Blott

Bridge over troubled waters

43 posts in this topic

Having been forced to invited to take early retirement from mystery, intrigue and darring do Blott and Grob had sometime ago relaxed into the domestic life of the landed gentry. Managing their separate estates Grob Towers and Blott Manor life had been kind, if at times somewhat less exciting than before.

By pure chance Grob happened to walk into his study at the exact same moment Blott heard the distinctive sounds of the telex machine rattling into life in his office room. Although this came as a shock to Blott, the machine had sat silent for many months, it came as an even greater shock to Grob who had systematically been robbing his machine of parts for various inventions.

 The telex machines finished printing their new messages as Blott and Grob ripped off the pages and read as follows.

 TOP SECRET – EYES ONLY

 Att - Blott & Grob 

 Come in from the cold stop

Previous sins forgiven stop

Meet soonest for debrief stop

Previous contractor code name - fish gone belly up stop

Boris the Bridge stop

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4 hours ago, rowlf said:

Welcome back, Blott. It truly is damned cold out there.

Thanks Rowlf, more to come soon :58674be5c2392_EmojiSmiley-13:

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Gad! Exclaimed Grob, after his first reading, is this message in some sort of code or does this really mean Boris the Bridge needs shoring up?

"Come in from the cold," damnably simply to interpret, well it was snowy outside. Then, "previous sins forgiven."  Grob mused on those sins, recalling with a grin that, even after disbursements to an Admiral, a Norse Jarl based on a northern island, a chap with property on the Iberian peninsula, another across the pond with ducks and a red tractor, not forgetting a Supreme Leader,  (with expensive fashion tastes,) he and Blott had salted away significant sums.  At first, "meet soonest for a debrief," caused him a few problems as his mind inexorably was drawn to his time with the 113th/431st Regiment on the sub continent as he recalled the debagging of Junior Officers in the Mess.  Eventually understanding forced its way into his consciousness as he realised a meeting was being proposed.   Scenting profit he grabbed a small brown pencil emblazoned with the name of a Swedish furniture company, and after scribing a note with several suggestions on a small piece of paper he, "rushed," as quickly  as possible to the communications room high atop Grob Towers.

(Newer readers are referred to Grob's profile. After reading the profile they will understand why rushed is shown in inverted commas.)

Once in the communications room he despatched an emergency message bearing pigeon to Blott Manor. Watching the pigeon soaring skywards, his face darkened and muttering to himself dozy old sod, and other various oaths, he selected a second pigeon and this time placed the message in a small canister, attached the canister to the pigeon and again despatched a bird.

 

 

Edited by Grob
addition of detail

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Blott stood on the high battlements of Blott Manor trying once more to realign the reception device for the goggle box in the corner of the telly room, Lady Blott had made some mention of a program she wanted to watch featuring a chap called Tom something or other, Hardacre or Hardclasper or was it Hardy, either way the good lady Blott had been quite insistent the goggle box was working a receiving clear signals!!

Whilst making final adjustments, in between occasional shouts down of 'is that any better', Blott noticed a speck in the distance closing at some rate of knots. Blott soon made out a carrier pigeon of the Towers Flight. As the bird came in to land Blott checked for a message carrying canister about the pigeon's person, 'Strange' mused Blott, 'Grob sending a bird without a message'. No sooner had the thought been than another pigeon from the Towers Flight arrived, this time with a canister and message. Blott grinned, good old Grob having a senior moment no doubt.

Retrieving the message Blott read the following,

Comms Room

Grob Towers

Blott Gad'Sir,

Taking it as read you received the same message as I, advise caution before proceeding further, as yet Boris the Bridge identity unknown, have sent out word to 'our' people, awaiting confirmation of identity, Code name Fish perhaps linked to 80's prog-rock group Marillion, will meet at sundown 5 lane ends, usual callsign 5 hoots of the screech owl followed by 2 groans of the rutting stag, arrive prepared for immediate dust off in the Lightning, regards old chap, Grob.

Blott re-read the missive and wandered to the gunroom at Blott Manor. 'Ah once more unto the breach, dear friends' thought Blott. 'Our country is in need and the 'old gang' will answer'. Blott selected his trusty service revolver, deer stalker and Gabardine, stopping only to say his goodbyes to Lady Blott and the Blottlets (Lady Blott was deeply immersed in her program, young Hardy was cavorting across the screen in a state of partial undress) Blott exited via the tradesmen's door at the rear of Blott Manor and was soon lost to sight in the gloom of a January day.

Blott took up position out of sight near the infamous 5 lane ends. To this day a gibbet swings lazily in the wind, a macabre reminder of the fate of ne'er-do-wells from times past. Some moments later the distinctive call of the screech owl rang out 5 times, Blott answered with 2 blood curdling groans of the rutting stag. All remained quiet for many minutes, the darkness of the winter evening was approaching as a shadowy figure appeared below the swinging gibbet.

Blott broke cover and walked across the road towards the shadowy figure. 'Gorb old chap, good to see you again' said Blott. Grob held out a gloved hand and shook Blott's warmly. 'Ah Blott me'ol mucker' said Grob, 'No time to lose, the Lightning is fueled and ready for take off. One of me contacts has reported back, much to tell you old boy but first we must get airborne'.

To be continued...

Who is the person code named Boris the Bridge 

What has Fish and Marillion gone belly up, got to do with it all

Has this story got anything at all to do with stockings 

Which can swim faster, a horse or a dog

These and other as yet unasked question may or may not be answered shortly :58674be0c2f40_EmojiSmiley-06:

 

 

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Oh my gosh what is this?  No arguing, no tit for tat point scoring, no spiteful sniping...  This surely doesn't belong here. Alarm bells are going off in the Antipodes.

Like !

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Ah Trinity, welcome to the, (surreal,) world of Grob and Blott.  We hope that you enjoy our posts.

Signed on behalf of Messrs Grob and Blott, Agents Mysterieuse.

The Secretary Lass

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6 hours ago, Trinity said:

Oh my gosh what is this?  No arguing, no tit for tat point scoring, no spiteful sniping...  This surely doesn't belong here. Alarm bells are going off in the Antipodes.

Like !

Like very much.

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Grob dismounted, and after lifting the goggles he wore onto his leather flying helmet, and adjusting his almost floor length leather coat into a more comfortable position, he strode forwards.
"Blott old chap," he muttered, although dear reader after the noise of his arrival he had no need to mutter, for miles around everything and everybody had woken to the sounds he had made.  "Come we must away." So saying he strode purposefully towards the motorcycle and sidecar. "Excellent wheeze old chap replied Blott,a motorcycle to take us to the aircraft, a capital plan. Grob hesitated before speaking, "I fear that there has been a misunderstandin' old chap, you see it's all a matter of the e."  
"The e?"
"Absolutely old chap, the e.  You see this is me British Small Arms, (BSA dear reader, do keep up.) Lightening, fully equipped to carry several, whereas me English Electric Lightning is a single seater. 'Course there were a few side by side trainers made but mine's not one of em.  The answer's all in the spellin'. No e in Lightning yer see."
With a sinking feeling Blott saw, before asking, "where are we bound?
"First to The Great North Road, Londonwards, and thence to a certain emporium where one can breakfast at any time of day."
Blott, used to Grob not using one word where several would do translated, a transport cafe on the A1 Southbound.
"There we shall meet with an old friend of ours, someone you will surely recognise, now mount up dear boy let's be about business!"  So saying he waved his hands expansively towards the machine.
Sighing Blott, himself a motorcyclist of note, (although as yet not noted by the local constabulary,) cast a worried glance at the motorcycle before clambering, inelegantly, into the sidecar and fastening his deerstalker beneath his chin.  Grob tickled the carburettor before standing on the kick start. Much to his surprise with a belch of smoke from the exhaust the machine roared into life, and backfired it's way towards the A1 southbound.
Some hours later the machine spluttered its way onto the car park of a transport cafe. Dismounting Grob assisted Blott from the sidecar and together they entered the cafe's welcoming the warmth.  Clutching large mugs of strong tea they made their way to a table, Blott choosing to sit with his back towards the door.  They had barely sufficient time to sip their teas before the door opened, and Grob smiled a welcome, Blott turned.  There, framed in the doorway, svelte and elegant as ever, clad in her signature fur  coat, Gio's and Manolo's was Grob's contact.  For a moment Blott was speechless finally he spoke..........

