Norris - The Wandering Years

Unlike the "real" Guestbook, Chronicles threads are shown in chronological order, so you should read from the top down.

We now know that Norris Cole is coming back. But what we don't know is what our Norris got up to in the time since he left. Oh, yes, it's fair to say that environmental products and paper supplies are fluff compared to the deeds that good old Norris got into. 

You see, Norris came to the conclusion that he was a clever lad when he hid Derek's and Mavis' gnomes, sending postcards from all manner of locations. This notion was intensified when he had (unintentionally) convinced the pair that he had offed his wife and buried her in the allotment. This set him thinking - in a big way. Yes, he could shift environmental products of questionable quality, but there must be more

As part of his travels with said gnomes, he spent some time Iraq and the Union formerly known as Soviet. It was while he was in Irkutsk that he met with Sergei Umlaut, a Mongolian who was born in Ulan Bator. Sergei held an intense dislike for gnomes and threatened Norris with unmentionable anguish unless he cooperated with him in an operation that can only be described here as - clandestine (I love that word). 

Norris saw the folly of going by his own, shall we say, noticeable name of Norris, and elected to go with the dear, deceased name of Dirk Wilton. After all, what problems could possibly arise from using the deceased name? 

Dale? Can you be persuaded into spilling the beans? 
Ian (last time I looked) Gores Landing, Canada charnley@hotmail.ca Tuesday, February 01, 2000 at 02:35:44 (GMT)

Now, back to that little scoundrel Norris. The people have spoken RDale! The tale must be told (clicks over the phone line? I get voices and a low hum, much like a large generator with no load on it. I thought it was the neighbours in their bathroom). 

Before he met with Sergei Umlaut, Norris was made an offer that he could not refuse. An oddly-dressed elderly man had sat with him at a run-down bar in Irkutsk (just one of the gnome stops) and was talking as if he lived in times past. His clothing, though tattered, was clean yet was reminiscent of clothing from the late forties. They chatted over many whiskeys when the gentleman leaned over and told Norris that he had a stockpile of 400 tons of WW2 army surplus margarine. Norris' eyes widened at this information! Doing quick mathematical sums he reckoned that if he could pick up this margarine at a cheap price, he could flog it in the UK and make one heck of a profit. 

Norris bought the margarine for a higher price than he had intended, yet firmly believed that he could more than quadruple the price once it was back in England. Sadly, the people at every place he went to pass off this 50-year old margarine nearly wretched as soon as he brought it through the door. (Perhaps you have noticed that Norris is a bit nasal - his sense of smell is not the best). After being rebuffed at the last place that he had on his list, and desperate, Norris took the margarine to a cosmetics firm next door. They loved the stuff and paid Norris enough to recoup his expenditures plus allow him to live for 4-5 months. 

The cosmetics firm quickly flogged the stuff as something that many of you are aware - Oyl of Olé! 

Now then RDale - I mentioned spilling the beans… 
Ian Gores Landing, Canada charnley@hotmail.com Wednesday, February 02, 2000 at 03:16:50 (GMT)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 3.

He had always been a gambling man. Norris liked to live life on the edge. He looked at his very healthy bank balance, and thought he could either live quietly on the windfall from selling the antique margarine to the Oyl of Ole factory, or he could try to double his money by using it as a grubstake in a further risky investment.

When it came to risky investments, Norris wrote the book. Any man who could sustain a marriage to the fearful Angela had nerves of steel (though abs of flab and buns of dough). So one wet Wednesday he wrapped the travelling gnome once more in protective bubblepack, stuffed it along with some clean socks in his holdall, and boarded an Aeroflot plane bound for St Petersburg. He knew a man who knew a man who had a key to the backdoor of the Hermitage, that splendid repository of fabulous art treasures, jewel of the Russias. Russia, thought Norris, is ready for a little private enterprise. He hoped he could keep the sort of enterprise he had in mind very private indeed. 

Snow was swirling as the giant plane taxied to a halt at St Petersburg airport. Norris waited patiently in the baggage claim area and scarcely noticed the dark woman in the red cape standing in the corner, watching him quietly, and when he wasn't looking, speaking softly into her wristwatch. 

As he claimed his bag and headed out into to the snowy street to hail a taxi to take him to his hotel, a slight figure addressed him in fluent English: "So you are going to the Peaceful Prospect Hotel as well? Like to share a cab and cut down expenses?"

Norris spun round. The lady in red smiled a smile that melted his frosty heart…
CHEAP THRILLS -- - Wednesday, February 02, 2000 at 17:23:34 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 4.

Norris fell all over himself as he followed the mysterious lady in red into the ancient Lada taxicab. In a soothing voice, she gave the driver their destination and leaned back in the seat. Norris pulled the door closed behind him and dropped into the seat beside the lady as the taxi rolled off towards the hotel. The lady remained silent and Norris began to relax as the fear from the fright - er, flight - wore off. 

His eyes closed as he thought back to a conversation that he had with a large Finnish gentleman in Helsinki a few weeks ago. The gentleman had expounded at length on the Finnish love of fish and had tried to get Norris to invest in herring-flavoured tooth paste. Norris almost went for the deal as well until the gentleman spoke of the difficulty of removing the small bones from the fish and proposed that a brilliant marketing strategy would be to push the product as "the dental floss of tooth paste". 

Norris thought of this and other idiotic inventions pushed his way and wondered what it was about him that attracted these nut bars. Oh, sure, he wanted money, after all, he didn't marry Angela for her suave and debonair way, her charm or her sweetness. He did well from Angela, but there had to be more, much more. Not from the washouts trying to flog fish bone tooth paste or rutabaga wine or that one idiot who came up with fluorescent camouflage paint to "really confuse the enemy". Gad, why did they all flock to him like lemmings to the sea! 

The memories faded as the car slowed in front of the Peaceful Prospect Hotel. The doorman opened the rear door of the cab and Norris did a double-take. The doorman was the spitting image of Dirk Wilton! "Dirk!", said Norris. "Nyet!", said the doorman and uttered "Nyidiot!" under his breath. Norris helped the lady in red out of the car and they went into the hotel and sat at the hotel bar until their rooms were ready. Norris bought a round of banana daiquiris which they enjoyed in silence, until the lady's wristwatch started talking…. 

Ian Gores Landing, Canada - Thursday, February 03, 2000 at 21:41:31 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 5

The lady in red's wristwatch sputtered fitfully into life. A man's voice could be heard, speaking fast in a foreign tongue. Norris's years on the road as supersalesman extraordinaire stood him in good stead. That trip to Sicily helping shift their olive mountain had provided him with the basics, and he was astonished to understand fragments of the conversation. He just caught "Cara, don't let him out of your sight - " when with a swift movement she altered the watch's setting and the voice was no more. 

Norris looked at her quizzically. "I haven't seen that model before. Sort of speaking clock, is it?" The lady in red, who had now revealed her name to be Alexandra - "but you may call me Lexi" - was swift in her reply: "Yes, it's got a sort of world clock on it, I had it set to an Italian time zone." 

She gave Norris a hard look, but appeared satisfied with his bland expression. 

Told that their rooms were ready, they crossed the elegant lobby full of classical statues, and ascended in the mirrored lift to the sixth floor. To Norris's surprise he found that they had been allocated adjacent rooms. "What luck!" cried Lexi - "Now we will be able to sightsee together!". Norris smiled, but underneath ran the whisper of a disturbed undercurrent. What had it been about that voice on Lexi's watch that rang a faint bell in his memory? And what was that slight accent of hers? She said she had been educated in Switzerland, but it wasn't Swiss. Austrian, maybe? Italian? One of the Baltic states? 

The night passed uneventfully, and Norris descended to the hotel dining room for breakfast. It was still snowing outside, and few travellers were abroad. He was somehow unsurprised to see that he and Lexi had been seated at adjoining tables. She looked up at his arrival, and waved some pieces of paper : "Look! My travel agent has included two free tickets to the ballet! I have noone to go with. Would you like to come with me tonight?" Her smile was so radiant, the invitation so innocent, and the hotel heating so high, that Norris did not know why a sudden shiver should run down his spine, chilling him to the marrow. 

Cheap Thrills -- - Sunday, February 06, 2000 at 21:58:42 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 6

Norris was naturally nonplussed as he pondered the peculiar chilling feeling, a feeling that he had experienced many, many times before, usually when his wife Angela was anywhere within 300 feet of him. Deep in thought, he sat down and gave the waiter his order for his usual breakfast of peppered toast, scrambled eggs smothered with Branston pickle and blood sausage wrapped in tripe, seared to a golden brown in beef fat and seasoned with vegemite. Still lost in thought, he didn't notice that the room had gone quiet and that people were staring at him in disbelief. 

