Justin here. Well, not exactly “here” in the sense that I’m writing this in my study, behind the chapel organ or whilst concealed in the gardener’s wheelie bin. I’m sad to say that I’ve had to move again to a really secret location after a disturbing visit from two gentlemen who appeared to know my very own young man with the wire in his ear. All three appeared unannounced in my study as I was busy with newspapers, scissors and Pritt, preparing anonymous letters to Wonga.
Neither gent offered his name. Both wore sunglasses. When I asked whence they came, both tapped the sides of their noses and winked. In unison.Then one said, “Boots”. Both chuckled ominously. Then I was told in no uncertain terms that I should “back off” and stop making pronouncements about issues of public interest such as the ridiculous high speed train, pay-day loans, that nit-wit Michael Gove, badger killers, bombing Syria, and obscenely over-paid footballers.
I was aghast. So much so that my digestive biscuit broke and fell into my tea. Both gentlemen had been offered refreshments by the ever-present Mrs Crabtree who, incidentally, has served tea and biscuits to three Archbishops.
Naturally, I protested, rising to my feet and striking my desk top with enough force to make my bronze figurine of St Francis of Assisi wobble dangerously.
I then suggested that these two mysterious strangers should leave. This they did but not before one turned and said, “We have ways of making your life very unpleasant." Then, as I moved to usher them to the door, my trousers fell down.