Roskov book 26, p.29
Roskov, Book 26, page 29
Make-up done, teeth cleaned, water sipped, and on I walked to a loud applause, with us today my old friend and fellow Labour MP Tammy. Settled, the intro music faded out.
Angus began, ‘With us tonight we have Labour MP Mister Tammy Short, and some bloke just back from The Crusades.’ They laughed. Angus faced me. ‘So how were The Crusades?’
‘Hot and dusty, poor food, slept with the animals - the Israelis charged a fortune for hotel rooms.’
The audience laughed.
‘I don’t think they were there at the time,’ Ian noted. ‘It was when the Muslims had taken over, a thousand years after the diaspora and the migration of the Jews. But yes, the Israelis do charge a fortune for hotel rooms.’
I faced Ian. ‘It’s where that saying comes from, no room at the inn. It means no rooms at the Holiday Inn, Jerusalem.’
They laughed loudly.
Ian responded, ‘I think it was in the Bible, no room at the inn for Mary and Joseph, so they had the stables instead.’
‘Took ages to get back,’ I told him. ‘Had to walk the horses all the way through Turkey and Greece and back to France.’
‘Why walk the horses?’ Tammy asked.
‘Too much traffic, single file back most of the way,’ I told him.
They laughed.
I added, ‘We halted near Lake Como in Italy, expensive as hell it was in that place.’
They laughed.
Ian noted, ‘And then the Pope had you executed…’
‘Allegedly, yes, for calling him a tyrant.’
‘They don’t like that, them Popes,’ Ian quipped.
Angus faced me. ‘So apart from a long walk back from The Crusades, what else have you been up to?’
‘Bungling along, minding my own business, moved into trucking in a big way.’
Ian asked, ‘How many trucks do you have now?’
‘Too many to count, just ordered more from Germany, and we’re creating a new headquarters in Leicester for Southern Logistics, but it’s not very southern, not like Brighton, but it’s southern compared to Northern Logistics, who are up north.
‘We thought about calling it Middle-Of-The-Road Logistics, but that could have caused a lot of accidents.’
They laughed, Paul shaking his head.
Ian asked, ‘And what will this Southern Logistics do?’
‘They’ll move non-refrigerated foods for the supermarkets and others.’
‘And Dover?’ Tammy asked.
‘We’re building a huge truck stop outside the town and up the hill, and trucks will wait there, not create the usual six mile tailback. The drivers will have showers and cafes, and maintenance services, and the local police will help to dispatch them to the dockside.
‘We also plan to implement some warm-seat driver transfers, so that foreign drivers take a load back across to Calais and our drivers take their trucks onwards into Britain.
‘But we did have a slight mishap, with a dog in a cab -’
‘Are they allowed to drive a truck?’ Paul asked, the audience laughing.
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘Good mono-vision eyesight. But this dog, small and cute, belonged to a driver who took him to work, and forgot about him, and the relief driver took over and took the dog up to Manchester and back, fed it, let it out for a while then brought it back.’
‘So all’s well that ends well,’ Tammy noted.
‘Well, the man’s kids missed their dog, it got back the next morning after a bit of an adventure, some overtime earned.’
Tammy noted, ‘Your drivers don’t sleep in the cabs…’
‘No, no long haul, we split the journeys, fresh drivers.’
‘Wise, we see far too many lorry accidents.’
Ian asked, ‘And the supermarkets are cooperating with you?’
‘They are, and we’re handling a large part of their food movements, and when the new large logistics centres are ready the supermarkets will have a nominated person there to help out and to coordinate things.
‘And at my property management company we now have a farming expert, a food processing expert and a logistics expert, and they control the finances and investments into such businesses.’
‘Are you out to dominate the food industry?’ Ian asked.
‘Well let’s just say that we could not do a worse job of it than the last lot of business owners. And we can do a hell of a lot better. Most of those businesses, the ones that we bought out, they had loans and mortgages and the payments were crippling them.’
