From Volume IV "Gerald and the Women" by Sir Gerald Benson

Editor's note - Twittington New Town has become the home of an expanding religious cult - the Church of the Unified Natural Truth. Sir Davenport accidentally appointed the lowly Norman Addison as his temporary replacement and Addison has sacked Gerald. The future of the Town, now that Mr Benson is banned from the grounds, rests in the hands of Three scruffy nobodies who just happen to be friends of Crispin Bentworthy's...

Eventually Smith turned up. Brandreth, ever a man with one eye on the Files, took notes. I don’t say it very often but Bless Brandreth.

“Chris Bellshaw toadying minions” he announced without even looking at anyone in particular. “I see Brian had the good sense not to turn up today – I knew I had a good feeling.”

“Mr Benson no longer works here” snapped Norman.

“He had the good taste to resign ? I am surprised and delighted. Good riddance to bad rubbish – he is well shot of this place. Maybe he can find a suitable home for his talents, as soon as anyone finds any. Coffee, three sugars for me and I don’t want it in a humorous mug.”

“I fired Mr Benson” Addison growled with triumphant snideness.

“I doubt that. It was probably a very subtle ploy on Brian’s part to make you think you were firing him. He’s cunning and I remain thirsty. Two biscuits if you have them, three if you don’t.”

“Mr Benson is responsible for all this mess” gestured Norman, pointing out the emptiness of the room.

“Have you nothing better to talk about than Brian ? He is yesterday’s fish and chip paper. Mm – chips. Scrub the biscuits – I want some chips. Salt and vinegar, hold the vinegar. And the salt. I won't live for ever but I will die in the attempt.”

“We all die – just not at once to save wear and tear on the afterlife” said Stevo, eyes rooted on his feet and the appallingly worn shoes which covered them barely.

“My colleague makes what he thinks is a good point. Sounds as if you need some help.”

“Oh gosh yes” said Pimple (or whatever) “the noise is driving me mad.”

“I take your suggestion on board. Euan – fix up some kind of loud speaker system – it must be hell for these almost fine people to not be able to hear the singing clearly.”

“NO – make it stop” yelped Norman.

“Ah – so philistines too. No appreciation of the finer things in life. My tastes are impeccable. Forget the chips and the coffee – I’ll have wine and cheese. None of your supermarket rubbish either. I want French wine and Swiss Cheese. Or Swiss wine and French cheese – I am easy. But enough about Euan’s sister – you want the noise stopping, that will cost you one hundred pounds. Come one – cough up.” They had a collection for the unusually mercenary Smith. He handed round a hat he had produced from an inside pocket and counted up the divulged currency.

“Ninety seven pounds and 83 pence sterling. Sorry – that’s not enough. Dig deeper or put up with the noise. Where is my coffee ? A bloke could die of caffeine deprivation in this dive.” They dug even deeper before Smith finally had the amount he desired. “One hundred English pounds. Excellent. I’ll put it towards a retirement present for Brian. I like him – he’s like haemorrhoids – a pain in the arse but you get attached to him. Maybe he would like some coffee – I know I would.” Smith turned on his heels (rucking the carpet quite badly) and spun out of the office. Three minutes later and the singing stopped. He returned for his coffee.

“How did you do that ?” asked Norman.

“It seems they do requests – I gave them one hundred pounds towards Church funds if they would perform ‘Spunky Weekend’ by the Suicidal Virgins and they said it would take a while to find the lyrics. You’ve got about fifteen minutes if I know millionsonglyrics.com. That church has got an ASDL line – Aleks would kill them if he knew. Enjoy the silence while it lasts and don’t come calling me to find out what ‘pilch bustering’ means – it’s in the second verse and it’s illegal outside Holland. Chris Bellshaw.” The Three withdrew from the office and my ex-colleges enjoyed ten minutes of blissful silence.

Editor's note - Later, Gerald and his younger brother David find themselves under arrest on the orders of Detective Coventry. Locked up in a cell as the Cult crisis reaches fever pitch, Gerald begins to wonder if anything can save them...

Time dragged by as I waited for Coventry to get back and liberate me. Tick tock, tick tock and she never came. The light was fading badly and darkness engulfed the small prison cell. I had availed myself of the facilities shortly after my conference with B but the pressure was building and I couldn’t take much more of it.

“Hello ?” I called out through the door. Silence. Nothing moved, nothing answered. In fact, there was nothing. Three hours must have passed and there hadn’t been so much as a telephone ring. I began to worry. David too began to show signs of discomfort.

“She has been away a long time.”

“Maybe it is the cult members – Twittington has become over run with members of a sinister religious cult.”

“Figures.”

“What is that supposed to mean ?”

“You always did attract loonies. You have a magnetic presence Gerald, it just isn’t tuned properly.”

“Always insults isn’t it. You can never say anything practical like how we are going to get out of here. No – how I am getting out. You are staying right here for Coventry. You can pick locks – open this door.”

“My skills are vast but even I can't pick a lock which is actually a bolt on the other side of the door.”

“Good point. One wishes there were a magic word – ‘Open Sesame’” I cried.

“There is no such thing as magic words” chided David.

“CHRIS BELLSHAW” howled a voice off camera and the door burst off its hinges. When the dust cleared I saw Euan crouched over a detonator and Smith brushing imaginary dirt off his vulgar jacket. I was actually pleased to see him.

“Smith ?” I said, shocked mixed with pleased.

“Brian – I told them it was worth putting a GPS tracker in your shoe.”

“A what ?”

“Global Positioning Satellite tracker – I made a bet with Stevo that you were even more boring than we thought so I decided to bug you and find out. The tracker is one of Aleks’ and seems to work pretty well, you can thank me later. Make all cheques payable to The National Society for the Protection of Lamas.”

“Why have you rescued me ?”

“Because I have a suspicion that you – yes you – are needed back at Tottington. Phil and his cretinous ass-clowns are on a rampage and they need you. Yes I was staggered too. I did suggest they replace you with a small piece of felt but who knows. So I thought I would get you out of here.”

“Who’s your friend ?” asked Smith. I braced myself for the clash of Titans.

“Gerald’s brother David” answered the sibling.

“Oh Dave – I didn’t recognise you without the beard. How’s things ?”

“Fine – you ?”

“Apart from slap-nuts like Brian it is all fine and large. Just signed a million pound deal with Japanese TV for a game show based around people eating nuclear waste. The one who remains radioactive longest wins a Nissan Karaoke.”

“Good for you.” And that was it. The confrontation I had waited for had turned into a love in. How disappointing. I had placed most of my spare hope on the idea that either one would bring the other down a notch or two. Two massive egos slapping together like a pair of sumo wrestlers, fighting for control of the circle thing had instead turned out to be not unlike obese pornography.

We made our way through the short maze of corridors and I could see the exit. It hadn’t looked like a police station from the inside so I was not a million percent surprised when we emerged into the open air and it looked even less like a police station on the outside.

“Where are we ?” I asked.

“Not where you thought we were” replied David.

“But this means…” I began.

“Coventry isn’t a police officer” finished David.

“So I have…”

“Given the only real lead in the Nash Affair to someone who is probably part of the whole plot, yes” said David.

“Which makes me…”

“A prick ?” suggested Smith.

“I think I deserved that” I said with rare self depreciation. “And I have just sent my boy into danger”.

The Benson Memoirs are available from all creditable book shops. Any copies baring "reduced" stickers are likely to be forgeries and purchasing those instead of full priced originals will probably fund organised crime, terrorism and paedophile drug dealing immigrants.