Fergie on the war-path, if we didn’t come through with the goods we’d be GORNE!

Dear reader, we continue where we left off, things are getting outta control as Dyse and his royal retinue tighten the noose on the pcbycp team.

“ACCOMMODATION’, Ces fumed, ‘you call it accomodation’?

‘It’s all you deserve’, Dyse quipped, ‘unless…. Unless you give the duchess what she came here for”. 

‘Human rights’? Ces wryly replied? 

Fergie stepped forward, popping an ecstasy pill as she smashed her empty glass to smithereens  on the knockberry that hung menacingly from the stuffed Rhinoceros on the wall. ’No, that’s immaterial, its my McDonalds vouchers, the Bolle and……… the MAN’. 

The catch, had to find a years supply of Macca’s in a hurry. Fergie has expensive tastes

“WHERE is MY MAN”?

Fergie selflessly works in helping sexual deviants re-integrate back into society after chokey.

At this we all trembled, ‘The Man”?, Ces was about to equivocate: “Well yer Duchess it’s like this see’, and seeing Dyse nod to Fergie, we knew pending a miracle we were stuffed. Even the fixer looked flummoxed. “Well your ladyship, it’s like this see’, 

“Where’s MY MAN?”,  Ces just tried to keep stalling, hoping for a miracle, cos Dyse was as they say in South Africa, “hovering like a vulture’.  Ces continued his doomed strategy; “Well…it’s like this see, your royal Duchess,  Craig reckons he’s in a fix, but we have got someone who’ll fit the bill’.

The Prince prefers Pizza Express, reason why the marriage failed.

We knew Ces was stalling for time, we’d got closer to the Prince Andrew Dyson Heydon network, and knew that in a heartbeat, we’d stepped from the  tiara and into the tower, (nice pun that) . In a word we were in ‘deep shit’, and unless Ces pulled the royal protocol out of the proceedings we’d be right royally rooted. I pointed to the clock on the wall, it was a minute to midnight. We were doomed, well almost, 

Just then, the  Poodle, (the former Armaments Minister, now  highly paid arms dealer lobbyist) squealed in delight, ‘OOOHH I just got a text from SKANKY SHANKS’.  He’s heard there’s a rumpus and he’s dying to COME OVER and join in the FUN”!

The Poodle was salivating with glee; “WE can’t send them down yet, this is just too too much delicious fun’!… 

“Who the eff is Skanky Shanks’? ejaculated Ces, 

‘Ohhhh, you’ll find out’, 

‘The coupons  and my Man’? The Duchess remained undaunted. 

Fergie at it again, accepting bribes as Royal ambassador to Macca’s

‘Ohhh your Highness he’s coming’, and then the Poodle emoted, “Patience’ my Duchess’. 

What will happen in the next tabloidesque episode? What spine chilling catastrophe may eventuate in this page turning sage of royal intrigue? Will Fergie get her half million Macdonalds vouchers the bottle of Bolly and a night out with the man of her dreams in a right royal trade-off to protect the  reputation of the house of Windsor?  What Union bastardry lurks beneath? What of the ongoing saga of Prince Andrew and all who follow his royal retinue?  And who “the Ghislaine” is “Skanky Shanks”? 

Stay tuned for our next episode, 

‘A Tiara in the Tower,’ or ‘Wish me luck a you waiver my good guy’….

“Compelling”, (the Guardian) 

 “It cuts to the bone”, (the Times literary supplement)  

‘Where there’s meat there’s gristle’, (The Butchers Chronicle) .