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Driving Lessons Chapter 70 - Take Me Home, Country Roads
England rocked the baby on his hip. "There there…" he said lamely. "Somebody? Anybody? A hand here?" He called. In one hand he held the Imperial State Crown, he put it absentmindedly on the kid's head where it slipped down and the child wore it as a large necklace. He was stood in the kitchen, looking out of the kitchen window at the goat and a dragon snoozing up to the said goat. He looked again and the dragon was gone. He frowned. He realised he needed a cup of tea. After the prince had left (treading in some goat-shit on his way and cursing England as he went) and the subsequent spell that went wrong, England had dashed downstairs to put the kettle on and think. Someone (probably America) had handed him the baby and then 'buggered off'.
"I'm on it!" Den yelled and charged into the room with a bottle. "Woah who died and made him king of the world?" Den asked.
England sighed, "I seem to have made a big mistake."
"I'll say… and the kid…"
"It's not my kid…"
Den took the child from him. "Yo! Kingy dude!"
"Don't call him that. How old is that child anyway and was there an actual note with him?" England said, and not thinking, pouring milk in the mug before the hot water and then adding a teabag and cursing himself.
"Why?"
"I'm trying to find out who the father is." England said. "Someone has to."
Den took the bottle out of the child's mouth, looked at the emerging teeth, quickly put the bottle back in and said confidently, "About 8 months old."
"Really?"
"Yep, should be weaned really. We should get some Farley's Rusks and steaks. This ain't my first rodeo." He added mysteriously.
"Note?" England asked again, sipping his tea. It tasted foul. Never add milk first, he thought.
"You think I should write this down?"
"No, the note? Wasn't there a note?" England said, getting impatient.
"Dude! My dude Den's had loads of kids." Prussia shouted from the lounge. "Mad-ass Viking kings used to use him to build up armies of warriors. 'Go forth and multiply' they said." Prussia was being a keyboard warrior arguing on a parenting forum. He seemed to think that this would answer all England's questions.
"And I did!" Den said proudly. "Their mothers would show up to kick my arse and dump me with the kid. Then I'd name them Sven or Olaf or Hans, or sometimes I'd change things up and have a Frederik. Or a Dave. I've changed more nappies than dude Russia has had vodka shots!"
"There was a note!" America yelled from the lounge, finally answering England's question.
"What did it say?" England yelled back.
"Erm something about please look after this dude or something, I dunno…" America replied, shouting.
"Shut up, both of you! 'Yummy Mummy 66' says shouting is bad for babies," Prussia told them. "I'm going to tell her that it's not and she's wrong…" He added and began tapping on his keyboard. His username 'Fritzisawesome' on Mumsnet had already been tagged as being a possible troll.
England had no words. He also could not work out how or why Prussia had a laptop. He was also troubled by this.
In a motorway service station, France, being the totally self-absorbed twit that he was, was sat in a massage chair, having conned the usual tight-fisted Yorkshire to give him a pound coin.
"Ah zis is what it is all about…" France cooed.
"Is it?" Yorkshire said, sipping from a polystyrene cup. "Terrible tea," he said. He'd already complained to the person behind the counter at MacDonalds (the only beverage outlet open at this hour) much to the bored assistant's amusement. Like his father, he could not abide a bad cup of tea. Or idiot Frenchmen.
"Oui. I have to spoil myself if I am to go back to ton père," France said.
Yorkshire, who should have been insulted that France had used the familiar 'ton' instead of the more formal 'votre' but didn't understand the nuances of the French language, was too busy looking at his watch. "Come on Francis, we have to go. I can't leave Brian in the car for much longer."
France sighed and got up. "You know, you are like your father. He also tries to curtail my enjoyment of life!" France said. "And usually because of ducks," he added mysteriously.
On the television behind them - a huge 56 inch wide screen television screen at the entrance to the MacDonalds - a news flash showed a picture of England and France. Both looked decidedly dodgy.
Yorkshire looked at it and then at France and then back at the television.
"Ah oui. Didn't I tell you? I'm a wanted criminal!" France seemed pleased and rather proud.
Yorkshire tipped him out of the chair and marched him out. He handed him the keys, "You can bloody well drive the rest of the way," he told him.
