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Driving Lessons Chapter 83 - Waterloo
"I have a cunning plan," England told the Grand/Great/Grate Alliance.
They sat in Mr and Mrs George IV's kitchen. England noted the cleanliness of the table and kitchen tops and the distinct lack of garlicky smells. There was also a kitchen clock that announced the hour with different bird song. Or would have done if Russia hadn't put his fist through it after the third chiming - which happened to be a robin.
Russia, who was still in a sulk because he wasn't allowed to call up General Winter, just shrugged.
Austria nodded, "Go on," he said.
"Waterloo," England said and sat back smugly with his mug of tea.
"Waterloo. Is that it?" Austria said. "Are you just going to go back to 1815?"
"Of course not you stupid German."
"I'm Austrian!" Austria exclaimed. "Do not mix us up. Never mix us up. I am Austrian, older wiser and …"
"Meaner." Russia finished for him. "I suggest we change the name of this Alliance to the Red Army."
England frowned.
"Or perhaps the Winter Guard."
"We are not asking General Winter to come here. He would cause absolute chaos. I mean snow in bloody June. Is it still June?" England asked. He was confused.
Austria wrote something in his book.
"I was referring to ABBA," England said finally.
"ABBA? Are you going to have another karaoke party again?" Russia asked. "Because I think I will never recover from seeing Prussia and Denmark singing 'You're the One that I Want' to each other."
"What karaoke party? Why wasn't I invited?" England asked.
"You were at the library." Russia said.
"Really?"
"Or possibly washing your napkins. I forget which."
Austria raised an eyebrow and continued making notes.
"I was thinking of ABBA actually," England said.
"ABBA? So are you going to ask Sweden across to get rid of Napoleon for us?" Austria asked. "The Swedes used to be quite rough didn't they?" This was an understatement to say the least.
Russia growled. "They are trouble-makers. They do not understand that I am the dominant power in the Baltic."
"Right… moving on," England said before Russia began to list the number of wars he'd had with Sweden. "I wasn't going to ask Sweden over. I was actually…"
"I don't think ABBA are going to re-form, England." Austria told him.
"Really?" Russia looked upset. "I liked that film Mamma Mia."
England, shaking his head at the idea of Russia being an ABBA fan out of his head. "It's a brilliant plan and it will get Napoleon Bonaparte out of my house once and for all." He said definitely.
"And stop the invasion of Chigwell?" Russia asked, his violet eyes wide.
"Well I don't know about that."
"We need Emperor Francis," Austria said.
"Wasn't he bloody rubbish? He got beaten at Austerlitz," England pointed out.
Russia grumbled something about Tsar Alexander and took a big swig of vodka. Austria said to him, "Could I have some of that please?"
"What? My tea?" England said, appalled.
"No, the vodka." Austria nodded at Russia.
Russia shrugged and poured some out into a mug that said 'Keep Calm and Carry On', which was surely not what Austria was doing.
"The end of the Holy Roman Empire," Austria said in a toast and drank deeply and then fell over.
England's plan seemed to be working. (His plan did not include getting Austria so drunk he ended up underneath Mr and Mrs George IV's kitchen table.)
For the past four hours he had played 'Waterloo' at full volume on his battered old record player. Several neighbours had called to complain but he'd refused to answer the door. He and Russia guarded the record player as if their lives depended on it. Austria was still out cold under George IV's kitchen table. Evidently half a mug of vodka was his limit.
Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, Prussia and Denmark knew all the words and hastened the Emperor's departure by singing very very badly. So badly did they sing that they were good.
France sat in a corner crying. He hated this song. (Although he would never admit it in front of Sweden who would broach no insult to ABBA.)
"Waterloo I was defeating you at the wall. Porta-loo I wash my feet in my underwear. Porta-loo promise to love me forever more…" Prussia and Denmark mis-sang.
It would have been funny if anyone was actually listening to them.
Everytime they 'sang' (and this word is used very loosely) the word Napoleon, they pointed at the Emperor.
Russia was impressed that the French dictator stuck it out for so long. He almost felt sorry for him but then remembered that Napoleon had invaded his country and would have punched him if he could. He couldn't though. And that hurt.
"Am I missing anything?" Henry VI said as he suddenly appeared in the midst of Denmark telling Prussia that they could have gone all out and got some platform boots and wigs. ("To dress up as Bjorn and Benny, you mean?" Prussia had asked and Den had looked confused and then said, "Oh ja ja of course that's what I meant.")
"Do you know any way of getting rid of a despot, Henry?" England asked the dead king.
King Henry frowned, "Get rid of a teapot? Why would you do that?"
"Hahahahahaha a teapot! Even I know that's not right," America laughed so hard he spilled his Diet Coke or Zero Coke or whatever it was. He then stopped when he realised he was late for his 'job'.
