Acknowledgements: thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: rowerlovesastronomy, browsofglory,imiregretsnothing, icococandy, GalaxyGirlEm, gnomiegnome, itsalwaysbeme, Sarite, weirdonamedbrie, the Oracle of Akemi, CriticalThinking, RebelsAdvocate, eleanoralovesananias, TheMoonRaven, RoseRune, aphDadmark, Still a Lover of Franchises, Deciduous Forest 208, Yu-Gi-Oh Trekkie 99, RaptureChamber, StealthSage, yukia9tendo, Mondmaedchen, Bayboo20, England 2410, mossflower1234, ChildoftheMoon86, Gwen-Van-Well, The Silent Lilac, Supergrassaysyaaasss, Azmine Junet, febrezedtrash, magondala, BrownieTheFangirl, ppurpple, mssunnymuffins, espeon64, oh-cripe-my-fish, Renchikara, LucediDio,mirrorkirby64, quity190, Kathryn Daughter of Hestia, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, spooky ghost flower, nightowlof2, Mondmaedchen, Siemsen, gintama200, phyllite, ravengal, not-philosophical, magicflyingmintbunnies, AllHellBrokeLoose666, GoneInASecond, Shikyoblossom20, theworldofhetalia, Acvodadkawall, skywolf2001Thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: GalaxyGirlEm, gnomiegnome, itsalwaysbeme, Sarite, weirdonamedbrie, the Oracle of Akemi, CriticalThinking, RebelsAdvocate, eleanoralovesananias, TheMoonRaven, RoseRune, aphDadmark, Still a Lover of Franchises, Deciduous Forest 208, Yu-Gi-Oh Trekkie 99, RaptureChamber, StealthSage, yukia9tendo, Mondmaedchen, Bayboo20, England 2410, mossflower1234, ChildoftheMoon86, Gwen-Van-Well, The Silent Lilac, Supergrassaysyaaasss, Azmine Junet, febrezedtrash, magondala, BrownieTheFangirl, ppurpple, mssunnymuffins, espeon64, oh-cripe-my-fish, Renchikara, LucediDio,mirrorkirby64, quity190, Kathryn Daughter of Hestia, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, spooky ghost flower, nightowlof2, Mondmaedchen, Siemsen, gintama200, phyllite, ravengal, not-philosophical, magicflyingmintbunnies, AllHellBrokeLoose666, GoneInASecond, Shikyoblossom20, theworldofhetalia, Acvodadkawall, skywolf2001
Sorry this is a very long chapter and some indulgence on my part - history lessons etc.
Driving Lessons Chapter 31 - The Four Georges
"Your carriage is a wonder, Arthur! The horses are invisible!"
"Mind that other carriage! Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"I say that man there has wires coming out of his ears!"
"Can you make this go any faster, Arthur?"
England had had backseat drivers before but the backseat drivers he now had were the most unqualified. As well as being over 500 years old, never having driven a car themselves and also the simple fact of being… dead.
He sighed. Not much farther now. He could just see the Palace and then he would be free of them.
Earlier…
England woke to the sound of somebody vacuuming. As England was the only person who did any vacuuming he was immediately suspicious. Somebody had clearly made a mess somewhere. He got out of bed, pulled on his paisley print dressing gown, tied the cord, pulled on his slippers and slouched downstairs.
France was indeed vacuuming, his foot still in its cast did not seem to impede him at all. America was rummaging through cupboards leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
"Why are you vacuuming?" England asked.
"Qui?"
"Key?"
"What?"
"Why. Are. You… Vous… er pourquoi es-tu… vacuuming?" England yelled again through gritted teeth.
At least France was wearing pants now, that was an improvement on his sole attire - a pinny from the night before.
"I cannot hear you!" France yelled back. "Je ne t'entends pas!" He yelled this as if yelling in French would make any discernible difference.
England pulled the plug out of the socket cutting the vacuum off. France looked at it quizzically and then at England.
"You twit," England said.
"Why did you do zat?" France asked.
They stood in the lounge. America was trying to crane his head around them to watch the television. "Dudes! I'm trying to watch CBeebies! It's crazy, man!"
"What's going on?" England asked.
"Well the Tellytubbies are trying to find someone's hat," America replied.
"Not you! And stop eating in my lounge, use a table!" England said.
America slouched past him with a tray full of breakfast foodstuffs, moaning about the lack of television in his room, the lack of bagels and how 'stuffy' England was.
England decided that if the American didn't leave soon he would be eaten out of house and home.
