Softly Shouting

  The girls were trying to sit up, but they looked groggy and unfocused. Maybe they were drugged, thought Barney. ‘I’ll be back in a tick, Masika. Poirot, you stay here’. Despite cats not really understanding and obeying orders, for once Poirot seemed to be understanding what he was supposed to do. He spread out on the bed, purring and rubbing his head against Masika. Barney went back through the wardrobe and informed Aggie of the developments. ‘I don’t think I can walk them out, yet. They seem to be drugged, and they can hardly communicate. Can you phone your mate in the police? I’ll go back in. Wish I had something to defend myself with – I don’t fancy having a fight with Mr Popular.’ ‘Go back to my room, Barney. Take the toy – you know which one I mean- out of the drawer and wrap it in a sock. Use it as a cosh, if need be.’ Barney followed these instructions. He felt a little foolish to have a rather large rubber penis in a sock but decided it was better than nothing...

  The managers apartments were in the oldest part of the care home. They came with the job. No resident ever came here. The hall leading to the entrance was dark and it smelled musty. The front door to the apartment was very sturdy. It had a serious looking yale lock, and a spy hole. Barney gave the door a few bashes and rattled the door – nobody opened and there was no sound coming from indoors. Aggie and Barney looked at each other. Aggie nodded. Barney had some schooling in forensic sciences and knew (in theory) how to get that door open. ‘Have you got a safety pin, auntie A?’ ‘Go into my room and search in the upper drawer of my night table, there may be one there.’ Barney got himself back to Aggie’s room. Poirot was asleep in Aggie’s bed and didn’t wake up. He switched the bed light on and rummaged through the drawer. He touched something in there and it began to buzz and wiggle. At the back of the drawer was a particularly large fluorescent sex toy. ‘You sly fox, au...

  Aggies scream had woken up the night nurse, who came running down the corridor, trailing the belt of her dressing gown. ‘Why did you scream, Aggie? What's wrong hen?’ In a split-second Aggie decided she wasn't going to tell the truth; for now. ‘I’m OK now. Thanks. It was just a horrible nightmare, Denise. I sometimes get it, especially after having cauliflower for dinner.’ ‘Oh, you poor dear. Would you like a nice brew to settle your stomach?’  Aggie normally avoided tea as if it was a hemlock infusion. ‘Yes, please Denise, that would be lovely. Maybe with a biscuit? You're ever so good to me.’ The longer there was someone awake nearby, the less likely the attacker would come back and try again. Denise walked out of the room when she saw something had rolled under Aggie’s bed. ‘What is that?’ She picked it up and looked at looked at the label. ‘Insulin. And a large dose too. You could kill yourself with that, you know?’ ‘All too well,’ said Aggie. ‘How...

  When Barney woke up the next morning he pulled on his oldest clothes, forgoing the fashionable slacks and shirts usually wore. He hadn't shaved and searched for a pair of manky sunglasses he had found on a bench in the park. He walked to Meadow Close. First, he walked through the street, only clocking where number 61 was; what kind of house it was, and anything else he could clean from the neighbouring houses. To his delight he noticed a coffee shop cum greasy spoon opposite to number 61. He completed his first circuit and turned back for another go. This time he wore his sunglasses disguise. He had read somewhere you only needed to change a little thing in order not to be noted. He desperately wanted Aggie to be proud of him. Solving their last mystery, that of the ice cream shop, had awakened the sleuth in him. He went into the cafe and ordered a coffee. He thought that his character would probably like a bacon buttie so in order to stay in character he ordered a bacon buttie...

And again the lives of my fellow Europeans are disrupted by an odious man with a big mouth and a small heart. Reform UK has (finally, I would say) expressed a policy they would put in place when they win the elections. And it is not pretty: people who have Indefinite Leave to Remain (ILR) would - if Nigel gets elected and forms a government- be stripped of ILR and instead apply for a work visum every five years. This visum will have to be applied for again and again. What do you think will happen when this person, maybe after working for a good few years in the UK, reaches retirement age? He or she will not be contributing to the UK pot of money - older folk would need the NHS more, maybe and actually be a 'burden' on the state. Oops - off you go to your home country - you have worked for us and now you can fuck off because you have lost your value. Now in principle, European citizens who live in the UK and have settled status would be 'safe'. The status of Europeans in...

 image Yui Mok/PA Wire, The Independent But Starmer is very wrong... Proclaiming the protest group ‘Palestine Action’ a proscribed organisation and any support for it a crime punishable by up to 14 years in prison has caused a bit of a stooshie in the UK and in Scotland. Dragging away elderly ladies who are clutching a placard stating that genocide is being committed in Gaza and that they support the Palestinian effort for peace and freedom is not good optics for any politician who asserts him- or herself on the left of the political spectrum. In the last few weeks hundreds of people have been arrested for flouting the ban. What is this ban, why is it in place and why is it wrong? ‘Ban’ comes from the Proto-Germanic bannan ‘to speak publicly’, and via Old High German bannan ‘to command or forbid under threat of punishment’. There is a bit of Old Frisian in there as well: bonna, which translates as ‘to order, command, proclaim’. [1] Which is, in this context, an interesting journey...

  One day, Poirot went missing. He occasionally absconded for a day or so, usually when the nights were short and the hormones raging, but he had never been away for three nights in a row. Barry and Aggie scoured the streets; Aggie muttering when the slow-moving tourists would not get out of the way of her wheelchair. ‘Make way! Make way! Crippled coming through! Oh, for fuck’s sake, get your arse in gear, woman! I’d like to get there before Christmas!’ It was futile. After two days of searching, Barney stuck little notes on lamp posts. ‘Missing! Have you seen Poirot?’ With one of the nicest photos of Poirot he could find. Well, anyway, one where the cat wasn’t poised to sink his teeth or his claws in an unsuspecting leg. The staff and the residents in the care home were quietly hopeful that Poirot would not return. When the staff made moves to get rid of the paraphernalia of cat owners – the litter tray and the tin opener- Aggie had to use all her powers of persuasion (and...