Whom has Blott seen?
What message does the contact bear?
How on earth did our eponymous heroes become involved with such a siren?

Tune in again for answers, perhaps not answers to the questions above, but certainly there will be questions asked and answered, most probably, obliquely. :58674be5313cc_EmojiSmiley-12:

 

Edited by Grob
Spellin' and me grammar dear boy.

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This is brilliant! 

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From the Secretary Lass of Messrs Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse

To Jencd

Whilst the need for strictest security prevents me from revealing the current whereabouts of my employers, they have asked me to pass on their thanks for your kind comment. :58674bdeceb55_EmojiSmiley-03:

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Understood Old boy!! 

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Youse guys certainly have a way with words! However, I would imagine that having the capability to understand the Queen's English, would be beneficial!:58674be5c2392_EmojiSmiley-13:

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The Queens English is paramount my Dear Chap

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From the Secretary Lass of Messrs Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse

Thanks Rowlf. :58674bdeceb55_EmojiSmiley-03:

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Possibly, 'your' people may be enticed to enter this fray. And fight the good fight for all that is righteous in this global quagmire. And if it gives you a good feeling in accomplishing this, then so be it! Pip, pip! I say.:58674be644c95_EmojiSmiley-14:

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From the Secretary Lass of Messrs Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse

Blott has asked me to pass on his generous thanks for such excellent comments and feedback. As one who has  put up with,  endured,  been frustrated by,  worked closely with Messers Blott and Grob for many years, I can wholeheartedly recommend all readers take their words with a large pinch of salt. Oh, and don't be surprised to find the two rogues are motivated more by a quick profit than the saving of nations.

Cioa,

(The) Secretary Lass

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"Olga Clunge, as I live and breath" said Blott in amazement.

Grob qucikly jumped up to greet their guest and equally quickly seated her next to Blott, Olga crossed her shapely legs and let a stylish Manolo dangle ever so slightly.

"Excuses me Myster Blott, I no longer go by ze names of Olga or Clunge, since my sugar daddy voz caught with ze pants down at ze President's club I have told him to sling his hook'ski" 

Olga hailed originally from Russia but had spent quite some time in Paris before moving with her sugar daddy husband Tiberius 'Ights to a London penthouse apartment. Olga continued "He voz caught on ze camera pinching a hostesses bottom the misogynist pig!!" Olga spat on the ground in disgust, "I said to him, vot sort of trophy wife do you think I am, living a life of luxury on your bank balance and valked out"

Blott and Grob looked at each other speechlessly, the irony not lost on either. Olga continued.

"So I voz forced back into my previous career of undercover agent to ze highest bidder, straight away Boris the Bridge invited me to luncheon and sent me here to meet wiz you two gentlemens". Olga made an adjustment to her dress and from beneath a taut suspender removed an envelope and placed it on the table.

Grob slid the blade of his Swiss Army Knife through the end of the envelope and removed the single piece of paper, letter headed House of Commoners.

Messers Grob & Blott, 

Thank, thank, thank, thank you gentlemen for agreeing to meet with my representative, assuming you are agreeable there is a Ministry car waiting outside to whisk you, in less time than it takes to play a game of wiff-waff, to my office. Details of the enterprise i'm offering will be forthcoming upon your arrival.

Retards,

Boris the Bridge 

Grob passed the letter to Blott who read it and, turning to Olga said, "If it's no longer Olga, what name are you going by now, er Olga" 

You vill know me from zis moment on as Ms Gabriella Le Bourget" said Olga, I mean Gabriella "My days as ze gangsters moll are over vonce and for all'ski"

Grob leaned close to Blott and whispered, "It was easier to remember when she was plain old Olga" Blott nodded in agreement "True old chap, very true, but time moves on, unfortunately our memories don't always keep up".

The chaps finished their mugs of tea and were only momentarily delayed as Olga (damn it) Gabriella uncrossed her shapely legs, they followed the fine lady out to a waiting Bentley. The three settled into the motor car's plush interior for the short journey to the centre of Londinium. Upon arrival the three were ushered into an office room, Blott and Grob took a leather club chair each, Olga (for goodness sake) Gabriella offered the chaps a whiskey.

"Ah many thanks" said Grob, "but i'm observing dry January". Blott immediately came to the aid of OlgGabriella "Not a problem dear lady, i'll have his".

While casting their gaze around the room, the chaps couldn't help but notice what could only be described as a zip-wire entering through a window and bolted to a far wall. Just then Gabriella pipped up. "Ze host is on his vay to us now".

The chaps looked on in amazement as a person in a 3 piece suit zip-wired into the room waving union jack flags. Blott looked at Grob and said, "Did you put something in my tea old chap, I think i'm hallucinating"

But no, Blott was most certainly in the land of reality, albeit a very strange reality. The newly arrived member of the team removed his safety helmet showing off a shock of white blonde hair. 

"Greet, greet, greetings chaps, glad you could make it". 

Boris the Bridge took and seat and begin. 

"Really it's all very simple, I had a fantastic dream about building a bridge between Blighty and France, so far so good, then I sort of of of of told someone about it, the press got hold of it and I was forced to pretend it was a viable option. The contractor I pencilled in for the job, former prog-rock group turned construction giant Marillion went floppy and bugger me I need pulling out of tight fix. Olga, I mean Gabriella here said you chaps might still be in business so I had her send you a message"

"The job is yours if you want it, only a few minor conditions. It's a cross party sort a bunfight so you'll have to dial in the old duffer from across the House, he's a likable chap in a grandfather sort of way, you know the sort, makes rash promises to the younger generation he can't possibly make good on and has a history of voting against his own Party, but other than that he's alright" 

Blott and Grob shifted in their chairs uncomfortably, politics weren't there game of wiff-waff so to speak, turning a profit was their bag. Boris the Bridge cottoned on immediately. "Don't worry about the politics of it chaps, OlGabriella here will deal with all that, she's very persuasive when she wants to be"

Gabriella smiled her agreement.

"Now how you do it is up to the two of you, i'll sign you a cheque in advance for procurement of staff and resources, i'm sure you can fill the numbers in yourselves" Said 'the Bridge'.

Grob and Blott looked at each other with renewed interest, "This cheque you're going to sign Boris" said Grob, "I take it you'll be doing that this evening".

To be continued...

Has Boris got one of those Canadian cheque books, like the new plastic folding money   

Will Blott and Grob build the bridge 

Is Olga (for flip sake) Gabriella on the level 

Velcro, is it really a rip off 

Questions, questions, so many questions!! :58674bde4b3fb_EmojiSmiley-02:

 

 

 

 

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 With OlGabriella on your side, if she is actually is on your side, how could things possibly go awry? Will OlGabriella truly flip? If so, does it matter upon which side she lands? This is a key factor and has bearing on the whole enchilada.

Velcro is a rip off unless inundated with concealed pond scum.