England was sat at his kitchen table writing a list. It wasn't a shopping list. Things had gone far beyond that. It was more a 'problem' list.
1. Get rid of Imperial State Crown.
2. Find out where Queen Mary's tiara ended up.
3. 2 ties in with 1.
4. Get into Tower of London to do 1.
5. Find out name of baby's father.
6. Kill France.
7. 6 is probably because of 5.
8. Buy teabags.
He sucked on a cigarette, which was then plucked from his mouth by Den. "Don't smoke in front of the baby," Den told him.
"Who bloody made you parent of the year?" England asked. Although he knew the Dane was correct.
Denmark ignored him.
"The baby's not even here. Anyway where is he?"
"America's teaching him Star Wars," Den said.
"What do you mean? You mean he's watching Star Wars with him?"
"Same thing."
"Star Wars is not real, you know that, right?" England said.
Den mumbled something.
"Besides, I thought he was going back to the States…"
"Yeah he is. But he said he wants to make sure Hamilton's looked after first." Den said, referring to the name America had given the baby.
"If that child is his, he can bloody well take it back to bloody Washington with him."
"Washington, Tyne and Wear?"
"Moron! No!"
"That would be cruel."
"We've had this conversation before…" England sighed.
"We have?"
England was confused.
England added two more items to his list:
9. Send America back to America.
10. Send Denmark back to Denmark or Sweden/Finland/Norway.
Denmark saw the last item and yelled, "Hey that's not fair! I help out! Who else would change the nappies?"
England had to admit that he had a point. The Dane stood in front of him in France's apron, wearing rubber gloves and was placing disposable nappies in a sack on which he'd scrawled 'toxic waste' in red sharpie.
England scratched off the last item and replaced it with:
10. Ask Prussia where he got the laptop.
"Hey Pru dude! Where d'yer get the laptop?" Den yelled.
"Peter Kirkland. But it seems to have a load of shit stuff about stocks and shares on it so I deleted it!" Pru yelled back.
Den winked at England and went outside to the rubbish bin.
England sighed and crossed out No. 10. He could hear Denmark yelling over the fence at the next door neighbours. Who yelled back at him. He peered out of the window to see Denmark standing leaning over the privet hedge, waving the rubbish sack at King George IV and gesticulating towards the house.
It was going to be a long day.
Suddenly King Henry appeared next to him, making England drop his custard cream into his mug of tea.
"Damn and blast!"
"Sorry Arthur but did you know that there's a baby Nation in your front room?" King Henry said.
"Yes, I did."
"Also did you know that Prussia is wearing the Imperial State Crown, which really should belong to me?" Henry added.
England nodded although he wasn't happy about any of it. He tried, unsuccessfully to fish his biscuit out of his tea.
"And also that there is a police car out front?"
"Bugger."
"Bugger," Yorkshire said.
If ducks could talk, no doubt 'Brian' would also say the same thing.
Yorkshire had thought his Dad had exaggerated regarding France's driving and although Yorkshire had seen the YouTube videos (as had a lot of people), he had not thought anyone could be so bad a driver.
He revised this opinion.
"Bloody hell! Yer a mad scone! Yer nearly took that Vauxhall Corsa with you!" Yorkshire yelled as France overtook a woman driving at 45 miles per hour in the inside line. In fact France did not overtake, the manoeuvre was an undertake on the hard shoulder.
"Yer can't drive in this lane!" Yorkshire yelled. "I don't know what the bloody hell they teach you in bloody Paris but you can't drive in this lane!"
"I am too elegant for it, non?" France enquired. He ignored the terrified quacking of the duck and was steering with his knees as he tried to light a cigarette.
"I was taught in ze war by a German called Hans, he had no idea I was getting information from him about all ze German front lines, of course I was more attractive then. I was under my pseudo…pseudo… my alter-ego… my stage-name… my code-name… Marianne!"
Yorkshire winced. "I heard about that," he mumbled.
"Ah good times!" France said.
"Pull over," Yorkshire told him.
"Que?"
"Pull over!"
"You mean as in ze sweater type garment zat your father wears?"
"No! Stop the bloody car!" Yorkshire shouted.
France did. In the path of a ten-tonne articulated lorry that abruptly screamed past them.
