The Avonmouth night was dark and moist and a pall of heavy smoke hung in the air at the agile office space of Dipshit and Dudd Investigations Inc. The only sound was the smug hum of overpriced Apple products bought on expenses and an old overhead fan that was failing to clear the air. This fug, however, wasn’t from cigarettes but from the burning of principles and campaign promises.

The unlikely duo sat in their office waiting for the iPhone XS to ring. Dipshit Darren Jones MP was attempting to straighten his hair with a clothes press while updating his homework log for a remedial Access to Technology course at the local poly. Kye Dudd, Cabinet Member for Waste, began to annoy the local cats with a saxophone rendition of Careless Whisper(s) in preparation for a performance at the upcoming Southville Sourdough, Stilt and Yogurt Weaving Festival for Corbyn.

Dipshit: How the fuck am I going to explain it to the electorate Dudd?

Dudd: What are you rambling on about now you twizzle haired fucktrumpet?

Dipshit: Charming! No need to have a pop at me buddy, you’re the one who went there and met the idiots.

Dudd: I had no choice. They were bullying me on social media and pointing out that I wasn’t doing what I am employed to do. I mean fuck ’em and all that  but they were making me look bad. This could impact on my chances of getting the Reverend to erect a lifesize statue of me for services to Corbynism at the new spaceport transit hub in the Bearpit.

Dipshit: You look bad? You’re not the one who stood up and denied there was a problem when there clearly was.

Dudd: Oh fuck off, you git. How much more do you trouser each month than me? You got the motherlode, £77k plus expenses. How many greased hamsters can you get for that?

Dipshit: Well they got an FOI in that promises to expose me for covering up the problem. It’s due soon. I’ve got the local rag onside so they won’t cover it but there are others that might.

Dudd: Who? Tell me and I’ll make sure they never talk again. I got mates you know.

Dipshit: Fuck off you wanker. Your mates? That’s Don Alexander and his shitty copy of the Old Testament isn’t it? I think I can handle it. My associates have a common purpose and the Rev’s into it up to his neck. He’ll ensure the media paint us in a good light..

Dudd: Who are these twats anyway? They claim to live in the parish?

Dipshit: A bunch of boghoppers who scratch a crust off the tip at Avonmouth.

Dudd: Ah that’s fine then. Thought they might be important. Is that even in the parish?

Dipshit: Allegedly, yes. We get taxes off them but in reality it belongs to our friends the Bellringers. They bought it for £1 and a dodgy pie from the clown prince a couple of years ago.

Dudd.. Phew, fuck ’em all then.

Dudd picks up his sax and Daz scratches his head and frowns at his confusing homework log.