Acknowledgements: thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: Noevella, LineDestin3, NayanWeavile, Flyawayboli, MehMehKitty666, Bluefire98, Fancyeezus, Hotoke, Harlequin Shadow, Sincia, Purasuchikku, MimiMeo, AmethystHazelEyes, 0XDesertSkiesX0, B-RabbitYoungGilbert, JillianeRuth, natalka0895, Obsessed Fanboy, jennythegreatness, Pawpad101, WhackuOtaku, Ookpik, Betsybugaboo, insertcreativeusernames, Redbearskin, krysta25uk, Coco Da Cat, PeaceChan09, homestuck12, Yui-kun12, Andurian, MareenaMoon, Elementrix1942, FriendlyAmigo, AstersandAlyssum, Historyman14, Syntax-N, Elizabeth-Christine of Nowhere, Shipwreckedsouls, HopefulHeart108, Friendly Amigo, ElyArt01, Ace-Phantom69, Crazy004, icycle, Chrysanthemum19, FiannaRain, Taleof2hippies, everythingisdragons, Arrowfeet, Sailormoon1999, Horonigai, Sweetiepie13, RebelKinslayer, gingakita, luzhu, Phoenixlegend, Star2301, Eaglesfeather17, ihateslash604, , nenepasta, Spaceland, kamilix, Fryingpangirl, Tonhalszendvics, Dalek-caan19, Bluesky1201, Stormshadow3, XxCrispixX, CheesecakeKitty15, SassyPantsJaxon, EllaAwkward, RosesforEveryone, SansSoucis, Kattie (Guest), Ivyflight, Taranodongirl1, Liquers, Pheonixlegend, ES1776, tsundere-cat-type, Kenzeira, Hinabi, Probablysomebody, Junior Chief, TelosKoritsi13, RebelsAdvocate,, Monskuuti, Zeawesomepasta, Woody569Gamecraft, datteroflucifer, 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, skywolf2001
Nearly there now - one more chapter after this one...
Driving Lessons Chapter 98 - We Didn't Start the Fire
They were sat in the Bentley or in Den and Pru's case leaning against it and 'de-briefing' which seemed to involve a lot of shouting about who had been the most idiotic.
"That bloody flag!" England yelled at them both. "Why why why why?" He stopped, utterly exhausted. Charlemagne giggled. The demonic child seemed to enjoy it when they argued, which was a lot.
Then Turkmenistan, usually so quiet, so usually deferential, erupted.
"You're all terrible people!" Turkmenistan he told them. "My name is not Trevor. You all of you have never bothered to learn my real name. You," he said to France "have no thought to anyone but yourself. No thought to your surroundings and you are not the most desirable man on earth."
Francis gasped at this.
"You" he turned to America "should not have been anywhere near a classroom. I can't believe you ever had a job at SpecSavers. You" he said to Denmark who was still high-fiving Prussia "are an international incident waiting to happen. You" he looked at Prussia "should not be allowed out at all without a security detail. And you" he turned to England last of all "think you are a gentleman yet you are rude, you swear too much around the child and they all live with you because they don't have to pay rent."
"I know that!" England said.
There was an awkward silence filled by America:
"Hey, his English has really come on hasn't it?" America said.
"I think it's time Mr Turkmenistan went off back to his own country," England said.
They all nodded. Turkmenistan, all passive aggressiveness, stomped off. "Don't worry I'm going!" He told them and began texting his brothers and calling an Uber.
"Wow… talk about drama queen," America said. "Bye Trevor!" He called after him.
"Ja. I mean I don't think we're that bad," Denmark agreed.
France, sat in the car, calmly smoking a cigarillo shrugged. "Ah c'est la vie. Let us go home to chez Arthur's and see what delights await us from Hamish eh?"
England, who couldn't really be bothered to argue but secretly wished he could have gone with Turkmenistan (and would later wished he had) got in the car, the others (with Charlemagne) squeezed in the back and they drove off. The pushchair stuck on the car roof.