"Ah ze English. Some people say zat zay are so cold and passionless but sometimes you know zay are very demonstrative!" France said as the lorry driver screamed something out of the window at them about being 'complete and utter fucking knob heads'.
Yorkshire opened the door, shoved France over to the passenger seat, gave him Brian, got in the driver's seat and set off. He was still shaking. He decided that his father was actually braver than he looked.
"I hope you have a good explanation for the hold-up in the Welsh petrol station, the fact that you stole the Duchess of Sussex's bridal veil together with the Queen Mary tiara?" The Police Superintendent said to England.
England didn't have any explanation. At all. He thought about it.
Den, still wearing an apron, plonked the bag of soiled nappies into the Police Inspector's hands and hurried off and then reappeared with the veil. It had been used to dry the dishes. "There you go!" He said triumphantly.
The policeman dumped the bag on the floor and held the veil between forefinger and thumb. "And the tiara?" He nodded to his men. "Search the premises."
"Erm! Hang on!" England said, his voice rising hysterically. "You'll find nothing here! I think there's been a mistake."
The policeman promptly showed England a clip on his phone which showed England driving off with a demented Frenchman holding the veil and the tiara.
"Ah yes." England said. "Well. It's been returned."
The policeman nodded to his men who began to search the house.
England shut his eyes. He decided that stealing the actual Crown Jewels rather than the tiara would surely lead him to the Tower (even though England actually forgot that the Tower was no longer used as a prison).
"Nothing in here, Sir!" Shouted one officer.
"Nothing here, either!" Another shouted.
The Inspector suddenly got a call on his phone and listened intently, "Yes Ma'am. It has? Yes, Ma'am, I'll tell him and tell him… what? Really? Yes Ma'am." He pressed a button and looked at England. "You're a lucky man, Kirkland."
England didn't agree with him. He didn't feel 'lucky'.
"Her Majesty has said that the Queen Mary tiara has turned up in one of the Corgi beds. She doesn't know how you did it with your magic but that you are not allowed in any of the Royal residences from now on."
That didn't surprise England. He and France were not allowed on any of the furniture anyway. England had found to his detriment that actually Vanish Stain Remover did not remove all stains as it had promised in the advertisements.
"Right, I see. Thank you…" England said lamely and wondered how they could possibly have missed the Imperial State Crown.
"See this as a warning. Her Majesty, at this time, has dropped all charges. Next time you might not be so lucky."
"Right, what about Francis?"
"The moronic Frenchman?"
"Yes, him."
"Her Majesty seems to think that Francis is under President Macron's jurisdiction."
England laughed bitterly.
The police left.
King Henry suddenly appeared next to him and England got his answer as to where the Crown was. On Henry's head.
"I could kiss you!" England exclaimed.
"Please don't."
"You're right, it doesn't look like Dad," Yorkshire said. Again. As France stuck the picture of the child on his phone under his nose. "I'm trying to drive, France. Just hold Brian and try to calm him down before his big show."
"Ah zere is no way that child is Arthur's. He eez too cute, non?"
"He's certainly erm… striking…"
"You zink he has a big nose, non?"
"Non, I mean no… it's his er… big feet and hands… perhaps he's Russia's?"
"Non, I believe he is mine. He is very cute. Ah my own son…"
"I thought you had Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria…?"
"Ah but zay all hate me," France said and buried his crying face Brian's feathers.
Yorkshire nodded, "Aye, like me Dad's former colonies hate him," he said wisely. "And his brothers…"
Currently, one of England's brothers was heading towards London in England's beloved Bentley that he'd erroneously left in Wales. The said brother - Wales - wanted revenge. Revenge for ruining his uniform with cake and thus meaning Wales could not participate in any more processions for a while. But more than anything, revenge for upturning his caravan and burning down his cottage. Sat next to him and intent on ruining England's upholstery, was Hamish, England's other brother.
Hamish was suffering from a hangover so tremendous it would have killed a mere mortal. He was however self-medicating with Irn Bru.
Sat on the back seat was King Malcolm and the headless King Charles I - still headless having lost his head at the wedding reception. He also had a hangover and complained loudly to King Malcolm. King Malcolm being both Scottish and a ghost, did not suffer from hangovers and told them all this. He had been permanently drunk since his death in 1093.
