Gimlet and Finchley 5 - Becky

A woman grabbed me as I was about to enter the driveway.

“Oi,” she gobbed. “There’s a queue you know.”

“Yes,” I said, “A queue outside my house.”

“It’s not your house,” she corrected me. “It’s Ted Elliott’s house.”

“Oh sorry,” I said, pushing past her. “I must have forgotten where I live.”

Blake and Mario were in the house when I arrived. “Bloody idiots,” I said. “A woman accused me of pushing in.”

“They’ve been queuing for hours,” said Mario.  “I guess they didn’t recognise you.”

“Queuing for what?” I said.

“To leave flowers, pay their respects, that sort of thing.”

“But you leave flowers at the grave. That’s where you pay your respects. You don’t storm people’s houses and attack their children.”

“I blame the Queen,” said Blake.

“The Queen?” I said. Was Blake finally going mad.

“The Queen is dead,” said Mario.

“I mean the Queen’s funeral. Any sane country would have ticketed visits to her grave, but this is England, we had to have a queue. With a queue it becomes a competition, they queue in order to be seen queuing.”

Blakes rant was met with silence. It was often the best way to answer him.

“Anyway,” I said. “What’s this about, why was it so important to meet.”

“We need to respond to the Bradley Walsh threat,” said Mario.

“We did,” I said. “We told Gavin we wouldn’t support the move.”

“That’s not going to be enough,” said Blake. “He’s already contacting people, he’s probably already signing contracts. When the puppets do pass to us we’ll likely find they’ve got Bradley Walsh’s hands up their arses.”

“So what can we do?” I said.

“We need to come up with an alternative proposal.”

“We did. Tell Bradley Walsh to fuck off.”

“I mean an alternative puppeteer,” said Mario.

“Who do you have in mind?” I said. “One of us?”

“Yes. I can do this, I’ve worked with dad for years. I’ve seen the act a thousand times, I know every word. I’ve even been on TV with dad. And I’ve got the same surname, fans would know who I was.”

“Why does it have to be you that takes over?” Becky said.

“I’m not interested,” said Blake. “I’ve got my own career, thank you very much. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with my hand up a puppet’s arse.”

“I didn’t mean you, I meant me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mario said. “You couldn’t take over.”

“Why not. I’m one of dad’s children, I’ve just as much right as you.”

“But they’re male puppets”

“They’re not. They’re gender neutral.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone woke on us.”

“I’m not being woke. They are literally sexless. Do show me their genitalia if you doubt me.”

“It’s not that sort of show.”

“Mario’s right,” said Blake. “The public know them as male puppets. They have male names. You couldn’t just switch their names and gender. If you’re serious about a career in puppetry you’d be better starting anew with your own puppets.”

“Gimlet and Finchley are not male names,” I said. “They’re puppet names.”