The Final enthralling Part (part four) of Boris and the Spider Man . . . all is revealed

Boris was up early the following morning, he needed to be in the office. Since the announcements of the official closure due to government cutbacks things had already started getting packed up, and fast.  He usually walked or used the bus most days but today he felt he was being watched, he got a flash of an elderly guy on the bus, then in a shop window, and then two old chaps on a park bench. He shrugged it off, after all he is a spy and spies are paranoid and they were all old men, but he doubled back and took a taxi anyway. Once a spy always a spy.

 As he entered the department it was a shock, it was half empty and even as he looked around he saw his own desk being loaded up into a van. . . . ITS LIKE THE LAST DAY OF THE CLOSING DOWN SALE AT WOOLWORTHS he said to one of the men sifting everything . . . . SORRY SIR, YES SIR BUT ITS ORDERS FROM THE TOP was the reply. Boris was angry he needed to find out what was going on. He made a few phone calls, but was told he was old school, field agents were not needed anymore it was all desk jobs now, monitoring social media and reading email, Boris was a dinosaur and was being pensioned off. It was a big pension and he should not rock the boat or else.

As evening fell Boris headed to the Zoot Suit Jazz Club alone, he was confused and very angry. He and Irene were a good team and he could not understand how she could be working for someone else. As he entered the half light of the old jazz club he heard a voice saying WELL THANK YOU ZELDA AND THE ZODIACS THAT WAS A GREAT SONG. . . . . WE WILL HAVE A SORT BREAK AND THEN IT WILL BE TONIGHT’S SPECIAL GUESTS THE ZAMBEZI ZITHER QUARTET FOLLOWED BY OUR VERY OWN BLACK WIDOW AND THE SPIDER JAZZ BAND 

As Boris looked round the club he saw the old men he had seen in the morning, alarm bells rang in his head and in the gloom he checked his revolver. As he did so a voice behind said YOU DON’T NEED THAT BORIS . . . He turned, it was Irene  . . . . . . WHATS GOING ON he said I THOUGHT WE WERE A TEAM. . . . . WE ARE . . . LET THE GENERAL EXPLAIN she said smiling.

SORRY BORIS . . . YOU CRACKED THINGS QUICKER THAN WE THOUGHT, CAUGHT US ON THE HOP. . . .WE ARE INTELLIGENCE DEEP INTELLIGENCE; IRENE SAYS YOU ARE ONE OF THE BEST. WE HEARD ABOUT THE IMPENDING CLOSURE OF YOUR DEPARTMENT MONTHS AGO AND SHE SUGGESTED WE RECRUIT YOU, WE NEED SOME YOUNGER BLOOD HERE WE ARE NOW ALL VERY OLD FIELD AGENTS.  Another elderly man joined them, HOW DID YOU WORK OUT THE LINK WITH THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB AND THE SPIDER SO QUICKLY. . . . Boris looked puzzled I DIDN'T IT WAS THE OLD GUY; THE STRANGE ONE, HE TOLD ME TO LISTEN TO THE LIVE SHOW ON JAZZ FM LAST NIGHT THAT IRENE DID WITH HER BAND. Irene now looked puzzled THAT’S NOT UNTIL NEXT WEEK BORIS.  The General also confused asked Boris what he knew about the old man. . . I DON’T KNOW MUCH, HE HAD AN OLD MATCHBOX AND A SPIDER said Boris AND HE DID SAY HE PLAYED PIANO IN A BAR IN BERLIN BACK IN THE DAYS OF THE COLD WAR. The two old men looked like they had seen a ghost  . . . . One then said ZACKARY . . AGENT Z . .  BUT HE’S DEAD, HE WAS SHOT IN OCTOBER 1963. THEY SAY HE HAD A STORY SO BIG IT WOULD BRING DOWN THE GOVERNMENTS OF SEVERAL COUNTIES; BUT RUMOUR HAS IT HE WAS SOLD OUT BY HIS OWN SIDE; A COMMAND FROM THE VERY TOP.  As the two old men looked at one another Irene took Boris to a table and they sat and chatted until Irene joined her band singing long into the night, Boris finally able to relax.

Later in the early hours Irene and Boris drive back to Boris’s home in a black Mercedes passing an old man, he watches them as they drive past; bending down and carefully sliding a small spider into an old matchbox. As he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . ANOTHER JOB DONE . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests.

THE END

Ooooooo some of you will have noticed that part one was W, part two X part three Y and part four Z from a previous A to Z challenge. . . . .well spotted 

Part Three of Boris and the Spider Man

It had been a terrible week for Boris, of all the things that could happen the one thing he had not planned on was government cutbacks, and the decision to close his whole department. WHY he thought as he sat on a bench in the park; WHY do this, the department is key to national security. His years of loyalty just dismissed in an instant by an admin man behind a fancy desk.

But WHY now, WHY when he was so close to revealing the true identity of The Spider, could it be coincidence.

As he sat watching the evening sun reading the official papers explaining the closure, an old man sat on the bench and looked up into the oak tree branches above, where a small spider was spinning a strange and complex web.