I will now shuffle to the left and very slightly to the rear, and wait with bated breath............

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Later that same Day

Comfortably seated opposite each other at Blott's Club, The Old Grouchers, (colloquially and sometimes, "fondly," referred to as, The Old F*rts,)  Grob was puzzled.  Quietly he addressed Blott, "Erm, I say old chap."  Blott's face was hidden behind a newspaper, and he made no response.  Grob tried again, this time clearing his throat loudly, "ERM, I say old Chap."  This time the pages of the newspaper fluttered, but still there was no response from Blott. There was however a general murmuring of disapproval from several armchairs, and a large gentleman in the Club's uniform glared in Grob's direction. Casting caution to the winds, Grob leaned over and pulled away the newspaper, revealing that it was merely a cover for a copy of Madame Gusset's, (pron. Gussay, see Bucket, Hyacinth,) Advertising Magazine, Whalebone Corsetry for the Discerning Gentleman. Quickly folding the magazine and placing it in his jacket pocket for later perusal Grob turned to Blott, who had woken with a shout of surprise.  Grob was about to explain his actions when both found themselves frogmarched to the door of the Club and unceremoniously chucked out!

Sheltering under the Bomber Command Memorial in Green Park, Grob tried again, "erm I say old chap."
Now dear reader you might expect at this juncture that Blott might have been a little piqued with Grob, after all, it was Grob that had caused them to be thrown out of the Club, however he answered with a smile.
"And what do you say old chap?"
"Not miffed with me for gettin' us chucked out are yer?"
"Not in the slightest, old boy, after all I haven't paid me subs there for bally years.  Now all I need to do is seek out one of those chappies who'll make some money for me, ya know the sort, those had an accident that wasn't your fault types. I've got a clear case of whiplash after being chucked down those stairs."
Grob grinned, clearly the incident hadn't blunted Blott's ability to see a profit. "Actually old chap," he continued, "I'm more than a little concerned about the job we are being asked to do for the flaxen haired chap."
"Concerned, why? Surely you aren't developing scruples, are you?
(At this point dear reader your faithful scribe will resist the urge to make jokes of an anatomical nature.)
"Scruples be damned, talcum powder helps, oops" retorted Grob. "It's just that I haven't a bally clue what on earth we are being asked to do."
For a moment Blott attempted a reply, and then paused. "Ya know old chap I'm not sure that I do either, that begs a few questions."

"Is this zip wire chappie the real thing?"
"Are we really being asked to build a bally bridge?"
"What is Hard Sun?"
"Do we need to ask our old friends in the insecurity services for their thoughts?"
"Or we having done to us what we have done to others over the years?"

Realisation slowly dawned upon our heroes, and silence fell as they considered their next move.

There, for the moment dear reader we leave our heroes, and like them leave you to wonder what they have realised and whether those questions or any questions will ever be answered.  :58674be6ca98e_EmojiSmiley-15:

 

Edited by Grob
Typo's dear boy, only typo's.

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Epic. 

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11 hours ago, Blott said:

"Olga Clunge, as I live and breath" said Blott in amazement.

Grob qucikly jumped up to greet their guest and equally quickly seated her next to Blott, Olga crossed her shapely legs and let a stylish Manolo dangle ever so slightly.

"Excuses me Myster Blott, I no longer go by ze names of Olga or Clunge, since my sugar daddy voz caught with ze pants down at ze President's club I have told him to sling his hook'ski" 

Olga hailed originally from Russia but had spent quite some time in Paris before moving with her sugar daddy husband Tiberius 'Ights to a London penthouse apartment. Olga continued "He voz caught on ze camera pinching a hostesses bottom the misogynist pig!!" Olga spat on the ground in disgust, "I said to him, vot sort of trophy wife do you think I am, living a life of luxury on your bank balance and valked out"

Blott and Grob looked at each other speechlessly, the irony not lost on either. Olga continued.

"So I voz forced back into my previous career of undercover agent to ze highest bidder, straight away Boris the Bridge invited me to luncheon and sent me here to meet wiz you two gentlemens". Olga made an adjustment to her dress and from beneath a taut suspender removed an envelope and placed it on the table.

Grob slid the blade of his Swiss Army Knife through the end of the envelope and removed the single piece of paper, letter headed House of Commoners.

Messers Grob & Blott, 

Thank, thank, thank, thank you gentlemen for agreeing to meet with my representative, assuming you are agreeable there is a Ministry car waiting outside to whisk you, in less time than it takes to play a game of wiff-waff, to my office. Details of the enterprise i'm offering will be forthcoming upon your arrival.

Retards,

Boris the Bridge 

Grob passed the letter to Blott who read it and, turning to Olga said, "If it's no longer Olga, what name are you going by now, er Olga" 

You vill know me from zis moment on as Ms Gabriella Le Bourget" said Olga, I mean Gabriella "My days as ze gangsters moll are over vonce and for all'ski"

Grob leaned close to Blott and whispered, "It was easier to remember when she was plain old Olga" Blott nodded in agreement "True old chap, very true, but time moves on, unfortunately our memories don't always keep up".

The chaps finished their mugs of tea and were only momentarily delayed as Olga (damn it) Gabriella uncrossed her shapely legs, they followed the fine lady out to a waiting Bentley. The three settled into the motor car's plush interior for the short journey to the centre of Londinium. Upon arrival the three were ushered into an office room, Blott and Grob took a leather club chair each, Olga (for goodness sake) Gabriella offered the chaps a whiskey.

"Ah many thanks" said Grob, "but i'm observing dry January". Blott immediately came to the aid of OlgGabriella "Not a problem dear lady, i'll have his".

While casting their gaze around the room, the chaps couldn't help but notice what could only be described as a zip-wire entering through a window and bolted to a far wall. Just then Gabriella pipped up. "Ze host is on his vay to us now".

The chaps looked on in amazement as a person in a 3 piece suit zip-wired into the room waving union jack flags. Blott looked at Grob and said, "Did you put something in my tea old chap, I think i'm hallucinating"

But no, Blott was most certainly in the land of reality, albeit a very strange reality. The newly arrived member of the team removed his safety helmet showing off a shock of white blonde hair. 

"Greet, greet, greetings chaps, glad you could make it". 

Boris the Bridge took and seat and begin. 

"Really it's all very simple, I had a fantastic dream about building a bridge between Blighty and France, so far so good, then I sort of of of of told someone about it, the press got hold of it and I was forced to pretend it was a viable option. The contractor I pencilled in for the job, former prog-rock group turned construction giant Marillion went floppy and bugger me I need pulling out of tight fix. Olga, I mean Gabriella here said you chaps might still be in business so I had her send you a message"

"The job is yours if you want it, only a few minor conditions. It's a cross party sort a bunfight so you'll have to dial in the old duffer from across the House, he's a likable chap in a grandfather sort of way, you know the sort, makes rash promises to the younger generation he can't possibly make good on and has a history of voting against his own Party, but other than that he's alright" 

Blott and Grob shifted in their chairs uncomfortably, politics weren't there game of wiff-waff so to speak, turning a profit was their bag. Boris the Bridge cottoned on immediately. "Don't worry about the politics of it chaps, OlGabriella here will deal with all that, she's very persuasive when she wants to be"

Gabriella smiled her agreement.

"Now how you do it is up to the two of you, i'll sign you a cheque in advance for procurement of staff and resources, i'm sure you can fill the numbers in yourselves" Said 'the Bridge'.

Grob and Blott looked at each other with renewed interest, "This cheque you're going to sign Boris" said Grob, "I take it you'll be doing that this evening".

To be continued...