"You have company," France said, his hands on his hips.
"Where?" England was relieved that France was not wearing his distressingly tight jeans. But this relief was tempered when France turned round and England saw the hole in the seat of the pants. Whether this was deliberate or not is unknown.
France did not answer him as there was a knock on the door, he skidded into the kitchen to answer it.
England was too slow. "Who the bloody hell?" England asked. But he was shoved out of the way as America went past - followed by a veritable carpet of cats.
"Forgot my milk," the American explained as he shoved past again, carrying a full six pint carton of milk and preceded by the six cats. Nobody, cat or otherwise, gave England a second glance.
"You either get back to Washington or get a job!" England called up to the American's bedroom. "Can you hear me? I can't afford you to live here rent free. At least Francis bloody well cleans up!"
He went into the kitchen and immediately wished he hadn't.
Four grim-faced non-smiling men and women sat around his kitchen table. All were being offered tea by Francis.
"Who are these jokers?" England asked Francis, glaring at them. He was feeling rather belligerent and definitely not very accommodating. "Secret Service? MI5? Scotland Yard?" he asked, thinking about the recent events he and France had been involved in at the Palace. He was hoping that they could take those Kings off his hands who were currently down in his basement.
"No mon cher," France whispered. His face was pale and he looked, for a change, sober. "Eet eez ze Neighbourhood Watch Association. You may want to tie up your dressing gown."
England looked down and quickly did tie up his dressing gown and looked back at the four people. "This is bad," he whispered back at France.
"I know, mon cher. Paisley pyjamas are very last year."
"Why are they here?" he whispered.
"We are here because of the complaints we've received about you," one of the grim, non-smiling men said.
England shook his head, "Complaints?"
France stepped back and affected a look of utter shock, a hand to his brow as if he were going to faint. England hit him.
"You mean that woman who came here last night going on about screaming? I mean honestly… She really looked as if she could do with a bit of fun in her life. What a boring old fart. I mean I've lived next door to her for 20 years and not once has she thanked me for putting her bins out and watering her plants when she was away. I don't complain about her herbaceous border encroaching on my prize petunias."
"You're talking about me, Mr Kirkland," one of the women said huffily.
"Oh right…" Arthur said lamely. "I didn't recognise you with all these other people."
"Perhaps you should get dressed mon ami?"
"Yes perhaps I should." England said.
He was halted though by the sound of a German accent. "This house is a disgrace. Do you know your doorbell doesn't work?"
"If that's Germany don't let him in. If it's Austria don't let him in either. If it's Switzerland tell him I have the police on speed-dial so he better not have a rifle with him," England told France.
France, who appeared to have taken on the role of England's doorman or concierge, nodded almost wisely.
England hurried upstairs to get some clothes on. Downstairs France was telling the Neighbourhood Watch about England's house and how Arthur lived like a 'barbarian'.
"He is like a caveman!" France was telling them.
England couldn't hear who the Nation was outside. He assumed it was Germany as whoever it was, was evidently trying to fix his doorbell and complaining about what a terrible country this was.
England wondered if he could stay upstairs.
"Is that the State Department?" America asked, barging into England's room just as he was pulling up his trousers.
"Do you mind? I'm trying to get dressed."
"I'm not going home. If that's the American Consulate dude then you can tell them…"
"You are going to go home. I'm not having you living here for the next four years, Alfred."
"Aww man!" America stomped back out.
England sighed and continued getting dressed. He could hear France telling the Neighbourhood Watch and (possibly) Germany about the continuing lack of facilities.
"He does not have a coffee percolator! Eet eez terrible! Eet eez like ze Middle Ages!"
"You poor man!" someone said.
"We're going to report him to the local authority for his blocking of the road. Do you know he has three vehicles now? One of them seems to have two vagrants living in it."
"Two vagrants? Is one of zem tall with great hair? And ze other has ze look of a madman on speed, madam?"
"Well actually…yes…"
Francis smiled enigmatically. "Ah leetle Pru and Den…"
The doorbell rang - but this time it played a rather strident 'Jingle Bells'.
"I fixed your doorbell," Germany said as he strode in.
"You are so strong and manly!" France told him.
"Who are these fine people?" Germany said, shaking France off him.
"Ze Neighbourhood Watch Association. Zay are like ze… er…" he wanted to say 'Gestapo' but decided it was wise if he didn't use that term. "…Enforcement for ze neighbourhood. Zay say zat Arthur is not a good neighbour."
"Ja, that doesn't surprise me."
