It‘s a while since i‘ve written a #TeamTartan story (Thank goodness i hear you say   ) In fact it‘s quite a while since I‘ve written anything ( ok ok …..i know…….and the worlds a better place for it ) but I couldn’t let 2017 end without one.

#TeamTartan are of course……

@StokerDean Dean builds things, photographs things and has just generally missed half the point of twitter turning up several days after the event 😄

@Mark_Leggat Mark scribbles on walls in his house, has a fetish for pencils and somehow ends up with a published novel or two.

@FewArePict (Debs) been known to play wheelchair rugby for Scotland, never off the telly (Question Time, Eggheads….) known to like a Mojito or three.

@YoorWullie (Lyndsay) loves flying in helicopters to oil rigs to fix Windows 10 problems, old photos of Scotland and Arbroath smokies.

@thehistorytwins (FT) political cartoon writer, history fiend and lover of Bullseye 😀

@GigiCorp (Gigi) owns most things, runs gambling dens and has people who can ‘sort things’

@monotonous65 (Bawb) father of Francesca and Gigi – writer of cutting tweets, Scottish beer and haggis lover

I could write other things about the above but lawyers would get involved……. 😁

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The White House

Knock knock knock

‘What is it!!! ?’

‘Sorry Mr President…..I thought this couldnt wait’

‘I’ve told you never to disturb be when I’m Skyping!’

‘Well…..it’s just that you’ve just been nominated in the top 3 men who’ve pissed off the entire world’

‘Excuse me…..top 3!!! Why the hell am I not top!’

‘Well, Mr President, despite you building a wall on the Mexican border, a dome over Australia, liking Nigel Farage and pouting excruciatingly we’ve found one person on Earth 🌏 who you’ve not annoyed yet’

‘IMPOSSIBLE! I’ve done everything I possibly could to annoy every little person on this damn globe and you’re telling me there’s still someone out there???’

‘I’m afraid so Mr President……’

‘RIGHT…..I’m sorry Vlad, I need to cut this Skype session short…..as long as it’s just Latvia….then ok, but no Lithuania or I’ll ban your personal chef from entering Senegal…..ok!’

*pouts*

‘Believe me, that award is so mine……..I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to win tremendously…..even if I have to take everyone with me. Who’s this fly I need to swat?’

‘It’s a guy called Dave from Scotland…..he seems to have ‘ignored the fact you exist’ ‘

‘Ignore me…..IGNORE ME…….NO ONE IGNORES ME! Not only am I going to make America great again….I’m going to make sure this ‘Dave’ remembers me BIG time……..no one ignores Donald Slump…….No One…..get me wotsername on the Skypemobility thing……NOW!’

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Meanwhile in Edinburgh……..

Leggat lay in the dark, unable to sleep. He’d just finished his 18th novel ‘Murder on the Tram’ and was thinking about his next storyline, tentatively entitled ‘Damnation in Dumfries’, which would bring together a cross between the Bourne Identity, Bond and a bit of Bollywood, to the sleepy rural town of Dumfries, where sheep rustling was not only rife, it was ‘out of control’.

He heard the click. One eye opened and clocked the clock. 1:32am…… he reached underneath his pillow……where was it…….Christ…….where was it……another click and a squeak…….the bedroom door was opening………drops of sweat 💦 oozed from his pores. Leggat knew the score, he knew the story…..he knew a hit when it was on…….another click…….suddenly he found it….a Glock G43…..his fingers curled round it’s smooth barrel……another click…….he felt something at the bottom of the bed…….this was it……..one chance…….one opportunity….in one movement he flicked the lava lamp switch……and pointed the Glock towards his killer………’

‘McWuff……McWUFF!! YOU DAFT MUTT……..you scared the life out of me!!!’

McWuff, his little Scottie dog, scampered up the bed and licked Leggatt’s face, recoiling swiftly on tasting salt. He put the plastic gun back under his pillow. He knew, given the nature of his job, and the information he’d gleaned during his research for his best selling novels , he was on some bad peoples ‘hit list’. He knew a plastic Glock wasn’t going to deter every assailant, but it was better than a scotch peh……..’