Back at England's house…
Steve the yak was in love. He was in a interspecies gay relationship with Mr Ping and was now gazing at the dragon with love in his eyes. It was reciprocated. The dragon, being in stealth mode (i.e. invisible to humans, Nations and allotment owners) was breathing sulphur breath all over the Duke and Duchess of Sussex as they packed their belongings into the removal van. They'd had enough. They were going to emigrate to Canada.
Belarus had not expected Scotland or Pierre to be in the house. It would have been better for her if they weren't. Her cover though as a meter reader was useful and came in handy when having to converse with idiots.
"I'm here to read the meter," she told Scotland. "Are you the homeowner?" She asked, knowing he was not.
"Me? Naw that would be my younger brother. He's a scoundrel and a fool," Scotland said.
She stepped into the kitchen and hoped he wouldn't recognise her, tucking her blond hair under her meter reader's cap. The poor man whose uniform she'd stolen was tied up in the boot of her car.
"You're a good looking lass," Scotland said peering at her. He was short-sighted and also drunk. "You remind me of someone."
"Probably the winner of the 2004 Eurovision Song Contest. Everyone says that," she answered.
Scotland looked at her. "No… I was thinking more the 2006 winner," he said.
She glared at him.
"Do you want some haggis?"
"Nyet. I mean no. I need to get on with planting this bomb, I mean reading this meter."
"It's under the stairs. With the vacuum and the mad Russian," Scotland said. "You do look like a fine woman though," he said, stirring his haggis and still thinking she looked familiar. He hiccuped.
"So do you," she said absent-mindedly. She hoped for once she would not see her big brother. She did not want anyone to know she had been.
She had no way to know that he was hiding in England's wardrobe and at the same time ensuring there was no hidden doorway to Siberia at the back of the wardrobe and wondering why France wore so much spandex.
She hurried through, did what she had to do, read the electric meter anyway, came out, glared at Pierre who gasped in shock when he saw her, told him to shush or she would kill him, left a number of envelopes addressed to the various members of the household and left quickly.
"Are ye sure yer don't want any of this haggis?" Scotland called after her.
"No, I had to eat boiled rat during the War but thank you," she shouted and hurried down the driveway.
"Is there any way you can get me out of here? Any way at all? I'll take that assignment to the Embassy in Damascus or Somalia. Anywhere would be better than here." Pierre was saying into the telephone.
"Pierre you big French girlie, come and taste this haggis!" Hamish yelled from the kitchen.
"Please, you have to help me! I'll even go to Baghdad!" He pleaded but then he had to put down the phone and was dragged into the kitchen into a new hell.
"Hi honey, we're home!" Denmark called as they entered the kitchen.
"Which absolute bloody imbecile left the bloody pushchair on the bloody roof anyway?" England asked them all. (It was actually him.)
They all stood in a row and shook their heads.
America pointed at France who pointed at Denmark who pointed at Prussia.
"Where's Turkmenistan?" Pierre asked, sat at the table, drinking wine heavily and trying to recover from tasting haggis. He looked ill.
"Trevor has gone home," America informed him. "You don't look well." He added.
"Haggis for dinner tonight!" Scotland told them.
"I'm going out for fish and chips," England decided.
"Can you get some of that green gloop again for me?" Denmark asked him.
"Do you mean mushy peas?"
"Ja!"
"That was great! We showered next door's shed with it." Prussia said.
"So fish, chips and mushy peas for me. Mushy peas for two…" England said, making an note.
"Can I have some?" America said.
England a little moist-eyed said, "Yes of course Alfred. I'm glad you've finally come round to how nice English cuisine is."
"Yeah I just want to see if my mushy peas stick to next door's shed as well," America said.
France looked at the haggis boiling away on the stove, turned to England, hesitated and then said, "Do they have escargot?"
"No."
"Squid?"
"No."
"Eel?"
"No."
"Salmon?"
"No. They do cod though."
"Hmmm. Is it fried?"
"Course it's fried. This is Britain. It's not going to be sautéed and covered in garlic. Look do you want some or not?"
France considered this. "I think perhaps…"
But Pierre interrupted him. "Monsieur Le France! There is an envelope here awaiting you!"
"Ah!" France said and began reading the missive whilst England stood waiting, jangling his car keys and promising Charlemagne he would introduce him to chips.