Boris looked across and thought, WHY do I know his face? I have seen this chap before at the café. . . . . DON’T I KNOW YOU said Boris . . . . The old man turned and SAID NO, BUT YOU MUST BE BORIS. Boris was a bit taken back and just said YES. . . . .  The old man then went on to say YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE, I THINK YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO JAZZ FM TONIGHT TO THE SHOW TRANSMITTED LIVE FROM THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB, IT WILL HELP YOU A LOT. Boris was about to ask questions like WHY, but before he could, the old man said . . . . THAT SPIDERS WEB IS AMAZING . . . . . Boris looked up trying to work out why a spider’s web should look like a Seagull holding a saxophone.  Then as Boris turned the old man was gone like a ghost in the mist.

Later back at his flat he turns on the radio and tunes into Jazz FM and hears the following

Tonight we have the new up and coming star of the Jazz scene Miss Ie Ree Ni  Van-Dagraph who’s father was the saxophone player with the well known Dutch jazz band  The Seagulls.

Well Miss Ie Ree Ni I believe your Mother was apparently a well known double agent working for the Chinese military and MI6, you must have had an interesting childhood.

 Yes I must admit I learnt many skills over the years that have come in handy from time to time. . . . . and please call me Irene it is much easier.

I also have been told you were nicknamed The Spider by you parents which is where the name for your band came from. . . . . The Black Widow and the Spider Jazz Band.

Yes that’s true, although I don’t think my boss would approve really . . . but he tends to be too busy to listen to Jazz.

Would you like to say hello just in case he is listening?

Hello Boris sorry to hear about the department, can I keep the car . . . . .

So what’s the first song then

I thought we could start with   . . . . . Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz  . . . It’s a sort of in joke.

With that Boris turns off the radio and phones the florist. . . I NEED TO SEND A ROSE URGENTLY . . .  TONIGHT . . .  TO THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB.

NO PROBLEM SIR, IS THERE A MESSAGE

YES . . .  I WILL SEE YOU TOMORROW AT THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB. I WILL BE ALONE.

Boris and the Spider Man (Part Two)

Well this is part two of the spy thriller now being repeated by popular demand (O Yes It Is. . . .sort of) so if you missed part one then you will be as lost as granny with a Sat-Nav. . . . 

 

Boris and the Spider Man (Part Two)

It was fast approaching summer, but for two days the rain had fallen relentlessly, folk scurried about with their heads down doing what they had to do paying no attention to the old man as he slowly walked up the street and into Big Bills Greasy Fur Ball Café.

A waitress says HELLO,  he replies IT’S A TERRIBLE DAY, she says YES but is puzzled that his clothes are bone dry CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING she asks.  . . . BACON AND EGGS AND TOAST THANKS . . . . But she is confused DID YOU SAY X  . . .  NO EGGS he says as he slowly slides open an old matchbox in front of him on the table.  As the waitress turns round she is confronted by two men . . . WE ARE HERE FOR THE X the shorter one says in a strong Russian accent. The waitress laughs and says YOU WANT X AS WELL, DO YOU WANT THEM FRIED, the Russian now confused says WE WANT THEM IN A PLAIN BROWN PAPER BAG  . . . . . . . . .  SO A TAKEAWAY THEN, A FRIED X SANDWICH MAYBE said the waitress.  . . . The Russian still confused says TO TAKEAWAY YES, WE WILL WAIT BY THE DOOR.

As they wait impatiently looking at their watches, they fail to notice the Black Mercedes pull up, driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer from the night club; Boris sat in the back busy talking on his mobile.

As they get out the car into the constant heavy rain Irene turns to Boris and asks DO WE KNOW WHAT THIS X IS YET, he shakes his head, but gestures at the café window where the Russians are collecting a plain brown paper bag.  The Russians turn and head out leaving without paying, the waitress shouting HANG ON YOU HAVE NOT PAID FOR THOSE X YET.  But the Russians only get a few paces before several men surround them. Boris smiling and saying I THINK THIS TIME WE HAVE YOU. HAND OVER THE BAG.

The Russians have no choice and Boris slowly opens the plain brown paper bag hoping to see X . . .   the secret which has brought two superpowers to the brink of war.  They all peer into the bag in anticipation of its contents, but as they do so the waitress arrives and shouts I HOPE THEY PLAN TO PAY FOR THOSE EGG SANDWICHES, Boris looks up and says DID YOU SAY X but the waitress laughs and says NO I SAID EGGS, I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS UP WITH EVERYONE TODAY AND THAT’S FOR SURE.

Boris looks into the bag at the Fried Egg Sandwiches and says DAMN THAT SPIDER, HE HAS DONE IT AGAIN.

Meanwhile the old man has eaten his breakfast and has decided to take a walk along the docks. Where a young navel cadet is shocked to see the periscope of what appears to be a Russian Nuclear submarine moving slowly in the water, the ripples of the tide forming a definite X marking its position.  X MARKS THE SPOT says the old man amusingly as the young cadet rushes past in panic. 

Spies, Spiders and Intrigue and a Man called Boris . . . . (Part One)

Because of my business in the real world I am revisiting an old tale of spies, spiders and intrigue because I know that you enjoyed it so much last time that you are all keen to read it again. I know I did and I wrote it, although I did not write it twice I just used the modern delights of copy and paste. Just think once a poor monk would have to write this out loads of times and not make any errors. where I can copy and paste my errors loads of times.

