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"Oh dear," exclaimed Annabelle. "Looks like the blow to the head has given this man a concussion."

 

"Well, what shall we do we do now? Shall I put him out of his misery?" asked Harriet, looking meaningfully at the Heckler & Koch.

 

"Well, you should," encouraged the reporter Justin Case. "I already told my editor that you murdered a copper, so... umm, would you be so kind?"

 

"Oh you poor man," Annabelle cradled PC Dibble's head. "Do you remember your name?"

 

"My name? My name... umm? Where am I anyway? Who are you?"

 

"Oh dear, this is worse than I thought. Harriet, get the car ready. We can't take PC Dibble to a hospital - there will be a scandal, and Gus will know exactly who we are. I know just the place where PC Dibble can be nursed back to health."

 

"And where is that?" asked Harriet and Justin simultaneously.

 

"My friend Carrie Oakey is a nurse, and she lives in Fingringhoe in Essex. That's where we will take PC Dibble. I will drive him. Harriet, you bring the officer's car and bring this man with you," commanded Annabelle, pointing at the reporter. "It's time we go underground, so that...

Edited by Older Fish
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we can nurse dear Winnie (as she was now calling him since finding his identity card) while he is non compos mentis. We'll give you exclusive rights to the story, if you keep your mouth shut until this whole fiasco is sorted out. And just in case, Case, we'll have to ...

Edited by poppy
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tape up your mouths ...or better still..here's a mega sweet gobstopper...chew on it." And the two intrepid reporters began to chew upon the hard coated sweet chewing gum. Soon Jenkins and Case were trying to chatter but their mouths were filled with bubble gum to the extent that neither could speak.

 

Bertie wanted a photo and he clicked away on his mobile, capturing......

Edited by itsmeagain
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... the people going in and out of the Nobody Inn, in the meanwhile, miles away from where the drama was unfolding at Annabelle's detective agency. Annabelle's instructions had been to photograph Bauble and anyone he might be with, but Bertie was already bored within 5 minutes of getting here, and he had something else on his mind. Well, someone else, to be precise.

 

That someone else was bustling about in her small brownstone house in Copping Close in Croyden, getting ready for the undercover operation Annabelle had sent her on. Her undercover outfit wardrobe (which, one of her ex boyfriends had once embarrasingly mistaken for a "role play" wardrobe), had many choice outfits and Trixie was having a hard time deciding. The school girl outfit was nice, but no one would want to steal a school girl's purse - it would probably contain nothing but old mints and neatly folded pieces of paper with "Mrs. Trent-Doodleworthy" signed all over them. The lady of the night outfit would be too racy for this time of the day. Parking meter attendant, pizza delivery girl, convict, ballerina and equestrian sports outfits were also not suitable. Finally, Trixie settled on the office girl outfit - the one she wore to work everyday.

 

Setting her bag down on the bed, she...

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complete surprise to find Bertie standing on her doorstep, finger poised to push her bell.  'Bertram! (she always called him by his full name when she was cross with him) What on earth are you doing here? You're supposed to be casing out Cyrill's usual haunts and taking photographic evidence!'

'I got bored, can I join you? What are you doing all dressed up like a pox doctor's assistant?'

'Don't be so rude, Bertie, I'm getting in character,'

'What kind of character would that be then?'

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Trixie said "Do not think that a pox doctor's Secretary dresses glam not even glam rock."

Whizzing Bertie into the hallway, she pointed to a black and white photo of an old lady mopping a floor.

"See the Victorian garb...Emily Bullwackie, Secretary to renowned 19th century syphilis fighter and medical luminary Sir Typhus Malt..do you like...

Edited by itsmeagain
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her outfit?'

'That's not his secretary, that's the cleaning lady. You're such a silly! Anyway, what are you supposed to be doing? Nothing's happening round Bauble's hangout. I think he must be away somewhere. Can I tag along with you? Please, pretty please, Trixie,' and he gave her what he considered his most dazzling smile. Unfortunately, it made him look like a ...

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circus clown, his round brown hangdog eyes pleading , yellow teeth with a gold tip on one, creating a less than mouthwatering picture.

"I dunno why poppy itsme and older fish metamorphosed us out of the office but I am going back. Come along" and with that Trixie drove back.

Annabelle was serene. "Well ....