‘You don’t have mortgages and interest payments,’ Ian noted. ‘You have the cash behind you to invest.’
‘Correct, so we already make a good profit on the new business ventures.’
Tammy asked, ‘More nursing homes in London?’
‘Three double-sized places at last, plus our huge place in the East End, one new place south of the river, so about six thousand extra residents to take in. And more will be built around London, we just want to be fair to the provinces first.’
‘And is Leicester going to change its name to Metropolis?’ Ian quipped.
‘It’s not that big and never will be that big, just that we keep opening new large companies there. Unemployment is at about minus five percent. And now, if some bloke tells the dole office that he can’t find a job, they laugh at him.’
The audience laughed.
‘That’s cruel,’ Paul noted. ‘Some poor bloke that can’t get a job.’
I told them, ‘We do have unemployed people, just that we need more skilled office workers. Our new sub-prime loans business took on a few hundred ladies over forty, back in work after the kids were in school.
‘In Corsica, kids leave school with a job lined up, therapy for work stress offered in the second week.’
They laughed.
I added, ‘Some people down there have two or three jobs, it’s a bit manic. They go to Paris, to university, then come home, but many kids have opted not to go to university, the building jobs pay more than they would get as an accountant or even a doctor.’
‘How well do the jobs pay?’ Angus asked.
‘A skilled and experienced builder can make seventy-five thousand a year plus bonuses.’
‘And tax?’ he asked.
‘Lower than basic British tax up to thirty grand, I think, eleven percent French tax, but after that it’s not forty percent it’s thirty, so it is better than here in Britain. With us it’s twenty-two percent plus National Insurance, with them it’s less to start.
‘But they pay add-on taxes for apartments and cars and things, more than we do.’
Ian noted, ‘You built a posh nursing home in Lake Valley, for Swedish people…’
‘The twins’ family did that, a pet project, a small nursing home that will house less than two hundred posh Swedish people. I’m building a posh nursing home there as well, but Barclays are interested in it.’
‘The documentary about the Saudi nursing home you built was aired, and it caused a few complaints.’
‘Complaints?’ I repeated.
‘British people that would like to go live in a place like that, a place that’s slightly nicer than Heaven itself.’
‘It’s for rich people, they have to pay to get in – unlike Heaven, other way around there; if you have the money to get in you don’t.’
They laughed.
‘It does look very nice,’ Tammy noted. ‘And no crime there, so you can live without worry.’
I faced him. ‘And your view of a fourteen-year-old boy punching his teacher?’
‘Throw the little bastard in prison!’ They applauded him. ‘And I have friends who were teachers, and they all quit, hell it is these days. Few want to be teachers, just women these days.’
‘We need to fix that quickly,’ I told him. ‘Before it’s too late.’
‘More borstals?’ Ian asked.
‘Three-Phase borstals, a chance to study and to redeem yourself. Or sit in a prison cell if you’re a dickhead.’
Ian noted, ‘So crime is down fifty percent, but not really…’
‘Minor crime is down, petty crime and drunken violence, the serious stuff is not down much. But the problem was that our police were busy with teenagers and druggies and the homeless, and wasting their time arresting the same people each week, but that’s gone, they can look at the serious crimes now.’
‘No need to cut police officers?’ Tammy asked.
‘No, not for a long time.’
Ian asked, ‘So now that the petty crime is being dealt with our boys in blue will be handling the more serious stuff…’
‘That’s the hope, and that’s what they should have been doing all along, not nurse-maiding a bunch of homeless people and teenage druggies.’
‘How goes the building work?’ Tammy asked.
‘On track to build four hundred thousand new houses or apartments this year, and by the end of this year a large part of Docklands will be complete.’
‘Will that affect London house prices?’
‘No, because there are too many people that wish to come to London and get a job. Docklands will offer nice apartments for executives, and small studio apartments for low-income workers, and they’ll all be snapped up.’
‘Your new place with the shopping centre below it…’ Ian nudged.