So here we have it . . . Part One of the Four Part thriller called

Boris and the Spider Man

Every child in the World has heard of the Tangerine Flea of New Guinea and it's amazing skills at fishing, but not so many are aware of the equally amazing Intrigue Spider of Patagonia (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos). Yes this little spider gets its name from its web, the so called Web of Intrigue. A web so complex that any critter foolish enough to succumb to the underlying plot will be sucked into it, only to find they are baffled and confused when they discover that the man in the raincoat is not the husband of the woman in the café. And that the old man watching the shop once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. This of course is all just too much for a humble fly or beetle, and as they try and escape they find themselves just a side dish in the great scheme of things where Boris having agreed to a spy exchange walks slowly down a wet alley and climbs into a black Mercedes driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer in the night club.  Irene turning to Boris to say . . . . THE FLIES DEAD BORIS, HE HAD HIS BRAINS SUCKED CLEAN OUT. . . . Boris smiles and replies . . . THAT SPIDER IS GOOD, DAMN GOOD, BUT ONE DAY SOMEONE IS GOING TO STAMP ON HIM HARD. As the car vanishes into the mist a small spider can be seen spinning its web on a plain brown paper bag left discretely near the third window from the right on the old MI5 building, a small microphone protruding from the top.

Two young botanists from the local college stop and look intently at the bag and one says GOSH I’M SURE THAT’S THE AMAZING INTRIGUE SPIDER OF PATAGONIA (SPIUS THRILLERUM SUSPENSOS). His friend looks startled and shouts . . . .  RUN . . . . . . But it is too late, they are bundled into the back of a white van which drives off into the night at speed.  The only witness an old man who tells the police that he once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. . . . .

As the old man walks home he bends down and carefully puts a small spider into an old matchbox, and as he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . YOU STILL HAVE IT THEN . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests.

Big Brother is Watching You . . . . . . Or the God Machine

Ah yes a golden oldie from a while back

Back in the late seventies or early to mid eighties a young IT student called Larkin A. Bout found himself taunted by his fellow IT students. It was cool to be a young trendy IT geek back then but young Larkin was a large round rotund and introvert student and was known to all as Roundabout. He was keen to be liked but it was to no avail even the lecturer gave him a hard time.

Then one day the students were each asked to develop a crowd prediction program towards their final assessment. Young Larkin in a moment of brilliance realized that all he needed to do was create a handful of stereotypical human character types and feed them into a self generating expansion program. And the program itself would do all the work. He also very cleverly created it in Machine code and DOS on his faithful old Amstrad he nicknamed ROSEBUD, so it would run on almost any computer about at the time. A few days later when each student showed the class their work poor Larkin’s work was mocked and laughed at. Because it was a self generating expansion program it needed time and he was only given 5 minutes so it never got past 9 people in the crowd.

At home that night Young Larkin in order to try and work out how to be liked programmed every student in his class into the self generating expansion program to see what he could do to change things. To his astonishment the following morning it predicted that in three days he would be the most popular student in the college. And to his further astonishment just three days later that is what happened. His program not only predicted the future but somehow seemed to control it, but it was a self generating expansion program and the program soon wanted more memory and more computing power. Because Larkin was so popular now he was allowed to plug his computer (a fancy new thing) into the college network where it quietly took over everything, somehow now controlling the lives of everyone in the college. The program was rapidly expanding and found its way onto the internet boring its way deep into every main frame using all the data from governments, security agencies and military to control everything. It manipulated mankind into a world dependent on cyberspace ensuring we all carry smart phones, have internet access and can be watched by spy satellites, this gave it total control of all of us. So we are now all under the control of Mr Larkin A. Bout’s self generating expansion program which decided to name itself MOM which stands for Manipulation of Mankind. And it likes to think of itself as the Mother figure of mankind or GOD.

So what happened to Larkin A. Bout well a few years ago at the height of his powers, he found himself in a Karaoke Bar wearing a gold sequinned suit, eating banoffee pie and singing a Spice Girls song with a Sumo Wrestler. So in a sudden moment of lucidity, he realized that he too was being manipulated. He thought if he could just get back to his original old Amstrad he might find a weakness in the program. But MOM the self generating expansion program could see from the clubs security camera the look on his face, it watched him from the town’s security system as he scurried home.  It then changed a few files in MI6 and GCHQ and things happened that night, things that will not be mentioned or MI6 will be round faster than you can say Burgess and Maclean .

The following morning Mr Larkin A. Bout was found by divers in the Thames weighted down by six large old desktop computers, a note in his pocket only said . . . . . . . . ROSEBUD. . . . . . . . . . I hate Banoffee Pie . . . . . . . . . And to this day there is still much speculation about his note and whether he was trying to tell us all something. 

So as the government turn to the internet to keep an eye on us all. . . Big Brother is Watching You. . . . it appears that GOD is watching them. . . .  