"I'll write the list down for you," America said and got out his Mickey Mouse pen and a pad of paper and, with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth (a sure fire way that he was concentrating) he wrote:
WON COD AND CHIPS
MUSHY PEES X 3
ANUTHA COD AND CHIPS
Here he paused and yelled at Russia, "YO DUDE! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM THE CHIPPY?" (He was particularly pleased that he'd picked up the word 'chippy' and knew what it meant.)
"What is Chippy?" Russia asked, entering the kitchen.
"Fish and chip shop."
Russia looked at him with widened eyes. "Do they do caviar?"
"No, this is the North Peckham Fisheries, so I doubt it," England told him.
Russia shrugged. He looked at Hamish' haggis, "I will take a chance with Mr Scotland's haggis," he said. "I am Russia and am afraid of nothing."
"FRANCIS! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM THE CHIPPY?" America yelled.
"Nothing mon cher! I am going on a hot date avec a mysterious stranger," France said, waving his letter. He looked particularly pleased.
"No way!" America said.
"Right then, give me the list Alfred and I'll be off. Bye then France!" England hurried out. He really did not want to know anything about this 'mysterious stranger' or how or why France had a date. He suddenly felt very free.
Outside on the road a black van with blacked-out windows and what looked to be a satellite dish on the roof was waiting. Inside was a full team of surveillance officers. They'd been there fuelled by caffeine and muffins since the Nations had moved in with England - part of Department X - and were still trying to figure out who the mysterious meter reader had been. They were all, bar none, close to nervous exhaustion. Listening to the shouting, screaming, moaning, singing (terrible) and swearing from the house for the past few months had been exhausting. All of them had put in for an extended leave. They were about to get it.
Further down the road there was a hearse also with blacked out windows containing Belarus at the wheel and an annoyed polar bear.
"Fish and chip shop?" Mr Kumajiro said. He looked puzzled.
"He took me to one of those on our first date," Belarus said. She twisted the meter reader cap in her hands. "He has no feelings. None."
"It sounds like it. Do we call the plan off? They're all in and he's gone out! That's the opposite of what we wanted!"
"Patience! I know him. We still have time," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "I will have my revenge."
Mr Kumajiro paused in his drinking of a Frappucino and just looked at her. Sometimes she worried him.
"Apart from France have they actually seen their invitations yet?" He asked.
"Nyet! They are all imbeciles!" She said and then added. "I wonder if he is getting scraps*?" She mused.
*scraps are fried leftovers at the bottom of a fryer in a British Fish and Chip Shop and usually an added delicacy/side dish.
"Wow! I've got an invitation for a job interview!" America yelled from inside the house. He'd obviously found his envelope.
Mr Kumajiro pulled his earphones off his head and winced as his ears rung from the loudness of the American's shouting. "Really?" he asked Belarus.
She shrugged. "I had to think of something."
"It's not very believable though is it? Only a complete moron would believe that." Mr Kumajiro said.
"Wow! That's amazing dude!" Denmark yelled. "Where's it at? I wish I could have a job interview!"
"BBC! I bet they've forgotten all about BBC Scotland and asked if I will go and present their BBC America report or something."
"And we've been invited to a beer festival at the Danish Embassy!" Denmark said to Prussia. Waving an envelope around and not noticing at all that it had the same handwriting as America's and France's.
"When?"
"Tonight 8.00 pm," Denmark replied.
"Free beer?" Prussia asked.
"Looks like it."
"Hey that's the same time I'm going to the BBC! I could give you a lift!" America yelled in excitement. "I need to borrow a suit."
"I need to wash my hair!" France was saying.
"It's working. They will all be gone…" Belarus said smiling chillingly.
Inside the house Russia said gloomily. "And I've been invited to the Russian Embassy."
"Cool story, bro, but I need to find a suit that fits me out of Artie's wardrobe. Where is he anyway? Where's my fish and chips? I need a full stomach before an important job interview." America yelled deafening Mr Kumajiro and Belarus in their car down the road. Mr Kumajiro declared that they didn't really need hidden microphones set up in the kitchen to hear America.
