by Lord David Prosser
I am not a novelist by trade. I am a novelist by accident. Some people think I would write a better book about 20th Century's Pies since I am a connoisseur of the finest pork pie England has to offer. ( I cannot yet name the brand since the expected bribe, ahem, gift hasn't materialised). But NO, my composition, which I repeat came about by accident is on one of the 20th Century's most inept Spies if indeed the term spy should be used at all since I term it Envoy.
I was needless to say born. I grew up and was educated to the British Grammar School standard of the time. I became adult, I worked, I married at the appropriate time (when I was told to).
Late in my life I inherited my Title from the recently deceased cousin of my father. My education is sadly lacking as to deciding whether this was my second cousin or first cousin once removed but, removed he certainly is. As a Welshman it was a bit of a shock to inherit an English Manorial Title but it's always pleasant to see things pass in this direction. As usual I digress.
Upon inheriting the Title I decided to retire from work. I cannot say they were happy to see me go, but the ladies were preparing their diet sheets as I left knowing their weekly supply of sweets would be discontinued. I had no sooner left than I was visited by a member of a Government Agency whose name begins MI and is followed by a number. It seems the late father's cousin ( you sort out the appropriate terminology since they are both deceased) was a traveller on behalf of HMG to foreign shores to shall we say 'correct' potentially embarrassing problems. I was also intended to succeed him in that position.
The Official Secrets act allowed me after a period to divulge certain of my adventures and this I chose to do in my book The Queen's Envoy. If you can forgive the inept bungling of one who sought to serve Queen and Country on your behalf, you are invited to read said book.