Be careful what you wish for: Part II

Be careful what you wish for: Part II

The story so far: Bored after many years of being monarch of all he surveyed in the kingdom that he had renamed Thucydia, King Sirob - to bring some fun back to his life - was instructed by his Grand Vizier, Domcum, to use compulsory purchase powers to take control of a football club in the province of Norvicensia.

For many years the club had been cared for by Delsmi – formerly known as ‘Queen of the Kitchen’ – and her husband Mikey, who were now both over a hundred years old and were settling down to their evening cocoa when the telephone rang.

The ‘Queen’ picked up the receiver. "Hello. It’s rather late. Who is it?"

"Domcum here. We’re taking over Norvicensia FC tomorrow."

"Piss off," snapped Delsmi, with such force that it rattled the sherry bottle on the coffee table.

"Compulsory purchase, darlin’, Government directive under the royal prerogative. It’ll be issued at midday tomorrow. King Sirob will be in Norvicensia at 1.00 pm for photo-ops. By the way, what colours does your team wear?"

"We’re proud Canaries, yelled Delsmi, and you can piss off!" slamming the phone back on to its stand.

"What on earth was that all about, dear?" enquired Mikey, gently. "One of those Arab sheikhs, again?"

"No, It was Domcum. Says he’s going to buy the club by compulsory purchase... tomorrow."

"Bugger me," said Mikey, gravely, "this means war... we must summon men, women and children throughout the province and call on them to resist and you must be our leader. Remember that speech by your famous ancestor Boudi, "I may have the body of a weak and feeble woman but I have the heart and stomach...*

"Actually, I think that was Elizabeth I, dear, but you’re right about living up to the legend of Boudi. The only problem with her was that although things went well to start with, in the long run, she lost. This is one we must win."

"We can’t fight them through the courts, dear. They’ve deported all the judges."

"You’re right. This is a direct action scenario. We must march on Camulodunum."

"Best go a little further, dear. Sirob - I mean, Domcum - runs the show from Londinium."

"Then, Londinium, it will be. But Sirob’s going to be at The Carra tomorrow at 1.00 pm waving a green and yellow scarf around for the benefit of the press and TV. We’ll need a show of strength there, though I doubt whether the media will cover it. Domcum’s bound to issue a censorship order."

"OK. We’ll have to use the underground radio. Since they got rid of the BBC, it’s replaced local radio for news and Domcum hasn’t bothered to block the transmitter. He thinks it keeps the proles happy, especially if they keep pumping out the ‘50,000 nurses, 20,000 police officers’ guff. But I’ve got a contact on the inside – codename, ’Pukki’ – who’ll get a brief statement on the air first thing tomorrow morning: ‘All Canaries to assemble at the Carra at midday – THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

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