In hindsight, England realised that it was probably America's laugh - which was the loudest in the world - akin to a foghorn - that sent the Emperor to his next HQ. But this was equally not good for England...
At Napoleon's next HQ:
"He's bloody ruining my prize turnips," he told Russia.
Russia looked England up and down.
Charlemagne from the baby sling inside Russia's greatcoat said, "Oui." This caused Russia to frown.
The Emperor of the French had decamped his forces which had now just dwindled to himself, France and Denmark (for the 'lolz') to England's allotment shed.
A French tricolour flag flew from the shed roof.
France, looking more and more like a down and out in snazzy clothes, sat outside in England's deckchair. "Zis is becoming exhausting." He whined. He didn't really like fighting at the best of times and this wasn't the best of times.
Charlemagne held his arms out to France. "Pap," the child said.
"See! Papa! He's your bloody child. Bloody pervert. And tell that bloody moron to get out of my shed."
"He is a military genius. But I am now wishing he would just retire to a caravan in Mablethorpe." France said.
England shuddered.
"Mablethorpe is a strategic stronghold of your country, da?" Russia asked England.
"It's a small seaside resort in Lincolnshire," England replied with a frown.
"I see," Russia rumbled. "Then France is probably not as much a fool as I thought." He added incomprehensibly.
England stared at him, shook his head and turned back to France who was lolling on the deckchair, his deckchair, and smoking a cigarillo.
"You'd better get bloody rid of him for good, Francis," England warned. "This has gone far enough."
Denmark suddenly emerged from the shed. "He won't let me have a bath!" He yelled. "My tin bath! He won't let me have a bath in it!"
"Dear God."
Russia shook his head.
"I'm outta here," Den said, taking off his Napoleonic uniform. "I can get my own beer." He then shouted towards the closed shed door, "Hey Shorty! I can get my own beer!" He stood in his boots and 'Thor' underpants, a tattoo of a Viking axe on his hairy chest. "England dude, can you lend me some money for beer?"
"No."
Den, not bothering to ask France or Russia, trudged off down toward the bus stop muttering to himself that Prussia was right to have 'bailed' when they'd left the house and that it wasn't fair and didn't they know he was the King of Northern Europe?
It was some time later with France, Russia, England and Charlemagne all watching, that the King of Northern Europe caught a bus. The bus driver looked the Dane up and down. "You can't come on this bus with no clothes."
"But I have boxers on. This is rubbish. I'm being repressed!" (He meant oppressed.)
He trudged back up the hill to the allotment. "Does anyone have any spare trousers?" He asked.
France jumped up and began taking off his rather lurid bright yellow dungarees that England thought made him look like a burst boil.
"Oh dear God," England said.
"Where are your own trousers?" Russia asked.
"In there with Shortarse," Den said, pointing at the shed. "I wish Pru was here. He'd have got on the bus."
He then took Francis' dungarees from him, put them on and said, "Thanks dude," and strolled off back down the hill.
"Well there goes the neighbourhood," England said. (He'd always wanted to say this. Russia didn't understand.)
France was now sat in just his bright pink thong and a 'I LOVE France' t-shirt which England thought was the height of narcissism.
"So how are we going to get rid of Napoleon? Your last plan did not work." Russia pointed out.
"It got him out of my house didn't it?" England asked.
"Da," said Charlemagne from inside Russia's coat.
"Is he okay in there?" England asked.
"Da," Russia rumbled and glared at England. He still felt that his idea of summoning General Winter was a good idea and was not happy that this had been poo-poohed. (Although Russia did not understand what this meant. But he had texted his big sister to ask her and she told him it was something to do with Winnie the Pooh.)
"Da," Charlemagne parroted and got a gentle rub on the head from Russia in response.
"Mon fils," France whined and shivered in the cool June air. It seemed to be getting distinctly chillier.
Over at the German Embassy, Germany was berating the Ambassador while Italy watched with wide eyes, wearing a pinny (Italy was, not Germany) and trying to cook pasta. Italy's brother was also there, but he appeared to be angry about something else for a change.
"Bastardo!" Romano said again at the newspaper in front of him.
"I absolutely do think that having that person here is a bad decision, whether he's claiming asylum or not. He's a very dangerous… person," Germany said.
"Fratello is not dangerous!" Feliciano said, tears springing into his eyes as he waved a ladle covered in tomatoes at Ludwig.
Ludwig wiped tomato juice from his eyes. "I don't mean him," he said. "I mean…"
"Listen, he's only here for a while. It was as a favour to someone," the Ambassador said. He was regretting his promise to Mr Panda already. It was only a matter of time before someone leaked this to the news agencies.
"He's dangerous. A wanted criminal," Germany said. "He tried to take over the world. He kidnapped Nations."
