Jane Seymour swept in to the dining room of the oh-so-convenient trendateria, looking like Medusa with PMS.
She launched into a torrent of invective in the Cockney vernacular so intense that a group of sailors at a table near the window turned quite pale and motioned for the check.
The object of her bile was none other than Tony Blair, who had slipped into a booth with Richard Simmons, and was about to order something from the unhealthy side of the menu.
Blair, ever the consummate politician, smiled weakly, stood up and tried to appease the angry star of so many wonderful made-for-TV dramas.
"'Ere, luv, why doncha siddown wiv us and 'ave a nice cuppa tea?"
Jane's reply, while not strictly possible from a physiological point of view, was vivid enough to cause anti-peristaltic reactions in three of the sailors by the window.
Muffy was still aglow from all the admiring looks her diaphanous garments had attracted, and had been a little slow to pick up on the unfolding scene before her. But now she felt an obligation to intervene, to try and prevent a nasty contre-temps, partly out of dislike for any disruption to the social veneer, but mainly so that she could get Chuck back to the Leona Palace and really test those bedsprings.
Suddenly, she remembered that she had in fact picked up a lot of Cockney "rhyming slang" during her time in the orphanage, maybe now would be a good time to put that knowledge to good use, and help defuse what was already an ugly scene.
"Jane, 'ow abaht we stick a plate of meat up the fortnight? Let's pop the weasel down at the old Bull and Bush, we can all bubble and squeak!"
Jane Seymour turned to her and said.... |
