My enterprise knows no bounds! As soon as I spot Ken Livingstone lurking in the foyer of the Vue Cinema, Finchley Road, hiding behind a poster of The Hangover Part III, I make a note of the date and time. This is in case of any future criminal proceedings. I then file these details in a folder labelled Ken – Dodgy.
It is an outrage. In spite of my repeated demands, the Boriswatch blog has not been shut down! Simon of Boriswatch once had the temerity to post a blog with a lot of Latin numerals, which was clearly a means of communicating with, well, a spy who spoke Latin. The gloves are off! Quis custodiet ipsos custodies? I will have to lobby the head of MI6. For the sake of national security.
Stanley Johnson, ( hunky father of our Mayor) was abroad recently said the press, with his lady wife, presumably on an innocent holiday for two. Oh come on! He was abroad on a mission for MI6, any fool knows that. They arranged for him to come home on HMS Albion months ago. When the volcano erupted, they had to let everybody else get on. My brilliant daily surveillance means finding Stanley’s office is a doddle.
As I press my ear to a crack in his office door, I am amazed to hear the sound of passionate sobbing. “Please Stanley” I hear. “Don’t turn me in! I’m throwing myself on your mercy!” “There, there” rumbles Stanley’s baritone, “Pull yourself together, old man. You‘re wetting my trousers.” Old man? Crikey! It’s Burgess and Maclean all over again. In my enthusiasm to hear more, I lean so hard against the door, it bursts open, catapulting me at Stanley’s feet. With lightning speed, Stanley ushers the snivelling wreck at his feet out of a side door, but not before I take a snap with my phone of – Michael Gove!
Pre-empting the scary look that Stanley gives me, I ruthlessly seize the moment. “Admit Simon of Boriswatch is the Third Man” I splutter, “Or Mr. Gove will find himself splashed all over the front page of the Guardian quicker than you can say Kim Philby!” Stanley narrows his eyes. An old public school trick. It means they are playing for time. “What exactly do you want?” he asks softly.
“I want you” I say with much more bravado than I am feeling “to betray Boriswatch!” I go for broke. “Reveal to the media he is dangerous”. “My dear” says Stanley, “If I had known that was all you wanted, we could have avoided all this fuss. Of course he is dangerous”. To my utter astonishment, Stanley leans over and switches on a television set on his desk. What the deuce……
The t.v shows a one day cricket international, and who is that striding out to meet Jonathan Trott in immaculate whites, nodding to Alastair Cook, as he trudges back to the pavilion? My goodness, it is Simon of Boriswatch! Cook is out, Simon is coming in to join Trott, so that makes him….. “The third man. ” says Stanley. “Simon is a brilliant batsman. Dangerous. I’ll take that” and he smoothly nicks the phone from my luckless fingers.
He’s not getting away with this…….