Bertie and the Kinky Politician by Mike A Vickers

the press would leave Celeste alone. He sighed unhappily. Things looked pretty bleak.
    A woman stood at his elbow.
    James started in surprise at her sudden and utterly silent approach, but the woman just stared out across the river with narrowed eyes. She was close enough to make it obvious she wanted to speak to him, yet had that distant, vague, look normally associated with those who were not entirely in touch with the real world. She was cadaverously tall, a lean and gaunt figure with a disproportionately long neck jutting up from the collar of a black gabardine raincoat. The sunken-cheeked head was crowned by a fringe of very bright ginger hair, shot through with grey and frizzed by neglect beneath a wide-brimmed hat protected by a transparent plastic covering. Celeste’s hair was ginger, but whereas her unique tint was a glossy, rich and beautifully burnished copper, this woman’s was pale by comparison, like an overcooked carrot. The hat didn’t help. It seemed incongruous apparel for such a sunny morning. The stranger ignored James’s stare and continued to study the Thames. How could such a gangly character be so stealthy?
    Perhaps she was a ginger ninja.
    â€˜It’s going to rain,’ she said suddenly, as if letting him in on a big secret. A prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down her scrawny throat like an epileptic elevator.
    His politician’s reluctance to engage the woman in conversation was overcome by a powerfully inbred sense of West Country courtesy. ‘Are you sure?’ he ventured, looking upwards. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. His knowledge of meteorology was rudimentary, but he felt reasonably confident in his assessment. Rain had to come from somewhere and as far as he could recall, the traditional source was a cloud, but this sky was a glorious deep blue in all directions.
    The old woman noticed James’s perfunctory examination. ‘Not here, idiot – on Mount Wai-’ale-’ale!’ James looked blank. ‘Hawaii!’ she barked impatiently, snorting at his ignorance. ‘Rains there every day.’
    â€˜Er, I believe that’s some distance away,’ he replied carefully, confident there were probably a couple of continents and at least a dozen time zones separating them from a place that sounded like a terminal hacking cough.
    â€˜The rain will spread, you know. It’s coming. Very soon. Better prepare yourself. The Government won’t lift a finger to help. It’s all a conspiracy, you see, this global warming.’
    â€˜Quite.’
    â€˜It’s true, I tell you,’ she snapped. There was an intense fervour in her pale eyes. ‘They know all about it. Forget greenhouse gases – that’s just a cover-up to raise fuel prices and taxes. No, climate change is really caused by something much more insidious.’ Again, the look of total incomprehension on James’s face elicited a further reluctant release of information. The old woman reminded him of his school physics master patiently trying to explain Fleming’s Left-Hand Rule to a class of foundering pupils. ‘Mobile phones. They use microwaves. Ever heard of microwave ovens, moron? We’re cooking the atmosphere. Warm air holds more moisture. The hotter it gets, the more clouds are formed, the more rain we get. Take my advice and head for the high ground. Government knows all about it. Still, at least I’m protected.’
    She touched the brim of her hat and seemed to regard James’s lack of preparation against the oncoming tempest as a personal insult. ‘I know you work in that faceless office yonder.’ She jerked her head back at Whitehall, an action that threatened to snap her emaciated neck and send her head rolling across the pavement. ‘I did once myself – until I found out what was going on and got booted out for my troubles. Dig deep, sonny, and you’ll soon find out that