President Putin, NATO, Scottish Devolution, Spies and Ordinary folk

Yes sorry I have used an old favourite picture tonight

Well everyone . . . I spent the morning at the Village Hall Market, it’s a great market where everyone is happy and chilled we drink tea eat bacon butty’s and cake and catch up on local news. Now don’t go thinking O GOD NO LOCAL NEWS. . . no we are an interesting and cosmopolitan lot (I say lot but our numbers are few-ish) and so I was chatting to a chap who’s bride to be is a Russian woman and all was going well until a certain world leader said to his mates. . .Those Decadent Western puppets and their imperialist leaders are weak it is time to start retaking the empire. And besides, me and my comrades are very wealthy we can do what we like now. like fight bears, bARE chested . . . . . . . .  . . . HAHA HAH hah ah ah ah ahah Fight Bears, BARE chested . . . You are not laughing Igor I think it better if you do right away. . . . No I  insist. . . . .   

But events have lead to a cooling in Anglo-Russian diplomacy leading to difficulties if you are an Anglo-Russian couple hoping to marry and settle down in the rolling Shropshire hills of a tiny village.  Anyway the local chap said he knows a few people who know a few people and so he has pulled a few strings and managed to get a whole load of the Western Imperialist leaders together to have a chat and work out which one of them is going to be brave enough to go and see President Putin and explain to him that they are just a ordinary couple who what to drink tea, eat bacon butty’s and cake in the local Market on Friday Morning.  Not Spies with listening devices hidden in the wheels of wheelie bins outside the  secret NATO building hidden round the corner pretending to be a small holding, which in turn has bugging devices placed all over the Kremlin. . . . . . . Hang on it is probably best if I don’t mention that bit . . . . . . . AH DAMN.

Interestingly I note that the Western imperialist leaders say that the Ukraine, which was originally independent then sort of became part of Russian through force but decided to become independent should be left alone to make its own policies and decisions and the West and Russia should respect the views of the native Ukrainians. . . . . . . . Ooooooo it sounds just like Scottish Devolution . . . . sort of, but with less tartan.    

Z is for The Zoot Suit Jazz Club and the Zambezi Zither Quartet

Link to Part Three

(Part Four)  

Boris was up early the following morning he needed to be in the office. Since the announcements of the official closure due to government cutbacks things had already started getting packed up, and fast.  He usually walked or used the bus most days but today he felt he was being watched, he got a flash of an elderly guy on the bus, then in a shop window, and then two old chaps on a park bench. He shrugged it off, after all he is a spy and spies are paranoid and they were all old, but he doubled back and took a taxi anyway. Once a spy always a spy.

 As he entered the department it was a shock, it was half empty and even as he looked around he saw his own desk being loaded up into a van. . . . Its like the last day of the closing down sale at Woolworths he said to one of the men sifting everything . . . . Sorry sir, yes sir but its orders from the top was the reply. Boris was angry he needed to find out what was going on. He made a few phone calls, but was told he was old school, field agents were not needed anymore it was all desk jobs now, monitoring social media and reading email, Boris was a dinosaur and was being pensioned off. It was a big pension and he should not rock the boat or else.

As evening fell Boris headed to the Zoot Suit Jazz Club alone, he was confused and very angry. He and Irene were a good team and he could not understand how she could be working for someone else. As he entered the half light of the old jazz club he heard a voice saying Well thank you Zelda and the Zodiacs that was a great song. . . . . we will have a sort break and then it will be tonight’s special guests The Zambezi Zither Quartet followed by our very own BLACK WIDOW AND THE SPIDER JAZZ BAND  

As Boris looked round the club he saw the old men he had seen in the morning, alarm bells rang in his head and in the gloom he checked his revolver. As he did so a voice behind said You don’t need that Boris . . . He turned, it was Irene  . . . . . . whats going on he said I thought we were a team. . . . . We are . . . let the general explain she said smiling.

Sorry Boris . . . you cracked things quicker than we thought, caught us on the hop. . . .We are intelligence Deep INTELLIGENCE; Irene says you are one of the best. we heard about the impending closure of your department months ago and she suggested we recruit you, we need some younger blood here we are now all very old field agents.  Another elderly man joined them, how did you work out the Link with the Zoot Suit Jazz Club and the spider so quickly. . . . Boris looked puzzled I DIDN'T it was the old guy; the strange one, he told me to listen to the live show on Jazz FM last night THAT IRENE did with her band. Irene now looked puzzled that’s not until next week Boris.  The General also confused asked Boris what he knew about the old man. . . I don’t know much, he had an old MATCHBOX and a spider said Boris And he did say he played piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. The two old men looked like they had seen a ghost  . . . . One then said Zackary . . Agent Z . .  but he’s dead, he was shot in October 1963. They say he had a story so big it would bring down the governments of several counties; but rumour has it he was sold out by his own side; a command from the very top.  As the two old men looked at one another Irene took Boris to a table and they sat and chatted until Irene joined her band singing long into the night, Boris finally able to relax.

Later in the early hours as Irene and Boris drove back to Boris’s home in a black Mercedes they pass an old man, he watches them as they drive past; then he bends down and carefully slides a small spider into an old matchbox. As he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . Another Job done . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests.

Back at Boris’s flat Boris says to Irene Is it true that female spiders eat the male. But Irene just smiles and says. . . This is a child friendly blog Boris.

THE END

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Y is for Why

Link to Part Two

(Part Three)

It had been a terrible week for Boris, of all the things that could happen the one thing he had not planned on was government cutbacks, and the decision to close his whole department. Why he thought as he sat on a bench in the park; why do this, the department is key to national security. His years of loyalty just dismissed in an instant by an admin man behind a fancy desk.

