Sex and Drugs and Sausage Rolls Read Free

and goggles.
    “Oooh, your ’air,” went the woman.
    “My apologies for my appearance. I have been many years below.” Soap got some serious timbre into that final word:
below
. It was a belter of a word,
below
. One of his all-time favourites.
    “Below?” said the woman.
    “Beloooooooooh,” repeated Soap. “I would present you with my card, but at present I do not possess one. I thought I would wait until after my knighthood before I had any printed.”
    “Knighthood?” said the woman. Loony, she thought.
    Soap smiled and nodded and bowed a little too. She’s a fine-looking woman, he thought, and it’s clear that she’s taken with me.
    “The door’s that way,” said the fine-looking woman, pointing with a fine-looking hand. “Don’t forget to close it on your way out.”
    “I am expected,” said Soap. “I have a three o’clock appointment with the editor.”
    “Ah, you’ve come about the job.”
    “Job?” said Soap. “No, I am Soap Distant.
The
Soap Distant. Would you be so kind as to inform your employer of my arrival?”
    “Are you from outer space?” asked the woman of fine looks.
    “Eh?” said Soap. “Do what?”
    “Are you one of those Men in Black? Because we had one of your bunch in last week giving it all that.” She mimed mouth movements with her fingers. “I said to him, ‘On your bike, sunshine, or off in your saucer.’ That told him, I can tell you.”
    “I’m mighty sure it did,” said Soap. “Would you please tell the editor that I’ve arrived?”
    The woman, whose wires were now all over the place, made a face, flung down her wires and flounced away between the box-piles bound for God knows where.
    Soap scuffed his boot heels and wondered at the wires.
    Presently the woman returned and told him that he could go in now.
    “Thank you,” said Soap. “And good luck with your wires.”
     
    The editor’s office was a big old room, but it was also given over to boxes. Soap stepped between and through and over them and made his way to a large desk at the window.
    Behind this sat the editor. He did not rise at Soap’s approach.
    Soap stretched his paw across the desk in the hope of a hearty handclasp. The editor viewed Soap’s paw with distaste and folded his arms.
    Soap viewed the editor. The editor viewed Soap.
    Soap saw a man in his mid to late twenties. Smartly clad with long brown hair swept back behind his ears. An intelligent face, good cheekbones, calm grey eyes and a look about him that said, “I’m going places.”
    The editor, in his turn, saw a loony. “What do you want?” he asked.
    “Mr Bacon?” asked Soap.
    “Mr who?”
    “Bacon. The editor.”
    “I’ve never heard of any Bacon,” said the editor. “My name is Justice. Leo Justice. Known by many monikers. The Magnificent Leo. The Lord of the Old Button Hole.” He gestured to the red rose he wore in his lapel. “Leo baby to the ladies, and Mr Justice to yourself.”
    “I am Distant,” said Soap. “Soap Distant. You were expecting me.”
    “Ah, you’ve come about the job.”
    “No,” said Soap. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
    “If you can find a chair. But you can’t stay long. I’m busy.”
    “Moving out,” said Soap, who, finding no chair, pulled up a box.
    “Moving in,” said the editor.
    “In?” said Soap. “But the
Mercury
’s offices have always been here. Ever since the paper was founded in Victorian times.”
    “Are you one of those Men in Black?” asked the editor, “because if you are—”
    “I’m not,” said Soap, comfying himself upon the box to the sound of cracking glassware from within. “I am Soap Distant. Traveller through the hollow Earth. The man who has claimed the planet’s heart for England and her Queen.”
    “Queen?” said the editor. “Are you taking the piss?”
    “I’m sorry,” said Soap. “I’m becoming confused. Before I embarked upon my journey I communicated with your predecessor, Mr Bacon. Only by telephone, as he never