Tuesday, June 25, 2013

The Van MEER Diamonds

It was 1964 the year of the Beatles and I had just returned from an Art & cycle weekend in Amsterdam. The postman delivered a parcel and as I was not expecting any post I carefully checked the name and address, and saw it had been posted in Holland. This must be the parcel the proprietor of one of the Art Galleries had asked me to post but I had forgotten to bring it back with me. Inside were three items, two envelopes one thin the other fat, with a small square parcel heavily wrapped. I checked the outside wrapping again, name correct, address correct. Looking more carefully at the contents again, I saw written on the parcel do not open under any circumstance and on the fat envelope, only to be opened after further instruction. Turning to the thin envelope, inside I found instructions to go my with Passport for identification to the old docks. Intrigued by now I saw the address was MV FFYEES dock 2 and gathering up the other two items I left to cross London on my bicycle. Arriving at the docks I was directed to a small banana boat tied up at the end of the jetty where a man dressed in a heavy duffle coat was standing by the gangway. On my approach and offering him the parcel he said in an accent hard to understand lets see your Passport. A quick look and he then directed me up the gangway with my bicycle. At the top of the gangway stood another man a clone of the one at the bottom who on being offered the parcel directed me towards the stern muttering cabin 8. As I made my way, out of the corner of my eye I noticed the gangway being raised but not giving any more thought to it continued towards cabin 8. The door was open and a voice called out in a thick European accent come. On entering the cabin I was surprised to see an ordinary bloke in a suit sitting behind a desk with a secretary waiting to take notes. After I had sat down he shook hands and said in perfect English sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff. We have been testing you and would like to offer you a job.

That is how I came to work for MI5.


Monday, June 24, 2013

Bad Day at the Office

It was the day from hell.

At work I’d been given a load more responsibility with absolutely no more money for my hassles, and at home I’d come home to find my wife was leaving me for another man. Is it any wonder I lost my rag?! I know, I didn’t need to try and smash in the windscreen, but it helped work some of the stress of the situation out of my body. And there’s no doubting I felt a lot better afterwards, bruised and bloody knuckles apart.

I proceeded to get totally drunk that night, and was late for work the next morning; in fact I was still a little drunk. I sat at my desk, tapping away at the keyboard importantly. If anyone asked, I told them I was writing my report for the big meeting tomorrow – but if they’d bothered to look at the screen, all they would have seen was:

Fucking bitch.
Fucking fucking bitch.
Total bitch.
I’ll fucking kill her.
Wekewtpoe ke0tietsg;dskg reop gie[poe[ oe[were wroew p r]h 

And that’s the truth. Once I’d worked out my anger, I made a proper start on the report, only to be distracted by the new girl in the office. I couldn’t help it – she had a skirt up to her armpits, and a blouse open virtually to her belly button. I could see myself bending her over the desk and giving her one. It would be the perfect way to get over my bitch of a soon-to-be-ex-wife. There she would be with her ugly bastard new bloke, and me with a hot young woman. Then we’d see who was better off.

I did finally finish what I was supposed to be doing and plonked the ten page report on the boss’ desk well before 5 o’clock. Then I went over to the new girl and asked her out for a drink. She turned me down.

You can’t have everything though, can you?

Jonathan M