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Gunning for Mr. Coot

The two heavies escorting me into the underground building were large chaps, short of hair and each with earpiece communications straight out of a movie. I was a little nervous and tried to make small talk.

"Well, guys," says I, all bright and breezy, "are those guns in your pockets or are you just pleased to see me?"

Guessing from the nasty glances they weren't that glad to see this old bloke, oh well, never mind, you can't please everyone all of the time.

You'd never have guessed from the car parking building sign above that this was Australia's ultra-secret security headquarters.

Getting in was fast and efficient - although my gorilla-like mate on the right could have asked before grabbing my hand and plonking my thumb up against the entry panel.

"What's that for?"

"Just checking your thumbprint to make sure you are who you say you are."

"How do you have my ..."

"Don't ask!"

Righto, thought I.

Anyway, inside it was all computer screens and humming machinery and people watching as I was taken into a large fishbowl-like office complete with boardroom table and a rather expensive flatscreen TV.

"Wow," I smiled at the rather fetching elegant lady in the business suit, "the Wallabies would look great on that - do you watch the tests?" No answer.

"James Bond?" A nasty frown.

"Sit down Mr Coot, and keep quiet will you," she barked.

"Righto, any seat?"

As soon as my botty was on the leather an image of I'man Overladen Bin popped up on the screen. Hmmmm.

"Well, Mr Coot, you recognise the world's most wanted man I trust?" said old frosty. Before I could respond she had moved on. "Well, he's sending out assassins to rid himself of unwanted opponents. Mr Blair, Mr Bush and ... in alphabetical order ... Mr Coot. Apparently he doesn't like your humour."

"Few do," chortles I.

"Well I don't that's for certain," she said. Pleased about that, I muttered to myself.

I won't go into all the details but it seems old Overladen Bin was not happy about the picture we published of him as an underarm deodorant - click here to see what I mean.

And he was absolutely irate about becoming a Tali Tubby mind you, it was as much about being portrayed as the hand-bag swinging Tinky Winky that got up his hairy nostrils.

Anyway, old I'man Overladen Bin has sent a couple of Fatwah squads to deal with me and so I'm in protective custody - as they term it.

Oh well, at least the World Cup's on and I can relax and watch a few games (poor old Ireland).

What? No soccer? How come?

You want me to watch what?!?! Channel 9's footy coverage? Oh no, that's not fair - bring on the Fatwah Squad - at least I'll die quickly!

To be continued...

If there is something that has really got up your nose, let Grumpy Old Coot know at grumpy@webwombat.com