Why is the village idiot "Dense" being sent out to Azerbaijan by MI6 to rescue a hostage held by terrorists?
Why has a retired KGB assassin raised a small Cossack army to help him out?
Why has an Azerbaijan warlord moved up to the front row of the choir and why is his "moll" Nikola Elastickova playing wigwams with Dense?
Why has the Prime Minister asked the head of MI6 if he would like to be on page 3 of the Sun newspaper?
And why do Quantum physicists prefer baked beans to broccoli?
Most of the answers are in this book.
Once upon a time in a far off land called Azerbaijan during the time of Perestroika, whoever she was, a young Scottish petro chemical engineer was minding his own business drinking a glass of watered down vodka in the “Pink Pussy” night club in downtown Baku.
And on a lovely summer’s afternoon in a quaint chocolate box village somewhere in the middle of England called Muddlecombe-cum-Snoring, Boris, a retired KGB assassin and Dense, the village idiot working for British Intelligence, were enjoying a pint of their favourite bitter in their local pub minding their own business.
So, just as everybody was starting to live happily ever after, who should turn up, yes, the shit fairy!
Sir Robert “Standfast” McFadyen Kt OBE MC was a dour Scottish Presbyterian. Educated at George Heriot's School, Edinburgh, Winchester College, and Sandhurst and had a successful career in the Scots Guards, serving in Korea, Singapore, Kenya and Aden. He played rugby for the Army where he earned the nickname “jock strap” and after he was demobbed he did a classics degree at Balliol College, Oxford and then joined the diplomatic service. He managed to sidestep the homosexual bit and was now Her Majesty’s Britannic Ambassador in Azerbajan. A tall gaunt overpowering gentleman who was known as someone who stood for no nonsense.
Right now though he was staring down both barrels of a fully loaded nonsense gun.
Mr “Dense” Dimmock .
‘Just run that bit past me again about heads rolling around can you please Mr Dimmock?’
‘Well, they weren’t rolling around, just sort of lying around.’
‘Heads? We’re talking about people’s heads here are we?’
‘Yeah, them things on your shoulders.’
‘Right.’ He wasn’t quite sure how to continue.
There was a pregnant pause and Dense picked up on it and carried on.
‘Yeah, it was all a bit messy.’
‘I’m sure it was. And how did these heads get detached from their shoulders?’
‘Yeah, them sort of swords, what the Cossacks used.’
‘Yeah, Boris’ mates.’
Sir Robert was sure this was all leading somewhere but for the life of him couldn’t see where. But if nothing he had patience. He may be losing it but he was sure if he just amassed all his diplomatic skills he would get some sort of understandable result.