A Week In Politics


Bunty was slightly concerned about Lola; it seemed as if she was having a a Uranus semi return, which she suffered from herself not long before the Major got caught in the threshing machine whilst wearing her second best tweed.

She really wished that she didn’t have to break the news that Lola as a girl had been hypnotised into marrying Dorking so that he could steal her money for his evil plans, and that she was still married to him which meant that her marriage to Max had been bigamous.

Bunty sent a message to Gangee to pack a trunk with some necessary items as she was going to be staying with Lola at Schlepping Towers for a while.

Lola breezed into the dining room in a rather striking red dress as Bunty was hanging up the phone and returning it to Lola’s butler who was simply called Strange. He had a head the size of a balloon, pale pasty skin, was at least six foot nine and had a curiously loping stride and was mute but made odd whining noises if addressed.

“Where on earth did you get him Lola, is he one of your county men?” asked Bunty.

“Oh hello Bunty, you still here? Well you may as well stay, we are having a political supper with the socialists it’s something they call a Hot Pot, or maybe I can’t understand their accents. We found Strange in the asylum when the police raided it and forced it to shut down. He thinks he’s a were wolf, but he isn’t, and the only word he can manage is “strange” but he has an unfortunate lisp and a stammer, poor thing. However he probably deserves it as he used to be a capitalist merchant banker and now he’s my servant-how ironic.”

Bunty blinked. “I say Lola, I thought that you might want me to stay for a while, just to help out with things.”

“Oh good,” said Lola, “you can be my agent, I’m thinking of standing as a lady MP.”

“Lola, ” said Bunty carefully, “do you know what a Member of Parliament does?”

“Yes, they go to the Common House and have Bills and act and shout order.” said Lola thinking very hard.

“I see.” said Bunty “That’s what you want to do is it?”

“Yes, why not! I’m eastern European royalty and terribly rich and I’d make a very good socialist lady MP.” said Lola.

Bunty thought that this was going to be a very long week in politics indeed.

Branwell was miserable; life on the road had seemed so glamorous but he missed Miss Bunty, He sat in the green room in despair, polishing his boots with goose fat and crying.

Vita Sanatogen stood outside the door quietly laughing to herself; she had withheld Branwell’s correspondence to Bunty denying him any communication.

“Soon, soon” she cackled to herself, “I will have my revenge on Bunty Tuff-Muffin!”

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