MI6 building, Vauxhall Cross. Yesterday.
M: Ah, Nibs! Thanks for coming in. Sit down, won’t you?
Nibs: Thank you, Ma’am.
M: Seems there’s a bit of fuss in Whitehall about this wretched peerage you’ve got. Makes a mockery of all the legitimate ones like Savile, apparently. Now, I’ve told the PM we’ll let it slide for diplomacy’s sake so I’ll hear no more of it from now on. Is that understood?
M: Shut the door on the way out, will you Nibs?
Nibs: Of course.
Heads towards door but then turns back
Would it make a difference if I told you that the Treasury had nothing to do with it?
Nibs: The peerage, Ma’am. I got it off of the internet.
M: Don’t be ridiculous, Nibs. I don’t have time for this.
Nibs: I’m afraid it’s true. eBay. £94.85. Last Christmas. I was the highest bidder by 75 pence.
M: Damn you! You do realise this compromises our entire operation? Everything we hold dear?
Nibs: I do, Ma’am.
M: Then why, Nibs? This had better be good.
Nibs: It is.
M: I’m waiting.
Nibs: It’s the budget cuts, Ma’am. Take a look at my expenses for the 2010-2011 period. What can you see?
M: Well, you do seem to have eased off on Jägermeister and KY Jelly.
Nibs: Marginally, yes. But what else?
M: Hmmm… hard to say. Travel, perhaps?
Nibs: Exactly! Last time Q handled finance I was on a bullshit train fighting that ugly gorilla with bad teeth. £94.85 lets me turn left on planes these days: It’s a no-brainer.
M: Hold up. What are these endless entries saying Idle Hour Barnes?
Nibs: Entertainment, Ma’am. With respect, perhaps you’ve forgotten how we do things in the field?
M: I was entertaining at the Idle Hour when you were in school shorts. And if you think the sunday roast is going to slip through accounts without a public hearing, you are very much mistaken.
Nibs: It’s just business, Ma’am. My business.
Cue exciting theme music alongside exciting graphics with bums’n’guns’n’bosoms under water and a couple of ducks from the Wetlands Centre chewing some grass
M: Oh, and Nibs?
Nibs: Yes, Ma’am?
M: You’re fired. Hand your keys in at reception. This is the last time we shall ever meet. Goodbye, Mr Nibs.
Nibs: Lord Nibs, Ma’am.
M: Lord Nibs. Whatever. But £94.85! Really?
Nibs: Yes, Ma’am. Off of the internet.
Nibs: Indeed. And you get a certificate.
M: A certificate?
Nibs: No, Ma’am.
M: I see. So Nibs, you’re a nob now?
Nibs: Yes, Ma’am. The name’s Nibs – Lord Nibs.
M: Nob or not, get out, Nibs. Now!!!
Nibs: Yes, Ma’am.
Disclaimer: The Director General of the Idle Eye would like to make it clear that any of the above insinuations pertaining to the dubious authenticity of Lord Thorp’s peerage are merely that and completely unfounded. And he’s not standing down, neither…