Funny how things stick in your mind. I can clearly recall the time and place of the first bet I won against Groida (to see if he could keep a Jaffa cake on his sting if I flicked lighted matches at it) yet for the life of me I can't remember what I've done with the harmonium's ignition keys.
True, I can always fly short haul to the Co-op or a takeaway in an emergency and it does give me an excuse to stay here in Cornwall with Bro for a bit longer, but that is not the point. I need the mobility, freedom and fearsome weaponry which Y Nauci 14 affords me.
Now, I am fairly nifty when it comes to hot-wiring vehicles but I know better than to tinker with this baby. I built it to go bang. If any sod tries to fiddle with the controls, an automatic self-destruct programme is initiated and the miscreant gets an express trip to his ancestors on a pillar of fire.
I would be able to override the booby trap by hitting every third note of a certain iconic disco hit of the 1970's, except the song in question has slipped my memory. Donna Summer's "I Feel Love" is playing dimly in the back of my swede but I don't want to kiss goodbye to half a million quid's worth of ex-military hardware and an antique ivory keyboard merely on a hunch.
In my desperation I even rang Groida. Although his Auntie Pamela answered and called him to the phone, he insisted I had the wrong number, claiming to be one Evan Phetau and tried to sell me double glazing in a ludicrous Caribbean accent. He has gone too far this time.
There is a Spiritualist meeting in the town next week, so I will pop along and enquire beyond the veil as to the whereabouts of the keys. Failing that I'll try the hypnotist in the end-of-the-pier show or the Royal Engineers.
In the mean time I shall meditate on how to exact a truly awful revenge on that pea-brained jackanapes for his impertinent tomfoolery.
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