'I can't believe we're talking about nuclear war.' The T-G paused to light his pipe. A pipe that was fashioned in the shape of a Cruise anti-tank missile. 'Or were we talking about it? Perhaps I nodded off and had a horrible nightmare.'
'Where did you get the pipe, T-G?' asked Geoffrey.
'Mrs T-G carved it for me from an old ham bone that she'd boiled up for soup. Do you like it?'
The smell of ham wafted through the clouds of Black Bogey as the T-G lit up.
'Not sure T-G. I think I prefer your usual pipe.'
His usual pipe was fashioned in the shape of the Trans-Antarctic Mountains, with the bowl as Mount Erebus, and it was nestled in a velvet-lined case on the mantlepiece, next to the T-G's skull-shaped tobacco jar and a letter inviting the recipient to have a fourth 'booster' vaccination.
'I see Mrs T-G's getting on with the bunker T-G,' I peered through the mullioned window and watched a sturdy tweed-skirted figure pausing to wipe the sweat from her eyes as she stood leaning on a shovel waist-deep in a large hole just beyond the ha-ha, many feet below.
'Oh I'm sure, I'm sure,' said the T-G through clouds of tobacco smoke. 'She just needs to dig another ten feet, line it with concrete and put some corrugated iron sheeting over the top. She'll have it done in no time and then she can get it stocked up with black sausage rolls, blankets, brandy, morphia, laudanum, playing cards, Canasta and the like. We'll be perfectly safe from any nuclear strike.'
'Do you think she could manage to tunnel another mile or two and link up with the smuggler's tunnel in the cliffs? Then we could have quick and easy access to supplies, like korn bif and such-like, without having to risk exposure to nuclear radiation or whatever.'
'Oh I'm sure, I'm sure', soothed the T-G. 'Best to wait until later though. I find these things are best asked in the evening, when Mrs T-G has made our Horlicks and is settled in her housecoat with her curlers in and cold cream on her face. Just before she chops up some logs for the next day's fire and takes the bins out.'
'What about toilet facilities?' asked Geoffrey.
'What about them?'
'Well, will there be any?'
'You mistake us for fools Geoffrey. Naturally, we've thought this all through. Mrs T-G is hollowing out a separate chamber within the bunker to be used as a lavatory. Within it there will be a seated facility below which yet another chamber will be hollowed, to contain any waste. This in turn will be dealt with whenever we can think what to do with it, or when the smell becomes intolerable, whichever happens first.'
'Fantastic T-G.'
'Thank you. Where is your nephew Tuppence by the way? I haven't seen him for a while.'
'I'm afraid he's gone off to Ukraine in a Bedford van, ostensibly to play charity fund-raising gigs with his band but really, to steal weapons.' I glanced at the T-G's pipe. 'He's always wanted an anti-tank missile.'
more later
