The Sandwich: #23

The Sandwich


I do not know whether you have heard this about me or not, but I am not a professional spy. I did apply to be a spy once by filling in a questionnaire that was in the back of the Radio Times, but in the end I decided against it because of all the travelling. Actually, I would quite like to zoop about the planet and visit far-flung exotic locations, but for your expenses they only pay 45p a mile, so I told them they could stuff it.

Here's the thing though, even though I am not a spy, I know how to carry off a disguise. You don't do it like James Bong does it in the James Bong films; you have a to keep a low profile. You certainly don't go around setting off explosions, charging through walls in armoured vehicles or screaming out of the sky with a union jack parachute. That is how a twat would do it.

So, when I got to the shops, dressed in my wetsuit, army greatcoat and top hat, I remained calm and collected, didn't draw attention to myself and, as a result, the lady behind the counter had no inkling that I was on a secret mission. I even managed to exchange a few pleasantries with her in the local language, which wasn't so very difficult as this happened to be 'English', the very same language that I spoke. At one point her hand went beneath the counter and my heart skipped a beat. Could she be an enemy agent? Was she reaching for a concealed weapon? Thankfully, she was only reaching for a concealed cup of coffee, which is not nearly as dangerous as a semi-automatic pistol or a commando knife, even if it is made with full fat milk.

Having successfully negotiated the purchase of the packet of milk chocolate digestives, I exited the shop, pausing only to hiss the words 'objective achieved' into my lapel. I don't think there was a concealed microphone there, but I had bought the coat second-hand, and you never know.



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