A successful conclusion...

Wednesday August 25th 2004

Yes, Dale has been saved from certain death by your very own Kats, PI. (I'm just like Magnum, only I have no tash and better taste in shirts.)

I'm sure you want to know what happened.

As I suspected, the FTFA took the bait (along with the money and pork scratchings) and nicked off with the ransom just after I'd gone home to eat bonbons and watch Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen put up a dado rail clad only in a Noddy posing pouch and purple sparkly nipple clamps. (It's UK TV Style Late - the latest in pay per view tv, in case anyone's interested.)

Well anyway, the homing device (a hole in the money bag and two leaky jumbo sized tubs of Hundreds and Thousands) worked, and soon I was hot on their trail. It led, inexorably, to the park, past the paddling pool, round the bandstand twice and up towards the swings. Shockingly, the trail ended here, and in a fit of grief and rage, I had a bit of a go on the swings. Higher and higher I swung, in a manner befitting the daring young man of flying trapeze fame. All at once, it hit me (the overhanging branch of the tree), and I was forced to cut short my swingy antics. I was momentarily dazed, but then had another flash of inspiration (I'm going to have to stop doing that, it's most unseemly for a lady of my... proportions). This is exactly what the kidnappers had done. No, not the flashing, the swinging thing. I retraced my steps (missing out the branch in the face) and was able to deduce that they'd made for the local biscuit factory (closed down since the custard cream blight of 1953). The building was still standing, though looking the worse for wear (with broken windows, peeling paintwork and some quite shocking graffiti - I know for a fact that Mrs Golightly at No 30 does not show you a good time, she can't even make a decent cup of Nescafe for goodness sake.)

I crept silently towards the side of the factory, where the security fence had been weakened by rust and the application of wire cutters. From there it was an easy task to gain entrance to the building. It was quite terrifying inside, the machines which lay idle all looked like instruments of torture. I may never eat garibaldis again. I heard muffled sounds of arguing coming from the first floor offices, so I crept up there and peeked in through the window. There on the floor, bound and gagged was Dale! He didn't look too happy, though there were no visible signs of injury. There was a side entrance to the office, so I crawled inside, and round to the side of the desk against which Dale had been propped. I removed his gag, probably not the best idea I'd ever had as he let out the campest shriek I've ever heard and whispered (in a voice loud enough to be heard three streets away let alone in the next room) 'Ooooh let's go wild in the aisles!!!'

I tried to shush him, but my powers were weak. Instead I tried reasoning with him.

'My name is Kats, I'm here to rescue you from the FTFA. The police didn't take my report of your kidnapping seriously, so I had to take matters into my own hands'

'Are you mad?' he replied.

'Mad? I'm bloody furious, I'm missing Eastenders for this you know.'

Fortunately this seemed to pacify him, though I think the sedative I had injected him with might have had something to do with it. It was a mixture of camomile, lavender and ground up copies of Hello!, distilled into a tincture which I carry everywhere.

I needed a diversion, so crept back downstairs and turned on the bourbon and jammy dodger machines. With no biscuits to fill, the place was soon knee deep in chocolate flavoured filling and jam. A sticky situation, I'm sure you'll agree. Fortunately I managed to fashion a crude coracle-type boat from one of the large buckets which had previously held the toppings for Iced Gems. I levered Dale into the bucket, grabbed a coat stand to use as an oar and off we set.

Unfortunately, by this time we'd attracted the attention of the kidnappers, who'd removed their balaclavas to reveal that they were none other than Sir Alan of Titchmarsh and Linda Barker. Jealous of the attention that the more orange celebs were getting, they'd embarked on a campaign to rid the world of them, so the whole ransom thing was just a token gesture. Well, after all the work I'd put in, I was pretty narked I can tell you. And Dale was none too pleased either. I drew myself up to my full height of 5'3", fixed Alan with the librarian death stare (level 1), and flicked rubber bands at Linda until she started to cry. Alan was stunned, and toppled over into the huge lake of jam/chocolate flavoured filling that was rapidly filling the ground floor.

Just at that moment, the doors were flung open and the massed ranks of the local constabulary (3 pcs, the desk sergeant and a rather harrassed looking alsatian) were covered in jam, as the sticky ooze.. well... oozed out of the doors. They'd apparently been called by the lady across the street who'd heard some gunshots (she'd forgotten that she was watching Kojak at the time.)

I spent the night in the cells for causing a breach of the peace and causing jam related injury to a policeman. Dale is none the worse for his ordeal, and as a thank you has offered me free seats to his Lottery show. Linda was detained in custardy (sorry, couldn't resist) and is due to appear in court in three weeks time. Sir Alan of Titchmarsh's body was never found. I suspect we'll be hearing from him again, but this time I'll be ready.

Keep 'em peeled.

Kats, PI - signing off.