It's Quiet...Too Quiet

These are difficult and dangerous times.

Even as I speak, shiftless mobs of the gin-sodden sweepings of Whitechapel and Stepney are gathering at street corners, the desperate hirelings of Bolshevik Gold, recruited by an unholy alliance of bearded trotskyites, nihilist university professors and dirty, garlic-reeking foreign anarchists. Their mission? To strike at the very heart of capitalism. Their method? To attack and disrupt the City of London. There are rumours that their plans may even extend to the use of foul language in the presence of ladies, and the iniquity of knocking policemen's helmets from their heads.

Thankfully, the British tabloid press has seen fit to warn us of this dire peril.

I understand the horror with which you will read these words. The cold grip of fear that will sieze your collective hearts at the realisation that the capital of the Greatest Empire the World Has Ever Seen lies exposed to the degenerate hordes of barbarism.

But worry not: Britain is ready.

The Metropolitan and City constabularies, equipped with the latest whistles, notebooks, and bell telephone communication technology, stand ready to leap into action: arresting innocent parties, pursuing Richard Hannay to Scotland, getting in the way of Holmes and Watson and so on.

We have already secured essential operational intelligence: We know some of these blighters are foreign Johnnies, and that they are well organised. It was immediately apparent to all involved in the case that a large number of well-organised, heavily armed foreigners had recently begun to arrive in London. In minutes, it was deduced that the G20 delegates, and in particular a certain Barak Obama (a well-known Mau-Mau sympathiser) were the the chief suspects.

I should not be surprised to hear that they have been apprehended before the day is out.