The kitchen door flung open and England came in, stinking of chips and flung parcels wrapped in paper onto the table. "Get the brown sauce out, Hamish, and put the kettle on for a brew."
"We'll have this and then we're off!" America said.
"Off? You're leaving?" England's eyes lit up in a way that they never did.
They all - even Hamish who had had a 'summons' from his boss in Edinburgh - threw their invitations on the table in front of him.
"This is glorious! Oh Hallelujah!" England said. He was grinning. He'd found a stash of biscuits he couldn't remember buying. There were several episodes of Gardeners World to catch up with and a cricket test match on the radio.
"Can I borrow a suit?" America asked him, shoving a chip into his mouth.
"Careful with that, dude. That's bona fide British chips, they are 100 calories each. You're likely to put a stone on just with that takeaway." Denmark told him. "And then you'll be fat and never get in one of Arthur's suits."
America ignored him. "I promise I won't leave a slice of pizza in the pockets this time," he said to England.
"Do you know what, Alfred old chap? You can borrow whatever you like!" England said sprinkling salt and vinegar on his fish and chips and reaching for his mug of tea.
"I'm not going." Russia said.
There was silence.
"What?" England's hand stopped mid sprinkle.
"I'm not going."
"Oh bugger," Mr Kumajiro said from inside the car.
"I don't want to go," Russia said. "Belarus will be there."
"You know she's not allowed within six feet of the KGB and there is a restraining order on her." Prussia said.
"It's true," Belarus told Mr Kumajiro.
"Can't they go instead of me?" Russia asked and pointed at Prussia and Denmark.
'They' had more sense and Prussia did not want to spend time in the company of Russians. He would come out in a rash. Besides they were all geared up now for the free beer tasting festival at the German Embassy. They did not seem to think it was decidedly odd that Germany had invited them over. (England thought it was odd, but then again he could not understand why on earth anyone would invite Prussia and Denmark to wreck their abode.)
"You all have to go!" England told them. Now. Nothing was going to stop him from enjoying a night in alone. Alone. A truly gorgeous word. That packet of bourbon creams wasn't going to eat itself.
As England ate his fish and chips he ruminated and thought it all a little odd. Firstly, the BBC interview. The timing was weird and also the sheer idea of America getting a job interview. America admitted he couldn't remember applying but that meant precisely nothing.
Then there was Pru and Den going to the German Embassy. Russia being invited to the Russian Embassy wasn't so surprising and Hamish being summoned by Nicola Sturgeon could only mean she'd heard about his forays into Siberia. France having an actual date was mystifying. England could not possibly conceive of anyone wanting to spend an evening with the Frenchman.
France was sashaying around the room in various outfits. "Zis one?" He kept asking. No-one was answering him. He only seemed to own tight leather pants or tight lurex pants or tight spandex pants. He was also spending a lot of time using Den's hairdryer.
Russia doubted that anyone who used that much hair product could possibly call themselves a 'man'.
Denmark and Prussia had already scoffed their fish and chip supper and had filched ten pounds from England for an Uber to the German Embassy.
"See yer later! Don't wait up!" They shouted. They'd decided the mushy pea throwing contest could take place later. Little did they know. They would rue this later - Den would say after the events of that evening that he would always 'live for the moment'.
Hamish and his haggis had already left.
France was still 'fannying about' as England called it when the phone rang.
"Hello?" England said, suspiciously. He was all ready for some moronic Nation prank-calling him again. He wasn't going to fall for Peter Kirkland and his shares in Iceland (the Nation not the shop).
"This is the Russian Embassy," said a remarkably familiar but squeaky voice using in a bad Russian accent.
"Oh yes?" England said.
"Yes it is! Why wouldn't it be?" The voice said most belligerently England thought.
"Well I don't know."
"Anyway. Where is Russia?"
"The other side of Europe to me," England replied. He loved jokes like this but rarely had the chance to use them.
"Nyet!" The voice said in such a way that they had never spoken Russian before. "I mean Mr Russia!"
England frowned. "He's here," England replied. "Doing his hair."
Russia growled at him. In actual fact he was still also 'fannying around'.