"You should see the state of his allotment," one of the men said, looking at his chipped Union Jack mug with distaste. (France had given them England's worst mugs for their tea.)
Upstairs England, listening to all of this, had a brainwave. He could actually get rid of all his problems at once. The Kings in the basement, the Neighbourhood Watch people, Germany even. He just needed to be very very cunning. He laughed in what he thought was a cunning way.
"Are you alright, Arthur mon cher?" France called up. "I thought I heard you crying?"
England gritted his teeth. They would all rue the day.
He stomped downstairs and instead of pausing to go into the kitchen, carried on down some stairs. Not down to the pits of hell itself of course.
He flung open the basement door to find various dead Kings, a Queen, two Princes of Wales and two Scottish Kings dancing, playing darts (badly), arguing and in the case of King Malcolm and a Prince of Wales - fighting. England knew the sight of some of them would make France run a mile. Even Germany, although he was a relatively young Nation, might turn a whiter shade of pale.
"Excuse me! Your Majesties!" he called and clapped his hands.
Some of them looked up. Some didn't. Bloody idiots the lot of them, England thought. Although he'd always had a soft spot for Queen Elizabeth. She, for her worth, looked up and smiled at him. He blushed a deep red.
"Arthur! You look the same as you did all those years ago!" she called and, picking up her skirts, stepped over her grandfather King Henry VII, who was sat on the floor trying to beat the other King Henry (not VIII) at some card game. Henry VII had always been a misery-guts, England remembered.
She kissed him on the cheek. "What on earth are you wearing?"
"Erm, these are the latest fashions, Your Majesty," he mumbled.
"What year is this?" said one of the Georges.
"2017."
They all looked amazed. "Has the Great British Empire taken over the world, Arthur?"
"Erm no…"
"I presume we still hold the colonies… the New World, India…?" George the Second asked.
"Well no…" England said lamely. He was going to add that it was George the Third who'd helped lose the bloody 'New World'. He preferred not to think about that carry-on.
They all looked disappointed.
"But Scotland is now joined with us!" England said and then wished he hadn't.
King Malcolm howled with rage and began attacking one of the Princes of Wales.
"And we erm… we have Gibraltar!" he said as if this was a consolation prize.
Elizabeth took his arm, "Never mind Arthur. Let's leave these madmen and tell me all about the modern world. Tell me who is on the throne now?"
"Elizabeth the second, Ma'am."
She beamed at this, "Did you hear that, you fools? Another Elizabeth! Right, Arthur, take me to see London as it is now. I haven't visited you since 1849!"
"We have cars now, Ma'am. But we can't… I actually need your help…"
There was a shout from upstairs. "Arthur! Mon cher!"
England cringed.
All the royalty in the room halted their gambling, fighting and arguing and looked round at him. It was as if time had stopped.
"Erm yes… that would be er…"
But England didn't get to finish his words as all the Kings and Princes, as one, stormed past him and went upstairs.
"Bugger…" England said and followed them. His plan foiled already.
"What's this? Some kind of fancy dress party?" one of the Neighbourhood Watch men said.
Germany stared open-mouthed at the crowd of royalty now stood in England's kitchen.
France had jumped in Germany's arms.
"You! Francis!" one of the Princes yelled and launched himself at the Frenchman.
"Save me!" France cried. "Angleterre, save me!"
"Everyone calm down!" England said ineffectually. "Your Majesty, please put that kettle down. You'll scald yourself. And please you… erm…" England realised he couldn't keep calling them 'Your Majesty' in front of humans so he instead used the King George III's given name, "George William Frederick, please stop turning that light on and off."
George IV was telling his father to "sort himself out and take his medication, whoever heard of a light going on and off as if by magic?"
Germany wasn't as afraid as England had expected. But then again England had forgotten that most of his Kings and Queens were descended from German royalty themselves. In fact, to England's utter annoyance, Germany had sat down at the table and was telling two of the Georges about how terrible England had become as a Nation and a person in general.
France meanwhile had been backed into a corner by one of the Prince of Wales.
"Ah Edward… nice to see you again," France said lamely.
The Prince glared at France, "Do you remember Crécy and Poitiers?"
France clearly did. "Oh no, eet eez ze Black Prince!" he gibbered and fainted clean away.
England rubbed his hands. One part of his plan was actually working. The other part wasn't.
And then one of the other Georges began flirting with his neighbour.
"Perhaps we should all go out? We'll all have a nice cup of tea and then we'll go to Buckingham Palace?" England said quickly.
"That old hole? What a dump!" said one of the Georges.