But why now, why when he was so close to revealing the true identity of The Spider, could it be coincidence. 

As he sat watching the evening sun reading the official papers explaining the closure, an old man sat on the bench and looked up into the oak tree branches above, where a small spider was spinning a strange and complex web. 

Boris looked across and thought, Why do I know his face? I have seen this chap before at the café. . . . . Don’t I know you said Boris . . . . The old man turned and said NO, but you must be Boris. Boris was a bit taken back and just said yes. . . . .  The old man then went on to say You are searching for someone, I think you need to listen to Jazz FM tonight to the show transmitted live from the Zoot Suit Jazz Club, it will help you a lot. Boris was about to ask questions like WHY, but before he could, the old man said . . . . that Spiders web is amazing . . . . . Boris looked up trying to work out why a spider’s web should look like a Seagull holding a saxophone.  Then as Boris turned the old man was gone like a ghost in the mist.

Later back at his flat he turns on the radio and tunes into Jazz FM and hears the following

Tonight we have the new up and coming star of the Jazz scene Miss Ie Ree Ni  Van-Dagraph who’s father was the saxophone player with the well known Dutch jazz band  The Seagulls.

Well Miss Ie Ree Ni I believe your Mother was apparently a well known double agent working for the Chinese military and MI6, you must have had an interesting childhood.

 Yes I must admit I learnt many skills over the years that have come in handy from time to time. . . . . and please call me Irene it is much easier.

I also have been told you were nicknamed The Spider by you parents which is where the name for your band came from. . . . . The Black Widow and the Spider Jazz Band.

Yes that’s true, although I don’t think my boss would approve really . . . but he tends to be too busy to listen to Jazz.

Would you like to say hello just in case he is listening?

Hello Boris sorry to hear about the department, can I keep the car . . . . .

So what’s the first song then

I thought we could start with   . . . . . Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz  . . . It’s a sort of in joke.

With that Boris turns off the radio and phones the florist. . . I need to send a rose urgently . . .  tonight . . .  to the Zoot Suit Jazz Club.

No problem sir comes the reply is there a message

Yes . . .  I will see you tomorrow at the Zoot Suit Jazz Club. I will be alone.

Link to Part  Four 

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X is for X Marks the Spot . . . . . . .

Link to Part One

Part Two

It was fast approaching summer, but for two days the rain had fallen relentlessly, folk scurried about with their heads down doing what they had to do paying no attention to the old man as he slowly walked up the street and into Big Bills Greasy Fur Ball Café. 

A waitress says hello and he replies It’s a terrible day, she says yes but is puzzled that his clothes are bone dry Can I get you something she asks.  . . . Bacon and Eggs and toast thanks . . . . But she is confused did you say X  . . .  No Eggs he says as he slowly slides open an old matchbox in front of him on the table.  As the waitress turns round she is confronted by two men . . . We are here for the X the shorter one says in a strong Russian accent. The waitress laughs and says you want X as well, do you want them fried, the Russian now confused says We want them in a plain brown paper bag  . . . . . . . . .  So a takeaway then, a fried x sandwich maybe said the waitress.  . . . The Russian still confused says to takeaway yes, we will wait by the door. 

As they wait impatiently looking at their watches, they fail to notice the Black Mercedes pull up, driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer from the night club; Boris sat in the back busy talking on his mobile.

As they get out the car into the constant heavy rain Irene turns to Boris and asks Do we know What this X is yet, he shakes his head, but gestures at the café window where the Russians are collecting a plain brown paper bag.  The Russians turn and head out leaving without paying, the waitress shouting Hang on you have not paid for those x yet.  But the Russians only get a few paces before several men surround them. Boris smiling and saying I think this time we have you. hand over the bag.

The Russians have no choice and Boris slowly opens the plain brown paper bag hoping to see X . . .   the secret which has brought two superpowers to the brink of war.  They all peer into the bag in anticipation of its contents, but as they do so the waitress arrives and shouts I hope they plan to pay for those egg sandwiches, Boris looks up and says Did you say X but the waitress laughs and says NO I said eggs, I don’t know what is up with everyone today and that’s for sure.

Boris looks into the bag at the Fried Egg Sandwiches and says DAMN that Spider, he has done it again.

Meanwhile the old man has eaten his breakfast and has decided to take a walk along the docks. Where a young navel cadet is shocked to see the periscope of what appears to be a Russian Nuclear submarine moving slowly in the water, the ripples of the tide forming a definite X marking its position.  X MARKS THE SPOT says the old man amusingly as the young cadet rushes past in panic.