England listened to the voice and then turned to Russia, "You need to go to this Embassy thing with Charlemagne because they want to meet him!" England could barely believe his luck. He was actually going to get rid of the kid as well. Sure he was intending to introduce the child to test match cricket on the radio but that could wait.
Russia frowned. "I do not think that sounds…"
But the voice on the other end of the phone which really did sound familiar and not in a good way did sound very insistent. England nodded and turned to Russia, "You could use Charlemagne as an excuse to come home early. If you want. You might not want to though. Certainly not until after the first Test Match has finished."
"Leave early?" Russia thought about this.
"I'm talking to him but he's still unsure." England told the mysterious voice. He was sure he heard someone call him a 'stupid head' but perhaps the excitement of an evening alone was making him light-headed.
Russia was still looking worried about this.
"You can borrow my car!" England told Russia. Anything to get the bloody psychopath and the kid out of the house. He didn't think he could cope with another evening of Call The Midwife, Coronation Street and In the Night Garden.
Russia's eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Da. I mean er yeah," England said. He hoped he wouldn't regret this.
Russia nodded.
"He'll be there!" England told the voice who hung up.
Russia picked up Charlemagne who said, "Big!" to him which Russia thought was a good omen and they headed off.
Mr Kumajiro hung up and turned to Belarus, "There. Happy? At least the kid won't be in when this goes up."
Belarus nodded and patted the polar bear on the head. "Da." She said. Despite her hard exterior she did really care about small children.
"What about the kittens?" She suddenly said.
"Oh bloody hell!" Mr Kumajiro said and began dialling England's number.
"Cats? They're not going to the Russian Embassy. They're here in bed… they should be let out? Who is this? Go away! North Peckham Cats Society indeed!" England said into the telephone and hung up. Honestly, Peter was really doing a rubbish job now of these prank calls.
"I tried," Mr Kumajiro said to Belarus sadly.
Belarus bit her lip. "We can't detonate the bomb with all those cats there! I won't allow it! My membership of the North Peckham Witches Coven would be cancelled."
Mr K just looked at her. "Really? Is that anything to do with…" here he took a deep breath, "SLAPARSE?"
Belarus shuddered. "Don't mention them to me." She then whispered to him. "You have no idea how far their tentacles of evil reach."
"Allotments…" Mr K said.
"Francis will you bloody well get your hair sorted and get out of my house!" England said.
Just two more to go. France and his imbecilic servant who was gazing at his master with devotion akin to someone who had had a pre-frontal lobotomy or was heavily medicated.
"Mon hair? I have spent literally hours on zis hair!" France cried.
"Yes well it looks erm..." Words failed him.
"What do you zink of zis suit? Too tarty? Not tarty enough?"
"I think you look like a complete loon but what do I know? Now get out or you'll be late."
England opened the door to shove France and Pierre out but then screamed. It wasn't Mr Ping and Steve the Yak who made him scream (although Mr Ping was trying his best but was in stealth mode) it was who was stood on the doorstep.
He slammed the door shut.
"What is it, mon cher?"
"Don't go out there!" England said and began piling up furniture against the door.
"Is it bad? Is it Frederick the Great? Napoleon? Not…" here France looked as if he were going to cry.
England paused and looked at him. "No, it's not Henry V. Why would I barricade the door against Henry V?"
"I was thinking it was perhaps the Neighbourhood Watch people again. Complaining about that party the other night."
"What party?" England asked.
"Never mind that! Put that table up against the door!" France said.
"But you don't know who it is!" England said.
"Who is it?" France asked and then looked out of the kitchen window, screamed and ducked down. "Mon cher!"
"I know!"
In Belarus' car Belarus and Mr K looked at each other in alarm.
In the surveillance van the team were going nuts. "We have a Code Genghis! I repeat we have a Code Genghis!" They shouted into the void.
"I never thought it would come to this," one of them said and broke down.
Another one started crying.
"Pull yourself together! Do you see the Nations crying?"
"Actually yes."
