“Al and James, hold onto your jammy dodgers and girls your thrupenny bits. You bring your knees in tight. But it’s the pelvic thrust – we are for home Ye haw.”
The Doc had started the Higulator and within seconds there was a flash of bright light and they had all disappeared.
A few minutes later they landed in the Doc’s back yard.
“Thank feck for that,” said Alistair. “We are home at last. I would say old Archie will be feckin’ mad when he finds out we did a runner.”
“I’ll drink to that,” added the Manager.
“Count me in,” replied James Bond.
“Holy Feck, we have to get James back home,” added the Doc.
“Sure let him stay a while. We will take him up to the Gator and he might get lucky there,” laughed Nora.
“Well I will put the Higulator away for now and see what’s happen in the hood. Come on in for that well deserved glass of Mollydooker,” said Doc. “Hey Manager, you get on Google there and check what damaged we have done to history.”
“What do you mean Doc?” asked the Manager.
“Well, my best team mate,” replied Doc. “Given we left Henry VIII on a feckin’ high, him feckin dancing around the place full of lefty’s wine and with all his new laws to change. I don’t know what the feck he might of thought of on his own after we left him. He might of thought it was all a dream or he just passed out and will forget the whole episode of events.”
“Do you think I would leave a trail behind me,” replied the Manager. “I was two steps ahead of you for a change.”
“What do you mean,” asked the Doc.
“I knew all along you might get one of your crazy ideas and I was just trying to ensure that I had all the ducks in the park. Not in a row, just in the feckin’ park. I figured I could put them in a row once I knew where the feck they all were,” said the Manager.
“You still have not told me what you did,” said the Doc.
“Well let’s put it this way, King Henry VIII will find a list of action points in a letter from me. I mean from the one and only Lady Catherine of Ontario. He will be okay and Archbishop Cranmer will head up the new Church of England. Old Red Socks, as you refer to him, will be rightly pissed off. But what we have started is the opportunity for a new church to emerge and have a bit of competition. I also explained that we all had to rush off late in the night and would try and get to see him in a few more years. I did not want the King to think we had just disappeared. If Archbishop Cranmer started to tell him about our time device, the King might think he has lost the plot and off to the nutty farm for him. So I feel the Archbishop will not mention it anymore.”
“So Doc, in about three months the great King of Navan’s, great-great- great- great-great-great-great-grandson of the one and only Doc Higgins will get a call from the Lord Chancellor of England to say that you own half of the west of London, England granted to you in 1536 by the King Henry VIII for the services and council provided by the King of Navan (C/O Ratheen County Meath). Together with his advising council Lady Catherine of Ontario, Lady Nora of Castle Blayne, and their man servants Alistair the clown and James the man of silence,” added the Manager.
“The feckin Manager does it again. When the shit is hitting the fan we all come out smelling like roses,” laughed The Doc.
“Now, what about James and getting him home,” asked the Manager.
“Sure let him have a good old night at the Gator,” laughed the Doc. “Once we have settled back here for a week or so and I carry out some small repairs and minor modifications to the Higulator, we will get James Bond back to his own time zone.”
To be continued …..
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