"I've been there! We visited Vicky when I last came to see you, Arthur. I would love to see the new young Queen," said Queen Elizabeth.
"She's 90 now, Ma'am."
"Really? Are her dresses as nice as mine?"
"She usually wears wellies and a headscarf."
"How vulgar!" yelled one of the other Georges, who had found France's wine and was drinking it.
The Neighbourhood Watch humans were making their excuses and leaving. "Well, you'll be getting a letter from us, Mr Kirkland," one of them said and tried to leave but his exit was blocked by strange people in fancy dress.
"Are you in the Armed Forces? If not, you should be," Prince Edward of Wales was telling him, looking him up and down. "We could do with more archers."
"Erm I'm good with a spade…"
"Yer all a bunch of morons!" King Malcolm shouted suddenly.
England shook his head and began pouring hot water into mugs. "Coffee, tea, herbal? Perhaps some camomile for you Malcolm?"
"I'm Scottish! I don't drink yer daft herbal shite!" King Malcolm shouted. He was joined in this by his compatriot, whose name escaped England but was clearly another mad Scottish King who had probably been invaded or had invaded England's northern borders.
"Are you really a King?" breathed Mrs Neighbour-person to the King George sat with her.
He nodded.
"Oh bugger." England said.
"Coffee! Oh my word! It's amazing…" Queen Elizabeth said. She seemed amazed by everything.
France was now trying to extricate his wine from George II and trying to ignore Prince Edward of Wales who was glaring at him. Germany was telling George I of Hanover all about modern Germany and how much better it was than England.
And then Philippe or Gaston or Pierre or whichever CIA man it was, came in and told England the worst news possible...
Upstairs...
"He can't be ill. He's never ill," England said looking down at America's prone figure.
"I think it's the flu…" America coughed and put a hand to his brow.
"He does feel hot," England said, feeling his brow. "Mmmm…"
"This is your fault, Kirkland. This accommodation is substandard," Pierre/Gaston/Philippe told him.
England looked around at the wreck of a bedroom - a detritus of a mis-spent adulthood. Plates piled upon plates piled upon discarded cardboard pizza boxes, cat hairs, a half-built lego fort with lego figures clutching various weapons with an action man towering over them.
"I can't go home now…" America croaked, looking at England under lidded eyes. He put a tissue to his nose and blew loudly.
"I have to call the President," Pierre/Gaston/Philippe said and imbued this with menace.
"Yeah you do that…" England muttered. "I don't bloody believe you, you bloody bugger. You can't fool me. I remember when you used to play up so you didn't have to go to geography lessons and look where that you got you!"
"There is a Swedenland!" America protested, sitting up suddenly and then flinging himself back down. "I'm ill…"
England threw himself back downstairs. "Tell your President that his Nation will be back home soon!" England told the CIA man, now making an international call from England's phone.
"And now he's throwing a poor young man out on the street, a man who is ill… He only keeps me because I clean his house!" France was telling the humans who were backing away towards the door with looks of desperation.
England's plan was clearly not working. Nobody was bloody moving. "Look I have free admission tickets for afternoon tea with the Queen at Buckingham Palace!" he said, waving some 'tickets' at them.
"I'm the Queen!" Queen Elizabeth muttered.
"Not you," England hissed.
Cramming dead royalty into a vehicle had not been easy. Despite their being incorporeal, none of them wanted to sit with each other. (No doubt America would not have understood this term and would have called them 'floaty' but he'd missed all the 'fun', being now ensconced in his bed with six cats and the latest Nintendo game.)
In the end, it had taken France's help and Germany's determination to get them in America's huge 'Hummer'. The bloody thing still smelled funny - of rainwater and MacDonalds but at least it held them all.
"I thought you would have been too busy to come with us, Arthur," Queen Elizabeth said to Arthur and then shouted, "Oh my word! Mind that other horseless carriage!"
And so England had had to endure relentless backseat drivers. Germany had just tutted behind him and noted down his obvious bad driving. France, sat in the passenger seat was being strangely supportive but that was only because he had been threatened with decapitation by one of the Henrys.
England sighed. It would have been far simpler to cram them into a taxi cab but then more explanations about 'fancy dress' would have been necessary and he doubted that these mad nutjobs would be able to keep up the pretence. They would have insisted on being called 'Majesty' no doubt. Already he had misplaced two Kings. One of the Scottish ones had stormed off to say he was "visiting Scotland and the home of the Highlands".
"Where's George the Fourth?" England asked suddenly.
"He's eloping with Rosemarie," France said, his eyes shining.
