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Driving Lessons Chapter 47 - Rawhide
"You complete and utter berk!" England yelled at America. "Stop this bloody trolley!"
"You are off your trolley," France said, licking his plastic spoon. How on earth the Frenchman seemed so calm when they were crashing along the Ring Road weaving in and out of traffic in a luggage trolley was beyond England. Also the trolley had a squeaky, faulty back wheel.
This squeaky wheel did not stop America. He was the hero. He only wished he'd had on his Superman outfit and not this "costume". However, they were getting lots of honks from car horns as they sped along. Probably many of the drivers thought that this was some kind of performance art.
Just as England thought they were going to die - an articulated lorry was speeding towards them and America was distracted by the shouts from an Uber driver who told them to 'fuck off out of the bloody way' or words to that effect, salvation came from an unlikely source…
"Yeehaw!" came a shout (and not from America).
The Alabama Gay Rodeo had come to town.
In Mr K's lair, Pru and Den were arguing…
"I want Schlewsig back!" Denmark yelled at Prussia.
"You can't have it!" Prussia shouted back.
"You're mean, you are."
"I won it. Besides you should talk to my bruder. He's Germany."
"He's mean as well. I used to be the King of Northern Europe…"
"Don't get all depressed on me, Den."
"It's not fair," Den said. It was rare that Den actually got upset. He was the cheeriest Nation. However, he was usually drunk or half drunk and without alcohol he could get positively dangerous.
"When we get out of here I'll buy you a crate of beer."
"I miss King Gorm…"
"Ja ja, we all miss our old kings… I miss Fritz…" Prussia thought Den's kings all had crazy names.
"And Olaf…"
"Ja ja, but if they'd all been called Frederick they would have been more awesome!" Pru said out loud.
"I had a few King Fredericks," Den said.
"Ja, but they were all rubbish," Pru told him confidently.
"Do you know where Russia is?" Den said to change the subject.
"Ja, between the frozen north and China," Pru said. It was an old joke.
"Nah, I mean fat dude Russkie," Den said, in a whisper.
"Nope, do you?"
"We could save the world, dude. If we find him. We could be… heroes!"
"Just for one day."
"That would make an epic song."
"Ja."
Silence.
"Vodka bar."
"Possibly."
"Imperial War Museum."
"Doubt it. Dude goes nuts when he remembers the war."
"I blame you for that."
"Ja." Prussia said and went quiet.
"What do you usually do when you come to London?" Den asked. "He'll probably do the opposite."
"Bomb it."
"No I mean in peace-time."
"Set up a crappy taxi service with my friend."
"No, I mean if you hadn't been kicked out by your brother."
"I didn't get kicked out. I left," Pru said.
Den thought Pru was kidding himself. He had distinctly heard Germany shouting at Pru as they'd sped down the driveway in that stolen postal delivery van (which ended up sunk in the Kiel canal - but that was a story for another day), "…And don't come back until you've got a proper job and can pay me back!"
Den had shrugged. He was always being told to get a job by Finland, Sweden and Norway. The three Nordic Nations frequently ganged up on him. Obviously, stealing Finland's Santa suit and being employed as a stripper in bars was not what the other Nations had had in mind. Den had been disappointed in this. Of course, 'Icy', the other Nordic Nation, wisely kept out of the way.
"They need to ring Lithuania. He knows fat Russkie better than all of us," Pru said wisely.
"I think I've just seen a dragon."
"You mean Mr Ping's here?"
"Ja, swimming past the window."
"Are we underwater?"
"Ja, didn't you notice?"
Pru thought about it. He was a bit miffed that Den had noticed something he had not. "Course I did. I'm not stupid."
"Mr Kumajiro's clever isn't he? Building all this?" Den said.
"Did he proper build it though?"
"Do you think he didn't?" Den looked disappointed.
"Don't be daft, polar bears can't build! They don't have thumbs!"
"Yeah but…how did he get this cool place?"
"Perhaps it was already here?" Pru said, his brain working hard.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…. He stole it from another arch-villain!"
"You mean like… that Blowfield person in the James Bond movies?" Den said, wide-eyed.
"Blofeld. Yes…"
"But that's not real… although…"
"He said he had a top boss didn't he?" Pru said.
"Ja. SLAPARSE! They give me the creeps."
"Or suppose it goes all the way to the top…?"
"Like… Oh my God!" Den's eyes widened. His hair on end.
"Ja, Den…" Pru was nodding as he realised his friend had made the connection.
