Thursday, July 29, 2010

Hope To Chain This Memory

Life has far too many distractions. Things that lure you away from what good boys and girls do with their time. Well, I have found another one of those distractions, Fallen London. A well thought out and deceptively simple on-line game based around Twitter, this has really got me hooked. If you take time to explore it, you will discover why. It has the same kind of strange sense of humour and imagination to which I would aspire. The really good news is that you are limited to 70 moves a day, which means it doesn’t lure you too far away from the good boys and girls.

For those of you who want to stick close to the stereotypical good boy, Glynn Jones, here is part 48 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”.

There is another quiz question associated with the part number. Another one where I’d never heard of the artists or the song, still, it’s a doddle if you know the answer.

OK, the quiz question 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...
Jones hated liver. Well, Jones hated liver cooked the English way, fried until a pale grey and then casseroled until it made a passable shoe leather substitute. It was fine flash fried, with a touch of garlic, but Pippa’s version came served with lumpy gravy and stringy onions, accompanied by pale green cabbage and runny mashed potatoes.
Jones had his left elbow on the table with his head resting on his hand as he prodded a piece of liver around the plate.  Pippa kept talking about people he didn’t know and how they were going to break the story about Horace Adkins working for the Government.
“What was that?” Jones looks away from the liver with a start as something Pippa said penetrated the fog.
“You weren’t listening to a word I was saying were you?” Pippa looked at him and smiled. “I said I wouldn’t be surprised if Simon Cowell had to resign as PM over this.”
“Really?” Jones narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“Oh yes, he’s losing all his popular support with his refusal to give poor Horace Adkins a State Funeral  and this, combined with some of the statements he has made over the need for the highest integrity in office could well be his downfall.”
“So what would happen then?” Jones
Pippa gave a shrug. “They’d probably be a leadership contest. Until then, I guess the Deputy PM would be in charge.”
“So, they would put old Brucie in charge?” Jones shook his head. “He must be eighty if he’s a day!”
“He’s eighty-two, but it would only be temporary.” Pippa took a mouthful of liver without flinching. “They’ll run the leadership contest quickly. There will probably be only one candidate, Sir Terence Cauldron.”
“What!” Jones spluttered, and then regained his composure to add. “No proper contest?”
Pippa looked at him for a moment. “Why do I get the feeling there is something you are not telling me?”
Jones gave up his chasing of the liver and looked at his wife. Pippa fixed him with a seductive stare. “You know that I have ways of getting you to tell everything.”
Jones laughed it off and left the table.
After clearing up dinner, Jones went to his study and started searching through the drawers of his desk. After a couple of minutes, he became aware of Pippa stood in the doorway.
“What are you looking for?”  She asked.
“I’m missing a folder from work. I wondered if I brought it home by mistake.” Jones answered without looking up.
Jones opened a draw and was confronted with several thick folders. He pulled them out of the drawer and dropped them on the desk.

“The Maryfield case.” Jones sat back in his chair and looked at the pile of folders. “There must be months of work here. Why on earth can’t we remember it?”

“You are a one, Glynn Jones.” Pippa rolled her eyes as she spoke. “It was what caused us to first meet, remember?”

Jones could remember. Pippa Hucknell had been working for a local paper. She was already at Maryfields when Jones had arrived with Smithy and Watson. Jones remembered the way her blonde hair seemed to glow in the damp morning gloom. Jones could remember being totally distracted by her legs. Jones remembered the way she glided towards him, held out her hand and caused him to gibber a greeting like a lovelorn teenager.

“I don’t think I’d ever forget that.” Jones turned and smiled at Pippa. “It is just for the life of me, I cannot remember what the Maryfields case was all about.”

Pippa looked at Jones and stroked a long finger over her lips. “You know what, darling? Neither can I!”

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