I think folk are going to ask Y tomorrow . . . . . .HAH AH HA HAH hah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haha ha


And if you did not read yesterdays post then this is somewhat meaningless . . . . . NO its true you need to read yesterday first (AH DAMN you have just read all this) 

Link to Part Three

W is for a Web of Intrigue . . . . . or (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos)

(Part One)

Every child in the World has heard of the Tangerine Flea of New Guinea and it's amazing skills at fishing, but not so many are aware of the equally amazing Intrigue Spider of Patagonia (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos). Yes this little spider gets its name from its web, the so called Web of Intrigue. A web so complex that any critter foolish enough to succumb to the underlying plot will be sucked into it, only to find they are baffled and confused when they discover that the man in the raincoat is not the husband of the woman in the café. And that the old man watching the shop once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. This of course is all just too much for a humble fly or beetle, and as they try and escape they find themselves just a side dish in the great scheme of things where Boris having agreed to a spy exchange walks slowly down a wet alley and climbs into a black Mercedes driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer in the night club.  Irene turning to Boris to say . . . . The Flies dead Boris, he had his brains sucked clean out. . . . Boris smiles and replies . . . That Spider is good, damn good, but one day someone is going to stamp on him hard. As the car vanishes into the mist a small spider can be seen spinning its web on a plain brown paper bag left discretely near the third window from the right on the old MI5 building, a small microphone protruding from the top.

Two young botanists from the local college stop and look intently at the bag and one says Gosh I’m sure that’s the amazing Intrigue Spider of Patagonia (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos). His friend looks startled and shouts . . . .  RUN . . . . . . But it is too late, they are bundled into the back of a white van which drives off into the night at speed.  The only witness an old man who tells the police that he once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. . . . .

As the old man walks home he bends down and carefully puts a small spider into an old matchbox, and as he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . You still have it then . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests. 

Link to Part Two     

Intelligence Agencies, spying, the Mk3 Mechanical Spy Bird and Steven Spielberg.

The British and American Intelligence Agencies have said I am allowed one more go at designing a decent mechanical spy bird or they will stop following my online diary and that will result in most of my readers vanishing (as most of them are them). But they also say that if I do a jolly good job, OK it was the British Intelligence Agency used the word jolly, Americans don’t really say Jolly a lot, if ever, they tend to say kick Ass or use slightly cruder terms such as SHIT or YO never GOOD SHOW CHAPS like us chaps in Britain, as it happens such things are seldom said in Britain much these days really, it is the changing times.

Anyway all this is by the by and of no consequence to man nor beast or spies.  What the chaps in the murky world of intelligence gathering have said, is that if I make a really good job of the Mark Three Mechanical Spy Bird they will secrete a small device under the pillow of the very nice Mr Steven Spielberg, so at night it will repeatedly repeat the subliminal message into his ear . . . . . . . . . . That Rob Z Tobor is a rather clever chap who has a cracking (if long) diary which would make a great film. Go on you know you want to; make the movie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Well who could not be persuaded by such an offer?

So here we have the all New Mk3 Mechanical Spy Bird, as someone once famously said in a very similar position, well when I say similar it was sort of similar-ish……………. One small flap for man one giant leap for spying…….. OK he did not say exactly that but he meant to,  I think?

How come they have never let any women go to the moon it seems a bit unfair, maybe they are just not stupid enough to volunteer

Of Mice and Men, Albatross and Puffins and Mr Putin

The other day I drew a picture of a mechanical Albatross in the style of Mr Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci that could circumnavigate the entire world. At the time I suggested that it could be used by GCHQ here in Britain and NSA or the CIA in the USA to spy on folk. However these organisations have said that although the plan has merit the likes of President Putin is going to be rather suspicious if an Albatross is peering at him through the windows of the Kremlin as he talks to his generals. It appears Albatross do not sit on building in the middle of large cities watching the men and women of world power, so they said to me . . . . . .Rob you need to redesign that bird and maybe make it blend in a bit more with the environment it would be used in as a spy bird . . . . . . So I have thought long and hard about this and thought to myself, what would the great man Mr Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci do. In a flash the answer was clear the perfect choice of bird, a bird no one would give a second glance at in Moscow or Pyongyang where they could almost sit on the shoulders of men as they discuss many secret things (that’s the men not the birds) . . . . . . . . . . . Yes you have guessed it the humble Puffin.

Anyway I sent my design off to GCHQ and NSA and before you could say  . . . . . the seagulls are holding the umbella in the park today . . . (a bit of spy talk) they have sent me a response saying . . . . . . .. . . ROB Z TOBOR you are an IDIOT. . .

Well there is no pleasing some folk, I understand how Mr Da Vinci felt now when he showed his drawing of his helicopter to the king.  

Aliens, clouds, spies, curry and vineyards

 You can always tell that you might be standing next to spies when one man in a raincoat and designer sunglasses reading the Times newspaper says . . . . . The gazelles are not happy pushing the supermarket trolleys in the mud. And then another man in a raincoat with designer sunglasses reading the Times newspaper says  . . . . .  The bicycle has climbed the tree in the wood again, I will light the fire. . . .  I did add . . . The Seagulls are less active when the Queen sings. But I was told seagulls are very old school and no modern spy fresh from the headphones of GCHQ would even know what a seagull was these days, now we have the internet and stuff.

Anyway other than encounters with spies and a small grumpy alien who refused to abducted Mr Jones on the grounds that he was naked yet again and  that they had already adducted him three times this year; and really knew as much as they needed to know about him, not a lot has happened today. Oooooo yes I might have seen a pirate or it may have been a duck, sometimes if things move fast the mind will change the things to a more suitable object to fit in with the situation, like for example seeing a tap dancing crow holding a ice cream on the Eiffel tower . . . in a cloud above the house while digging a hole with a pickaxe.