"Britain in Bloom!" Den said in hushed tones. "They are ruthless."
Pru nodded.
While Pru and Den connected the dots and came up with something very very odd (but almost right), England found himself surrounded by a stampede of horses.
"What the bloody hell?" he exclaimed as they were corralled as if they were in a Western movie.
"This is great!" America yelled.
"I love cowboys!" France said, licking the ice cream from his plastic spoon in the most salacious manner possible.
"Howdy there pardners!" one of the 'cowboys' yelled. "Do you guys need a hand there?"
"Oh oui!" France said, flinging himself off the trolley and heading towards the speaker.
"Oh bloody hell…" England said. "No we don't. We're fine!" he called back.
They weren't 'fine' in any sense of the word. They were stuck in the middle of the Northern Ring Road going onto the main dual carriageway on a luggage trolley with a squeaky left back wheel and a randy Frenchman with a 44 tonne articulated lorry bearing down on them. 'Fine' was not really a term England should have used and later he would regret it.
"What bloody fool just said howdy?" England asked.
"It's my main homie, Canadia!" America yelled joyously.
"Yes it would be wouldn't it…?"
"Well hello zere," France was saying, looking up adoringly at one cowboy. "Zat is a very big gun you have zere."
"Who are these bloody people?"
"Alabama gay rodeo riders. We've been marching for the rights of gay rodeo riders everywhere!" One of them said.
"We saw them before, you remember Artie?" America said.
"How could I forget?" France breathed.
"I would imagine that gay rodeo riders wouldn't need that many rights." England said.
There was awkward silence. A very large man in a rainbow suede jacket, carrying a large whip, jumped down from his horse and loomed over the grumpy Englishman, "What?"
"What I meant to say is that being such a minority you have every right to march or parade… hang on why were you marching in London anyway? Why not march in bloody Alabama?" England stammered.
This was not going well and it was only by France's quick thinking and extreme gayness that things did not go ill for our English hero.
"Ah you look so strong on your horse. I love your whip!" France swooned.
"Bloody hell…"
"Yeah cool…" America said. "But let's get going, dudes, before the bad guys come and get us!"
"I agree with Alfred here," England said.
But France was climbing on a horse. "Yahoo!" he yelled. In his yellow poncho and pink shorts, he looked utterly ridiculous. He did not care.
"Okay, anyone need a ride?" Canada asked.
"Where are you off to?" England replied. He was a competent horseman but preferred English horses and not these foreign palamino creatures that seemed to be very skittish, he also preferred to be the one holding the reigns.
"Well, we were off to the airport and back to the States. Our horses need to go to animal control and they're shipped back in special…" Canada began to say but was cut off by England.
"That's no good, we just came from there. We escaped Mr Kumajiro and… hey! Mr Kumajiro's your pet! Why don't you bloody sort out that villainous…"
"Woah there! Mr Kumajiro is not my pet! He's more my…" Canada tried to think. He was about to say 'overlord'.
By now they had trotted off down the road, horns honking at them - whether in solidarity of gay rights or because they were holding up the traffic is actually unknown. France was sat on a horse with a large man in leather who was waving a rainbow flag and America was giving a horse some multi-coloured highly sugared confectionary.
"Listen, he's trying to start a nuclear war," England said to Canada. "He held us in his lair. Russia has gone missing and if he's not found by midnight tonight, President Putin is going to launch the nuclear warheads right at us!"
Canada looked worried - his default expression. "I don't know what I can do. He's always done his own thing. He wants to stop global warming…"
"My Prime Minister is too busy trying to avert a war with Spain, thanks to my idiot brother…"
"Yes, I understand about idiot brothers," Canada said and then suddenly yelled, "Alfred! Stop giving Hercules smarties!" He then said to England, "Does he know he has a tail?"
England shook his head, "I'd prefer if you didn't tell him…. So now we have this situation. I have no idea why Mr Kumajiro wants the key to my allotment shed."
Canada shrugged. "Well I have no idea how to help you. Mr Kumajiro hasn't been the same since he didn't get on American Idol."
They were now clip-clopping down the road back to the airport. England walked beside Canada's horse. "Do you know where Russia might be?" he asked hopefully.
"Vodka bar? Erm…" Canada thought hard. "Where did you leave him last? That's what I do when I've lost something I go back to where I last saw the object…"
"Yes, we've done all that."
"Ring Lithuania?"
England looked at him with new respect. "Of course! France! Let me borrow your phone. Those thugs have got mine!"