Has Boris got one of those Canadian cheque books, like the new plastic folding money   

Will Blott and Grob build the bridge 

Is Olga (for flip sake) Gabriella on the level 

Velcro, is it really a rip off 

Questions, questions, so many questions!! :58674bde4b3fb_EmojiSmiley-02:

 

 

 

 

That is truly hilarious.  Keep up the good work gentlemen.

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Stood in silent puzzlement for some minutes Blott and Grob seemed for once lost as to their next move. It was Blott who broke the silence "I say old chap, you still got the cheque Boris signed for us". Grob riffled through his pockets and with a flourish produced the cheque, blank save the signature. "Let's call that our insurance save anything goes pear shaped" said Blott.

"Now our remit is to construct a bridge from England to France" continued Blott, "thinking back to me youth if ever we wanted to bridge a river or fast flowing stream a chap would jump in with a rope tied around his middle, swim across the water, attach the rope to a tree and the other chaps would shin across in no time".

"Gadzooks" exclaimed Grob, "you suggesting one of us swims the channel Blott, and with an old heavy rope dragging us down and under to a watery grave in Davy's Locker". Grob had, while talking, taken several steps back thinking Blott had lost his marbles.

"No old chum, no cause for alarm. I'm not suggesting we swim for it, I know a chap with a scife who's always up for a scheme and a few pounds Sterling in his skyrocket. I wager we commision his tub and take a trip over the channel, get a line of sight on the job so to speak". Grob looked noticeably improved at the idea of sailing rather than swimming across the channel.

"Er Blott, just one thing to be sure of before going any further" said Grob cautiously, "You do remember the old mantra, Officers don't work!!!" 

"Of course Grob old chap, of course. You didn't think I was suggesting we actually did anything productive did you. No far from it old bean, our posts are to observe, to instruct and if it comes to it, scarper with the loot should things turn squiffy".

The colour quickly returned to Grobs cheeks, happy in the knowledge the pair were indeed onto, as a certain Arthur Daley once said, a nice little earner.

At that very moment Gabriella arrived in what was qucikly being called the Company Bentley. "Boys, vhy are you standing outside in ze 'orrible English weather, jump in here wiv me and I shall take you on ze guided tour of ze capital".

Settled once more in the plush interior of the Bentley the motorcar purred along, Gabriella babbling away in her mixed accents Grob lent close to Blott "I say old chap, working for the Government appears to be quite the cushy number". 

"Seems so Grob me'ol mucker" replied Blott, "You do realize we will need to procure offices, staff and the like". Grob thought for a moment. "I seem to remember hearing something the other day on the radiogram. If me memory serves the buzz word of the day is equality". Now it was Blott's turn to think for a moment. "You mean hiring chapasses as well as chaps". Grob nodded, adding. "And paying equal wages to boot old boy".

Blott thought for a moment, "Do chapasses accept Krugerrands as payment, like chaps do", Grob replied in the affirmative. "Can't see a problem then old bean, bally funny state of affairs though, paying everyone the same, what happens if we need to bung someone a manilla envelope stuffed with cash to keep stum"

"Ah" said Grob, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it". Quick as a flash Blott retorted, "Gotta build the bally thing first old boy, build it first" The chums laughed as the Bentley purred ever forward, Gabriella was still babbling away as the Bentley pulled up outside a Mayfair hotel.

"Gentlemens ve have reserved adjoining suites for ze evening, you will be expected at dinner, twenty hundred hours, where other interested parties vill be keen to meet you both. Black tie evening suits are waiting in ve rooms for you both". With that Grob and Blott found themselves stood outside a grand looking hotel as the Bentley purred away.

Having bathed and showered, Blott was drying himself down when a knock came from the adjoining door, not waiting for a reply Grob walked from his suite to Blotts's. Stood in the middle of the room Grob looked odd indeed, a dress shirt with cuffs undone, missing trousers and socks held up with gentleman's suspenders.

"Can I help you old chap" laughed Blott. "Er yes, if you would me'ol mucker, see the Mem usually does me cufflinks up, i've been battling with them for the last hour, dash it"

Cufflinks attached and thankfully Grob correctly trousered, Blott and Grob made their way to the lift and the dining hall. The chums laughed at the thought of easy money to come and a spiffing time to be had by all. Moments away from the dining hall they were in high spirits, the Maître guided them to their table. The other guests were already seated, the shock of seeing who was there made Grob, grab Blott's arm, in an attempt to steady himself.

To be continued..

Who is sat awaiting our heros, friend or foe

Where did Gabriella go in the Bentley 

Does Gio our friendly British agent come into this story 

And what the hell has this got to do with stockings :58674be0c2f40_EmojiSmiley-06:

 

  

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For a split second Grob stood aghast, Blott seemed to struggle for breath as both stared at the two people, a man and a woman seated at the table. The woman a statuesque blond, (who clearly shopped at Evan's, and chose from the back of the rail,) was by turns either their arch nemesis, or BFF, our heroes were never sure. "Madame X," hissed Blott, Grob was finding swallowing difficult, both were wondering whether their plans were scuppered at the outset?  Yet Madame X was smiling, " my dear friends," she began, "how positively delightful to see you again come, join us."  Nervously our heroes sat at the table.  Blott seated himself to the left of Madame X and could not fail to see the clear outline of a small pistol tucked into the top of her stocking. Sitting on her right Grob found himself next to a slightly built man sporting twirling moustaches, (Queen's English you spellchecker,) and wearing a beret. Dashed Frenchy he thought, but did not say. Madam X was still smiling, "allow me to introduce M. Alfonse Du Pont."  "We shall have business to discuss, but later," she added, "first let us eat."

The meal completed, Madam X led the way from the dining room through the lobby towards a room rejoicing in the title Briefing Room A 40D.  Inside   they seated themselves at a large table, M, Du Pont next to Madam X, Blott and Grob together.  Madam X wasted no time, "let us discuss the bridge."  Before either of our heroes could answer she added, "we are all working together," her emphasis on together was obvious.

Eventually Grob found his voice, "together eh, seems we've had a crack at that before, and we," he nodded towards Blott. "always seem to come off worst and poorer." "Grob dear, and you dear Blott," began Madam X," surely you remember the note, all sins forgiven."  Our heroes exchanged glances. "Well," she carried on, "your sins have been forgiven, and  so we can work together on this project." Again our heroes exchanged glances, it seemed to them that certainly there had been sins, but that they had, well in their opinions anyway, been more sinned against than sinners.

"And now ze bridge," interjected Alfonse Du Pont before anything else could be said.  "Allow moi to introduce monself.  Je is le premier bridge buildist en France."  J'avais un grand company pour  constructing les bridges.  Mon company in Provence goes back to les Roman temps." "Ou, I mean where in Provence interrupted Blott.
 
Editors note.  Those of you who have perused Grob's profile will be aware that clearly Blott is a direct descendant of the inestimable Capability Blott, who was responsible for the renovation of Grob Towers, and thus might be assumed to have at least a working knowledge of building skills.

There was a swift mumbled answer from Alfonse Du Pont, who continued, " je propose a you that comme le tunnel sous the Channel, nous start at both ends, and meet dans le middle."  "Hold up hold up," interrupted Blott, "I still didn't catch where your company is based in Provence."  Du Pont's answer was again mumbled, but Grob caught just enough and he turned to Blott.  "He says it's in Avignon."

"Flamin' 'ell," said Blott, your company goes back to Roman times, so was your company involved in building the bridge in Avignon?"
"Mais yes," replied Du Pont, but it was tout le fault of les Romans, nous built our half , mais les blasted Romans let us down.  Tout les legions cleared off to clobber les Gauls and a chap called Asterix."  Mais they nevair  came back.  Beaucoups de  rumours of le potion magique, et a large homme lobbing les rocks. "Nous sont still waiting pour them to complet le projet."  

