Thursdays With Uncle Boom #69

I had received a very formal and official letter from the Parliamentary whip asking me to pop in and visit him. He, being a certain Sir Anthony Cavalcade. I had met him once or twice in the Parliament Bar, a fine seeming fellow despite having a face like vaginal ham.

Always being a fellow to oblige I had finished my breakfast brandy, dressed and departed at once.

It was only a short ride to the Houses of Parliament. Upon arrival, I slapped my maid Liselle affectionately on her flanks and tied her to a nearby fence so that she would not stray.

You may take a moment or two to catch your breath my dear.

She looked quite exhausted. Poor thing. Perhaps I should have taken the car but it was a lovely day and I liked riding her.

I marched into the Houses of Parliament and quickly made my way to the Whip's office. His secretary had her coat on and was hurrying out, the way I had arrived but nodded for me to enter his inner sanctum behind a rather solid looking mahogany door.

Smiling my best smile, I entered.

Good day to you, Sir Anthony!

He looked up from a ledger on his desk upon my entry and took off a small pair of spectacles.

I dragged a chair out and sat down, pulling out my pipe with great aplomb.

And what, Sir Anthony may I do for you on this fine day?

I inquired cheerily as if someone had gifted me some underpants made of kittens.

You could bloody turn up to some Parliamentary meetings, maybe cast a fucking vote or two, eh? How about that, Uncle Fucking Boom?

He bellowed quite angrily, punctuating his speech with angry stabs of his spectacles at the air between us.

I was a little taken aback. Perhaps he had penis-weevils that were causing him some discomfort?

Parliamentary meetings? Cast the odd vote? Well, I suppose I could, yes.

I responded diplomatically whilst tucking some baccy into my pipe. It was a fine one and no mistake. From the dark east of the Europes. Maggie's Caul, it had a deeply musky flavour like a cat's arse after eating liquorice.

My response seemed to gratify Sir Anthony somewhat. He grumbled grumpily and pulled out his own pipe. It was a drab affair. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at it in disgust.

Good, good. I have been going over the records you see and you are never fucking here. You are a Minister of Parliament, I should hardly have to drag you in here and remind you of your duties. Now, there is a vote coming up on this sorry Brexit affair. I need you in the chambers this evening to vote. No excuses, understand?

I pursed my lips. I was not sure I found his tone to be entirely agreeable.

I stood to leave, somewhat stiffly.

Yes, alright then. I shall vote this evening. Just one thing though?

Sir Anthony had already put his head back down to his ledger. He whipped it up in annoyance that I had not yet left.

What?!

He barked.

Which party am I voting for?

I asked pleasantly.

Sir Anthony turned peuce with rage and stood, his chair crashing back onto the floor.

Which party?! Which fucking party? Do you mean to tell me you don't even know which party you stand for? Are you a fucking idiot? The Conservative party. For fuck sake?!

I tilted my head to the side. It seemed for a moment that the honourable sir before me had called me an idiot. Were we not gentlemen? This kind of behaviour was quite deplorable among men of the code.

Ah yes, Conservative party. Got it.

I got my hip flask out and took a good glug of Mad Agnes before walking to the door. It was a biting whisky and I appreciated the burn as it slid down my gullet.

Opening the door, I popped my head outside before pulling it back and closing the door behind me.

I walked a couple of paces back toward Sir Anthony's desk.

Ahem.

Sir Anthony looked up in seeming disbelief.

What? You're still here. What do you fucking want now?

I nodded my head and smiled.

Sir Anthony. Please, may I enquire, what is your story? Tell me of your roots and the road that led you to this exalted position in her Majesty's Parliament?

My story? What? Well...

He seemed a little mollified at my interest and continued.

My Father was a baker and my Mother a maid. Despite these humble beginnings, from an early age I decided that I...

Sorry, what? Your parents were peons?

I interrupted.

Peons? How fucking dare you? They were good honest working people. Salt of the fucking earth!

I stalked toward him. My hand slipping inside my jacket and pulling out Martha, my wicked little knife.

Peons, that means you are a fucking peon, hmm?

I smiled my best smile. It seemed as if the temperature in the room dropped by some degrees.

Sir Arthur made a strangled quacking noise like a duck eating a mince pie.

What the hell? Is that a knife? A knife? Why the hell have you a knife?!

Silently I closed the gap between us. My grin, bright and cold.

Oh my dear Tony, I shouldn't say. After all...