Edited by itsmeagain
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I'm not at all surprised. You can't expect much else from those literary types,' she said, when they explained what had happened, ' they're always wandering round with their noses stuck in a book, not taking any notice of where they're going or where they're putting things. There was this one time ...

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I encountered a website named Book club forum.

Some of the contributors were very much into writing silly stories. There was one tale of pigeons committing adultery and one about Gilby something..all good fun."

"Yes I read it too but was too shy to contribute. I will next time", said Trixie with an airy wave of the hand.

"Your next assignment is...

Edited by itsmeagain
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...to go to the market and..."

 

Before Annabelle could finish her sentence, an errant interstellar asteroid the size of Mount Everest, traveling at nearly 10% the speed of light smashed in to London, obliterating all life on Earth (except for a few strains of Archea and water bears).

 

The Vogons arrived just 2 hours later, found the job already done for them, filled out B223/7-1R forms in triplicate, and left.

Edited by Older Fish
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with a job that had been on the books for sometime.

 

Meantime, the Vogons, who had become rather slapdash in double-checking their facts, were happily travelling back through hyperspace composing awful poetry to help pass the time.

'We spurgled grummily and flurvled wart,

Onwardly festered liverspotted wrought ... (any more would be dangerous)

 

Yes, London was not the world, the UN decreed, and indeed the world could probably carry on without it. Sheffield was now declared capital, far more sensible and central to the whole island.

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if she could get out of her office girl outfit and into something warmer.  Although looking the height of efficiency, a white shirt, short black skirt, sheer black stockings and high-heels hadn't stood up well to the rigours of the little London asteroid mishap and weren't designed for the 1°C temperature.

 

Meanwhile, the Vogons, headed by Ura Hogg, arrived back in Vogsphere to ...

Edited by poppy
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report on , and to analyse, the latest from The World, as these Humans seem to call it.

"They have a thing named Google. By this means they get information from every corner of the world. No need for them to press buttons transporting them through the air like we do. Sprargon and Valper you two are going to Sheffield the Capital of England. There you will....

Edited by itsmeagain
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make up for the fact you made a humungous muck up in your mission to destroy the earth. However, you have been saved from a life sentence of incarceration by bringing home this interesting information about Google. This could assist us in our paperwork. Go back to earth and find out more, we may have to move the planet instead of destroying it. You will have to ...

Edited by poppy
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...fill out a requisition form 11B/47-revision 3A-17.4 in triplicate, notarize it, have it approved by the Grand Voxon in order to obtain supplies of food and poetry writing paper for your journey. In the meanwhile, we have planted a secret agent among the humans - the most bureaucratic Hogzed u'Lgrrk is hiding among them, pretending to be an obese registrar of small businesses in an inconspicuous, unimportant area the native life forms call Sheffield, in an equally unimportant country. However, we have intelligence that this being called Google lives in a neighbouring region called the land of Ire (a fitting name for a place indeed), or Ireland, for tax purposes. Your mission is to abduct this Google and bring him here. We will be the ones asking him questions then."

 

The Vogon operatives coughed up an impressive amount of slime as courtesy demanded, and slithered away.

 

In the meanwhile...

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Little did they know that bureaucracy on earth was almost on a par with Vogsphere. Many happy hours were in store for them when they tried to pass through customs on arrival. Their appearance was such that bio-security, clad in protective gear and breathing apparatus, were immediately summoned. The Vogons were thrown into quarantine where samples of green slime were taken and sent off for testing. The results were very interesting. They showed ...

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excellent iron nutrition, good thyroid function, plus an especially high zinc blood reading. Eyesight was good and hearing good too.

Dave Blockhead from Greater Manchester, was on duty when our two aliens came in.

"Actually the sight of green girl and green boy made me feel inadequate as they were so....

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obnoxious and rude. I've never had to deal with such downright cantankerousness in the whole of my border patrol career. And ugly, man!! A bulldog chewing on a wasp would be a prettier sight. And worst of all,  they started reciting this abominable poetry. I tell you, it very nearly made me ...

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And another one read 'Man buried alive in supermarket.'  Still another, 'I thought he was going to kill me!' claims hairdressing client.'

'Sounds like my kind of place,' exclaimed Valpar, 'we should fit in here nicely.'

 

Totally unaware of the dire threat to earth from an alien species, not to mention the devastating effect unleashing Vogon poetry on the population at large could have, Annabelle's Detective Agency team were happily ...

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