Blott's knowledge of Franco-Roman history was sketchy to say the least, and he hesitated long enough for Madame X to join the conversation.  There was an unmistakeable, ( yes you blasted spell checker see https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/unmistakable) menace in her voice, glaring at Blott she said, "Our sponsor, is adamant that this should be a joint project." Silence fell, the sort of silence that could be cut with a knife.
Turning Madam X reached out and took some papers from a small table.  Opening a map and placing it before them she pointed, "this will be your starting point."

Where is the starting point?
Is it on the coast?
Does Madam X ruin her stockings by secreting a gun in them?
Will McMafia ever really get going?
Will Grob ever get used to US English spell checkers?

Don't miss the next episode, 21:00 BBC1 Sunday for the answer to the McMafia question, whether the other questions will ever be answered is in the lap of the gods.
The answer to Grob's dilemma is obvious.

 

 

 

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It would strike me, Messrs Grobb and Blott, that you may, in the very near future, require the assistance of your old friend the Admiral and his small fleet of ships and his vast knowledge of all things nautical. As this renowned gentleman is no longer with us I am at a loss on how you are going to proceed on the wet stuff.

A topping tale, never the less gentlemen, but watch out for the frogs.

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Dear Reader,

I  fear that I must report a catastrophe which has affected the progress of this narrative.  Whilst typing his next report, and simultaneously attempting a high tariff gymnastic manoeuvre known as  the standing of up, and also balancing what has been reported to me as orange squash,  (as if,) sadly the contents of the said, "orange squash," obeyed  the laws of gravity, finding themselves a new home in Blott's laptop keyboard, thus adding a new meaning to, sticky keys. 

I am reliably informed that all efforts are being undertaken to ensure that, in BBC speak, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Until such time Messrs Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse crave your pardon for the delay.

Grob Towers  Sunday Jan 29th

pp Blott and Grob

The Secretary Lass.

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Laptop + orange + keyboard incident not yet fixed but a workaround has been sourced, albeit steam powered. I shall plug away though dear reader.

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For those new to the adventures of Blott & Grob a little history may help here.

Madame X the Kingpin (should that be Queen-pin) of her department had gained her post through unusual ways. Her late husband Big X held the post for many years and as such Blott & Grob worked for him under an adhoc arrangement as required and as the two could spare the time. Usually 'our' two came out of a caper better off but not always.

Big X had survived many assassination attempts by agents of Johnny Foreigner, his downfall, quite literally had been through signing up to 'A beginners course in extreme ironing, Alps division', his first freestyle snowboard while ironing run had been uneventful, his second however not so. Having lost control of his snowboard he flipping his ironing board over and used that until a roaming elk had crossed paths and horns with Big X. I'm reliably informed it wasn't pretty for Big X or the elk.

The top brass needing a replacement looked no further than Big X's wife, a lady who it has to be said 'wore the trousers' in the X household. Madame X took up the post with gusto, other head's of Dept were required to take a pay cut for reasons of equality, however, unlike the recent spate of BBC males who took a pay cut to 'look good' in the glare of the equality headlights, Madame X's peers did so because they knew she would be round to remove their assets if they didn't!!!

And so it was Madame X ruled the roost with an iron fist, all before her knew their place and stuck to it. Grob and Blott however were outside contractors and as such didn't come under her direct rule. Madame X had a soft spot for our heroes, she looked on Grob as a rather roguish Statesman like chap, where as she viewed Blott, with his boyish good looks and easy manner, as an errant but lovable nephew of sorts. All that said, Madame X was in it for numero uno she didn't mind the chaps getting a cut out of any profits, but would just as happily drop them in it when it suited. So it was Blott and Grob dealt with Madame X with a fair degree of reservation at the best of times, now she had Alfonse Du Pont on the team with his fancy 'tash the boys were on double alert.

Back to Briefing Room A 40D

"This will be your starting point gentlemen" said Madame X looking at Blott and Grob while pointing a manicured fingernail at the map. As you'll see we have selected the shortest route from England to France. I have commandeered a vessel to act as your HQ, the good ship Boaty McBoatface. I expect the two of you on-board tomorrow morning 6am sharp, Agent Gabriella will see to it you arrive safely where your new handler, oops sorry force of habit, new contact will be Captain Gio. You boys will have tactical command of the bridge build but Gio will be Master of the ship, cross her at your peril gentlemen.

And with that the meeting was over. Madame X left through a side door with Alfonse Du Pont, the boys were sure they caught a smug look on his face as he followed Madame X out. Soon the chaps were back in the company Bentley speeding towards the South coast, Gabriella babbling away as usual.

What next as the boys join the crew of the good ship Boaty McBoatface and a reunion with their old pal Gio?    

 

 

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"Now look here old chap," groaned Grob.  "We who wear the light blue aren't terribly fond of plodding along where the dark blues belong." So saying as Boaty McBoatface plunged downwards, before leaping upwards again Grob turned a similar shade of green to Blott. "Haven't we lost sight of our prime objective, to wit, liberating the funds?"  By this time Portsmouth had been left well behind and the coast of the Isle of Wight was rapidly approaching.

With a clunk of which Sub Lt Phillips would have been proud Boaty McBoatface crashed into the jetty at Cowes and our heroes, "leapt," ashore. (Editor's note.  An astute observer might have interpreted , "leapt," as crawled ashore. All that being said once our heroes felt solid ground beneath their feet all traces of their Mal de Mer vanished and they turned again to the main business. )

"Where is it old boy?" enquired Blott.
" In me weskit pocket" came the reply.
"Signed?"
"Signed."
Our heroes were referring of course to the plastic unsigned cheque given to them by Boris the Bridge.  
"So what do we do with it now apart from cashing it?" Grob's questioned as a mellifluous voice, which could only belong to Gio, interrupted their conversation.
"Dahlinks, I have a small suggestion.  Perhaps a fact finding mission is in order."


So it was that only a few days later, clasping a Singapore Sling in his hand, (seeming interminable dry January had at last come to it's weary end,) Grob looked across the infinity pool of the Raffles Hotel leering watching the elegant figure of Gio as she swam in the pool. Blott was also watching Gio, and turned to Grob.
"Decision time I believe old chap."
"Mmm" was Grob's only reply as he gazed lustfully towards Gio.
"Grob!"  Blott succeeded in gaining Grob's attention.  
"Ah yes, decision time," echoed Grob. Blott realised that shock therapy was required. Leaning towards his friend he whispered in his ear, "the Mem."  The effect was astonishing Grob's eyebrows shot upwards, he turned pale and after sweeping the pool area with his eyes, he hissed, " where?"
"Not here dear boy, but I had to get your attention."
"Swine," muttered Grob
"It's decision time," Blott repeated.
"Ah, yes decision time," Grob replied, "well it must be done."
Night fell with a thud as only night can fall in the far east, leaving our two heroes standing in the dark as the infinity pool lights came on and they realised Gio had vanished.

What is the decision our heroes must make?
Where is Gio?
Was the thud really nightfall or something more sinister?
Will McMafia's fiancee live to dump him and become a single mother?
And, will McMafia ever, ever, ever get moving?

Don't miss the next episode starring Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse.

 

Edited by Grob

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Unbeknownst to our heroes, Gio had managed to snatch up the cheque dropped from Grob's hand and, hiding it about her very tiny bikini made for the security of her room and the safe therein. Ideas of cashing it the following day and subsequently living a life of complete luxury were not far from her mind. Gio had been involved with various operations involving Messers Blott & Grob and although she viewed the chaps as friends she, like all undercover operators, had only herself in mind when it came to gaining loot.