"Who in God's name is Rosemarie?"
"The woman from next door."
"Really?"
"Really."
England had no idea what he thought about one of his long-dead Kings eloping with a 60 year old woman who lived next door. The day was surreal enough.
"She says she is going to retire and buy a bungalow in Yorkshire."
"And why not?" England said.
"What are you going to do? You don't have tickets to ze Buckingham Palace do you, mon cher?" France whispered to him.
"Get your bloody hand off my knee…! Of course I do!" England fingered the 2 for 1 vouchers for Buckingham Palace tearoom in his pocket. Hopefully, by the time the assorted royalty had got out they might have all either dematerialised or been caught. That brought back reminiscences of Henry II on a cross-channel ferry and the Special Branch being brought in. England smiled at the memory.
"So you have to slow this chariot when the light goes red?" asked one of the Georges.
"Yes for the last time - yes!" England yelled.
"I wonder how hard it can be to procure and thus propel one of these machines?" another George asked.
"Not too difficult I would think. After all, Arthur manages it."
"Indeed."
"I hate going anywhere with this lot, it's so bloody annoying," England growled.
"You should respect your betters, England," Germany told him sternly.
"Do your ex-bosses ever turn up and bother you?" England asked him pointedly.
"Nein."
"Nine! Oh my God!" England looked appalled. And then said in a weird cheery voice, "Here we are! You can all get out! Have a nice time! Bye then!"
"Are you not coming as well, Arthur?" Elizabeth asked.
"No no no… no no…I'm erm… I have paperwork," England said. He saw Germany staring at him with suspicious eyes.
"I'm always busy," Germany said, getting out of the car much to England's relief. "But I think I would like to spend a little more time with George of Hanover. You know he was ridiculed by you English for being so German!"
"Well who'd have thought…" England said, distracted. He gave the 2 for 1 tickets to George III and hoped the idiot King wouldn't eat them. "Well we really must be going, mustn't we, Francis?" and before anyone could actually say anything, England had put his foot down and they were off, the wheels spinning.
"We must?" France said looking in the rear view mirror at the crowd of Royalty on the pavement.
"Yes you bloody daft frog!" England said.
"Ah oui!" France suddenly seemed to catch up and nodded enthusiastically. "You are so masterful!"
"I really believe I am, aren't I?" England said, instantly cheering up. He switched on the radio.
Behind him the Kings with their enormous wigs, Queen Elizabeth with her huge dress and the incongruous figure of Germany in his sober suit headed towards the Palace.
"And now for the next part of my cunning plan…" England said to himself.
He tapped in the address of the French Embassy on the Satnav.
"Non! You cannot do zis! I implore you! I have cleaned for you! I have given you my pants!" France said, his hands clasped together.
"Only because you gave my pants away!"
"I have another date for you!" France sounded desperate.
"No! Absolutely not! They've all been bloody Nations, bloody blokes as well! You put me on bloody Tinder!"
"I had to!" France said and then corrected himself. "It was the boy who did it! We could be happy! Me, you and the boy!"
England was about to say something but then the radio interrupted with several newsflashes. An incident at the Palace tearooms where a fancy dress party had dissolved into a cake fight and the police had had to be called and then an incident at the coach station where a Scottish man had been arrested following an incident over a vending machine.
England shook his head. Not his problem. He switched off the radio.
He drove with determination, ignoring the protestations, threats and then finally outright crying from the Frenchman next to him. He would be free of this sordid little person, he decided. The French could bloody well have their Nation back and then the Americans could bloody well have their Nation back as well. To mix them up would be a disaster of course.
He turned the corner into Cromwell Road. The French Embassy was there in sight. He could actually see the French flags blowing in the breeze, mocking him and then the traffic came to a standstill.
He honked his horn and stuck his head out of the window to come face to face with a man on stilts (who'd had to bend down of course), wearing a very large Stars 'n' Stripes hat. There were also horses, cowboys and… Alfred?!
"What the bloody hell?!"
"Protest march," the man on stilts told him and then marched off.
But England was shouting, "Alfred! Alfred!"
But 'Alfred' wasn't listening, he was walking away from them dressed in rainbow-striped cowboy garb and leading a horse. He did not look 'ill'.
"Ah oui… I know what zis is, mon cher." France said smiling.
"What?" England said through gritted teeth, glaring at the 'ill' American.
"A protest march for the rights of Gay Rodeo Riders!" France told him, his eyes shining. "It was in ze local paper. You should read it some time."
To Be Continued...