‘Over-subscribed ten-to-one, we need a bigger place. But the people in there love it, they save a few hours a day, and some told me that they get by on five hours sleep a night.’
‘It’s a rat race, yes,’ Tammy noted.
I added, ‘Most of our new apartment blocks in Docklands will have a 24hr convenience store on the ground level, time saved for those rats in a maze.’
Ian asked, ‘And do you think that this Richard of Charmaine was you?’
‘No more than I think that the handsome chap in the First World War was me, nor do I care; I’ll fix what I can till the posh wankers shoot me.’
‘And do you know who these posh wankers are?’ Angus asked.
The images flew up, and I was not sure why. ‘It has been suggested to me … that Lord Weaver was linked to the security company in London that killed my modelling agent, Trish, and that Lord Weaver was linked to the security company in Gibraltar that murdered my two police bodyguards, but that is yet to be proven in a court of law.
‘And I was warned not to mention the nice chap since he is well connected and reported as being … above the law.’
‘No one is above the law,’ Tammy growled.
I added, ‘And Lord Weaver, trying to set a good example, refused to talk to the police about his connections to those two security firms.
‘One of the firms, they shot each other and the building caught fire, here in London, and the one in Gibraltar was attacked. Seems that the left hand and the right hand of this organisation are not getting along.
‘And the men sent to Leicester to kill me more than a year ago, they were killed by their own people, so the left hand is definitely not working with the right hand; these posh wankers don’t coordinate things well.’
‘So you’re not accusing Lord Weaver,’ Ian noted.
‘No, it’s just coincidence that he knew the people that killed my staff and my bodyguards and had a financial interest in their company, and that he owns lots of land in buildings in London – just a coincidence.
‘And his comments to The Times, two years ago, are also not related, where he said that it was the natural order that some were rich and owned land and others paid rent, as in Victorian times.
‘And he went on to predict a shortage of housing stock and a sharp rise in prices over the next decade, so he knew what my experts knew – and he welcomed those price rises, it seems.
‘And his comments, that things were better in Victorian times, should not be taken literally, and no one should speak about it to his rather young mistress, Joanne Baker of High Street, Potters Bar.’
They laughed.
‘She’s innocent of all wrong doing, apart from taking cash payments from a seventy-year-old man for sex, a nice holiday or two to France, where she stays in a room one floor down from Lord Weaver and his wife.
‘So when Lord Weaver’s wife is asleep, Lord Weaver pops down and gets sucked off by a nice twenty-eight-year-old. And what Lord Weaver, and presumably his wife, don’t know, is that his former security company manager, Lockwood, set-up secret cameras and bugs in the Potters Bar apartment, his boss taped.
‘And this man, Lockwood, shame on him for sending me the tapes.’
They laughed loudly.
‘But at least Lord Weaver is seen handing over cocaine on his visits, so he’s not all bad, but his comments about Tony Blair were unkind and unjust. Still, he only made those comments to his young mistress, not like I have them on tape.’
They laughed.
‘And getting his young mistress to dress-up like a schoolgirl is common, no need to think that Lord Weaver is some kind of old pervert. But what was odd … was that she was to use the name Margaret, so I hope that he never had a crush on Margaret Thatcher.’
They laughed loudly.
Ian noted, ‘So you won’t be naming him then?’
‘Hell no, no tapes shown … apart from where she’s naked and he has a top hat on, and he comments on how much he’ll make on a merger, a week before the merger took place.
‘He made a killing on the stock markets, that’s the only thing that interests me in the tapes, not his pale, saggy old-man arse. What that poor girl had to go through.’
They laughed.
‘What will you do with the tapes?’ Ian asked.
‘Can’t show them on British television, so I had most sent to Germany and France, they like a good scandal over there. Had a copy sent to his wife, of course.’
They laughed, Tammy shaking his head.
Tammy noted, ‘She may have something to say to him after watching the tapes.’