Due to the amount of Singapore Sling consumed it took Blott & Grob some minutes to realise the cheque was no longer with them, an amusing few minutes of comedy searching under sun loungers took place, amusing to onlookers if not to the chaps. It was with a certain weary finality of misfortune both chaps turned to each other and said the same word.

Gio!!!!!

Now our boys might be careless with signed but otherwise blank cheques (among other things Ed.), but, having said cheque snaffled from under their noses they wouldn't stand for (no they were sitting down Ed.). Immediate plans to regain the cheque sprung to mind, the process went something like this.

Grob - Gio the cheating hussy has it

Blott - Yes, but she can't cash it until tomorrow

Grob - So we pinch it back yes?

Blott - Of course old chap and leave Gio in a sticky situation into the bargain if we can

Grob - Explain????

At this point dear reader you need to know Blott is and always has been a master of disguise. Regaining the cheque from a very alert and watchful Gio was going to take some doing calling for the very best disguise available.

Grob - Come on old chap what's the plan, how do we get into Gio's room without causing suspicion?

Blott - Leave it to me.

The pair, drinks glasses in hand sauntered to the hotel reception and 'hung about' waiting for the call they both knew would come.

"Hi room service, yes it's Ms Gio here in room 666. Send me up pouched quail eggs on lightly toasted brown organic bread with a magnum of champagne and one flute. Oh and a female masseur as well"

The boys quickly moved from reception to back of house and dolled a couple of unsuspecting hotel employees over the head with a frozen ham joint Grob had pilfered as they passed the walk in refrigerator.

The room service trolley rattled along floor 6 being pushed by a very rough looking lady in hotel pinafore uniform, sporting a 5 o'clock shadow, knobbly knees and hairy legs. Her colleague on the other hand wore a fitted masseur suit, smooth shaved legs, heels and a flowing head of gorgeous blonde hair.

"Honestly" said Grob "Why do I always get the bum deal when we go in disguise? And when, may I ask, did you start shaving your legs Blott old chap?"

Blott laughed "Boy scout training old chum, always ready dib dib dob dob" 

Grob knocked on the door of room 666 "Room service" he said in his best put upon female voice (It actually sounded like Grob had got his assets caught in a vice Ed.)    

Gio answered the door in a slinky negligee, pointed to a table and said "eats and drinks over there, masseur over here" as she lay face down on her bed. Blott got to work with his scented oils. "ohhhhhhh you have magic hands" said Gio, "ahhhhhhhh that's it, right there, I can feel all my worries fading away". Blott continued his work as Grob started a search of the room.

Grob opened a drawer and had a good rummage, "nope no cheque, plenty of stockings and suspenders but no cheque" On another day Grob would have taken more interest in the scanties but our chaps were driven in the first instance by loot.

Having completed a full and stealthy search of the room Grob looked over to Blott and shock his head. Blott mouthed the word, safe. Grob looked puzzled. Safe!!! mouthed Blott, still no response from Grob. S A F E tried Blott again, still nothing. Forgetting himself Blott blurted out, "for pities sake, SAFE!!!!!!

"What was that" murmured Gio, "Oh just saying your safe in my hands madam" said Blott. Grob mouthed "good save old chap"

After some time Grob managed to find the safe behind a painting by J.W.Waterhouse and "took it down" (topical Ed.)    

Looking across to Blott who was by now working his magic on Gio's shoulders, Grob mouthed "code?".

Blott reached for his secret weapon, a massage oil named 'Scent of truth' and dropped a generous dose on Gio's shoulders. After a few seconds Blott said "Madam, if you were to have say 3 special numbers, what would they be? Gio replied dreamily "oh 31 for my age, 11 for the month of my birth and Nigel for the boy I first kissed" with that Gio fell into a deep blissful sleep.

Grob had already dialed in 31 and 11 but Nigel!!!! he was stumped on that one.

Blott said "She's a game girl Gio, poor Nigel probably didn't know what had hit him when she grabbed him and took him to snog'o'heaven", try 18 Grob old chap" 

"No said Grob, younger 14" Neither option worked but, by trail and error the chaps managed to locate the 3rd number and opened the safe (btw it was 21, shows what you two fools know Ed.

Having retrieved the cheque the chaps made their escape by way of the staff staircase, a short but frantic fight ensued when a slightly squiffy former member of the Presidents club took a shine to Grob the room service girl and said "Why aren't you just pretty as a picture my dear, would you like to join me in my room for a game of hide the sausage" Grob retorted, "what sort of a lady do you think I am" while kneeing him in the family jewels.

The chaps made for the nearby international bank, the name of which will remain secret but it starts with H and ends with BOS. Waiting in a side alley for opening time the chums entered the bank and went to the counter. The clerk viewed the cheque and said "Amount gentlemen, amount" 

"No" said Grob "it's a horse a horse my kingdom for a horse"

The clerk didn't look impressed. "Actually Grob old chap" said Blott, "the one thing we haven't thought of, how much do we make it out for?"

Grob took the initiative, grabbed a fountain pen from his wes'cut and filled in the blank spaces. The clerk confirmed all was well and processed the cheque. "cash or electronic transfer" he questioned. 

"CASH" said the chaps in unison. "in that case gentlemen, will you be requiring of one or two armoured lorries to transport the money?"

"By George Grob old boy, how much did you make it out for?" said Blott

Grob's answer left even Blott with a spinning head and dreams of private islands, Lear jets and hot and cold running laccies.

 

Join us soon for the next thrilling installment of Blott & Grob, Agents Mysterieuse    

 

 

       

Edited by Blott

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A Playlet 

Location:- A small town in a country famous for manufacturing anything, at low cost, but high visual impact, with scant respect for intellectual property and patents.

Scene:- A sparsely furnished, poorly lit room, it's door stage left . Centre stage a table clearly illuminated.  Seated at the table three men, Grob, Blott and an impeccably dressed native of the country.  In the shadows stage left barely seen, leaning against the door a large well muscled man.

Protagonists:- Our heroes, a Mr Li, and a large man.

Scene 1

Li  You want bridge?

Grob  Yes

Blott  No

Li You no want bridge?

Grob No

Blott Yes

Li  Brimey you two plobably clazy as this lidicurous steleotriped accent.

(So saying Li, who had been Eton educated dropped the ridiculous accent and continued in a frightfully posh voice.)

Li  So look here chaps, just what is it you require of my company?  Do you require a bridge?

Grob  Yes

Blott  No

Li  (Looking, and nodding into the shadows stage left) I suggest that you do not waste my time gentlemen.

The large man leaning on the door takes one menacing pace forwards, slipping his hand inside his jacket.  Li holds up his hand to halt the large man's advance.

Grob and Blott together, hurriedly.

Grob Well we do

Blott But not a whole one.

Li  (Puzzled) I always thought that we were the inscrutable ones.  Explain gentlemen explain.

The three lean forwards onto the table, the large man returns to lean on the door.

Lights fade out as the three lean forward - no curtain.

Scene 2

Lights up, on the same set and lighting, Time has passed. 

Li  So you want half a bridge, one end on land and the other is to be shaped to allow the drivers leaving Europe to change from driving on the right to driving on the left, and for the people leaving Great Britain to change to driving on the right.  You say there is a Frenchman, a M. Du Pont building the other half.  (Li fixes our heroes with a withering stare.) You are truly crazy.

Blott  (Looks at Grob.)  By George he's got it!

Grob  (Grins at Blott.)  I do believe he has old chum.

Li  You realise that we are past masters at copying don't you? 

