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The Adventures of Giles Tommly-Horton, Volume 4, Swiss Roll

The Adventures of Giles Tommly-Horton
Volume Four
Swiss Roll
No.1 Berkeley Square, London, W1, England, January 15, 2023

This last month was a jolly strange affair. I got wind of a thoroughly exclusive ‘happening’ in an exclusive Swiss resort with a guest list of the rich and famous and offering the possibility for fine wine fuelled fun and frolics and some jolly good networking (badly needed for yours truly, as the roof needs fixing). Obviously I connected at speed with some old chums to lay my hands on a ticket. This being successfully achieved, I made my way to Switzerland and to the picturesque resort of Davos on the river Landwasser, in the Rhaetian Alps. Not yet possessing a private jet, I made my way on Jamal the hypersonic camel, to rapturous applause upon my arrival as seemingly I was the only attendee to have garnered any genuine green credential. Later this admiration was to be diminished when a half hundred weight of hot steaming dung was found to have made its way onto the luggage carousel.

I was greeted by an elderly egg-headed gentleman with a mysterious cable running from the back of his trousers, swirling across the floor and under a curtain. My first thought was that was a novel creation from Hong Kong and that any second his jaw might drop to reveal a cigarette dispenser, or drinks cabinet. I later had it on good authority that this machine had indeed penetrated drinks cabinets in almost all western governments’. Honestly, the way these chaps fritter public money away is just awful.

“Velcome to zee shmeetink my frendt” the egg-headed drinks cabinet said. Perhaps not from Hong Kong I thought to myself. “Let me introduce you to ze guyz unt zee girlz” he uttered in an affected accent. Obviously his creators had been influenced by the post 60’s Bond movie genre. Possibly the louche free love vibe extended to the other guests and I may indeed have stumbled into an alpine bordello. As the English winter had been hard tack for me, this might be the fun party I was looking for.

As I made my way around the room, a very attractive looking woman winked at me from her half-hidden position behind pillar. By crickey, I thought. I’ve only been here for long enough to take the top off a fruit julep and the old Shakiri’s already sighted a leggy gazelle! I surreptitiously glided across the floor like a creeping Jesus in the direction of my filly, trying not to look too keen, yet closing the gap between us like a battleship approaching a service vessel, fuel pipe at the ready. At last I engaged the target. Our eyes met and it was time for the pithy ice breaker remark. ‘I say my dear, you look like a frog in need of a pond – can I offer you something in liquid form?’ In a moment she responded, “I am Ivana and I vont to know you better, vot are your pronouns?” Cripes I shouted in my head, ‘why don’t we discuss our mutual writing styles in my room a little later on this evening – I shall woo you with sporting anecdotes and tales of daring do’. She drew herself close to me, our faces were mere inches apart – “You vill come viz me, wear nuzzing unt be happy”. Somehow in my mind I had envisioned a slow amorous alcohol fuelled romantic descent, culminating in a successful landing into planet bedroom and a gentle taxi into the terminal and ultimately to arrivals. Somehow it seemed that Ivana had imagined a crash landing akin to losing a tail plane to the same destination. I found myself being dragged, at speed, by this voluptuous temptress through a secret panel and down a flight of ancient stone steps. I sweated slightly, while clinging desperately to the thoughts of gentle seduction being resumed shortly. Like a crazed banshee she had me flying like a child holding on to a snowman as we sped past oak doors which seemed to resemble gloomy medieval dungeons. As Ivana’s hair swayed from side to side as she ran, I noticed that a bizarre object which resembled a computer chip was embedded into the back of her neck; was she made in Hong Kong too?  Eventually we reached a red painted gothic styled door with heavy iron hinges and handles, the door opened as if by magic as we approached it and I found myself thrown onto a bed so large that it might have been responsible for a population surge in times past.