Lexi, who was now the lady in puce with chartreuse accents, broke the silence by beginning to laugh at Norris's breakfast order. Norris was rousted out of his thought and ordered a more natural breakfast of boiled eggs and soldiers. During the meal, Lexi once again brought up the ballet and Norris agreed to go with her. "What ballet is it?" asked Norris to which Lexi replied "The Vicar of Terribly, apparently it is a black comedy about an eccentric vicar surrounded by normal life-loving parishioners. Do you know it?" "No-no-no-no-no-no, yes!" stammered Norris! 

The snow soon stopped falling, and as breakfast was finished, Lexi made plans to show Norris the town, eventually ending up at the Mariinsky Theatre for the ballet extravaganza ' The Vicar of Terribly'. She thought that the day would be well spent at Pavlovsk Palace, so off they went in yet another of those awful ancient Ladas. 

During the trip, Norris had the peppered toast on his mind. Pepper was scarce in the new Russia and he missed his morning ritual. On arriving at the palace, however, he soon forgot about the food and gazed in amazement at the palace as they passed through the Palace Gate. Norris was spellbound as they toured the palace. The Temple of Apollo, the Pavilion of the Three Graces, the Grecian Hall, the Lilac Salon, oh, Norris could not believe the beauty. 

Norris didn't want to leave the incredible history of the palace, but Lexi pointed out that the palace closed at 18:00 hours, and the ballet started at 20:00 hours, and they didn't want to be late. Lexi and Norris were lucky enough to snag a Mercedes-Benz taxi for the ride to the theatre, and, almost exhausted, the pair dozed for the journey.  

As they neared the theatre, Lexi's wristwatch once again burst into life and Norris awakened in time to hear "…with your life"… 

Ian -- charnley@hotmail.com 
Tuesday, February 08, 2000 at 22:12:22 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 7

This time Norris was alert. The woman was a spy, it was obvious. But a spy for whom? The KGB? Norris hoped not. Why would they be interested in him, anyway? They could have no idea of his plans to liberate a small artwork from the Hermitage, and anyway he had done nothing… yet. He kept his eyes closed, and pretended to be dozing, but his mind was spinning like clay flung on a potter's wheel, and the hairs on his forearms pricked up like a dog on watch. 

Lexi woke him as they approached the city, and suggested a quick snack at a small street café in lieu of dinner. She introduced Norris to the delights of soused herring and pickled button mushrooms, washed down by peppered vodka. By jove, thought Norris, what they lack in peppered toast they make up for in peppered vodka. This stuff had a kick like Angela when she found out about his Swiss bank account. It was the vodka in his bloodstream talking, no doubt, when he cheerfully announced to Lexi that he'd like to pick a pack of pickled peppers to pop periodically post-prandially. Pocketing the peppers, he promptly popped out. 

They swept into the Mariinsky Theatre and checked in their coats, taking their seats just before the curtain rose. A traditional theatre, heavy on the ornate plasterwork, swagged red velvet, and instead of rows of theatre seats, dainty gilt chairs. Norris was impressed. In such surroundings, he was born to elegance, he knew it. What was he doing wasting his time in the grey urban wastes of Weatherfield, with its semi-literate scrapping peasants merely scratching out a lacklustre existence?

The curtain rose on "The Vicar of Terribly". Norris knew the ballet well, but he had never seen a version quite like this. Lead dancer Vladimir Nockemov, in the demanding role of David Houghtonovitch, leapt on to the stage like a young springbok, and danced rings round the hapless vicar, appealingly portrayed by prima ballerina Tina Turnova. The corps de ballet in the role of the parish council seemed to spend a lot of time proffering agricultural advice to the tragic Alicia the verger, who was particularly effective giving the kiss of life to the dying swan. 

Thunderous applause greeted the closing scene , where the village turned out to celebrate the wedding of the vicar to - but I digress. Lexi took Norris's arm and led him round to the stage door, claiming she wanted Tina Turnova's autograph. But Norris was taken aback when the doorman let her through with a little bow, and she led him straight to the dressing room of Vladimir Nockemov. The star had removed his stage makeup, and embraced Lexi warmly. Nothing could have prepared Norris for his words of greeting. 

"Well, sister dear, so this is the English scion for whom we have searched for so long. The pieces fall into place. At last our great quest can begin!" Lexi gazed levelly at a nonplussed Norris, and spoke at last: "Norris, we brought you here under somewhat false pretexts, but it is all to the good. Have no fear. There's something we would like you to do for us. Something only you can help us with." She was talking to thin air. Norris lay on the floor at their feet, in a dead faint. 

Cheap Thrills -- - Wednesday, February 09, 2000 at 16:04:11 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 8

"Boris...Boris...!" cried an alarmed Lexi as she rushed to the side of the prostrate Norris. "Shhh…please be quiet, my sister. Now is not the time." whispered Vladimir. "Now is our chance to get him to my friend's dacha in the woods outside the city. There he will be safe until his help is needed." The pair enlisted Tina Turnova's help and the trio half-carried, half-dragged Norris to the Lada waiting in a narrow ally outside the Mariinsky Theatre. They stuffed him into the back seat and squeezed in beside him, one on either side. 

The driver turned to face the rear seat and Vladimir quickly made the introductions. "Yuri, this is my dear sister Lexi. Lexi, this is my very good friend, Yuri Sonovavitch. Yuri will take us to his dacha where you and Norris will be safe." The Lada was no ordinary Lada if the pair of huge PIAA driving lamps were any indication. Where there should have been a mediocre-at-best motor, there was a very powerful, quiet motor. The suspension was upgraded and tuned to provide a slightly harsher ride, but would enable the car to travel very quickly on the poor roads outside the city. The car leapt forward and Yuri drove toward the dacha using side streets and back roads. 

Norris came to as the powerful car bounced over the country road. He was bewildered, but elected to keep his mouth shut, at least for a while, which is no mean feat for our Norris. Twenty minutes later Yuri turned into the driveway of the dacha and Norris could not keep quiet any longer as the strange sight appeared to the side of the dacha. "What on earth is that thing doing here?" he blurted, startling the other three in the car. Norris could not believe his eyes, which was OK because Lexi could not believe his ears either. Huge ears, just like her grandfather's. Her grandfather had always told her that they were regal ears. 

"There, over there beside the house, that dahabeeyah, what in heaven's name is that dahabeeyah doing here?" asked Norris. The others had no idea what he was babbling about, and just assumed that he was puzzled after passing out and now had a propensity for prattling priggish prose after packing away all those packs of pickled peppers that he popped periodically during the Vicar of Terribly ballet. 

Norris was still rattling on about the dahabeeyah as the four swiftly got out of the car and went into the dacha. Vladimir had a quick look around to make sure that all was well, while Yuri set a fire to heat some water for tea. Norris had realized almost immediately that it was not a dahabeeyah, it was just an ordinary boat, but also realized that his feigned confusion could be used as a ruse so that Norris could think. He knew that they would all think him incoherent and would leave him alone. What did Lexi and Vladimir want from him, and how was he to meet up with Sergei Umlaut to plan the small heist at the Hermitage? More importantly, why was there a shortage of pepper that prevented him from indulging in his peppered toast? 

Ian -- - Thursday, February 10, 2000 at 18:54:36 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 9

Refreshed by lemon tea and fairy cakes, Norris felt his shattered demeanour to be a little more restored. He looked around him at the homely wooden walls of the dacha, and its simple furniture painted with peasant designs, and felt surprisingly calm. 

As he was about to ask a question of his captors - or were they rescuers? , Vlad sprang to the window as a second car pulled up outside in the darkness. He relaxed visibly as a slight figure emerged, wearing a maid's uniform. He let her into the room, and Norris's eyes bulged as he recognised not only the chambermaid from the Peaceful Prospect Hotel, but the suitcase she was holding. It was his own! 

"Is it safe?" asked Lexi with an anxious note in her voice. "Yes, I got to it in time. But they will know it is missing, and they will be looking for you. Now I must get back immediately, or they will miss me too." She left, and they heard the disappearing sound of the car's wheels on the gravel track. 

Lexi turned to Norris. "My dear, I apologise for the subterfuge. You were in great danger, and we had to keep you safe. I know you will have many questions, but there is something I need to show you. Come with me." 

She took an oil lamp and, accompanied by Vlad and Yuri carrying Norris's case, led him down a small path to the boat. It seemed to grow in stature as Norris approached, assuming the proportions of a houseboat - no wonder he had confused it with a dahabeeyah. Moored under trees in a backwater, it was almost impossible to spot from most angles. Lexi led him up a small gangway and then through a cabin down into a large, well furnished room below decks. She put down the lamp and lit a series of oil lamps placed round the room. As the pools of light welled up, one by one, Norris could not believe what they revealed. 