"I cannae get Radio Scotland!" Scotland said, having fiddled with all the knobs on the radio.
"It's because it's Arthur's car," Wales told him. "Damn him!"
Scotland nodded and pulled several of the knobs off. He then swore loudly.
"What's wrong, brother?" Wales asked him. He was, like Arthur, very wary of his eldest brother. Although Scotland had not bullied him like he had Arthur.
"I just spilled some of ma Irn Bru!" Scotland suddenly exclaimed.
"Good." Wales said. England would rue the day he had ever burnt down his cottage and tipped over his caravan.
England was making a list of the usual suspects - the ones who he thought had fathered the child. Having taken a good look at the child - noting that the baby had blue eyes and wisps of blond hair this meant it could be pretty much any of the European Nations.
1. France
2. Denmark (he glared at the Dane who seemed to have taken to the child a little too quickly England thought and Den grinned lazily back).
3. Alfred - although England thought that the American was not as 'busy' as he claimed to be.
4. Prussia - although with the blue eyes England thought this was doubtful and besides he expected as the Prussian was so arrogant he would be quick to claim the child as his.
5. Germany - England doubted this as the child had smiled at least three times.
6. Switzerland - England crossed this out but then wrote it back in. He doubted it as 'Switzy' barely left his mountain country unless it was to bother Austria or collect money.
7. Poland - England then crossed this off quickly.
8. Sweden - England thought that the big Swede was 'with' Finland and so crossed it out.
9. Russia - although England thought that the child had shown no signs of psychopathic behaviour and seemed to (inexplicably) be fond of Prussia.
10. Austria - but the child was blond with blue eyes and seemed to have quite a sunny disposition.
11. Lithuania - England suspected that the Lithuanian was more a lady's man than he'd originally thought - particularly considering some of Prussia's tales of him.
12. Poland - England immediately crossed this name out. What was he thinking?
He then suddenly thought of another angle to this and wrote:
Possible mothers?
He got no further with this particular list when the door was flung open and France charged in as if he'd never been away.
"Ah mon petit fils!" He exclaimed in his overdramatic French way.
England winced.
He winced even more when a duck waddled in and crapped on his foot.
"What the bloody hell!?"
"Aye that's Brian, Dad. Don't upset 'im cos I've got to get 'im t'show later on." Yorkshire said, clomping in in boots so muddy you couldn't see the boots.
"Oh dear Bob," England said.
"Aye, this is a sad state of affairs int it?" Yorkshire said, looking at England's mug of tea with the floating custard cream in it. "Yer've really let yourself go."
"Well it's nice to see you," England said in a voice that said the opposite.
Denmark then made the mistake of entering the kitchen and said, "Tell France he can't call the kid Charlemagne!"
Yorkshire took off his flat cap (which always signalled trouble to England) and unbuttoned his tweed jacket, "By 'eck, I never thought he'd be living here, Dad," he said and then launched himself at the bewildered Dane.
England sighed. He'd forgotten his son Yorkshire hated the Dane with a passion bordering on utter murder.
"I was just a bloody kid when you invaded me!" Yorkshire yelled, batting the Dane with a copy of 'Duck Fanciers Monthly'.
"Get him off me, Arthur!" Denmark yelled.
"Oh in the name of King… Henry…" England said, but watched in fascination as the duck joined in.
"Charlemagne Clovis Sebastian Emmanuel Bonnefoy!" France said joyously, holding up the small child as if he were the messiah or the Lion King. The child stared at his 'father' in confusion.
"Poor kid," Prussia said. "We'll call him Fritz."
Then the door flew open, the duck and Yorkshire briefly stopped hitting Denmark and looked up.
"Uncle Hamish! Uncle Bryn!" Yorkshire said. The duck looked equally joyful.
"We brought your car back, Arthur," Wales said.
Scotland agreed and belched.
England took a tentative step outside and fainted.
Author's Notes:
Mumsnet is of course an online parenting forum - I like the idea of Prussia trolling.
Re the chapter title - I can just imagine Yorkshire and France barrelling down the motorway with this playing not the radio and of course Brian the duck sat on France's knee.