point, he pulled over to watch a group of middle aged ladies dressed as Cleopatra, complete an ice sculpture of J.M. Barrie with chain saws. A group of schoolchildren in frock coats watched for a while before breaking into a Morris dance.
“Proop?” Went the Datsun when Jones didn’t swear after being cut up by a group of unicyclists in lurid blazers and bowler hats.
“What?” Jones looked the Datsun square in the speedometer. “It’s a beautiful day, why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?”
“Preep proop preep?” went the Datsun.
“Guilt?” Jones paused and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I have nothing to be guilty about.”
The lights turned green. Jones, gunned the engine and overtook a bakers cart and a couple on tandem.
“I don’t want to hurt her. She loves me.” Jones swore under his breath. “Why the hell am I explaining myself to a pile of nuts and bolts?”
The Dtasun considered this for a moment then gave a quiet “proop!”
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