‘——————————————————————————————————————————-

Somewhere in Whitehall……………

‘I’m sorry for dragging you all here at such short notice but something’s come up….’

‘It had better be important…..I had to leave behind a whole bottle of Bolli in the Commons Bar because of this!’

‘Michael, I’m sure it’ll still be there when you return’

*guffaws*

‘…..and where may i ask is Boris?’

‘I’m afraid Boris has upset BBC viewers…’

‘Again! What’s he done this time?’

‘He is quoted as saying ‘he’d rather watch Happy Feet 2 as the quality of dancing was better than Strictly…..’ ……nearly a million viewers have called in to complain – I don’t think he was too chuffed that a Scot won it’

*grumbles*

‘Alright, perhaps whilst dealing with one loose cannon issue, it’ll be easier with one less loose cannon actually in the room’

*chortles*

Just then the door burst open……..

‘Hello chaps and gals, sorry I’m late, some buffoon left a nearly full bottle of Bolli in the Commons Bar….couldn’t let that little gal slip out of my fingers, now could I?’

*chortles*

‘Alright Boris, now sit down….this is serious’

‘Don’t tell me you’re starting to take Brexit seriously?’

‘Right Boris…….Enough! This is more serious than Brexit – Our future trade with America is at stake!! Apparently there is someone called Dave, lives in Scotland and is a threat to the national security. President Slump says we must find him and deal with him immediately’

*gasps*

‘Do we know anything about him?’

‘All we know thus far is he has a Twitter account…..’

‘Oh well, that’s enough for us to haul him in in itself……’

‘…….aaannnnnd he’s been known to go out jogging wearing Lycra….’

‘Oh Bish, bash, bosh……..that’s almost a hanging offence. You wouldn’t see me wearing stuff like that..’

*chortles round the room*

‘We need to be clever and subtle about all this……our ratings are down and we can’t afford any more cock ups…….. I’m going to call in the FB Aye…..’

*gasps*

then long pause…….

‘Who??’

‘Apparently it’s the Scottish version of the FBI….an organisation so secret even I didn’t know they existed……until now’

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Somewhere in the highlands of Scotland………

‘Dougal….’

‘Yes Donald’

‘You know when ye told me wi were members o’ the most secretest secret secret organisation in the world…’

‘Yes’

‘Well, ah just thoucht wi’d be a touch busier than wi are…..apart frae thoan time thoan giant Mr Whippy ran amock doon Princess Street, there’s been nothing’

‘Don’t be silly Donald. Is it not only last week we helped save Mrs McCleans cat’

‘I don’t think finding out it was not lost at all, and it wiz actually under the wummins bed, is hardly ‘saving it’ ‘’

‘Aye ok Donald, but mine the time we got called to help the Dingwall polis?’

‘Aye, but that didnae go well did it. Wi baith ended up gan doon the weir in oor waders and had to tae bi rescued by the very folk wi wur there tae help’

‘Look Donald, we’re like Ninjas, highly trained, capable of anything, just waiting for that moment when wir needed’

‘Hi mean wur like giant green ninja turtles waiting to save the world’

‘Aye Donald…..giant green turtles, that’s whit wi are……… noo let’s get back tae base…yi never know the moment the world micht need us….’

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Via Crescenzio, Rome

FT and Gigi were just leaving their hotel when two stern looking men pushed past them.

‘Excuse me why don’t you….!’ FT growled.

‘Yes…..what she said’ chipped in Gigi

The men never wavered and headed on to the elevator.

FT and Gigi squeezed past the very large concierge who was staring into the hotel.

‘Did you see those jerks….got out of that Merc there and just pushed past’

‘Yes Dad, we did……can we go now….I want to see the Colliseum before it gets too busy’

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‘Donald…..you’ll neffer believe it……we’ve got mail!!’

