Cherished #FP stories for bedtime.

Kim and Tim and Timmy (the schoolboy) and Bubbles and The Bandit and Cybil and Jeffrey annex Greece

Part 7.

It was a breathtaking morning in Kos town. Kim and Tim sat in the warm sunshine in a small cafe beside the harbour and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of melons and pastry washed down with cool sparkling orange juice. The melons were the biggest that Tim had ever seen. 

The cafe was a stones throw from their hotel. They’d measured it at 220 feet. A stellar throw. 

They’d chosen the cafe carefully. From its cobbled terrace they had uninterrupted views of the harbour and could see all the comings and goings and the goings and comings too. To avoid drawing attention to themselves, both were dressed as garage mechanics.

Tim ordered more coffee. Kim peered into a little compact and relined her lips. 

“How do I look Tim?”

“Is this a trick question?”


“It’s a little trout poutish dear”

“What if I toned it down a little?”

“You’ve smudged it now. Not a good look Kim!”

They were distracted by a large yacht sailing through the mouth of the harbour. Tim peered through his binoculars.

“It’s her Kim! It’s Plaistow Patricia!”

“Can you see them?”

“I can just about make out…”

Then. Suddenly. The lights went out. 

Meanwhile, in a dusty railway bar outside Bogota, Bubbles was knitting a Fez. It was for The Bandit’s birthday. He’d lost his puce thinking cap and was looking a little more lost than usual. 

Hernandez lay in the shade of the old water tower. He wasn’t allowed in the bar, not since that rather unfortunate incident with the owner’s dog and a Swiss meringue.  

“Hey Hernandez! Wake up! It’s time to go. It’s almost nightfall.” 

………Bandit was keen to leave before anyone realised who they were and called the Policía (or the lunatic asylum for Hernandez…….

The wanted posters on the wall of the bar were almost invisible in the dim shuttered light. They weren’t very good likenesses anyway. They were almost ten years old and the Bandit’s beard had doubled in length in that time. It was plaited into tight dreadlocks. He’d gone through a Bob Marley phase. Bubbles had dyed her hair bright pink and it was in a tight bun held up by a gigantic paper clip. 

And Hernandez. He was insignificant. He wasn’t even insig……..

“You too Bubbles. Let’s go. We have a flight to catch!”

“I’ve got one last row to knit Bandit. Then I’m all yours, metaphorically speaking of course!”

Back in Kos, the sky began to brighten. The lights came back on.

“Look Kim!”

Tim pointed skyward.

“What on earth…..” 

Kim visibly paled.

“It can’t be!”

“OH YES IT IS!” Boomed a pre-pubescent voice. “IT’S TIMMMMMMMMY!”

Above Kim and Tim, blotting out the Mediterranean sun, was an enormous space ship in the form of a Cajun alligator. They could just see the tiny figure of Schoolboy Timmy standing in one of the alligator’s eyes. Schoolboy Timmy. The words struck fear into the hearts of Kim and Tim. 

“What now Kim?”

“There’s not a lot we can do until we hear his demands. Coffee?”

“And banoffee pie?”

“Nice rhyme Kim!”

“Thanks Tim!”

Under the cover of darkness, the yacht, the Plaistow Patricia, had moored in the harbour. Onboard a rather twee and eccentric English couple sat with aplomb in the garishly Laura Ashley saloon.

“Gin Jeffrey?”

“Yes Please Cybil!” 

(Watch out for part 32 sometime soon)

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