The room was like a portrait gallery. Beautiful antique oil paintings decorated every surface - some with elaborate gilt frames, some with just the canvas torn roughly from its frame and held up by pins. But they all had one thing in common. They were all portraits of royalty. They showed Czars and Czarinas, little royal children and big royal dogs, splendid royal furniture and jewels and all the trappings of high office. And in the biggest of them all, right in the centre, stood a magnificent portrait of a regal figure holding a small gold figurine. 

Norris edged closer. There was something familiar about that figurine, all decorated with glittering diamonds and precious stones. Come to think of it, there was something familiar about the man, as well..... Then he realised with a heart-stopping shudder, that the features in the portrait were so familiar because they were the spitting image of his own. He was looking at an older version of himself, dressed as the Ruler of all the Russias. And the little gold figurine, now where had he seen that before? 

"Oh crikey dick!" he exclaimed, as he remembered. "Yes," said Lexi quietly, beside him. "Its twin is in your suitcase, wrapped in bubblepack. We have a lot to talk about, my little English gentleman." Norris noticed with astonishment that her eyes, and Vlad's, were full of tears. "But first," she added, "let me tell you a little of our history......" 

Cheap Thrills -- - Friday, February 11, 2000 at 14:22:30 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 10 

Norris's eyes began to water too, and he wondered if the bilge pump was broken, leaving noxious fumes about. Norris's mind wandered. All thought of the meeting with Sergei Umlaut to plan the Hermitage heist vanished as Norris gazed at the portrait before him. An air of superiority crept over him and he began to scorn Sergei, who had so intimidated him on their first meeting. "What kind of name was Umlaut anyway," he mused . "Sounds like something out of a Butlin's Holiday Camp stand-up comedy competition..." "May I have a cheese Umlaut, please?" "Certainly sir, would you like Branston pickle with that?" "Oh, yes please, the next event is the ugly face competition, and I shall be a shoo-in after eating the Branston pickle." "Yes sir, but you must admit that you already have a good head start!" Norris started smiling as he thought back to those wonderful holidays at Butlin's Camp at Skegness. 

".....while our grandfather, the one in the portrait before you, barely managed to escape after the Bolsheviks came to power in October of 1917. Norris, NORRIS, have you not heard a word that I have said?" she exclaimed! Norris was broken out of his reverie as Lexi frowned at him. "Um, well, no, no I didn't hear a word, sorry," he replied, "but what are all these paintings doing here on this dahabeeyah, I mean, on this boat?" "Ohhh, Norrrrissss," rasped an exasperated Lexi. "I have explained all that and I won't tell you again!" "Hmmm," thought Norris, "Lexi sounds just like my mother." 

"Anyway, this is what we must do," said Vlad, "do you remember an episode of The Antiques Roadshow about 3 or 4 years ago that valued a gold figurine much like the one you see in the painting?" "Yes, yes I do," Norris replied, "a small, churlish woman brought it in and was somewhat dumbfounded when she was told that it was worth, I think, £125,000." "Yes, that's the one. Do you remember what else the expert said? He said that there were always two figurines made, and if the twin were found, the pair could be worth up to £675,000. You have brought us the twin. It is hidden inside the gnome that you snatched from the Wilton's garden" "But, how..." questioned Norris. 

"After the February revolution, grandfather's younger brother took both figurines and hid them in a Spanish monastery, where he took up the order and accepted a vow of silence. It was too strict, though, as even a belch meant several days peeling spuds. After 5 years of that nonsense, he brought one figurine back and lived out his years in Petrograd, or Leningrad, or St. Petersburg - you pick, they're all the same," said Vlad. "He forgot where he had hidden the twin, but because of the vow of silence, he couldn't ask where it was. In any event, if he asked, no one could tell him! It was a catch-22! He passed away in 1994 and left the figurine to us," added Lexi. "And the other figurine?" Norris asked? "We don't know the story of the other figurine other than the fact that while we were at the Vicar of Terribly ballet, someone tried to enter your room. The perpetrator was carrying a gnome exactly like the one that you have in your bag!" said Lexi, "whoever it is knows that you have the other figurine..." 

Ian -- - Saturday, February 12, 2000 at 19:27:10 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 11

"You see Norris, when the Palace fell to the Revolutionaries, much looting occurred," continued Vlad. "But not all of it was being done in the name of the people. One cavalary regiment, the 18th Hussars, remained loyal to the Czar, and under the pretext of liberating royal possessions, it was secretly spiriting away the most precious personal belongings of the royals, to guard them safe against the day when the Bolsheviks were routed and normalcy could be restored to Mother Russia. You see some of those possessions around you." 

Norris cast a glance round the room at the royal portraits, and noticed too the abundance of such top-drawer bibelots as snuff boxes, silver gilt salt cellars, ormolu clocks, pietra dura inlaid jewel caskets, and a surprising quantity of Faberge animals carved from solid precious stones. The room was a veritable palace in miniature.

"When our grandfather escaped the Revolution, " continued Vlad, "he was able to carry very little with him. To him and his younger brother had been entrusted the task of delivering the golden figurines to the Place of Safety. He wrapped them in his scarf and set out across country. His groom was of gypsy stock and had taught him how to cook hedgehogs rolled in clay. Along the way, he realised the figurines could be similarly disguised, and he coated the gold and jewels with clay, and reformed them into the shape of two popular Russian figures from folk legend - Gyorgy and Pyorgy. Their love story is also known in English as Arthur and Guinevere, I believe." 

"Our grandfather never survived the journey. He died of ptomaine poisoning from eating a bad hedgehog, and his brother was forced to bury him somewhere in Estonia. He continued on alone with Gyorgy and Pyorgy. But due to that complete inability to navigate which characterises most of our clan, he wound up in Spain peeling spuds and praying." 

"So my Grandad was a Hussar?" Norris began to warm to the thought. He had always thought he came from a long line of chimneysweeps from Cleethorpes. "No! No!" chimed in Lexi. "Not YOUR grandfather - we are talking about OUR grandfather, Vlad's and mine! Your grandfather was the son of the man in the portrait." 

Norris looked harder at the oil of the imposing figure holding the golden figurine. The resemblance was striking. He turned back to Lexi and to his surprise found that she, Vlad and Yuri had all sunk to their knees and were prostrating themselves before him. 

"Majesty," said Lexi, in a tone of reverence, "your grandfather was a natural son of Czar Nicholas, the last Czar of Russia, from a love affair with the younger sister of the English Duke of Conyton. It was all hushed up, and the boy was fostered out, but we descendants of the 18th Hussars have always kept an eye on that child and his descendants. We knew the day would arrive when his heirs would be called upon to resume his rightful place on the throne in St Petersburg. That heir is you, Norris. It is your fate to resume your rightful place on our throne, the last of the Romanovs!" 

Norris felt weak with the impact, and giddy with exhilaration. Vlad took up the thread, crying: "Norris, look at your left shoulder. All true Romanovs bear the crescent-shaped birthmark that represents the palm print of God when He laid His hand on them and called them to service." 

Norris fumbled at his buttons and struggled free of his shirt. Even though the light was dim, and Lexi was holding up only the tiny mirror of her powder compact, the crescent shape was unmistakable against his pale skin. Norris was face to face with his destiny. And someone was out to stop him. 

Cheap Thrills -- - Sunday, February 13, 2000 at 18:38:18 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 12

And to think that Angela had pressed him to have the birthmark removed. It was a good thing that the laser surgery was not covered under National Health and Angela was too parsimonious to cough up the £1500. After all, it wasn't as if they were penniless. He was glad, now, that he had buried her golf clubs in the allotment, and sorry that he didn't do the same with her SCUBA gear, her downhill ski equipment, and her precious portmanteau containing her cherished collection of small trompe l'oeil paintings. He had to admit that the paintings were clever, but it was embarrassing that Angela took them everywhere and showed them to everyone who had the misfortune to sit beside her. 

A thoughtful Norris buttoned his shirt as he considered the trio genuflecting before him. The palatial stateroom was silent except for the waves lapping at the hull. Norris's mind wandered yet again as he surveyed the treasures within. "I wonder why the Square Dealers wouldn't let Dirk join them," he thought. He was staring at the hull now, staring at the rich, red wood at the area where a light tapping noise was coming from. "Rata!" he exclaimed causing the others to jump to their feet in alarm. "That's rata wood from New Zealand!" Norris pointed out, "I'd know it anywhere!". Lexi raised a finger to her lips and the quartet fell silent. The tapping continued, too regular to be a tree branch, but irregular enough to be mistaken for one. 

