14-04-2010, 05:36 PM
According to the testimony of Maurice De Vere Gamp, the whistle-blowing former British diplomat expelled from St Petersburg in 1996 for possession of a radioactive undergarment – plus a shaved Borzoi - in a public place, McCavity’s plumbing service was a cover story for a deep penetration/psy-ops project on behalf of the occupants of the Thames-side Babylonian Palace.
In Gamp’s somewhat bizarre memoir, Specialised Services in Modern Russia: Of Hookers, Dentists and Shrinks (London: Anthony Gland, 2001), he claims that McCavity was sent to Russia by SIS for the express purpose of spreading sexual panic among Moscow’s new ruling elite.
McCavity’s state-of-the-art “dental practice” – a phrase guaranteed to inspire dread in reputable oral hygiene establishment’s across the globe – was the means by which he was insinuated into Muscovite high society, and, once established there, began spreading rumours of an epidemic of vagina dentata among the many ravishing young wives of the city’s burgeoning business titans.
SIS sought to exploit the resultant panic by the provision of a dating service and a psychiatric practice, both of which were, of course, Sissy fronts. The entire scheme collapsed in ignominy when a tired and emotional McCavity arrived late one night for an emergency appointment and solemnly informed a startled Hilary Clinton that she had been suffering an infected lateral incisor “down below,” but that he had operated successfully – and thrown in a full Brazilian for free.
Washington’s response was entirely characteristic: swift, vindicative, indiscriminate, absurdly expensive, and, ultimately, pointless.
Gamp’s ancestral seat, the Somerset town of Goosed-super-mare, was subject, by turns, to the depredations of a serial killer (Broadmoor escapee Leonard Cook aka the Cooky Monster); a deranged lone gunman (postman Furze Shagwell); and, last but by no means least, a vacuum bomb mistakenly unleashed by a passing overhead member of the USAF. Both elderly Waugh sisters perished in the latter, a crime from which, according to Christopher Hitchens, British literature has yet to recover.
Gamp, meanwhile, found himself wandering the streets of a wintry St Petersburg early morning armed only with a radioactive thong, a vacant expression, and a scalped mutt. The psychiatrist concerned, Ms Beatrice Nightingale, later fell victim to an exploding “Rabbit” in a Rotterdam hotel. The final insult came when Gamp learned that the call-girl ring he thought he was running turned out to have been under FSB control all along.
This cautionary tale - why we should never mix espionage with oral relief - comprises an entirely new chapter in the updated version of Northern Roots, which I am delighted to reveal will be published by Gland in November 2013.
In Gamp’s somewhat bizarre memoir, Specialised Services in Modern Russia: Of Hookers, Dentists and Shrinks (London: Anthony Gland, 2001), he claims that McCavity was sent to Russia by SIS for the express purpose of spreading sexual panic among Moscow’s new ruling elite.
McCavity’s state-of-the-art “dental practice” – a phrase guaranteed to inspire dread in reputable oral hygiene establishment’s across the globe – was the means by which he was insinuated into Muscovite high society, and, once established there, began spreading rumours of an epidemic of vagina dentata among the many ravishing young wives of the city’s burgeoning business titans.
SIS sought to exploit the resultant panic by the provision of a dating service and a psychiatric practice, both of which were, of course, Sissy fronts. The entire scheme collapsed in ignominy when a tired and emotional McCavity arrived late one night for an emergency appointment and solemnly informed a startled Hilary Clinton that she had been suffering an infected lateral incisor “down below,” but that he had operated successfully – and thrown in a full Brazilian for free.
Washington’s response was entirely characteristic: swift, vindicative, indiscriminate, absurdly expensive, and, ultimately, pointless.
Gamp’s ancestral seat, the Somerset town of Goosed-super-mare, was subject, by turns, to the depredations of a serial killer (Broadmoor escapee Leonard Cook aka the Cooky Monster); a deranged lone gunman (postman Furze Shagwell); and, last but by no means least, a vacuum bomb mistakenly unleashed by a passing overhead member of the USAF. Both elderly Waugh sisters perished in the latter, a crime from which, according to Christopher Hitchens, British literature has yet to recover.
Gamp, meanwhile, found himself wandering the streets of a wintry St Petersburg early morning armed only with a radioactive thong, a vacant expression, and a scalped mutt. The psychiatrist concerned, Ms Beatrice Nightingale, later fell victim to an exploding “Rabbit” in a Rotterdam hotel. The final insult came when Gamp learned that the call-girl ring he thought he was running turned out to have been under FSB control all along.
This cautionary tale - why we should never mix espionage with oral relief - comprises an entirely new chapter in the updated version of Northern Roots, which I am delighted to reveal will be published by Gland in November 2013.