(Blott and Grob nod enthusiastically. Li continues while they nod)

Li  Lotus Blossom, (editors note: any reference noted to Round the Horne is entirely intentional,)  will be sent from Marseilles to Avignon, she will photocopy the plans and bring them to me, we will prefabricate the bridge on land in the south of your country, at the place where we were to build the nuclear reactor.  Once our half is complete we shall and tow it into position.  All that remains is to agree a price.

Lights and Curtain down.

Scene 3

The curtain rises on the same scene.  The table is scattered with the detritus of several takeaway meal cartons and drinks containers. Li looks tired and dishevelled, Blott and Grob and Grob look alert. To Grob's side is a briefcase.

Li  (Very very tired.) Very well gentlemen after only two days we are agreed, a PPI agreement, between my company and your government's preferred contractor Tocsin. For this my company will build half of the bridge and on completion will receive half of the bridge tolls.

(editors note, dear reader you may wish to consult a thesaurus for another meaning of Tocsin)

 

Grob reaches down to the briefcase and withdraws a sheaf of papers stapled together.

Grob (Brightly) Excellent, excellent old chap, now if you wouldn't mind signing just here, (reaching into his jacket Grob produces a pen, passes it to Li who signs where Grob indicates), and here, here, just here and finally here.  Now Blott here will sign on behalf of Boris the Bridge.

Blott (Smiles at Grob and signs.)

Lights, Curtain.

That our heroes took their time making their way back to these septic sceptred isles is well known to the readers of various websites who deal with only with the antics of those persons of high net worth, begging the question, just how much have our heroes snaffled for themselves, and who will want a cut?  What will the Mem and Lady Blott have to say about our heroes absence, indeed will their comments be printable in such an august journal as the OTF.

Tune in later for the next edition of:

(Fanfare) 

Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse.

Edited by Grob

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Reclining in his favorite chair close to the fire Blott reached for his tankard of ale, while giving the bottle of Scotch stood on the table a slight nudge towards Grob's almost empty whiskey tumbler. "Help yourself old boy" said Blott, "the landlord keeps a few bottles of the good stuff behind the bar for these very moments".

The scene was Blott's local, the Slaughtered Lamb. A charming period pub of the sort often seen in movies of a bygone age, a few locals milled about or propped up the bar, a pair of lads played darts while a few grey beards shuffled dominos. Not one of the locals paid Blott and Grob the slightest notice, used as they were to the chums arriving in their midst from time to time. However, if a stranger walked in complete silence fell which immediately alerted the chums to the possibility of spying eyes and listening ears.

"Won't the Mem be furious to learn you came up to these parts before going home Grob" Said Blott.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her old chum, and besides, the gamekeeper lass comes up to the big house every Wednesday to go over the books, they lock their-selves away in the Mem's office for hours. Lord only knows how they wile away the time with those dusty tomes around them" replied Grob.

Blott nodded in acceptance of his friend's wise words. "Yes I thought of calling up to the Manor but Lady Blott is busy with some fund raiser, save the lesser spotted half naked fireman or something".

Grob now took his turn to nod his acceptance of something he didn't really know a jot about.

Silence fell for a few minutes between the chums, this was interrupted by the pub door opening. The locals were ready to issue their own 'warning' silence when they recognised the newly entered patron as Gio.

The landlord prepared a G&T and brought it to the table near the fire. Gio stalked across the room in a slim fitting dress, sheer nylons and stiletto shoes. Sitting down she crossed a leg with the aplomb she knew would have every eye in the place watching her.

"Crafty be'stards aren't you just" said Gio "and I thought i was home and dry with that cheque in the safe"

"Well you did pinch it from us in the first place" said Grob "What did you expect us to do" added Blott.

"Hmmmm guess you're right, anyway, other things need attention now you pair of complete idiots" 

"Steady on ol'gal" said Blott "that's fighting talk where I come from" 

"Really" said Gio pulling back her jacket to revel the latest in micro taser technology.

"Stand down Blott old chap" said Grob "That's the JaFFer 101 if i'm not mistaken, knocks a chap out cold and renders him useless for rumpy pumpy for a full year afterwards so i'm told"

Blott cooled his emotions, "So why are we idiots?" he asked Gio

"The paperwork you had lovely Mr Li sign, you used a copy of one of the old docs. didn't you?"

"Standard practice with usual terms" said Grob "Screw the other side over, make as much money for our side as possible"  

"Yes, yes, yes" interrupted Gio "But you forgot to remove page 27 didn't you Grob, you complete dung head"

Blott and Grob looked at each other puzzled.

"Page 27" continued Gio obviously vexed "The page that signs us up as 'observers' at great cost to the contractor"

The boys started to catch up with Gio. "You mean Li wants us to actually observe" questioned Grob 

"Got it in one dung-head, You, Blott and myself have to honour the terms of the contract and observe the building of the bridge and the towing out. Li was so miffed at your little 48 hour negotiation tactics he wants his revenge and we have to watch every painful minute of it"

"But, but, but" spluttered Blott "There must be a work around, a loop hole, a get out clause somewhere"

"Nope, all as watertight as an otters pocket" said Gio uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, much to the delight of the locals. "Li has us by the bullocks and he knows it. It's either Hunters stood in a muddy field for a few years or!!!!"

Blott & Grob perked up no end to the word or.

"Or" said Gio "The three of agree to carry out a 'little' job for Mr Li"

Blott and Grob's mood immediately darkened.

 

What is the 'little' job Mr Li wants the trio to complete?

Will Gio perform a shoe dangle for the watchful locals?

How is it Grob and Blott are immune to Gio's charms?

Keep your eyes open for further installments of...

 

Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse.

 

 

 

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I agree with luckyme.....................the story can only get better!:58674be5c2392_EmojiSmiley-13:

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I hope the lads are storing all this on their PC's as it could turn out to be a best seller.

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In the Savoy Grill, no dear reader, not the one in London, but one on a quiet side street in Mablethorpe, Lotus Blossom outlined the little job which Li wanted the two to achieve.  As the details emerged, our heroes mood not only lifted but soared.  Careful not to show any elation as Lotus Blossom explained Li's need to leave the Far Eastern Country he once called home, and be granted political asylum in another country.

A plan was hatched.  Once construction of the half bridge was well underway, using Grob's WD surplus barrage balloon Li would be snatched and lifted to safety in the balloon's basket.  The advantage of using the balloon was to be it's silence, avoiding the large number of, "protection," agents who surrounded Li by day and night. Once spirited away our heroes assured Lotus Blossom that they had sufficient contacts to ensure that Li would be granted the asylum he craved.

It was a measure of the man thought our heroes that Li had decided to abandon his wife to her fate, although Lotus Blossom was adamant that the marriage had been a sham and organised by the, "party," as she referred to the government of that country.  Lotus Blossom declined to join our heroes in the delights of the Savoy Grill special, poached tripe garnished with a black pudding rubble served in a rich broth, and left to speak to Li.  His response was not long in coming, he agreed the plan, with one addition, that Gio should also be allowed to join him.  Both Grob and Blott saw the benefit of that, the removal of a most untrustworthy person, stocking clad or not, it was by far an excellent idea for her to join Li.