They all crept up the stairs to the main deck and Vlad crawled to the starboard gunwale and peered over the side. The wind had picked up and had blown an old waterlogged stump into the backwater. The stump was rolling with the small waves and a short branch sticking out of the stump was tapping rhythmically against the hull. Vlad stood, but dropped instantly as he motioned to the others to remain down and quiet. Yuri crawled over and looked toward the dacha where a large, black BMW motorcycle was parked under a tree to the left of the drive. They could still hear the ticking of the twin exhaust pipes as they cooled in the night air. Neither recognized the BMW and were conversing in hushed tones as Norris and Lexi came up beside them. Lexi looked at the BMW and then noticed a shadowy figure rounding the corner of the dacha. Norris looked over just in time to see the figure framed in the moonlight, and reeled back in shock. "Majesty?" whispered a concerned Lexi, "What is it, what did you see?" "It's him," breathed Norris, "It's Sergei Umlaut!" Norris instantly regretted making fun of Umlaut's name even though it was in his own mind. "How did he find me? How did he know I was here?" he asked. "He must have followed the chambermaid when she brought your bag." answered Lexi. 

The figure entered the dacha as Yuri and Vlad hatched a plan. "Quickly," said Vlad in a hoarse whisper, "Remove the mooring ropes from those two bollards fore and aft, weigh anchor, batten down the hatches, and do anything else that needs to be done, nautically speaking. We cannot start the boat here as we will be heard, but the four of us should be able to push the boat out of dock. Once in the river we can start the engine and head for the Gulf of Finland, and on to the Hermitage." "Um, shouldn't we disable the motorcycle in some way so he won't follow us?" asked Norris. "Nyet," said a strained Yuri, "We will be on water. What good will the motorcycle be to him then?" It was after Norris uttered this inane question that the trio began to have misgivings about his Romanov ancestry. 

Ian -- - Monday, February 14, 2000 at 19:34:13 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 13

As the stately boat pulled silently out into the mainstream current, the ever faithful Yuri at the helm, Lexi, Vlad and Norris/Boris I of Russia had a distant view of the dacha. They watched in alarm as two long black Zil limousines pull up in front of it. A chauffeur sprang out to open the door for a powerful figure. A pugnacious, stocky man got out and barked "Umlaut!". Sergei Umlaut appeared instantly in the doorway of the dacha. Every sound carried across the water on the still, frosty night, and the watchful figures on the boat scarcely dared breathe lest the dacha visitors noticed their presence.

"They're gone!" said Umlaut, his frustration evident. The stocky figure swore. "Search the area!" he cried. "They can't have gone far. I want the timepieces retrieved and Boris removed."

A chill ran down Norris's spine. There was no doubt who Boris was, and why they wanted him removed… but what were these mysterious timepieces? He was still puzzling as grim looking dark-suited men started to pour out of the Zils and powerful torch beams penetrated the dark of the night. 

The quartet on the boat current clutched the rail in fright as a beam of light shone surprisingly close to them, missing them by inches. Then the current carried the boat round a bend in the river and the dacha was lost to their sight. 

Vlad and Lexi surrounded Norris. "At last we can talk," breathed Lexi, close to his ear. "We know where you met Umlaut, Norris. You were both in Sicily, and he was the middle man who helped you put together the olive mountain deal - am I right?" "Yes… but how did you know that?" stammered a nonplussed Norris. 

"I told you the loyal descendants of the 18th Hussars kept an eye on the Pretender to the Throne. We have contacts in Interpol and they made us fully aware of the risky situation you had got into. And he invited you back to Russia, didn't he?" "Why yes" said Noris. "And you could not resist bringing that gnome with you once again? He saw it, didn't he?" A miserable Norris assented. 

"Boris, Umlaut is well known to Interpol. He is a powerful man, and he has known of your existence for many years. For a time they even wondered whether you might be useful to them in their ambitions, but now they have decided that you are superfluous - they have no need of you. Your life is in danger>" "But I don't understand," whined poor Norris. "Who are they? What are their ambitions?" 

Vlad's voice was quiet and calm, but even Norris could hear the tension. "Umlaut is the No. 2 man in the Mafia which now controls Russia. And the man who gave him his orders, the man who is searching for you as we speak, is Ivor Nastyitch, the Capo di tutti capi. Even our Premier takes orders from him. He heads the Mafia in the whole of Russia." 

Norris would have fainted, but curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know what the timepieces were the Mafiosi had spoken of. He went to his suitcase and retrieved the gnome. It smiled fatuously up at them in the moonlight. With sudden force he struck it hard against the hatch coping. The gnome shattered not like the pottery they were expecting, but like plaster. In fact it was plaster. Plaster all the way through. 

Four pairs of eyes looked in horror as the full impact sank in. Their lives were in danger not even because of a valuable figurine - or was it a timepiece? - but because of a plaster ornament. Norris looked hard at the fragment and realised with a sinking heart that he had grabbed the wrong gnome. He had grabbed Guinevere, not Arthur. Somewhere in deepest Lancashire, a king's ransom in gold and jewels was sitting in a pottery shell on the Wiltons' back lawn. 

Lexi's agile mind was already working overtime. "Our only hope is to get to the original before they realise where we are. With the priceless contents of the boat, and having retrieved the second gnome, we can throw ourselves on the mercy of MI6 and/or the world media. There's no point in appealing to your British cousins in Buckingham Palace for protection, your great grandfather Nicholas tried that and they turned their backs," she added bitterly. 

The river was now broadening out and the first faint light of dawn rose behind them as they headed towards the open sea. Once again, all roads led to Weatherfield. 

Cheap Thrills -- - Thursday, February 17, 2000 at 16:53:03 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS, Part 14

"Come 'n listen to my story 'bout a man named Fred
A poor butcher'eer, barely kept his family fed
And then one day, he was shootin' at some food
And up through the ground come a bubblin' crude
Fat, that is, fried bread, cholesterol…

Well, the first thing you know, old Fred's a millionaire
Kin folk said, Fred, move away from there
Said, Weatherfield is the place you oughta be
So he loaded up the truck and he moved to Viaduct
Street, that is, dingy pubs, corner shops…"

The quartet were well into the Gulf of Finland and were feeling a bit more lighthearted now that the dacha, Umlaut and Nastyitch were far behind. Oddly enough, Yuri Sonovavitch started the singing, he was a Beverly Hillbillies fan since it was first shown in Russia in 1997 - he wished that he could go to California so that he could meet the comrade Clampetts, specifically comrade Ellie May. Little did he know that the cee-ment pond (swimming pool) was demolished 30 years before he saw the series. 

The weather roughed up somewhat as the dahabeeyah (boat) entered the Baltic Sea. Norris became tongue-tied and babbled incoherently about environmental products, Vlad raced around the deck pretending to impale imaginary foes on stakes, and Yuri spilled his guts, overboard, that is. Lexi was the only one remaining cognizant and thought deeply of the timepieces overheard at the dacha. The mention of the timepieces puzzled her. Were the figurines a ruse? Were they some sort of ancient Egyptian icon meant to accurately tell time? And were two of them necessary in order to fulfill the Gregorian calendar? Was that it? Was the whole Y2K panic due to the missing timepieces? 

She thought back to the Indiana Jones movies and recalled Indiana putting a figurine on a stake and watching the rising sun pinpoint the treasure. Was this the function of the timepieces, she wondered? Were the timepieces meant to pinpoint some ancient treasure in Weatherfield? Was she to take the timepieces and, somehow, mount them on the beer engines in the Rovers Return, wait for the sun and then see the light? 

The wind was blowing down the Baltic Sea, pushing the boat towards Denmark and the inevitable North Sea. Lexi wondered if it might be better to anchor off of Ystad, Sweden, to wait for better weather. She considered all avenues, and decided to press on to Weatherfield. She concluded that, indeed, all roads led to Weatherfield… 

Ian -- - Friday, February 18, 2000 at 22:28:35 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 15

As the stout ship ploughed on through the Skaggerak and out into the squally waters of the North Sea, Norris tried to raise their flagging spirits, and bolster his own courage, with a few verses of a traditional English folk lyric he had learned at his mother's knee and other low joints (the old ones are the best ones).

Drinks at the Rovers from Newton and Ridley
Staggering homewards when we're feeling tiddly
Vera and Jack (she's descended from kings)
These are a few of my favourite things..

Rita's Big Red Wig that lights up the Kabin
Fred of the pies who just can't stand there gabbin'
Bet in her leopardskin, lipstick and rings
These are a few of my favourite things..

Hairdos by Audrey and Motors by Kevin
Massage by Raquel (now that would be heaven)
A nice cosy tavern to hold all our Pings
These are a few of our favourite things….

