Tonight I rest my weary feet after great victories for Don Campbell in our street wars in Little Ealing and Trumpton.
My day started early with Signor Rennard's Good Morning project, a method of subtle encouragement designed to ensure local people know who is Godfather in this town. It involve switching on megaphone, pushing open letter box at 4 in morning, and inviting occupants to show Don Campbell their respect. Generally it also involve not hanging around long enough to receive their tokens of gratitude. It personal attention that count.
Later in day we hear that Signor 'Bollywood Tony' Lit of the Conservatori is preparing to launch his great musical number on High Street in bid to woo residents to love Don Cameron's new Conservatoris. Tip-off though must also have reached Labouristi, who turn up in force at one end of street while we obstruct other. Signor Sharma have bought full contingent of Kali cult fanatics wielding a variety of shasters, with Signor Watson lurking in background swinging his old phone mast from hand to hand.
Signor Bakhai assess situation... "I think we hang back, see what happens and wait for the special vans". I not disagree, Signor Watson have particularly evil glint in eye and I pretty sure he one who yell "Oi Liberali you soft on gangs or something?"
Signor Lit though is not deterred, and in a moment a thumping bangra beat that sound uncannily like opening sequence to "We are the Champions" is booming from a line of loudspeaker cars that line the road.
"Now my warriors" he yell to assembled Conservatori,, "Unleash your chakrams on the Labouristi... compassionately, and let us show Signor Sharma and these Hindi devils who are the masters of Little Ealing."
He pull small kirpan from his belt and iron circle with sharp edge from under suit, start singing, and run at full tilt towards the nearest line of Labouristi cultists. His colleagues do likewise and soon the chakrams are flying, doing considerable damage to the Labouristi ranks,
"We are the Champions (slash, hurl) - my friends... (lunge, thurst), And we'll keep on fighting to the end (parry, chip), We are the Champ..." they singing.
Signor Rennard is standing back scribbling notes.
"Interesting technique this new Conservatori have... crude... a little out of tune... bit showy for my tastes... not yet convinced how effective it will be..."
He have point, Labouristi are bloodied, Signor Watson have lost top of phone mast, but there are rather lot of them and second rank carrying Thrishulas and Farshas, look considerably more ready for Conservatori than first.
"Unleash the Brahmastra" scream Signor Sharma.
Suddenly large black limousine roll into view. Door open and who should get out but old Labouristi Don, Signor Blair. He look Signor Lit in eye. He look sad, but with ever so slight glint. Suddenly car stereo break out soothing strains of Elton John and Kiki Dee. Signor Blair break into song
"Don't go breaking my heart..."
Signor Lit falter, he look confused, he try to mumble "No time for losers..." but all that come out is "I couldn't if I tried..."
Signor Sharma look triumphant, Conservatori look aghast. They are in disarray, falling back, the Kali mob advancing.
"Time for the special vans I think." say Signor Bakhai
"I agree" indicate Signor Rennard who make guesture to flunkies.
Into view swing a fleet of five Xerox trucks that line up along road. Canvass flaps fall aside revealing a line of large white machines.
"Risograph artillery... wait for it... steady... Focus boys... Focus... and... fire..."
There are few men that can remain standing when 200 bundles of compacted leaflets hit them full in chest, but some of Conservatori make decent fist of trying before burbling beneath the onslaught "We are the... urgh..."
Labouristi not looking too clever either, Signor Watson keel over with red target package in groin, but their numbers are telling and it soon clear we running low of ammo.
Signor Lit though see all is lost and is leading dwindling band of survivors back to Sunrise HQ. The doors close and we see lights going out as he barricades himself on roof. A new tune is starting to the strain of subdued sitars...
"There's no time for us... there's no place for... what is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away... From us... Who wants to live forever?... Who wants..."
Signor Lit clearly have bad day, and he still out of tune.
For us though things also not going great. the Kalists are still advancing and two vans are burning. Signor Sharma is yelling something about unleashing his Pashupatastra on us, and Signor Rennard motions that it time to leave to consolidate what we got.
We retreat to factory fortress and Labouristi look in no mood to follow. Sharma had bit of shock tonight and there now parts of Little Ealing off limit to his thugs.
News also come in from Trumpton that Conservatori have been slaughtered by early morning tomahawk raid, whereas we now control two whelk stalls and local Post Office.
Don Campbell arrive to congratulate his brave soldiers. Killer Bakhai bask in glory of mighty advance of 3% of our territory... it heroic day for Liberali Family.