A Small Sequel to "Thomas and the Clichés"

The Fat Controller was sitting in his office, looking out at the traffic of trains below. His pet cat rubbed around his knees, feeling ignored as usual.

"Hmm," hummed the Fat Controller. "There seems to be a big problem outside regarding Diesel bumping the trucks, the cause of which is blindingly obvious. Why, then, has no one notified me about this?"
The cat mewed.

"No, Snookums, I can't go outside and deal with it myself," he said. "I can never go outside my office to deal with a problem unless I'm notified of it by an extra guard who isn't on duty. But they haven't told me anything yet… Why not?"
The cat mewed.

"Snookums, be serious. I can't be an incompetent superintendent who lets his trains wreak havoc over the place. I wear a black hat."
Mew.
"A black hat is a sign of authority, remember, kitty?"
Mew.

"Look, I don't like it any more than you do. But we have to stay strong for the sake of the railway." The Fat Controller's face turned red for some reason. "But why isn't anybody notifying me of this railway disaster?!"
Jeopardy music played as he and Snookums thought about this.
Sighing sadly, the Fat Controller shrugged. "Ah well. I guess I'll have to deal with it later. Anyway, I'm hungry now, Snookums. I'll go get something to eat."


Five minutes later, the Fat Controller had laid out a banquet of sausage, bacon, eggs, chips, beans, extra grease, ketchup, mustard, toasted cheese sandwiches, toasted crumpets with cranberry sauce, boiled fish, and for dessert a huge pile of chocolate ice cream sprinkled with chocolate shavings.
He'd also have asked for a cherry on the ice cream, but he was on a diet.
Licking his lips, the Fat Controller picked up a knife and was just starting on the sausages--

when the phone rang.

"Oh bother," he groaned to himself. "Why does the phone always ring whenever I'm eating?" He picked up the phone. "Yes, hello? ... Diesel? ... Trucks? ... Problem? ... The? ... Regarding? ... With? ... Yes… yes… oh, go talk to Percival; I'm eating… come on, why don't you just --… G-rated… hmm… yes… OK, I'll go talk to him." Finally, the phone was put down.

The Fat Controller reached for his biggest hat. (He could barely see under it.) "Snookums, take care of the office while I'm out."
The cat mewed.
"Oh yeah, the food. Let Mrs Hatt take care of it."


Out in the yard, Diesel was bumping and banging the trucks so violently that nobody seemed to notice. The Fat Controller came by in his car (even though the office was five steps away.)

"It wasn't me, sir," smirked Diesel, who believed in getting the first word in. "I treat the trucks with respect, sir."

Musing, the Fat Controller surveyed the area. OK, what have we got? Diesel with a pair of spikes on the front of his bumpers. The trucks with huge spike holes in them. A whole crew of witnesses who could confirm things if they weren't made of clay. A huge pile of -- Ooh, donut. Mmm, chocolate sprinkles.
--No, Topham, stay in focus.
Let's see… Weather nice for picnic… my two frightened children… carry the one and…

"Aha, I've got it," he said triumphantly. "It must have been Thomas."