untipped woodbine at sixpence for twenty, however, suddenly the postman appeared, bringing an enormous package addressed to Plod. Upon opening he blushed deeply and tried to prevent Gladys from seeing the extruded polyethylene.
"Is that a new truncheon, or are you just pleased to see me?" said Gladys, slipping her burka off and peeling open a grape. Plod hesitated, he had heard that tone from Gladys before and he knew that it meant one thing, she'd soon go into a housecleaning frenzy, turning everything upside down and leaving him without his adult magazines or, God forbid, his favourite jar of peanut butter. Why had he not listened to his old Latin teacher who had told him that in situations like this it was always best to do as Caesar did, id est adsum iam forte washed down with a large mug of tea, presumably.
However, thinking like lightning and desperate to avoid housework, he announced to Gladys he was going to treat her to a slap up meal at Leicester Forest East services but Gladys took her battered copy of Tatler Restaurant Guide 2015 from her handbag and said "to hell with that, I fancy some experimental cuisine, you can take me to Fera in Mayfair, Tatler says they do a houching Cornish lobster with dittander and for afters I'd like a jolly good stiff chota peg and a couple of hours with those two volumes of Proust and a plate of madeleines in the twilight of the car park. However, Plod had other ideas, throwing open his portmanteau he revealed his secret weapon, a 14 inch piece of twine, to be used when the bloody car wouldn't start and he'd lost the address of the Baroness who had invited him up for a "cocktail".
"I'll bring the tail", she winked, it was something in her eye, damn those 50p contact lenses, packet of 10 with every 20 litres of super go faster unleaded, she should have gone for the Thermos flask and USB hairbrush ice-scraper; anyway it was getting late and she couldn't shake the words of the 3 amigos: "whatever happens". Not so fast said Plod, tossing his package on the bonnet of the Quattro, I wondered why this rucksack was curiously heavy, that cloven footed creature has taken residence in it, complete with kitchen, satellite dish and 58 inch telly. Turning it upside down, out dropped the missing velvet pouch containing the pair of Night vision goggles that Plod had mislaid in the bushes whilst looking for his night vision goggles and yet he hesitated, unable to fulfil his promise to demonstrate his oscillating vacillations, would he, could he; if only he hadn't bought that crocodile; he resolved to ask Gladys that very night if she would return from Basingstoke where she had been exercising her willpower to convince the ho that they really needed to visit Bernadette Bernadotte of Bern instead of the regular annual allotment holders bus trip around the turnpike, where there were a lot of lunatics, crazy lunatics who didn't like the shape of things to come.
"Now look here", the ho glowered at Gladys and Plod, "this thing keeps falling off the edge, could I please ask you to pay more attention"? Plod, red in face, looked at the moon and howled. It was a howl that Gladys had heard before, at the dwarf tossing contest.
It had been raining that night just as they got to Soho, looking for the place called the height of depravity by the vicar of Wolverhampton in his annual sermon on the night of Halloween calling all to repent and to...
(to be continued)
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