"He sounds awful! I'm a Nation. He could kidnap me," Italy said. He looked alarmed.
"Terrible," Romano said, turning the pages of the newspaper. It's unknown if he was talking about the exchange rate, the weather or the new by-pass in Penge or indeed the idea of his brother being kidnapped.
"No-one is going to kidnap you," Germany said.
"You'd protect me?" Italy said and hugged him.
Germany wiped tomatoey mess from his previous white shirt. "I blame England for all this."
"Si si, so do I."
"Indeed. It was because of him that I've had to take in this miscreant," the German Ambassador said. "It's either that or Mr Panda said that he would send Prussia and Denmark back here."
Germany dropped the stain remover he was holding. His shirt was well beyond help. "Mr Panda! That is serious. But nein. We cannot have them back here. They will sing again. Sing!" He had grabbed the Ambassador by the lapels and was shaking him. "I've only just got that damned song out of my head."
"Is this the way to Amarillo? Every night I've been hugging my pillow…" Italy sang.
Romano threw a teaspoon at him, "Shut up, fratello."
"Ow!"
Germany sighed. How to get rid of Mr Kumajiro, wanted bear, from the embassy and if possible offload him onto England?
"Bye then!" Denmark yelled as he got off the bus. Who'd have thought that Mrs Prune who lived two doors down would be on the same bus? (Her name wasn't Mrs Prune but that was the name Den gave her.)
He then gave her his arm, even though she certainly didn't want it and was actually fitter than him and she guided him across the road (he still couldn't get over the British driving on the left, he thought it was mad).
"So we sang Porta-loo at him and he's cleared off to Arthur's allotment," Den finally finished the story he had begun telling her as he'd got on the bus half an hour earlier.
"Kirkland's allotment?" 'Mrs Prune' said, her eyes narrowing.
"Ja!" Den had no idea what he'd just said and what train of events he had set in motion. "Do you have any bourbon creams?" He asked her as he deposited her outside a random house.
"I don't live here."
"Neither do I. Funny eh?"
"Tell Kirkland that I'm going to report him to SLAPARSE."
"Ja bye then," Den said and swaggered off 'home' - which wasn't really his home.
"Hey, Pru, guess what? Mrs thingy down the road was on the same bus as me and told me to slap my arse!"
"Shush, we have a visitor," Pru said.
"Visitor?" Den tried to curb his enthusiasm and failed. He really hoped it was Norge or if not, then Estonia. But hoped it wasn't Swe or Fin who were both total buzzkills.
Prussia took him by the arm and led him towards the bathroom where a short person in overalls and a bad wig was attempting to fix their plumbing problems.
"Oh a plumber…" Den's enthusiasm waned.
"In a disguise," Prussia whispered.
"Why would a plumber disguise themselves?"
"I don't think it's a normal plumber," Pru said.
"Hey, who cleaned that stain from the carpet and made that broth in the kitchen?"
Prussia shrugged. "I don't know." (It was actually Turkmenistan who had also done the ironing, cleaned the kitchen, mended the torn net curtains and fed the cats, but nobody had realised yet that he was still there.)
"Is it me or is that plumber sexy?" Den said, peering round the bathroom door at the said plumber. They appeared not to be doing anything plumbery but were instead chalking something on the tiled floor which looked like a pentagram. Plaited blond hair had escaped from the bad wig and the belt on the overalls did not disguise the glinting knives.
Prussia punched Den in the arm and then said to the plumber, "Hey do you want a cuppa?" He winked at Den as he said this.
"Nyet. I mean - no."
"Not even a mug of tea with three sugars?" He persisted.
"No!" The plumber said in a girlish voice.
Prussia pulled Den downstairs with him. "That decides it." Prussia said in a whisper.
"Does it?"
"Course it does. Any normal plumber would have a mug of tea."
"Wow."
"You know what this means?"
"That the plumber who's fixing the pipes is a hot chick?"
"Don't be daft. I think that plumber is someone sent to spy on us."
"By Napoleon?"
"Or my brother." Prussia said.
"Or Yorkshire."
"Why would he spy on us?"
"Maybe he thinks we've kidnapped his duck." Denmark replied.
"What?"
"It's on the news. Prize duck stolen from garden in Giggleswick."
"Mein Gott!"
"I know."
"Suppose that duck comes here?" Prussia said.
"I hope not. It doesn't like me." Denmark shuddered.
"Do you think that plumber is after Napoleon?"
"I don't know. But you know what? I miss that kid and I miss King Henry."
At the sound of his name, King Henry appeared. "I don't like it at England's allotment. That Napoleon person who calls himself an Emperor was bullying me because I'm a King and not an Emperor."
"What's happening across there, Deadie?" Prussia asked him.
