Lola had a theory; Lola had many theories, and some of them had changed the world beyond recognition, and as she was fond of telling Bunty, she hadn’t seen a penny in royalties.
As Bunty had anticipated, Lola was getting twitchy; she had received a letter from her Transylvestite relatives who had quite surprisingly died-surprising considering that they were mostly zombies or the undead.
Lola sat in Bunty’s parlour waving a letter around like a fan, drawing copiously on a cheroot and somehow at the same time, swishing brandy and formaldehyde around in a balloon glass.
“Sparky is temporarily “banged up” as I believe “they ” call it Bunty, whoever “they” are in a Gulag over a little misunderstanding over company funds and a bet on the Gee, Gees and some jockey wrangling oh and a horse called Findus which unfortunately belonged to a Russian oligarch, so I have to break him out, and as you were vaguely en route, I thought that I might drop in.”
Bunty had taken up knitting tank covers for the war effort, although neither of them could remember what year they were now in but a war was soon to be a foot sooner or later somewhere.
“Do say you are not busy Bunty!” cried Lola, “I’m terribly bored and if something doesn’t happen soon I’ll go mad and do something like shoot an Arch Duke and start a war or knock down some silly wall in Germany or to show that silly girl where the tree was with all the apples on because that snake couldn’t be bothered. Honestly, history wouldn’t happen if it wasn’t for me!”
Bunty considered; Lola in a bored state was likely to cause worlds to collide although she had just started to bake a cake modelled on the Coliseum which needed icing and she had no-one to look after the cat, as her sometime daughter who she had borne then left in a hedge for thirty years was a good time girl and a cat burglar, who literally stole cats, and couldn’t be trusted.
“Oh alright then!” said Bunty, “But I won’t stand for being brain washed again; I’ll forget all my knitting patterns and how to do the Black Bottom!”
“Oh for God sake Bunty!” cried Lola, “You won’t remember if your brain is washed!”
Bunty considered and ordered the second best Daimler to be prepared for their journey, leaving a note for Branwell on his potting shed door;
“Be back anon! Off with Lola again for a jolly adventure to Siberia! We may travel in time and have our brains washed so I may have no memory of this so don’t expect a post card! Bunty xxx”
They piled into the car with the chauffeur Clarkson and sped off in the general direction of Siberia.
However, an old enemy was abroad who planned to undo their plans; as usual.