When your head aches, VAT stings, and you're feeling low 
Simply remember your favourite Street, and then you'll know where to go……

The mystified Lexi, Yuri and Vlad joined in, scarcely discerning the meaning of the iconic words they sang, but strangely cheered by them. From time to time Lexi held long conversations with her watch. Finally she reported back: 

"Gianni thinks it probable that the Mafiosi have tracked us by satellite and will have a reception committee waiting when we land. I am therefore going to suggest that we take an unusual course. Instead of sailing round the whole of South England in order to approach Weatherfield from the west via the Manchester Ship Canal, Gianni suggests we make land on the east, at the river Colne… there's a big army base at Colchester and we may be able to call upon them for assistance." 

"Brilliant!" agreed Norris, thinking of the more aggressive squaddies and their constant search for an enemy. Lexi returned to her urgent conversations with her watch. They retired to a fitful night, taking turns at the watch. 

With the dawn came their first glimpse of the coast of England. Norris's heart leapt within him, but an icy fear gripped his innards as he thought of what was to come, and he clutched his suitcase till his knuckles were white. The forces of good and evil were about to meet in the peaceful Essex countryside, and the treasures of the Romanovs were at stake. 

Cheap Thrills -- - Sunday, February 20, 2000 at 16:27:00 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS, Part 16

The storm swept in within minutes as it is wont to do in the North Sea. The crew desperately tried to keep the boat on an even keel as they headed south towards Colchester, but the wind was blowing them eastward. The seas were less than 2 metres, yet Norris was feeling decidedly queasy, and he was feeling worse as the boat sank in the troughs and rose over the swells. The boat was too small for stabilizers, and the small false keel did little to stop the boat from rolling from side to side. 

Norris had read or heard from someone that sitting in the exact centre of the boat may reduce the queasy feelings. In any case, feeling the way he did rendered him useless as far as helping to man the boat was concerned, so he found his way tout suite down to the art suite, and found the centre of the boat, which was conveniently right between the men's and ladies loos. He settled down and soon found that it did work to sit in the centre. 

There is a scientific reason why this works. Seasickness is caused when the reference to the horizon, in this case the coast of England, is lost. Now, the further one gets from the centre of the boat, the more distance one travels between a roll to the left and a roll to the right. So while Norris was on deck and standing on the port side, he was travelling 2 metres between the low point and the high point of each roll. Once he lost sight of the horizon, there was no reference point and the old stomach started to churn as he lost all sense of balance. When he moved to the centre of the boat, the up and down travel was reduced to zero and there was just the rolling from side to side. Additionally, the bulkhead below deck moves at the same rate and, therefore, forms an artificial horizon for a reference point. But I digress… 

Norris's gastrointestinal distress subsided as he stared at the bulkhead in front of him. The rolling of the boat lulled him now and his mind once again wandered. An anorak, swinging on a peg on the bulkhead, made a tic-tic sound as the zipper hit the bulkhead at each end of the swing. The sound reminded him of yet another one of his failed sales "coups", this one being the time that he ventured into the music business. He had gotten the idea from Mavis as she was pottering about in her garden, scraping dirt off of Arthur and Guinevere. The tic-tic of the garden tool hitting pottery matched perfectly in time to the Rimsky-Korsakov suite playing in the background. "Metronomes and garden gnomes," he thought, "why not make metronomes in the shape of garden gnomes - metrognomes?" Norris thought this an absolutely brilliant idea, a sure winner, but he just about lost his shirt on it. On reflection, it was yet just another stupid idea to add to all the other daft ideas he had dreamed up over the years. 

Suddenly the rolling stopped and Norris went on deck to see that they had entered the mouth of the Colne and were now making fast progress inland. Looking ahead they could see a lot of camouflaged men on both banks of the river, and a pair of Zodiac inflatable boats heading quickly toward them. Each Zodiac had an ominous-looking tripod-mounted machine gun manned by a mean-looking grunt with a buzz-cut. Both grunts were wearing combat fatigues and camouflaging face paint, and Norris immediately thought of that idiot who tried to con him with the fluorescent camouflage paint. 

The Zodiacs raced past them on an intercept course with a sleek white yacht that was about 600 metres behind them and closing rapidly. A warning shot was fired and the yacht abruptly altered course and headed out to sea. Norris did a double-take as the yacht turned. The name on the stern was 'Ma-Mafia'… 

Ian -- charnley(a)hotmail.com Wednesday, February 23, 2000 at 18:52:34 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 17

With the SAS on board, and the Mafia craft banished, Norris relaxed and tried to plan ahead. He envisaged a quick explanation to HM forces, a fond farewell to Lexi, Vlad and Yuri, and a fast train to London connecting through to Weatherfield where, he imagined, Dirk and Mavis would be all too glad to see him, especially if he was bearing a brand new set of garden gnomes for them. 

His mind worked feverishly. There were two explanations to come up with: first, what could he tell the military to explain why he was on board a Russian barge bearing the smuggled personal possessions of the Romanov dynasty, and secondly, and far more serious, how he could convince Mavis Wilton that Guinevere the gnome had got into his suitcase by accident? Mavis had always been able to strike terror into Norris's heart. He tried to visualise the Wiltons' garden wall and wondered whether he could scale it by moonlight to replace the missing gnome. He shuddered. He had never got with heights. 

With the SAS at the helm, the craft docked at a small military wharf and the soldiers escorted the curious quartet ashore and into some waiting vehicles. A short ride took them not to the Colchester Barracks, as Norris had assumed, but to a small and ancient stately home which stood nearby. The sign on the gate said St Osyth's Priory. The priory itself stood alongside the private residence of the de Chair family, who preferred to live on their Virginian estates and leased the buildings to the Department of Defence - for "training purposes". 

Norris and the Russians were led into the richly furnished Great Room, where they faced a table of senior officers. Although they were treated with courtesy, Norris was in no doubt that the situation could change very quickly should he make any attempt to leave of his own accord. 

A uniformed figure introduced himself as Colonel Mustard and said: "So, Mr Cole, as you will have gathered, we are aware of the nature of your visit to Russia and what transpired there. Modern satellite technology makes phone calls ridiculously easy to monitor, anywhere in the world. We also know of your colleagues' ambitions to reinstate the Romanovs on the throne of Russia, in the person of your good self. 

"But what we do not know is the location of the Gnomes of Zurich, and that is what you are going to assist us with." 

Norris felt his knees about to give way under him. He was in way too deep for his liking. The Gnomes of Zurich? What the blithering blue blazes was the man burbling about? 

The Colonel continued: "The boat and its treasures, by the way, seized by HM Customs and will be forfeit to the Crown. In the unlikely event that word of their existence ever gets out, we will say that you stole them and were attempting to smuggle them into Britain. No-one will believe your preposterous version of events. You can cooperate with us, Mr Cole, and return safely and unscathed to your former life in Weatherfield, so long as your silence is assured. Or you can spend a very, very long time in a military prison in the Falklands that we maintain for cases such as yours. The choice is yours." 

For the first time, Norris noticed a figure in a dark corner of the room, sitting with his back to the group. The tall blond figure rose and addressed Norris in an irascible bark: "Where are the Gnomes of Zurich, Cole? And what bloody right do you think you have, pretending to be my cousin?" 

Norris found himself looking directly into the unmistakable, glittering ice-blue eyes of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. 

Cheap Thrills -- - Sunday, February 27, 2000 at 17:54:23 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS, Part 18

Norris sprang to attention, and snapped off a near-perfect salute, which a rather startled Prince Philip returned smartly. Colonel Mustard and the other senior officers winced as they were temporarily blinded by strong, bright light. As you all know, Prince Philip wears the uniform of the Admiral-of-the-Fleet of the Royal Navy, an honorary rank he does not take lightly. What you don't know, is that Prince Philip can be rather flamboyant when not with Her Majesty, and he indulges himself when he is 'with the lads'. In other words, the uniform he wears while trotting two and a half steps behind Her Majesty's crisp, light blue linen frock with matching hat and accessories is the regular Navy uniform. The one he wears when he is 'with the lads' has wide gold rings all the way up his sleeve, finally stopping at his armpit. The halogen interrogation lamps in the room bounced viciously off the gilt rings on the saluting arm and rendered all the officers virtually gold-blind. 

Norris's salute protected his eyes and he seized the opportunity. He abruptly turned about, tripped over a nearby chair and rocketed out into the hallway. Turning left he hurried down the hallway overhearing what he thought was an interrogation in a nearby room. "…again, your name is?" "Yuri Sonovavitch," came the reply. "I'm warning you, if you call me that one more time…" Norris tried a door on his right, found it open and entered a courtyard flanked by high stone walls topped with a rather nasty looking cheval-de-frise. No way out there. He went back inside and noticed a wide staircase at the other end of the hallway. He crept past the room with the temporarily blind officers and snickered as he watched them bumping into each other. They looked like the Keystone Kops. Norris careened up the stairs and found open French doors that led on to a balcony overlooking St Osyth's Priory. A huge oak tree stood beside the balcony and, without thinking, he jumped into the tree to hide. 