Bridge construction began in earnest and several months later our heroes reconvened but this time in Tadcaster, to be precise, in Sam Smith's Brewery Tap.  Each had a pint of the undoubtedly very best ale known to man.  Be damned to those shaken not stirred types. They were looking over a copy of the plans for the bridge.  Blott who, dear reader, you will remember was a descendant of Capability Blott, and thus had some native cunning when it came to building projects, had just finished explaining why the bridge simply would not work.  Grob, more a huntin' and fishin' sort struggled to grasp Blott's explanation.  Eventually Blott managed to penetrate his dim consciousness and he realised what Blott had explained.  Li had copied Du Pont's design to the letter, the two halves of the bridge were identical, and because they were identical when it came to the convoluted design at the mid point, allowing the change from driving on the left to driving on the right and vice versa. the two halves of the bridge could not be connected.  If the bridge could not be connected Li would be exposed and thus hunted by not only Boris the Bridge, but also by, "The party."  Content, our heroes retired to their country estates, Grob to the Towers and Blott to the Manor.  There after a period of frigid silence imposed upon them by the Mem and Lady Blott eventually the normality of life resumed.

Boris had insisted that his half of the bridge be in position long before that of Du Pont.  Thousands of foreign workers toiled and construction sped along, before in the spring word came that the bridge was almost complete and ready to be floated off.  Any consideration that such a speedy construction could only have been achieved by cutting corners or using sub standard materials were speedily dismissed by Boris' political machine. It was a typically English spring day, cloudy  with mist and drizzle, as the huge structure was attached to flotation collars. Massive tugs took the strain and almost imperceptibly the bridge slid down the launch ramp and  towards the water. That it eventually floated was to say the least miraculous, the idea to float the bridge into place could only have come from a strange, even wierd consciousness.  Arriving at it's position it was manouevred slowly and carefully into position. Great piles had been constructed on the clifftops to take the landward end, whilst the vast structure disappeared into mist, pointing towards the continent. At a single command, and to ensure the bridge settled evenly onto the seabed all the flotation collars were deflated, and with a sound reminiscent of a thousand whoopee cushions being sat upon, the structure sank into the waves.  As it sank the mists cleared, and the whole ten mile length could be seen in all its glory.

Whilst this was taking place Grob with the aid of a small motor, once part of a lawn mower, complete with small propellor was piloting the barrage balloon towards the labour construction camp.  Blott, who was firmly gripping the side of the basket, slung precariously beneath the balloon, was concentrating on his boots.  Looking ahead Grob spotted Li, atop the roof of one of the huts. Hastily dropping a rope ladder over the side he steered in his direction.  Li almost missed the ladder but did eventually grab hold and together our heroes pulled him aboard. They then threw ballast out of the basket and soared skywards.  Beneath them Lotus Blossom, realising that she had been abandoned, drew a small pistol from her bag and took aim at the balloon.  What the might of the Luftwaffe had been unable to do Lotus Blossom achieved as she squeezed the trigger.  Her bullet pierced the balloon's envelope, and, as it's gasses hissed into the atmosphere, the balloon slowly sank earthwards.  In silent answer to the panic stricken Li, Grob merely pointed downwards.  Beneath them was the chase car, Grob's Lanchester, piloted by the faithful  secretary lass, and in the back of the car, in a somewhat dishevelled state, sat Gio being restrained by none other than Madame X.  Narrowly missing a slurry pit the balloon made a landing, and together with Li, our heroes scrambled from the basket.  Grob turned towards the old balloon wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, before they all clambered, well nearly all clambered into the car.  Blott had nicked the front seat and was already caressing the stocking clad knee of the secretary lass, clearly forgetting the injuries she had inflicted upon him for committing the same offence at a New Year Party, and subsequently the pain inflicted upon him by Lady Blott when she discovered the reason for his injuries.  Li filled the third rear seat, and so gangster style Grob, standing on the running board, hung on for dear life as the car, sped off, London bound.

The car screeched to halt, Li demanded to know where they were and was reassured to learn that they were in Grosvenor Square.  Grasping Gio's hand he leapt from the car and loudly shouting that he claimed political asylum he raced towards the door of the building, dragging along a reluctant Gio.  Several men in dark suits surrounded them, some speaking into their wrists, others brandishing large pistols, A large and very black Land Wind drew up, Li and Gio were, "helped," aboard before it sped off.

Editors note: Yes dear reader, Land Wind, follow this link for further information.     

https://www.carmagazine.co.uk/features/car-culture/its-a-knock-off-chinas-copycat-cars-at-the-2015-shanghai-motor-show/ 

Later that day seated in the office of Madame X, our heroes were congratulated by the PM's PPS, he reported that the PM Boris was well pleased with them. Together they had helped a certain far eastern country, (vital to a Brexited GB's economic future,) to arrest Li, perhaps more importantly in the opinion of Boris he had, "put one over," those chaps across the channel because Britain now had a bigger and therefore better version of the bridge at Avignon.  The PM's PPS went on to tell them that Boris considered that knighthoods for both might well be a suitable reward come the New Year Honours List. Our heroes spirits soared however, the PPS continued, knighthoods would be dependant on the return of the balance of the original cheque, together with properly completed accounts and the cheque itself.  Otherwise the PPS reported the government would be forced to add the outstanding amount to the PPI debacle of Tocsin's accounts, and thus written off.  Often slow on the uptake, even Grob could see that they were being told that they might keep the  money, or be knighted.  Our heroes looked at each other, knowing that there was but one choice.

On a beautiful island in the Indian Ocean Grob scanned a two day old copy of the Daily Torygraph.  Headlined was; Bridge Disaster. The report claimed that substandard materials had caused the collapse of Boris' Bridge. The report continued that in the opinion of the PM such a bridge was unnecessary as Britain was no longer a part of Europe. Smiling to himself Grob watched as the Mem and Lady Blott swam in the warm seas.  The Blottlets grew tired of the, bury daddy head first in the sand, game and wandered off towards the food stall.  Clearing just enough sand in order that Blott might breathe and see again Grob held open his newspaper at the page listing those honoured at the New Year.  His attention though was grasped by the sound of an approaching aircraft. Blott's attention was similarly grasped although, given his position in the sand turning he found difficult, however he did manage to swivel his eyes in the direction of the sound. Turning Grob realised he recognised that engine noise, and was not surprised as a Short Sunderland with RAF markings visible on it's majestic final approach put down on the sea causing barely a ripple.  Grob knew but one pilot with the skill to land such aplomb, and a tear formed in the corner of his eye.

There dear reader we leave our heroes, with of course questions:-

Who is piloting the Flying Boat?
Does the Pilot carry a message, and if so who from?
Will the message send our heroes into more adventures?
Did our gallant lads accept a gong, or keep the dosh?  
Knowing our heroes can you predict the answer to that question?


Watch this space for the further adventures of:-  Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse

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I submitted the above some time ago, and came back just now to find it missing.  Strange, thankfully I had kept a copy.

Thanks to Rowlf and Lucky me for their kind comments.  In common with McArthur I expect the chaps to return, once they return form wherever they are in the Indian Ocean.

The Secretary Lass.

Edited by Grob

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I'd like to add my thanks also to those who have kindly taken the time to comment on our story of madness and intrigue.

It's a pleasure to write my part(s) and equally to read Grob's. Grob and I cast ourselves as the inept twerps but hopefully with a bit of comedy thrown in and the occasional view of a stocking leg here and there as befits the website.

The whole is written and published as a bit of fun, if our efforts bring a smile to the reader's face then we have succeed in our quest :58674bde4b3fb_EmojiSmiley-02:

For now dear readers we shall leave you be, watch out for another thrilling tale in the not so distant future from....

Blott and Grob, Agents Mysterieuse

 

 

 

 

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Oh now come on chaps, you can't leave us dangling like this. Who was piloting the Short Sunderland and all the other bally questions?

What about the 'Mastermind' saying of "I've started" etc etc? There won't be anything worth reading on the OT forum now so Perleese.

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Sir, 

I’m confident those questions and more will be answered soon. 

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