England was hit on the head by a phone with a diamante French flag on the back. He cringed. He should have caught that. He would never get into the England Cricket Team. "Bloody hell…"
"Swearing is not the answer," America said. Probably the most ridiculous thing ever said.
"Toris… Toris…" England said to himself, searching through the contacts. None of them made sense. They were all filthy. England remembered what France had done to his own contact list on his 'me-phone' or whatever it was bloody called. "France, you tart! What name do you have Lithuania under?" England did not even attempt to say Toris' surname.
"Sex God!" France yelled. "Of course it is! What else would it be?"
England shook his head and pressed the button to make the call. He thought briefly about deleting various contacts - 'Butts & Buns' he was sure was an unsavoury establishment and then remembering with distaste that France was actually an employee of them and that to get rid of France he needed to have money and hence a job - however disagreeable.
"Hello? Lithuania?"
"France?" Lithuania answered and without waiting for an answer went into a tirade, "I'm not doing it again. I refuse to go along with you on these wild parties. I still haven't got that pink glitter out of my hair. I really hope Russia doesn't see it. And Pol says if you get me drunk again and make me have another rose tattoo he will skewer you with his sword."
"I understand, Lithuania. He's a complete dickhead isn't he?"
"Oh, Mr England?" Lithuania's voice changed quickly.
"Yes, me…"
"Why do you have France's phone?"
"It's a long story… Look…"
"He hasn't taken you partying has he? Honestly, don't for heaven's sake go with him to the Montmartre district."
England shuddered, "I'm hardly likely to…"
"And tell him Pol will fillet him with his sword if he ever takes me to the Moulin Rouge again."
England straightened his tie and blushed. "Listen…I wondered if…"
"…And don't go on a boat with him. I once ended up in Lima wearing nothing but a pink tutu and a cowboy hat," Lithuania continued, oblivious to England. He seemed on a roll. "…Come avec moi on zis river boat cruise Lithuania, you will love eet, Lithuania…" Lithuania imitated France in a weird French accent.
England felt a lot of sympathy for the poor fellow Nation. Perhaps they could set up a support group for nations who have had their lives ruined by France? "Lima is in Peru," England said lamely.
"I know that!" Lithuania yelled.
"Anyway… I'm sorry about all that," England said through gritted teeth as he looked at France who was obliviously flirting with a gay rodeo rider. "He's ruined my life as well. We should swap notes. But at the moment we need to find Russia."
There was a gulp at the other end of the phone. "Russia? Why? Why would you want to do that?"
"He was staying with me…"
"Really?"
"Listen, I don't have time to explain but if we don't find him then President Putin is going to go to war with me. I'm already at war with Spain."
"Really?"
"Oh my God Lithuania! Can you just tell me where you think he might be?"
"Have you tried the zoo? He likes looking at the animals."
"The zoo!" England yelled at America.
"Yep! On it like a bonnet!" America yelled. "Homie!" he whistled at his brother, "Can you and your gay friends, hey I'm not judging, take us to the zoo?"
London Hungarian Embassy
Hungary was sat quietly, in her satin dressing gown, sipping her coffee, her crossbow propped up next to her, flipping through 'Arrows' magazine - a publication for aspiring archers (it had a picture of a determined-looking young woman on the front pulling back a bow string).
The door opened and Poland came in on a Segway, wearing a red dragon kimono, drinking a pina colada. "Hey Liz sweetie! You're not gonna believe this!"
Behind him in the doorway, flanked by his two henchmen was a harassed looking polar bear.
Elsewhere in London…
Russia leaned back in his hammock. He was having a lovely day. He'd had a bit of a problem at first when some strange men had tranquilised him and taken him from that nice sleeping place in the Airport (actually Animal Control) and then he'd woken up in a cage. That wasn't nice. He wasn't impressed with London hospitality so far. He'd had problems getting in the hammock at first. It had taken half a dozen attempts but he'd managed it. Now he was relaxing with his battered paperback copy of Dostoevsky and bottle of vodka.
In a corner, two large brown bears huddled - terrified of their new cage-mate.
On a plaque outside the curator was amending the notice to say 'New Addition - Vanya the Russian Eurasian brown bear'.
Vanya himself, popped another berry into his mouth and ignored the gawping children. He assumed that this was normal in English gardens. Although this wasn't how he remembered Arthur's garden, not that he'd taken a lot of notice. There was no angry dead king next door. He wondered vaguely what time Coronation Street was on.
To be continued...