Safe for the moment, his mind wandered yet again (this isn't called The Wandering Years for nothing, you know). "That mean old Colonel Mustard," he thought, and the Beatles' tune started in his head. "Mean Mr Mustard…hmmm hmm hmm hmm…" He recalled another failed business venture, his second enterprise of a musical nature. Some bozo in Bognor approached him with an idea similar to the 'for Dummies' books. Norris had thought the idea of these books brilliant, and knew that their sales numbered in the hundreds of thousands if not in the millions, so he was more than ready to listen. The man rattled out the titles, '101 Hymns for the Kazoo Player', 'Accordion Jazz for Dimwits', 'Polka Disco - a Step-by-Step Guide'', and 'Rock-n-Roll Tuba - Believe It!' Norris nearly ran to his bank manager, and asked "How do I stand for an overdraft?" to which the bank manager replied, "You don't, you grovel." Norris outlined his idea and was quickly sent on his way. 

Norris snapped out of his reverie and thought back to what Prince Philip had said. Gnomes of Zurich, he had said. Who or what were the Gnomes of Zurich? He thought hard and the memory came. Mavis and Dirk! Yes, Mavis and Dirk were industrial punk rock fans. They had a CD called '33rd Degree Burns' by the punk band Gnomes of Zurich. The track 'Fresh Foreign Lesion' was a favourite. But what did that have to do with him. What could he tell the Prince? That the Gnomes of Zurich were probably on tour and Norris would have no idea where they were? Wait! His bank manager had a painting of a huge Renaissance-style bank on his wall. Under it was the caption: 'If you see a Swiss banker jump out of a window, follow him. There is surely money to be made - Voltaire'. Norris had asked about the painting and the bank manager told him that it was one of the Gnomes of Zurich, one of the half-dozen or so large Swiss banks. But what did banks have to do with him, except rudely turn down his overdraft applications? 

His thought was broken as Colonel Mustard and Prince Philip clattered onto the balcony. "COLE, COLE - WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU, COLE?" barked an exasperated Philip. "AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BLOODY GNOMES?" His gnomes," thought Norris, "what did he mean 'his gnomes'?" 

Ian -- - Saturday, March 04, 2000 at 11:10:22 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 19

Prince Philip continued: "FIND THOSE GNOMES, MUSTARD, OR I'LL HAVE YOUR HIDE FOR A FLOOR RUG. COLE MUST NOT ESCAPE, OR I'LL HAVE TO CALL OUT THE ULTIMATE WEAPON. AND ONE TIMEPIECE IS NO USE TO ME - WE NEED BOTH TO CRACK THE ZURICH CODE. NOW FAFF OFF!" 

Norris scarcely dared to draw breath, as from his unsteady position in the oak tree he caught a hasty glimpse of Colonel Mustard heading for the conservatory with the lead piping. A tugging at his pocket drew his attention back to his circumstances. A cheeky grey squirrel had discovered Norris's jacket pocket to be an excellent hiding place for his acorn hoard. Norris tried to discourage the pesky arboreal rodent with a sweep of the hand, but it was not easily put off. He didn't like the way it was eyeing his nuts. He felt very alone. He nearly lost his grip on the branch when a quiet voice said, almost in his ear: "Leave it be, Majesty. We have other things to worry about. " Lexi! Just a few feet away, hidden amongst the green oak leaves! Norris was exultant. "How did you get here?" he hissed. "I distracted the guard and found the balcony, just as you did. It seems to me we have two choices. We can wait here till nightfall, or we can try to create a diversion and make our escape while the guards are distracted. What does your Majesty wish?" 

The thought of perching on the branch till after dark held no appeal for Norris. "If only we had a catapult!" said Lexi. "We could fire off something and -" "That's it!" hissed Norris excitedly. Reaching for his trusty nail clippers, he opened the small file on them of which his captors had not seen fit to deprive him. He started sawing away at a promising forked branch about the thickness of his thumb. A small pile of sawdust fell to earth. From his other pocket he drew a tiny plastic dispenser of Birkin and Postlethwaite's Minted SuperStrong Dental Floss (By Appointment), without which he never travelled, and laboriously constructed a perfect slingshot. He tested its strength and whippiness. Perfect! 

From his perch he had a clear view of the barleysugar-twist Elizabethan chimneystacks atop the great house. Reaching into his pocket for the biggest nuts in the squirrel's collection, he fired off a few test shots and heard one ping off a chimney and clatter harmlessly to the flattish roof below. His fifth shot, however, was a bullseye. The pottery vent weathershield on the chimney was knocked askew by the flying acorn, and after teetering for a long moment, fell with a resounding crash onto the roof. Norris and Lexi heard a distant cry of: "They're on the roof! Quickly, men - surround them!" A dozen pairs of footsteps were heard scurrying through the building, and men started to emerge onto the roof, led by Prince Philip himself. 

Meanwhile, Lexi and Norris had not been wasting time. As soon as the coast was clear, they abseiled down the tree using the rest of the dental floss, and made for a flashy motor bike they could see unattended by the Priory gatehouse. They would have a few minutes' head start only, but that could be all they needed. They reached the motor bike and, as they climbed aboard, Colonel Mustard caught sight of them from the roof. "There the blighters go!" he cried. 

Philip was quick to action. He realised that his prey was getting away from him, and with it all chance of recovering the lost Gnomes of Zurich, and the secret to the fortune they guarded. There was only one thing he could do. It was time to fall back on England's ultimate weapon. 

And as Norris sat on the bike desperately wondering why the starter pedal was so slow to kick into action, he heard Philip utter the fell words all Britain dreaded: 

"CALL OUT THE CORGIS!!!!!!!" 

Cheap Thrills -- - Tuesday, March 07, 2000 at 22:36:48 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS or CALL OF THE CORGI, Part 20

...CALL OUT THE CORGIS...! The words echoed in his ears as he turned a whiter shade of pale, close to an alabaster shade, he was! And what the deuce is wrong with this danged motorcycle, anyway - he wondered. He examined the bike only to find that there was no kick start on it at all, he was trying to start the rear brake. And to top it off, it was a Ducati, one of those temperamental Italian jobs that won't run if the relative humidity is more than 30 percent, you happen to be holding your tongue in the wrong cheek and your underwear is more than a day old. Dang! The key was on, now how to start it? "Fuel," hissed Lexi. "Fool? What are you calling me a fool for?" whimpered Norris, looking very hurt. "No, no, fuel - turn the fuel on." she whispered. "Why are you whispering?" queried Norris, "everyone knows where we are!" Norris was looking for the fuel valve when he caught site of a herd of corgis hurtling towards them from the back of St Osyth's Priory... 

Norris started to panic as he fumbled with the fuel valve, while Lexi was laughing uproariously on the back of the bike. "Th-this is no la-laughing matter," stuttered Norris, "Wha-what's so funny?" "Those dogs," she shrieked, "those dogs look so funny. They are tripping all over themselves with their short legs and oversize heads. Look there, they've all tumbled into a big pile of short legs and heads," she howled with mirth. Norris looked at the corgis as they untangled themselves and regrouped. He realized then that they were not 'hurtling towards them' as it is impossible to 'hurtle' with such short legs. If anything, they were coming towards them at a slow canter, if not a fast trot. Nor were they a herd, as there were only three of them. Norris settled down, turned on the fuel and pressed the starter button. The Ducati roared to life and the duo sped off just as the corgis were spilling out into the road, once again in a tangle of legs and heads. "I wonder what Her Majesty sees in those odd, clumsy little dogs," mused Norris. 

They hit the first roundabout and Norris was immediately nonplussed. "We don't have roundabouts like these 'ere in t' north, bah gum" he moaned, regressing into a bad Lancashire accent. It was a typical, Essex-style "Colchester triple-hammy", so-named because the inventor, Hamish Ewan Sidebottom (pronounced "Syd-ee-bot-TOM", with the Syd as in Syd James, the ee as in Ee, bah gum, and the emphasis in the TOM), designed it for a particularly bad intersection in Colchester where eight roads entered and exited. If you have never encountered a Colchester triple-hammy, consider yourself lucky. I have actually driven on the original Colchester triple-hammy during our stay there in 1995. You see, we were on the wrong side of the Colchester triple-hammy and we wanted to get to a Fish 'n' chip shop on the other side. Well, to make a long story short, we ended up at an Indian take-away 5 miles distant. 