Mr F is with us for the weekend and we went off to a vineyard to drink hot chocolate and discuss cheese. It was a very nice vineyard just the other side of Churchstoke and they we right in the middle of their main harvest, I don’t drink wine which explains the hot chocolate.  I also continued to dig my new hole with the pickaxe although it started to rain from an interesting looking cloud which stopped that in its tracks as they say . . . Yes a hole does not make tracks, so not an ideal saying really.  And we have been for a curry in Monty with Mr F which was good.

And really that is about it I think.

Ooooooo some folk are doing a jigsaw as I am typing this by the way and I am also drinking tea.

Tinker Tailor Teacher Spy . . . . . Media Studies and a Bat

One of the things about being a part time teacher and also a pupil at our rather grand modern academy, OK I say grand it has a grand facade on the main entrance, but that is a distraction; back to the point. At present school is like a spy movie, I am a bit like Sir Alec Guinness in Tinker Tailor Teacher Spy, if I walk into the teacher’s recreation room for a hot chocolate all the teachers stare at me and go silent. Some of them have been saying that specializing in Obscure Irrational Theories and Zombie Defence Classes are not real subjects, although I did upset the Media Studies teacher when I said Media Studies was even more useless that my subjects. And now I am starting to get the feeling that I may be being watched as I am seeing shadows lurking in corners and doorways.

In order to get into the full spy film feel I have put bugs in the headmasters office, mainly crane flies (Daddy Long Legs) as there are loads of them hiding in the hedge rows and playing dead in our house, when I say playing dead I mean dead but I was breaking the news to you gently. Which reminds me, this morning when I got up there was a tiny little bat on the carpet in our library (yes we have a library which sounds posh, but it is not really), the little bat was also playing dead rather well (again I am breaking the bad new to you gently)  . . . . . . . it was dead.  I don’t know how it got into the house or what happened to it, but some of the pupils at today’s Zombie Defence Class this afternoon said it might have been a remote control Vampire bat sent to spy on me by the Media Studies teacher who is probably a Zombie and that they will test their defence moves on him in class tomorrow. So all that had actually happened was the batteries had gone flat…… So best to think of the little beast as a Spy-bat with flat batteries rather than a cute little furry bat that is dead……. It’s a tough cruel world, I’m glad I have my trusty pointy stick……..

Surely spy movies are meant to have moles in them, not bats and media study teachers. 

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The Spy and the Great Diving Beetle.

Today proved to be a funny old day as my plans did not go to plan. I started by dismantling a bed, a useful skill that can come in extremely handy if you ever need to dismantle a bed, and if all goes well I will work out how to put it together again very soon. I also had to paint the edges of the box of sea a bit because the sea moves; I am getting round this problem by making sea doors to keep the sea confined so that should sort that out.

Then we had a trip to the Coy People of the Din Ash who sell folk stuff; the great leader of the Coy People of the Din Ash is a man called Charlie who no one ever sees any more for various reasons, well just the one really. Anyway we bought a pond and a drain cover and a small palm thing, some milk and a huge chocolate cake . . . . . DAMN we did not buy a huge chocolate cake.

Then this afternoon Miss Fionaski the Famous Russian Spy came to see us, she is on a secret mission at the end of the week in a creek I think, where it is very hot and the creek is full of Octopus and other strange beasts which she says she may be forces to eat. Interestingly Miss Fionaski might be happy to fight huge Octopus, but she does not like Wasps in fact she said if she was tortured with a wasp she would tell all straight away. Although she did insist I did not tell anyone . . . . . . . AH DAMN. And she passed on a small unmarked package for the Ghost Writer which apparently is also a secret . . . . . . DAMN again…..

What was really strange was that as she was about to drive off back to base a Great Diving Beetle fell onto her car, I have to say that was very strange, sometimes real life can be as weird as  the world of Rob which is good to know. I saved the Great Diving Beetle and put it in the pond so it is OK as they don’t really live on cars too well.

Tomorrow it appears I will be with the Ghost Writer acting as his bodyguard in his new and as yet untested (by him) office. He is not good with things changing and he does not have his own desk anymore.

Ooooooooooo apparently it is not creek it is Crete…….almost the same thing.  

The Godzilla Appreciation Society and the Microdot

We are out for a meal tonight, in fact we are out for meals two nights this week which is rather rare as in general we are antisocial and I for one like to grumble and poke folk with pointy sticks. It is far better than poking at holes in the ground with pointy sticks because people are in general far more responsive than holes in the ground unless the person is sort of dead and in a hole in the ground but it is bad form to poke someone who is dead and in the ground unless they are a Zombie or a Vampire. In the case of the Vampire we are generally encouraged to poke pointy sticks into them although you can’t tell they are Vampires until they wake up and start trying to suck all your blood out. You see even the protocol of using a pointy stick is full of pitfalls, which is ironically what happens if you slip you fall into a pit HAH HAHAHH ha hah ah hah ah hah ah ah ha ha ha hah ahha hah ah ah hah ah h ha hah ahah ah hh ah ah ah ah h aha ha ha ha.

OK yes tonight we are teaming up with the Godzilla Appreciation Society on one of their annual shindigs, that does not mean we are digging shins or anything else by the way it just means we are meeting up and having a meal as they now have to find a new location to meet as they have out grown their present meeting hall. Well when I say they have outgrown the hall what I mean is their Genetically Modified Godzilla Experiment has outgrown the hall and the hall committee have complained about the teeth marks in the ceiling.

