Written by Earl Grey

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

image for Up The Junction There was still a long way to go...

Morse wandered through the train. It had to be the longest train in the world and every carriage was elegantly decorated. He entered one compartment. A man with a calculator sat at a desk frantically adding up. "Excuse me for the intrusion" said Morse. "Oh, that's ok. I'm J. Man. I'm the train's accountant." The train even had it's own accountant. It was true. The bean counters were really taking over.

Just then a small hairy man wearing a flat cap and walking a whippet entered. "Please don't be alarmed. It's just Mr Birbee, my assisstant" explained the accountant. "Eh 'up" said the hairy looking man. The whippet just stared at Morse.

In the next carriage two women approached Morse. "Hi there cutey. I'm Madame B and this is my mother, Queenie. Do you fancy some fun?" Morse had to admit that the mother was certainly able to get into interesting positions and he wondered how the leotard managed to remain together. However, he would remain true to Skoob, his one true love.

He returned to his compartment. "God evening Mr Peeps. How are your days been having?" asked the deposed dictator. Morse sighed. A good night's sleep would be just what he needed. And he drifted off to sleep.

Morse was awoken by a frantic knocking at the door. It was Dr Vic. "Morse you better come to the buffet car quick. It's Juan" Morse did not need to be told any more. He knew that Juan was dead. Sure enough he found Juan face down in a bowl of porridge, a noose around his neck, a hatchet in his head and a bullet wound in his back. "What do you think he died of?" asked Bargis. "Drowning, strangling, stabbing and shooting" said Morse. "Ah, natural causes" said Lowton the pickled egg fanatic.

Dr Vic had lubed up a gloved hand. "Shall I examine him?" he asked, hopefully. "No, nobody is to touch or move anything. This is a crime scene. Has anybody confessed?" Father Fergus shook his head. Nobody had confessed to him since the little incident in Thurles. "Bloody nuns!" he thought to himself.

Morse was going to have to earn his ticket on this journey. One of the passengers was dead and it was only breakfast.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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