In the house England and France were barricading themselves in and England was trying to ring Russia. It kept going to voicemail. ('Privet! This is Ivan, you can call me Vanya, unless you are stupid Amerika and then you must call me General Braginski. Please leave the message after the scream.' And bizarrely there was a scream.)
"Russia! Ring me back! We have a problem… erm… there's a new episode of Great British Bake Off on that you haven't seen." England thought about this and then added, "And somebody's just died on Coronation Street!" He quickly hung up. "He'll be back when he gets that message," he told France.
"He will be too late to save us!" France wailed.
The door buckled from repeated blows of an axe.
"He's our only hope!" England said. Then he began shaking France. "What did you do last time? Think, man! I wasn't here!" And then suddenly it dawned on England exactly what did happen the last time the Stans were there. And exactly what or to be precise who made them leave.
"I can't remember! They just left…" France slumped to the floor.
"That bloody little twerp. That's why you summoned him didn't you?" England asked him. He'd been too jet lagged at the time from travelling to the United States to take America back home (and leaving him behind) and then travelling back to realise exactly why Napoleon had invaded his home and subsequently Penge High Street.
"We're not bloody calling him again," England said to France as if ringing a dead Emperor was a thing.
The door splintered.
"We're not in!" France called.
England dead-armed him.
"Do we go in?" One of the surveillance team said from their van.
"We're surveillance. We're here purely to surveil or something."
Belarus meanwhile rang her and Mr K's evil overlord, "Mr Panda? I think Operation Custard Cream may not be good to go."
"I don't want a Stan party," England said to the splintering door.
It was too late.
Uzbek, the biggest Stan, burst in carrying an axe, took one look at the repaired hole in the ceiling and decided to rectify this with another hole. His brothers - the full contingent - Azi (Azerbaijan), Tajik (Tajikistan), Kyrgy (Kyrgyzstan), Kaz (Kazakhstan) and of course Turkmenistan (Trevor) - stormed in behind him.
England almost fell over.
Turkmenistan looked apologetic. "I was heading to the airport and they met me. They were on their way to Glasgow Pride. I don't think they know what Glasgow Pride is. I tried to tell them. Then I told them about what you'd said to me…" He said.
"You upset my brother," Tajik said. He was a large man with a beard and dressed in desert garb. The reason he dressed in desert garb was not because he lived in the desert (in fact he lived the capital Dushanbe) but because he worked as a tourist guide and had to keep up appearances. But he still looked as if he had come riding in on his horse over the Steppes to invade some small Central European country.
"Well that wasn't just me…" England said. He wasn't going to be pushed around by men in flowing robes. It just wasn't on.
Kazakhstan wasn't in flowing robes. He was in his Elvis Presley outfit. "I have to say, this kitchen is nice," he said. "It would be a shame if something happened to that teapot!"
"You animals!" England cried.
Whilst Kaz, Tajik and Kyrgy (who always got teased as nobody could pronounce his name and as it meant 'forty tribes' they assumed it meant his IQ was forty) proceeded to destroy England's kitchen appliances and Azi (who had always inexplicably viewed France as a god among Nations) was attempting to get France's autograph, Belarus and Mr Kumajiro were on the phone to Mr Panda for advice.
"But there are Stans." Belarus pleaded. "We can't detonate the bomb while they're there. It would cause World War III."
"Okay just wait. They might do the job for us. They were our backup plan anyway." Their evil overlord, Mr Panda, said. He was busy teaching panda cubs in a panda nursery to wave at tourists.
"They were?" Mr K looked shocked.
"No army can stand up to them. None." She said this with conviction.
Back in the house, England was trying to save his Royal Wedding commemorative teacups from destruction.
"Monsters!" He yelled.
"They are, mon ami. I am going to ring Allemagne for help!" France said from under the table.
Shoving past England was Pierre who was scarpering. Dealing with Stans was not in his job description.
"It's like rats leaving a sinking ship," England lamented as Tajik and Uzbek proceeded to demolish something upstairs and Pierre ran down the driveway.
The cats ran down the stairs and out of the door heading for the shed.
England was about to follow them and stopped when France finally got through to 'Allemagne'. "Ah Allemagne! Yes it's me! Don't hang up!"