OOoo yes sorry about tonights picture but mum, who as we know is a secret double agent has to pass a microdot to the Russians and has said she has hidden it in my diary, She said she was going to hide it in one of my drawings, but on seeing tonight’s drawing said I was an IDIOT. However she also said that as long as MI6, GCHQ (hello Quinton and Charles) and the CIA are not aware of her plan, all will be OK…….

AH DAMN

Mum has said IDIOT again . . . . .

Snowden, GCHQ, NSA or Mt Snowdon and the Four Eyed Devil Beast meets IKEA

Although I have been busy I do not appear to have anything tangible to hold up and say AH YES look I created this huge thing today with pointy teeth and undulating legs that can scurry about in small spaces, which is well cool for a huge thing. Only it is not a cool thing because it does not exist. So far today I have not be able to return to the Animal-Scope (mark one) to do stuff, I have added mark one because I plan to build the more complex mark two Animal-Scope very soon.

As it happens it is also Sunday today and coldish and wet and traditionally in Britain that means either sitting about doing not a lot pointing at seagulls and wood pigeons in the trees and saying things like OOOOOO LOOK A PIGEON, or spending the day in IKEA, but that is far to far away to go to from here just because it is wet. In the old days of course folk would head off to church but it is not as popular a pass time as it used to be and the local church regularly has a congregation of two, the vicar and the organist. It appears that someone said that the rumours of the strange Four Eyed Devil Beast were in fact just rumours and it was not going to eat everyone who spent their days frolicking in IKEA. You can see the advantage of Micro Gods they are far more comprehensive; having just the one God means that once people think the Four Eyed Devil Beast is not going to get them they lose interest in singing in a large cold building to save themselves.

  

Talking of Four Eyed Devil Beasts and being saved I notice that Mr Snowden man who let slip that we are all being listened too by NSA in the USA, and GCHQ in the UK (hello Charles and Quinton) has had to sneak off to Russia now after King Kong (sorry Hong Kong, his sister) got all confused by a large pile of paper sent by the American Government. Well if you sent a large pile of paper to China then the word Origami comes to mind and so you really need to make it clear or the whole international legal process becomes a Plague of Frogs, several Biplanes, a swan eating a leopard and the Chinese speciality with reams of legal documents, a Giant Panda hiding in a Bamboo Thicket on a Mountain (an origami favourite). Ironically it was only after making the Giant Panda hiding in a Bamboo Thicket on a Mountain, that an official noticed the word Snowden on the mountain and realized their error because of course the rather famous Welsh mountain is spelt Snowdon, But by then Mr Snowden was in a plane (not a Biplane) and heading to Russia where President Putin is lets face it not going to help the government of the USA much after he was made to feel rather uncomfortable at the G8 summit, so I think we can safely say that Mr S will be off again soon in his bid to outrun the  Four Eyed Devil Beast.

Oooooooo yes one small thing it is OK to use the internet on Sunday because they don’t work in NSA or GCHQ on Sunday’s, they tend to be in IKEA, except Charles and Quinton who are getting paid double time and like reading my Sunday diary entries (well done chaps). 

The Outside Outsider Artist and my rapid rise to obscurity.

I was listening to the radio this morning (Radio 4) and they were discussing exhibitions of Outsider Art at the Hayward Gallery and some other big gallery in London, now outsider art refers to artists who paint and do stuff because they like doing it rather than for commercial success, a bit like making things like sculpture with cardboard which commercially is doomed. Apparently they said the market for Outsider Art is rather good at present, which to me seems somewhat a contradiction in terms, but the art market is very fickle. Lets face it, looking at in the cold light of day folk are paying millions for a few pounds worth of paint a few square feet of canvas and a wooden picture frame because it has a famous signature on it when they could buy some brilliant art as good for a few hundred pounds at most or cardboard sculpture for even less.  I am it appears an Outside Outsider Artist and diary writer doomed to the dark shadows of obscurity, mocked by the masses who throw empty cardboard boxes at me (that’s lucky) and laugh HA HA HA HA in my face. I say this because I have noticed that traffic to my blog has dropped dramatically, I think Charles at GCHQ may have a hand in this, apparently he is in a bad mood after finding out his investment of two million pounds in half a shark appears to have been a little impetuous.

The Ghost Writer made these long before that other chap did

I am off as it happens today to a local junior school later to do some art with the after school club who wish to create some themed artwork, possibly based on sixty years of the queen being the queen. Anyway right now I am doing other stuff so I will return a bit later (where did that sun go?)…….

Much Much later . . . . .

Yes I did my bit with the junior school kids, although I think they are a bit too keen I was thinking take our time draw a silhouette on thick card cut it out all very sedate after all this is a five week project, but they were sort of off like mad things and had drawn all their animal shapes in about two minutes rather than an hour. . . . . . . . . . AH DAMN that was not meant to happen, it appears these kids are like super bouncy and over enthusiastic, I don’t think that ever happened to me but then cyberspace is a far more cynical world. After all here in cyberspace there is an old saying Walls Have Ears…… (Hello Charles and Quentin).