Cornwall, the master spy and author, returns endlessly to two themes. The small crippled double agent (whoever he was) and the immobilising anxiety borne when working in hostile territory.
As you know, I undertake business on behalf of MOSSAD and I must say it’s catching up on me. Every morning I pad the floors like Samson in the wilderness seeking what he might devour and I listen to the breaths of we innocents.
Every footfall turns my insides to junket and an evil wind gathers around the blackest kernel of my malignant soul. “Be you the white tornado?” I ask. The answer is indistinct.
“Go home to Israel.” I hear you mutter over your anti Semitic breakfasts.
Alas I cannot, for it is my purpose to bear witness, no matter the cost; and believe me, the price is high.
I see too much. I see people laughing, shopping, couples in cars content to be going somewhere - on the move. I see the wasteland strewn with hollow lives lived to a formula handed them by a dreadful power. There is no redemption. There is no mint sauce for the lamb on their dinner plates. God help us.
I also see that the Bee and Drainpipe is open. Yes, I shall step in here for a quick gum freezer. My handler is due and I have news to impart. Not for us the rattle-tattle-tat of hidden Morse transmitters. We use the regular dialogue of lady and gentleman. Ah, here he comes, the Duke of Cambridge, I’d recognise that brisket anywhere.
That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.
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Great Cornish accent.
Contemplating the dialogue of lady and gentleman that you might have with the Duke of Cambridge is unbearable. And I'm being broad-minded; it would be as bad with any other duke, or even a marquis.
perfect hiding in plain sight, sugar...say you are which no one who is, ever does and make civilians wonder, nay, surely doubt your service...smart, but also dangerous xoxox
(but then again, what do i know?)
Ani lo mevin otcha, Maroon.
Great Scotia! The Bee & Drainpipe! Surely only 16-year-old freelance graffiti artists drink there? What's wrong with the Laptop & Lapdancer FFS? Forgotten about Tiny Tim Cratchit already have you, you slag.
Forgotten Little' Nell already, Mrs Pouncer? Scumbag!
I wondered how long it would take you to turn up here, Justic'e 4. What about Jade's two little innocent kiddies, then? You nonce.
any nonce jumps out on my girls I swear I'll do time.
God bless Jade and Bless her two little boy's. 3 angels in Heavan ;)
Why, thankee Pat. Although I was refering to John Le Carre. Sorry.
Inky, surely a Marquis is more extraordinaire?
Well, what do you know Savannah? It is dangerous isn't it? And maybe even foolhardy. xoxox
Clarissa! The Laptop and Lapdancer has no white wine! They are awaiting a delivery. Can you believe it? How can a pub allow that to happen? it makes no sense, none at all.
John Le Carre is it? I knew him when he only had the one whelk stall outside of the shopping mall in Clydebank.
"There he goes" they used to shout, "Little Johnny the whelkman, with his wobbly one wheeled cart".
His faither was a postman fae Blackhill, never walked anywhere without that strange limp. He'd ride the back o' Johhny's wee cart some days, when his sack was full and he could limp nae mare.
I never did know what happened to that cart.
I thought the great FO game had long since been in overtime, Doc. Has it come, finally, to penalty shootouts?
sIR fRED should have his Lordship recalled and his pension given to the kiddie's in Africa
Jade is just a teenage mum doing her best so' her boys will have enuff money to see her in Heaven after her passover.
You would benefit if you kept your comments on-topic.
The head of the social service should be forced to clean the gents in high wycombe with her tooth brush
Is it just me or are social workers getting younger?
Forgotten Shipman already Di? I hope your parents get cancer.
My boyfriend Kyle says cancer is a conspiracy execpt for Jade who caught it in her fanny.
Hello Real Ale. What is a "Bogger" anyway? No-one I know in the Thames Valley has ever heard the term.
If anyone can tell us about traditnoal family values it is Mrs Pouncer herself who I have met five or seven times at horse events in the countryside. Well done Mrs Pouncer because you are as good as Maggie or at least as good as Lindsay Duncan dressed up as Maggie. Let Mrs Pouncer speak I say.
you know fine well what a bogger is.
Good ale in the Thames Valley but a lot of peedos still in Maidenhead.
Maggie Thatcher was a cow. Burn in hell salt o the earth. Michael Howard wwas a gentleman
Salty you ponce. I knew Mrs Pouncer from her days at Allied Floorcoverings and no-one knew how to promote a carpet event like she did. She hardly gave me time to get my underlay down I can tell you. God bless Anna Nicole Smith and all the other slappers in hevean.
when it come to weekend eventing no one could beat me. I could tup a ewe in the front room and still have time for a dip before bed. God bless Shep a doggie angel in heavin.