The Colchester triple-hammy consists of two large roundabouts connected by a very small roundabout in the centre. Three roads enter and exit each large roundabout, which would generally pose no problem. The problem is the small roundabout which interconnects a heavily travelled thoroughfare, which, for some reason, has the right-of-way, but only some of the time. Sounds like a Monty Python skit, doesn't it? Due to the heavily travelled road having a part-time right-of-way, traffic signals had to be installed on the centre, small roundabout. This means that when the traffic signal is red, all traffic on the large roundabouts must stay on their respective roundabout, going round and round until the traffic signal turns green. Then, all hell breaks loose as the large roundabouts spill onto the small roundabout. Now comes the whammy - when the traffic signal turns red for the thoroughfare, the traffic caught in the small roundabout must stay on the roundabout, but must keep to the inside of the roundabout as the outside is being used by the traffic from the large roundabouts. Believe me, avoid the Colchester triple-hammy roundabouts like the proverbial plague! 

Lexi grabbed for the Ducati's handlebars, pushing Norris forward onto the fuel tank as a result, and gunned the powerful motorcycle toward the A134. By using a few more B roads, the pair finally got on the B1064 and headed off for Weatherfield and Arthur and the missing timepiece. 

Ian -- I saw Hilda on Last of the Summer Wine... Wednesday, March 15, 2000 at 19:10:13 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 21

The Ducati sped through England's country roads in the later afternoon sun and Norris felt his spirits rise. He was whizzing through the beautiful Suffolk countryside with a glamorous woman on his powerful motor bike, and furthermore, she thought he was fit to be Czar of one of the largest countries on earth. 

On they sped, through Cambridgeshire and into Northampton. The rolling pastureland began to be replaced by a sterner look, and the appearance of the ancient drystone walls penning in the sheep. They stopped for a meal at the small café attached to a garden centre near Mears Ashby, and Norris made a purchase. 

Over a typically ethnic northern meal of greasy sausages, chips and baked beans (Lexi discreetly slipped most of her sausages to a nearby spaniel and left most of the chips), Norris explained how he had very nearly become rich over a past pioneering commercial venture. 

Together with a consortium of Scottish oil millionaires, known as Scotch on the Rocks PLC, he had engineered the lassooing of an iceberg off the wintry coast of Spitzbergen and arranged to lease an empty oil tanker, the to tow it south to a small parched country East of Suez, where the deal was that they trade it for an equivalent weight of crude oil. It was foolproof and failsafe. Both sides were well pleased with the deal. They all stood to make many millions of pounds. 

The lassooing was difficult but not technically impossible, although it took a great deal of rope, and the voyage south proceeded without incident. It was only as they started to enter the Irish economic zone waters that matters went agley. Who could have foretold the unseasonal shift in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, resulting in the iceberg losing more than half its bulk? The abseiling team that boarded the remaining iceberg to adjust and tighten the rope harness were spotted by Her Majesty's aerial surveillance units and arrested on suspicion of being an IRA terrorist group preparing to seize the Castle of Mey and hold the Queen Mother to ransom. 

The iceberg was impounded as evidence, but was too large to fit into even the largest freezing chamber at the local abattoirs, and so was split into numerous smaller pieces and transported under armed escort to secure locations - as irony would have it, one was a master warehouse for Freshco's, though neither Norris nor Curly Watts was ever aware of this eerie link between them. 

It all ended in tears of course, and Scotch on the Rocks was wound up and the millionaires retired to lick their wounds. It could have been the financial undoing of Norris, had he not had to foresight to have formed the Hibernian Hemp Company some months beforehand with a view to providing ropes to shipping companies. He added the not inconsiderable profit to his nest egg and quietly wound up Hibernian Hemp, too. 

Lexi was fascinated by this tale, and urged him to return to his Kingdom and put Russia back on a sound financial footing. "With a brain like yours, Majesty, we have nothing to fear from Capitalism!" Norris felt she understood him instinctively, and he basked in the glow. 

Soon the Lights of Weatherfield (copyright Tony Warren) hove into view and Norris aimed the Ducati past the extensive fields, woods, streams, Roman streets and fishponds of the vast Red Rec, towards Coronation Street. He switched off the machine just before they reached the Wiltons' house, and coasted to a silent halt, He cautioned Lexi to remain quiet as he propped the Ducati against their garden wall. From his jacket he withdrew the parcel he had bought from the garden centre, and unwrapped it. Lexi gasped as he drew forth from it two familiar small figures. Arthur and Guinevere smiled blithely up at them from his hands. 

"The second figurine lies over this wall, Lexi," he whispered. "I intend to take it and replace it with these two. The owners will think they are the originals, and will be content. And we will have the Gnomes of Zurich, or the timepieces, or whatever else you believe them to be. Then we can escape. Now, give me a hand up." 

Lexi helped him stand on the seat of the bike and climb the wall with the two gnomes clasped in his hands. He jumped lightly to the grass on the other side. She sprang onto the seat and climbed the wall easily, unencumbered. She joined him in the floral sweetness of the garden and they knelt by the small pond and fountain near which the remaining gnome stood. 

A sudden shaft of light illuminated them and a harsh voice said: "Norris Cole! What the blazes do you think you are doing with my gnomes? And WHO is that woman you have brought into my garden?" 

Norris forgot for a moment that he was being pursued by the Mafia, the SAS, and the Royal Attack Corgis. They were small beer; this was far more serious. He had never been so frightened in his life. 

In the doorway stood the terrifying sight of Mavis Wilton. She was very angry. And she was holding a spade. 

Cheap Thrills -- - 
Tuesday, March 21, 2000 at 22:01:09 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 21 ½

But not just any spade - it was the Ace of spades! There was a whist drive at the community centre on Friday, and Dirk and Mave were practicing up summat fierce...Norris flinched visibly at the sight of the Ace and sank back into the underbrush. Lexi lost her balance and fell on top of Norris, asking him what was wrong.

"That Ace," he muttered, "that Ace - I've seen it before..." 

Ian Gores Landing, Canada charnley@hotmail.ca  Monday, March 27, 2000 at 18:30:13 (EST)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS Part 22

Norris's mind was in turmoil. The Ace that Mavis held was the one that had been in Dirk's hand that night long ago. The night that changed his life forever.

He and Dirk had stayed in the office after hours, celebrating a big rise in the quarterly sales figures, and both of them were off their faces on wine gums and alcopops. Giggling fiercely, they were playing poker for increasingly steep odds. Dirk had already lost his Christmas bonus to the wily Norris, and in a desperate move to recoup his losses had agreed on a king hit bet. Whoever lost the next hand would have to marry Angela. The sheer preposterousness of the idea had collapsed them with a fit of the giggles, but they dealt the cards nevertheless.

Norris had still been giggling helplessly when Dirk produced the winning Ace, with a flourish, and a note of triumph entered his voice as he cried: "Now you have to do the deed, Cole! You have to be joined in holy marrymoney with the dreaded witch woman Angela! And I'll be your best man!" Something in Dirk's voice pulled Norris up short, even in his drunken mirth. Dirk had been deadly serious all along. He was going to force him to go through with the appalling deed. 

Norris lay in the shrubbery trying to regain his strength. That Ace had been responsible for all his woes. Dirk had always held all the Aces where Norris was concerned. He had to tell Mavis now what a beast she was married to. Mavis was a fine woman. Too good for Dirk. Maybe - it was not too much to hope - she would then divorce Dirk and rule along side Norris when he was restored to his family throne in far-off snowy St Petersburg. They could both put the sorrows of Weatherfield behind them. Mavis would look bonny in purple robes, thought Norris. 

He found resolution and staggered to his feet. "Mavis," he addressed her, "There is something I have to tell you. It's important. You and I could be the rulers of Russia, Mavis, there is a fortune in your garden gnome, this lady is an undercover agent, the Mafia are following me, I've just escaped from the SAS and Prince Philip tried to kill me with a corgi. Apart from that, I'm all right." 

Mavis looked at him with the scorn she usually reserved for paperboys who delivered News of the World to customers who took the Times. She raised her little chin high and delivered the icy words that Norris had heard so often before. "Get up Norris, you're drunk." 

"No, honest, Mavis," protested a forlorn Norris, "I'm stone cold sober. I've brought you a present. Look! A brand new Arthur and Guinevere to replace your missing one. And to prove I'm telling the truth, I'll just show you what is in the old one." 