England thought about it. He really really wanted to get into that shed, listen to the cricket test match on the radio until either Russia arrived to scare off the Stans or France began stripping which would scare off the Stans or Belarus arrived and scared off the Stans. He doubted Germany would scare the Stans. Even the cats weren't afraid of him.
However, he hung around to listen to how France was going to persuade Germany to come to the rescue.
"Angleterre has your money! Indeed! Who would have thought. He is ready to apologise to you profusely and give you all your money that is owed. All of it. Where did he get it? He won a gardening tournament. I mean competition. His tomatoes are ze best in London. I know! I would not have thought him capable either!" France was about to say something else when the telephone line was cut by Tajik who told him that telephones were the devil's playthings.
France looked at the receiver and then back at Tajik. "You need to take your yak home." He said bravely.
England knew that Denmark and Prussia would be most upset about this as Steve the yak had become somewhat of a favourite for them.
Tajik glared at France and then chased him around the house.
Upstairs Uzbek, Azi and Kaz were wrecking the newly repaired bathroom to the sound of the Birdie Song (which England would have been ashamed to admit he owned in vinyl). Bizarrely this matched the instrumental chorus of the Tajikistan National Anthem.* (*I might have lied there.)
Turkmenistan was trying to persuade his brother Stans that they'd caused enough damage and that they should leave and then a car pulled up on the driveway.
At that same moment, Uzbek, Azi and Kaz took it upon themselves to throw England's priceless Regency desk out of the landing window following the exact same trajectory as the Louis XIV desk some months earlier. There was a crash and Germany's voice yelled: "Mein Gott! What is wrong with you people?"
The German Ambassador's brand new BMW had been 'desked' (which was a new verb coined by the Nations by which someone or something has an antique desk landing on them/it).
"This is unacceptable!" Germany yelled. "And get that yak away from my trousers!" He shouted.
This did not go down well with quite a few people and one of those people was not a person but a dragon.
Mr Ping, upset that his 'one true love' had been insulted by Mr Germany and his trousers, was preparing for revenge.
Germany threw himself into the house and yelled up the stairs. "Who has just thrown an antique English desk onto my boss' car?"
There was an ominous silence. Tajik, who was trashing the sofa downstairs by jumping up and down on it, paused, nodded at him quite courteously (or as courteously as a Stan could ever be) and carried on.
Then America arrived. "Artie dude! That interview wasn't real! There is no job at the BBC for me! Oh, Germany it's you. Why are you driving a car with a desk on the roof?"
"Dummkompf!" Germany said to him.
As America did not understand this, he just ignored him and high-fived Azi instead.
Azi did not understand high-fives and thought it was some American thing so asked America to show him.
Outside, Mr Ping had 'fuelled up' on charcoal left behind from a barbecue last used by Prussia and Denmark (England heartily disapproved of barbecues he preferred to ruin food on his own stove indoors).
Mr Ping was not happy that his love, Steve the yak, could possibly be taken from him and so he took revenge...
When the fireball hit the house, Azi was picking up his idol France and running out of the front door - a door that America and the rest did not even realise was there as they always seemed to use the kitchen door. Afterwards Azi would say he was saving France but he'd actually begun to 'save' him before the fire ripped through the house. America finally got his chance to do a fireman's life on Uzbek the biggest Stan and crippled his back. Tajik, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan all leapt from the top storey window and Germany followed - landing on his own car.
It was some house later after the firemen had finally put out the fire that they realised England was missing and France found a charred skeleton dressed in a bad suit.
"Arthur! My love! I will always love him!" He shouted to the world as tears coursed down his cheeks.
"Well that went well, you got your revenge." Mr Kumajiro said to Belarus.
But she was now crying. "Arthur wasn't so bad. Apart from the lying about the child, the fish and chips smell, the obsession with tea and living with France."
Whilst the Nations stood around the charred skeleton and sang the English National Anthem quite badly and out of tune which would have incensed England had he been there, the cats joined them from the shed and yowled.
A new day dawned. Just down the street, the sound of the bin lorry approached. It was finally bin day.
Next Chapter is the last one...
Thank you to all those who have read this far.