‘But I did send to The Sun newspaper the tape where he slanders Lord Travisham something terrible, suggests that Travisham likes nine-year-old girls, which is not an accusation by me, just what Lord Weaver claimed in the tapes to his young mistress.’
‘Maybe the police here should look at the tapes?’ Tammy suggested.
‘Lord Weaver is regarded as being above the law, so I don’t trust the police here to do anything with the tapes.’
‘Who else does Lord Weaver name in the tapes?’
‘Some Welsh bloke called Trin Jones, whom he calls a useless and spineless wanker that doesn’t know what he’s doing, and that opportunities to kill me were passed up.’
‘Opportunities to kill you?’ Tammy repeated. ‘That’s enough for a police investigation for sure.’
‘I get the feeling that the tapes might just be lost in the system by the police,’ I told him. ‘Be bad for business otherwise, rich men slagging each other off as they dress their young mistresses up as schoolgirls.’
Ian noted, ‘So no one in the country will ever get to know about these tapes…’
They laughed.
‘Seems that way, apart from his wife, of course, she can have a good laugh at his small dick and his top hat stood erect, more erect than his small dick.’
They laughed.
I added, ‘And the young hooker, she used the fake name of Ginny when with him abroad, which was the name of his first wife.’
Tammy noted, ‘I don’t think his current wife will like that.’
‘Could be worse, he could call her Suzie, after his favourite dog.’
They laughed loudly.
Tammy asked, ‘He doesn’t admit to any crimes in the tapes?’
‘Just the mention of missed opportunities to kill me, and the fact that amuses him the most - that his wife’s business pays for the apartment, tax deductible.’
Tammy noted, ‘She may want to stop the payments for the apartment, gift in kind to her husband and his mistress, and when she finds out I doubt she’ll be feeling kind towards him.’
‘I should send Lord Travisham a copy of the tape with him mentioned in it, that would be a good laugh.’
Ian noted, ‘I don’t think that Lord Travisham would be amused, no, but he couldn’t take legal action for defamation, mistresses are not regarded as third-parties. Or as good witnesses.’
Tammy noted, ‘Well he’ll need that apartment for a while, because I don’t think his wife will let him back in the house, not even to feed his dog.’
I added, ‘He makes a joke in one tape, about this Trin Jones losing his wife for some reason, trouble in the bedroom he says.’
‘Well that’s all we have time for tonight, as Roskov most definitely does not accuse Lord Weaver of any wrong doing, unless you get a copy of the tapes, that is.
‘And if Lord Weaver’s wife is listening, don’t take it out on the dog, the dog is innocent. Goodnight.’
I did not warn Blair, and the programme aired at 9pm, a call from Blair at 9.40pm. ‘You murdered Lord Weaver live on air, but I don’t think he’ll be taking legal action, I think he’ll have other issues to deal with – not least his wife.
‘I met his wife, a nasty old battle axe that takes no shit. So he’s in the dog house, with his dog. And if he accuses Lord Travisham and it’s on the tapes sent to you, then Lord Travisham would not have a case against you. Can Mi5 have the tapes?’
‘Of course, but copies went to Europe.’
‘We’ll look at the takeover comment, and comments about killing you.’
‘Send a man to collect some tapes.’
Laz had a copy of the tapes appear in my bedroom, and half an hour later I handed them over to a police bike officer.
‘Don’t watch the tapes, would turn your stomach.’
‘Seventy-year-old with a naked arse, no thanks. What’s the girl like?’
‘Lovely, so they say.’
He smiled within his helmet and headed off on his motorbike.
The next day, and Laz reported to me that Lord Weaver’s wife had watched the tapes, and then called her husband and threatened to shoot him if he ever set foot near her again. His clothes would sent to him.
And his takeover comments could be used by the police, at least to ask some awkward questions, so too the comments about killing me. But Lord Weaver had upset the wrong people, and he was found dead in a posh apartment later that day, very dead, beheaded with a sword – so the police forensics team believed.