‘It’s probably the Council Tax folk – i telt ye tae pay it’

‘No, no Donald…..i mean ‘email’, on our FB Aye account, and it’s encrimped’

‘Encrimped?’

‘Aye, ye know, so that nae other bugger can read it’

‘So how are we going tae read it?’

‘We’ve got a password tae unencrimp it’

‘This is exciting Dougal….whit’s the password’

‘Ah canny remember……wiv never had an email before….I wrote it doon somewhere……if only i could remember where……gie’s a minute it’ll come back tae me……..

……….ah ken where it is…….i wrote it the 1970 Broons annual i got frae Auntie Mabel when i was wee……. it’s in the bookshelf in the hall….’

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The Oval Office……..Washington DC

‘You’re telling me, that, we contact the British Government, they contact MI5, who, in turn contact the FB Aye, who send a password reset request to us stating ‘We wrote it in a 1970’s Broons Annual that Auntie Mabel gave us as a present but Donald took all the books to the Dingwall Charity jumble sale the other week and wiv lost it’ – Are these guys morons? – they’re making our FBI look actually competent!!!’

‘I’m afraid Mr President these appear to be the facts and you’re the only person who can sign off on us giving them a new password………….

…………..oh, and does that mean i can reinstate the head of our FBI?’

‘Hell no, get your ass out of here’

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Somewhere in Dingwall…….

‘Anither email Dougal……!!’

‘Open it Open it……’

‘Ok….here goes…..clickety click let’s unencrimp’

‘What’s it doing Donald?’

‘Well, our ‘Sooper Fast Broadband’ isnae quite ‘sooper fast’, it’s still travelling from America’

An hour later…………

‘Make us anither cup o’ tea will ye Donald?’

‘Whit’s it up tae?’

‘87 per cent’

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Near the Coliseum..Rome

FT was a lot happier now. Yesterday had turned into a disaster. By the time Bawb, her Dad, had diverted proceedings to the Highlander Pub in Vicolo de San Biagio it was too late to visit the Colliseum. At least it was near the Pantheon so it wasn’t all bad. Things went AWOL again when they returned to their hotel only to find police, police and more police 👮‍♂️ surrounding the place. They were told they couldn’t return, and their luggage was being moved to another hotel a few blocks away. Now, having had a decent nights sleep, she, Gigi and Bawb were walking towards the Coliseum.

A girl approached in high heels, tight shorts and a green t-shirt emblazoned with the name of an oil company. Wearing a fixed smile, she thrust forward a leaflet and a small stuffed polar bear in her outstretched hand…. Gigi took the bear and FT ended up with the leaflet

‘Dad…..did you see the guy on the park bench we just passed?’

‘Yeah…..he looked like crap’

‘I was thinking he look more like the guy who followed those jerks who barged into us in the hotel foyer last night’

‘I doubt it FT. If it was, he’s had a very very wild 24 hours’

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‘We’re in Donald….we’re in’

‘What does it say Dougal?’

‘It says our new password is ‘YouMo_Rons’

‘Ok….let’s see what the encrimped email says….I’m excited Dougal…..!!’

5 minutes later……

‘What does it mean, ‘disrupt, annoy, if not detain and interrogate, or eliminate’ ?’

‘I don’t know Donald, but whoever this Dave is, he must be bad…..let’s go we’re packing up and heading for Dumfries’

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Two days later Dave was walking towards Marks and Spencers. He saw the yellow up ahead on the pavement. As he got closer, he realised it was a pile of banana skins. There must have been at least twenty. He stepped over them and carried on.

Donald and Dougal peaked from behind the fountain, they looked at each other, and realised this was not going to be as easy as they’d thought……

The #TeamTartan Christmas Special Part 1 – ‘The Banana Skins’ was brought to you by ©️DodoProductions and @qosfc1919 2017

Mark Leggatt’s novels Names of the Dead and The London Cage published by Fledgling Press are available now at Amazon.co.uk