‘O Mister Wot
What have you got?
Are they the keys to Browning Street
In your back pock…’
“Infernal racket!” A bleary-eyed Big Bee emerged from beneath the cushions of his couch and blinked in the over-bearing light of the bunker.
“Ever so sorry, sire,” smiled Teigue-the-Fool, “I didn’t realise you were still here.”
“Trying to think,” said Big Bee.
“Ah, you may need more than silence to navigate this little predicament.”
“But we have more than silence,” smirked Big Bee.
“Another one bites the dust?”
“Nothing like a minister falling on his sword to keep the vultures away, what…”
“What’s Wot got to do with it?”
“What indeed,” grinned Big Bee and said nothing.
“Oh, I get it,” hazarded Teigue, carefully placing a finger on the corner of his mouth, “no body is talking about the six hundred million lateral flow test results that went missing.”
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