I’ll admit that I may not be the fussiest seducer, but as her hands reached robotically around my body, unbuttoning my tweeds at a pace even a dozen caffeine-fuelled valets couldn’t achieve, I was beginning get concerned that I, Giles Tomly Horton, the fiercest set of nuts east of Earls Court was about to meet his match. My mind wandered back to an occasion in Mozambique when I found myself in mortal combat with an angry twenty foot crocodile. The incident had required that I attach myself closely to my attacker and ride the storm in the hope of wearing the beast down. Therefore, I decided to adopt the same technique in response to this fast moving and agile predator. With a surge of energy that made her eyes bulge, I thrust a hand between her legs in order to hoist her over my head and thus free myself. To my horror, I found myself grappling with what at first felt like the rigid handle of a hairy farm jack. I cranked the appendage sideways with all my might and a bloodcurdling scream erupted from what I had previously assumed was the female of the species. Just what species Ivana may be, or where she was from (Transylvania crossed my mind) I was yet to deduce. I was fairly certain that I didn’t want this creature mounted on my wall or anywhere else for that matter.

As Ivana writhed in agony in response to my defensive girder-bending, I realised that my moment to escape had arrived. I delivered a sharp blow intended to stun the beast further, which in Birmingham we call the ‘9 Pinter’ and with my tweeds hanging from my body like rags I ran back through the corridors of the Davos dungeons. On our decent I had noticed a door marked ‘To Zee Lake’, this seemed to me to be an appropriate means of escaping a landlocked country and let’s not forget, that the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal did spawn a generation of intrepid if not one paced mariners. Upon finding the door and speeding downwards towards the lake, I spied a comely vessel moored against a jetty. With a deft flick of the wrist I untied and leapt aboard the vessel and it was mere moments before I found myself adrift and floating away from that evil place.

Thinking that it was likely that Ivana was coming to terms with our date not having quite worked out, I began to enjoy the peace of my gentle and tranquil passage across the lake and out of Davos, but an unsettling hum had been gathering in the trees behind me and I became certain that my escape had not in fact been unnoticed as the sky behind me filled with tiny airborne craft, which I believe are called drones. I reached for me pocket shotgun, an astonishing creation originally designed for a midget client in the late 19th Century. Not a weapon for a day on the peg you understand, but handy for dealing with angry hornets and husbands. I picked the lead drones and naturally, being a Tomly Horton, a right and left were efficiently achieved. I plugged away almost enjoyably for a few minutes until my pockets ran dry of squibs. By this time I was approaching the far bank. Swiss banks are notoriously smooth and very attractive; this one was no exception, as awaiting my landing with hand outstretched to receive my mooring rope was a beautiful Rosie-cheeked Swiss maid. Her soft dewy freckled face with deep green eyes and luxuriant brown hair were a world apart from the hard plastic attractions of Ivana. Whoever this angel was, she could certainly qualify as Tomly-Horton fare on looks alone.

I’m more of an accidental bounder than a deliberate cad when it comes to women, but before my bows had hit the bank I had decided that this maiden was the antidote to my encounter with the Davos tranny. “My name is Agnetta and I saw you shoot the Davos Drones, your shooting was amazing” she said. Obviously I was smitten. “I know you are trying to escape and if you come with me I will hide you from the Davos stormtroopers, they will be looking for you”. I was intrigued, after all everybody else I had met so far today had turned out to be fake and fairly evil. “Why would you want to help me” said I. She replied “everybody around here hates that crowd of evil Euro Commie faggots and besides, I simply adore your camel, my brother is a banker and was at the airport this morning, he said your camel’s dung was the only honest deposit he’s seen all week”. I was delighted to hear that Jamal had not entirely disgraced himself. She added “before you ask, I’ve hidden your camel in our family Hay barn and I’ll take you to him now, but be quick and follow me”.

For the second time in the same day I found myself being pulled along at speed by the hand. We arrived at rustic barn as the snow had begun to fall and as we collapsed into the hay alongside the resting cattle I began to imagine that my trip to Switzerland may not have been in vain. Jamal grunted noisily from his stable, reminding me of his presence. “Yours is such lovely name, do you know what it means Agnetta?” I asked, as we fell back into the soft insulating warmth of the hay. “My mother told me it meant Chaste, or holy” she replied. Damn I thought, from one extreme to the other!

 

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