"Well, Mr Russia and Arthur are still stood outside the allotment thinking. Mr Russia wants somebody called General Winter to visit but Arthur put his foot down. Then there was a bit of an argument and just as Mr Russia was going to hit Arthur, Francis' pants fell down. So I left."
"Good call, Deadie," Prussia said.
King Henry then whispered, "Why is Miss Belarus upstairs?"
"What?" Denmark asked, his face going pale.
"Don't be daft. Your mind's gone soft after spending time with your daft dad," Prussia said.
"He's returned to his tomb," King Henry said. "The modern life is too much for him. I blame America trying to show him SuperMario. It completely blew his brain."
"It's sad it is when dead kings are made to be Princess Peach in a video game. A king who fought at Agincourt," Denmark said sadly.
They all removed their hats in respect (or in Prussia's case as he didn't have a hat he just put a lace doily on his head and then took it off).
Upstairs in the bathroom, the 'plumber' had done their job. Revenge would be sweet. But unfortunately it wouldn't be witnessed. The plumber sent a text to a certain international gangster/polar bear telling him that the deed was done.
"Good, I await the results." Came the reply.
The plumber then attempted to leave but not before they asked the moronic inhabitants if the owner of the house would be back soon.
"Why are you wearing a wig?" Den asked.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" Prussia asked.
"You remind me of someone," Den said.
The plumber said, again, through gritted teeth and clutching their knife beneath their overalls which had a red star stitched to the chest, "Where is the home owner? Will he be back soon? I need him to sign my sheet."
"Who sent for you?" Prussia asked, suspicious.
"You have broken plumbing, da?" The plumber said.
"The home owner? You mean Arthur?" Den said. He was switching on the kettle and offering the plumber one of England's last custard creams.
"Da. I mean yes."
"Thor only knows. He's at his allotment dealing with a short arse." Den said.
"So who rang you? Cos we didn't," Prussia asked suspiciously.
"Cup of tea?" Den asked again, almost forcing a Huddersfield Town FC mug of weak tea on the person.
The plumber stepped back in disgust. "I have to go," she/he said and hurried out.
"Weird," Prussia said. "Long plaited blond hair under a wig. And they had boobs."
"Boobs? So it was a hot chick!"
"I think it was Miss Belarus," Henry VI said.
"Get away. Behave! Miss Belarus!" Prussia scoffed. "I bet it was the CIA in disguise."
"I'm going to ring England," Den said, sipping from the mug and then spitting it out.
Suddenly, some poor old dear, probably one of England's much put upon neighbours was knocking on the door. This surprised them so much that Prussia almost fell over.
"In the name of Fritz!" He yelled.
"Hello Mrs Prune!" Den said opening the door wide. "I bet you're here to thank me for seeing you home eh?"
"My name's not Mrs Prune, and that wasn't my home. I'm here on behalf of the Neighbourhood Watch to tell you to remove that yak from your garden and that bin day is tomorrow. Also that the Allotment Society is on its way to see Kirkland about the misuse of his allotment."
"Tea?"
"No." The woman adjusted her gardening gloves and left.
"Weird."
Outside it had begun to snow…
"Personally I like yaks."
"And they can go and take that yak out of my garden as well," England was saying to Russia as he ticked off a list of things that needed rectifying in his home, he added suspiciously, "Why is it snowing?"
"It's not me." Russia said and smiled up at the snowflakes.
France had by this time hurried into the shed and emerged in England's gardening trousers and gardening shirt - a horrid checked affair that no Frenchman would usually be seen dead in.
"What's Short Arse doing in there?" England asked.
"He's not in there," France replied.
"You what? Why have we been stood here like bloody tits waiting for him to bloody dissipate or something?"
"Je ne sais pas," France said shrugging.
"What's he saying?" England asked Russia.
"I don't know," Russia replied.
"Ok, I thought you knew French."
Russia looked at him in wonderment at how stupid he could be. "I think this reminds me of the battle of Borodino." He said mysteriously.
"Oh bugger." England said. "Did it snow there?"
"Nyet, that came later."
"L'Empereur has gone to invade Penge." France said.
"Oh perhaps it is not like Borodino," Russia said.
England's phone rang.
"The Allotment Society are on their way to see you," Den told England without any greeting.
"What, here? Now?" England peered down the hill and indeed Den was right. They were. He recognised one of the wheelbarrows and someone's woolly hat.
"Tell your Empereur to get his arse back here and explain to them the doubtful condition of Mr Smith's carrots that he's trampled on." England told France.
"Carrot," Charlemagne agreed.
The sky above was grey now with snow and the air was chill. Russia smiled. France, drunk, cried and said, "This is completely ruining my Ask France Radio Show."
And England wished he'd brought his cagoule.