Before Mavis could stop him, he seized the gaudy little cement figure from beside the pond and struck it a blow against the side of the fountain. A piece shattered and flew off. This time there was no mistake. That shard was pottery, not plaster. A dull gleam could be seen through the resulting cavity. Norris and Lexi worked feverishly to chip off more of the clay coating and expose the golden figure within. Mavis, fascinated despite herself, stood closer and when the golden figurine emerged, was the first to ask: "But why has it got a clock in its chest?" 

Lexi was feverishly excited. In a tense voice, she at last supplied the answer that Norris had been waiting for, for the last few weeks. "This figure is one of a pair, Mavis, made by the great master jeweller Faberge for the royal house of Russia, the Romanovs. They were made in the form of gnomes, or ancient wise people of the woods, and a timepiece inserted in each of them by the master watchmakers of Switzerland. That is the first reason why they were known as The Gnomes of Zurich. But there is a second reason. " Norris leaned closer. 

"For a long time the Romanovs could see trouble on the horizon. The thrones of Europe had been falling all around them, from the 1890s onwards. Republicanism was in the air. To safeguard their future, they removed most of their fortune and personal jewellery from St Petersburg and sent it secretly, under the guard of the loyal 18th Hussars, to Switzerland. It would be safe there in a bank vault. But they were could not foresee that every member of their family would be assassinated by the revolutionaries, and that the secret of the Gnomes of Zurich would be dispersed for the best part of a century. But now the pieces are coming together! And it is all your doing, Majesty!" 

Norris was puzzled. "But.. but…what have the Gnomes of Zurich got to do with the missing fortune of the Romanovs? What is the conection?……"

Lexi moved into the light of the conservatory and her fingers scrabbled at the back of the figurine. At the rear of the watch, she found a small door lying flush against the snooth polished gold of the gnome's jacket, and she pressed a minuscule concealed button. The door flew open, and a tiny scrap of watchpaper fell out. She seized it in triumph and clutched it to her chest. "This! It's this, Norris!!! This is the key to the kingdom!!!!" "But Lexi, it's just a little bit of paper with a name and a few numbers on it. How can that tell us where the Romanov fortune lies?" 

Lexi explained: "On this tiny piece of paper is written the name of the Swiss Bank and half the account number and codeword of the Romanovs' secret bank vault in Zurich. The other half is on a similar slip in the other Gnome of Zurich, which you will recall is already in the possession of the 18th Hussars descendants. Now we can put the pieces of the puzzle together and retrieve the fortune which is rightfully yours, Majesty! You - the last of the Romanovs -can assume your rightful status as Czar Boris, the proud ruler of a proud country." 

 "And presumably, then," interjected Mavis in tones dripping with sarcasm, "you can afford to replace that shrubbery you have just crushed. Shrubs don't grow on trees, you know Norris." And convulsed with laughter at Mavis's dry wit, none of them noticed the silent purr of the long black limousine that had pulled up on the other side of the Wiltons' garden wall. 

CHEAP THRILLS - I've been away - Thursday, April 06, 2000 at 19:33:29 (EDT)

NORRIS: THE WANDERING YEARS, Part "Hello, We Must Be Going"

Outside the garden wall, a long black limousine glided to a halt that was not quite as silent as it was abrupt. As the group in the Wilton's garden listened amazed to Norris's revelation about each of the garden gnomes containing half the secret code that put together would reveal the secret Swiss bank account that held the lost fortunes of the Romanovs, to which he was the sole remaining heir, he froze mid-sentence to say "Hark!". 

They paused, to hear the car door open and a figure emerge. They heard a click-click-click crossing the pavement, which Lexi's trained ears immediately identified as a very short person wearing high heels and using a walking stick. 

Norris' memory lapsed once again into yet another failed business deal as he listened to the click-click-click. It reminded him of a deep fat fryer heating up to cholesterol level and thought back to the time he had tried to convince the Dutch that the Quebec Poutine was the miracle food of the future. Oh, but it was a hard sell - the Dutch, raised on frozen Oliebollen, were not too thrilled to hear tales of chips covered with gravy and topped with melted process cheese. It wasn't the chips, the gravy, or the cheese that put them off, it was the idea of 'process' cheese that sat in their stomachs like lead! 

The click-click-click came closer. Lexi, Mavis and Norris shivered as the round brass handle in the Wilton's garden door began slowly to turn. Every eye was on the door handle as the door was pushed slowly open. Norris's worst fears were realised. It was not the owner of the Ducati they had stolen to flee St Osyth's Priory. It was not the British special forces, the Russian Mafia, nor the irascible Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. It was something more paralytically terrible than them all. 

In hues of ivory lace, with matching high heels and purse and a pigeon's blood ruby decorating her floral hat, the tiny figure of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother stepped into the Wilton's garden. With 20,000 volts of her famous winsome charm blazing forth, she said:" How kaind of you to locate my missing gnomes, Mr Cole. They should come home with me to Clarence House at once. " Her voice was high and clear and her blue eyes blazed like steel. The smile that lit her face glittered like an ice-white diamond. There was no mistaking her intention...nor that of the driver of the limo who accompanied her into the garden. 

"Eddie Yeats!" exclaimed Mavis.

"That's right, Mave" burped a flatulent Eddie, casting his tomato sauce-strewn chip papers into Mavis's shrubbery. "Hand over the gnomes, Norris, there's a good lad, or I'll be forced to discombobulate you on behalf of 'Er 'Ighness 'ere. That right mum?" he added, winking at the Queen Mother. " 

"Quaite raight," agreed the Queen Mum, but Norris' expression never changed. "How's Hyacinth?" he asked, at which Eddie blanched visibly. He did not realize that his double-life was known by the likes of Norris. "Oh, yes," said Norris. "You don't remember me, do you?" "You don't remember me coming around to your 2-up, 2-down selling Royal Doulton tea services with 'hand-painted periwinkles', do you, Onslow?" Norris cackled with laughter as the Queen Mum erupted into a chorus of Rule Britannia, Marmalade and Jam, Five Chinese Crackers up your... 

"Oh scuse One," she muttered, "Edward here has introduced One to some marvelously tasty new snacks, but they do play merry hell with One's digestion. He's One's muscle, you know," she added sweetly to Mavis. 

"This is all getting very silly," said Lexi. "Those gnomes belong to Norris as you well know - he is our rightful King and Heir to the Throne of all the Russias. You must not take the Gnomes of Zurich away from King Boris! He must be restored to the kingdom and rule in peace and plenty." 

The Queen Mum's expression changed in a flash, and a look of menace flitted across her aristocratic features. "Must is not a word to be used to Queen Mums," she said, and with a sudden, deft movement of her walking cane she tripped Norris and the gnomes went flying from his hand. "It catches the corgis every taime," she said smugly. 

"Ta gov" said Eddie, his capacious hands catching the golden figurines mid flight. "These are going back where they belong, ain't they Mum?" "Flaming Nora! Good catch, Edward!" replied the diminutive royal and as a crestfallen Norris, Lexi and Mavis looked on, the little figure and her burly protector clicked clicked their way back to the car. 

"Don't worry Mr Cole," she said airily. "Keep an eye on One's Daughter's Birthday Honours. You might find a small Earldom coming
your way for services to Literature. One is informed that your contribution to shifting stationery is unparalleled." 

"Sir Norris Cole!" breathed Mavis suddenly, sidling up to Norris and looking at him with shining eyes. "Never mind the fortune Norris, and forget that silly Russian Court. You will be eligible to sit at the only Court that counts nowadays - the Centre Court at Wimbledon!" 

Norris sat down heavily beside the fountain and promptly fell into the goldfish pond. Pushing himself up with his hand, he suddenly heard Mavis muttering over and over, "Sir Norris Cole, SIR Norris Cole, SIR NORRIS, Lady Cole, Lady Mavis Cole..." Norris paled and immediately leapt to his feat, releasing an energy that he had only dreamed about when selling environmental gadgets. 

Could it be true? Could the belle of Coronation Street finally be his for the asking, and all he had to do was relinquish a fortune to rival Bill Gates and the ancient throne of a powerful kingdom? One look into Mavis's limpid blue eyes convinced him. 

"I've got to get out of here - NOW!", he thought, and raced for the Ducati. To his amazement, Lexi was already on the powerful machine which had just rumbled to life, the headlight piercing the dark lane. "Oh, Norris," cried Lexi. "I'd hoped that you would come." "You see, we are not related at all - my brother and I were trying to escape from the clutches of the Russian Mafia, and you have done us proud." "I have two tickets to Kingston, one for you and one for me - are you ready?" "Not Kingston, Ontario?", he cried, reeling with apprehension!. He had heard stories..."No, silly, Kingston, Jamaica!" 

Norris relaxed visibly, and as the powerful machine headed towards Manchester International, he began softly to hum to himself the familiar strains of his new National Anthem... "Born to be Wild." 

The Complete and Utter End 

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