Tony “Bono” Blair is a bit confused. He believes he is the famed British Prime Minister of the same name, deposed after winning a third term. Things begin to look up for Tony when a letter arrives offering a position with McCreedie construction. Thinking he is taking over as CEO of a powerful NASDAQ company, Tony accepts the offer and travels to Scotland, hoping to meet the people, regain their trust, and use his new career as a springboard back into high office. The new career isn’t all Tony had hoped, and he finds himself building a cement runway at Ardrossan International Airport.
… Tony breaks out of his claustrophobic bed and breakfast to investigate the small seaside Scottish town of Ardrossan … he fights off a drunk … hears strange industrial noises … and discovers the beach … he proceeds bravely, but with caution … the continuing story of Tony Blair in the wilderness …
I saw the sign on the beach, but no one was firing anything, although there was some kind of equipment in the distance where the pebble peninsula curved round towards the fort. A tall, wire-meshed fence sealed it off with oochy-coochy barbed wire on top, and a so anti-everything no admittance sign.
Finding a gap in the wire, I looked round, ducked under the fence and set off across the slope, striding on refreshed legs. There were nets, buoys, paddles, lifejackets. I circled the equipment and then read a label on one of the lifejackets. It said, Property of the Fishermen-Keep Off. God, I was so clever. I worked it out instantly. It had to be fishing equipment, probably the ancient vestiges of that out-moded form of employment left behind by early, unsophisticated man. These were just the sort I’d be able to set free whether they wanted it or not. On the other hand, it might have just been a cover for shipping some weapons-grade plutonium.
But the chain rasped again so loudly it made my gold fillings ache. There was nothing there to make such a noise. It was as if it was coming up from the pebbles like an underground alarm, a most interesting proposition. I caught a whiff of something that smelled like trouble.
Tony Blair: The Wilderness Years, the novel, ISBN 1-4196-0573-9
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This Blog Is
Dedicated To Me, Tony ‘Bono’ Blair.
Without Me, None Of This Could Have Been Possible.