My breakfasts aren't anti-Semitic, Mroony, 'cepting my Sunday sausages. However I will admit that, on occasion, my tea-times have been jingoistic.
Enfin. Who are these ill-favoured carousers invading your pitch, Dr Maroon? I really can't imagine what sort of hideous privation has been their seed-bed; and yet I detect a woman's hand behind some of these degraded comments. I wonder what sort of deviant drudge she is?
Farmer Giles, I salute you. I recognise you as an erstwhile colleague of mine from A.F. What days! Hounslow had never looked lovelier, and everyone was entitled to Luncheon Vouchers. You will recall that I was brought in as a fiscal strategist when AF was suffering severe competitive pressures from exchange rate movements. I re-examined the whole basis of the costing ab initio and recommended Critical Path Scheduling.
However, you seem to have forgotten about the Yorkshire Ripper's Wife benefiting from his crimes by selling her story to the Daily Record. Burn in hell, Sonia, and all other crims' wives. God bless Wendy Richard and all other deceased from Are You Being Served.
Good Lord Clarissa, I haven't a clue. Sorry. I'm partial to a bit of CPA myself as it happens. God bless Buffa and Sarin, two operational researchers in Heaven.
Hi Sam, (Heil more like) how the devil are you? Still no regrets re the American adventure I hope.
You cow Mrs Pouncer. Everyone know that Burn in Hell Sonia is my manor. Who gave you the pirmission to use it anyway is what I want to know. My sister is Rot in Hell Rose West and her mate is Drown In Hell Canoe Fraudster And His Wife. Her neighbour is God Bless The Two Boys Of The Canoe Fraudster. If you use any of these we will swing for you so help us God.
God bless Jimmy Clitheroe and all other midget angles in hevane.
You slag Burn in Hell Sonia. What you know about Anne Darwin could be written on a Tampax and hung out to dry. Anne Darwin is doing time for her husbands hidden wardrobe shennananigangans and does not know where the money is hidden in deposit boxes in Panama. She has been shat upon from a great height.
God bless Derek Nimmo and all other aunts.
I AM DROWN IN HELL CANOE FRUADSTER!
God bless Leonardo di Caprioi and all the others who are drowned.
Great Scotia! Cannot a true Englishwoman in the very bloom of her beauty not vouchsafe a pensee without facing the abuse of the lumpen proletariat? Dr Maroon, I suggest you grasp the reins firmly in your small hard hands and call a halt. You will lose readership if you don't act swiftly.
You see, Maroon? You don't act quickly enough, and your once admirable site is dragged through the mire by these ne'erdowells. What is detaining you, anyway?
To prayer! To prayer! All's lost.
I'm sure I'm too late to save the readership Clarissa.
The Hoi Polloi will have their say.
God bless Cyril Fletcher and all the other utters in Heaven.
God bless Mrs Clarissa Pouncer in all her natural and unguarded glory and thanks for the polaroids.
Kev just told me that he herd on Tower Hamlets FM that Cliff Richards was shot dead in the neck with a crossbow tonite.
RIP Bacheler Boy.
How vile. I thought I had paid for those negatives, and in kind, too.
Are you going to put the hems on this chicanery, Maroon, or are you in league with these utters? It really is beyond reason.
God bless all at Grace Brothers.
God bless Mrs Clarissa Pouncer
Amen to that
Cliff dead? How can they possibly tell?
God bless Jet Harris and all the other faceless nonentities who made Cliff great.
is it true Tattoo?
What about his bag? Was it burst? God bless him and Hank Marven two black shadows in heaven.
Burn in hell Mrs Poncer. Forgotten about Summer Holiday already?
We must await developments Clarissa.
In the meantime please forgive the readership's exuberance.
This is the country of free speech after all.
I think mine were the best.
what a show, sugar! do ya'll plan it or is it all improvisation? xoxo
(i know what i need to know and that's all i'll say about that...in public.)
no mint sauce? of all the bloody crimes to commit!
Maroon! I say, Maroon, over here!
Thank you. My point, and it's an important one, is that a marquis is inferior to a duke. My cousin married one (a marquis, not a duke), and I hardly ever point this out to her.
Inky! A duke higher than a marquis? Well, how about that? A marchioness as a cousin. Who is she? Bet I've met her.
Sarah, mint sauce is the new black. A house without mint sauce is not a happy house. I bet you have buckets of it close to hand.
Savannah an outpouring of the nation's concerns; vox populi, vox dei. or and you may have to forgive my crappy recall: Smile at us, pay us, pass us, but do not quite forget,
For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet.
No mint sauce here but I've found a splodge of toothpaste works just as well especially if augmented with a few torn mint leaves. It's all about improvisation these days.
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