“Don’t just clutter up the place—make me a cup of tea would you, Tree old chap.” The clipped, arrogant tones of Chairman Tenji rang through the two up, two down party headquarters of the National Satirist Party of England. “I’ve got to get this gnome crated up ready for posting.”

In the kitchen Tree’s normally round and amiable countenance twisted slightly at the sound of his chairman’s voice. “Bloody man, just you wait,” he muttered as he warmed the pot before measuring out the loose-leaf Orange Broken Pekoe which was Tenji’s particular favourite. The boiling water splashed into the pot and a smell redolent of rain on a summer morning filled the small, sunny room. “Just you bloody wait,” he repeated as he placed the bone china cups, saucers and milk-jug on the tea tray. Then, wearing the white pinafore he always used when performing his domestic chores, Tree carried the tray into the front parlour where the black booted figure of How Tenji was bent over a small cat basket in which a terrified gnome was cowering.

“You're walking a bit stiffly today, Tree. Leg giving you gyp again, is it? Nip and get yesterday’s Telegraph—I need something to put in the bottom of this cage in case the little sod pisses again.” Tree turned to go to retrieve the paper from the kitchen.
“Pour the bloody tea first!” shouted Tenji. Tree turned stiffly back. “Oh for Goodness sake, you’ve forgotten the sugar,” ranted Tenji. “Do I have to do everything myself?”
“You don’t take sugar, Chairman,” Tree replied in a conciliatory tone. “Neither do I.”
“Its not about who takes sugar; its about how the damn thing looks. Mother, God rest her soul, would have knocked me senseless with the first thing that came to hand if I had had the temerity to bring the tea tray in without milk, sugar and four sorts of cake. Now, buck your ideas up.” Tree turned to collect the sugar.

“Pour the bloody tea before you go, man!” Tenji exploded. With shaking hands Tree poured the tea and handed a cup to his leader before hurrying away from the room as fast as his stiff legs would carry him. Tenji regarded the gnome thoughtfully. “Looks like you got away with it you little bastard. Someone has ransomed you so it's back to the garden pond for you. But don’t think you’ve heard the last of me!” Tenji picked up the teacup and sipped his tea, only to expel a mouthful with a strangled gasp.
“Good God, Tree!” He exclaimed. “Are you Irish? This is bloody shamrock tea; you’ve made it with three leaves! Put the bloody kettle on and start again!”

Tree reappeared with the Telegraph and a sugar bowl. Tenji paced up and down the room in a state of agitated rage. “Never in all my years have I seen so much bloody incompetence bundled in one person, Tree. If I could find anyone else to work for me for no money—anyone at all, you would be out on your ear so fast it would make your head spin.” A shower of spittle left Tenji’s mouth as he fumed. “Good God, what are you doing, man?” The Chairman stopped in the middle of his diatribe as Derek (Twiggy to his old school friends), Tree removed his pinafore and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “What is the meaning of this, Tree? Suppose someone came in? Put your clothes back on for pity’s sake.” Tenji became increasingly uncomfortable as his loyal sidekick began to remove his trousers.
“Tenji,” replied Tree in a menacing tone, “the thing is I ain’t Tree. Tree is no more. Tree was pruned after the Paxman Interview last night.”
“What the devil do you mean, man?” blustered Tenji as he tried to get between Tree (now clad only in long, woollen combinations) and the door.
“Tenji, you can’t escape,” said the semi-clad rotund, balding figure. “The house is surrounded.”

Tenji ran to the window and looked out. Sure enough, in every garden, in every window box and clustered around every water feature, he saw gnomes; gnomes of every size and shape from the tiny plastic through to the four-foot high deluxe, concrete paint it yourself ‘king of gnomes’. Every gnomey eye was fixed implacably on Tenji; every gnomey lip was curled in undying hatred. Turning back from the window Tenji saw that the long combinations were now undone, and beneath them gleamed not the pale and hairless body that Tenji remembered from the disastrous Brighton naturist beach photo-opportunity at the previous January’s party conference, but rather the green jerkin and brown trousers of a garden gnome.
“What have you done with, Tree?” stammered Tenji. “He owes me money!”
“Don’t worry about Tree, he’s safe enough,” replied the gnome, pulling the elaborate rubber mask from his face and the short, wooden stilts from his legs to reveal a twinkly eyed, rosy cheeked horror to the stricken Chairman.
Tenji made a sudden dive for the fire irons and grabbed a hearth brush. Throwing it at the approaching gnome he picked up the poker. “Don’t come any nearer, you little bastard, or it will be the worse for you!”

The gnome stooped and swept up an indoor gardening rake as he continued to advance. Tenji backed into the corner of the room brandishing the poker. Feeling to his side he snatched up a large cushion from the arm of a chair and held it out in front of him.
“What do you want?” he barked.
“A homeland of our own,” replied the hideous apparition as he swung the rake at his enemy. Tenji parried the rake with the cushion and swung the poker at the gnome’s head.
“Take that you fiend,” cried the arch NASI, but the gnome was too quick for him and ducked below the swinging fire-iron. Tenji braced himself against the wall and, placing his foot on the gnome's chest, pushed him away. The gnome managed to hook the rake behind Tenji’s other foot and as he fell backwards, pulled it from under him. Tenji fell to the floor as the gnome staggered backwards.

Tenji struggled to rise, but again the gnome was too quick and a sharpened fishing rod was at the Chairman’s throat, pushing him back to the floor.
“You bastard Tenji, you nearly got the better of us but now you are going to dance to our tune.”
“I’ll never give in to you, you evil dwarf,” cried Tenji, but there was a quaver in his voice.
“You will if you ever want to see Tree again,” snarled the gnome.
“Bugger Tree,” said Tenji, bravely.
“All in good time, but haven’t you forgotten something?” asked the gnome as he glared malevolently at Tenji through half closed eyes.
“Jailbait? Look, there's plenty more where those 'virgins' your chums deflowered in St Neots came from. I can round up dozens of little scrubbers in any sink estate in the country. Usual terms, of course...you supply the drugs...we'll square it with the police...cash up front.”
“You filthy pimp! I meant Gerald's Teddy bear.”
“You could always sew its head back on,” suggested Tenji.
“No, you bastard, a small matter of a loan.”
“Good grief you’re right, that bugger Tree owes me. What do you want? Gnomeland was it? There are some allotments near Peckham scheduled for development—you could have those, nice lawns, ponds; a few flowerbeds—it would soon be a veritable gnome from gnome.”

“Homeland, you racist bastard,” spat the gnome. “Do you think a few acres between the gas-works and the bus station are going to satisfy 100 million gnomes? It would become a living hell. No room to swing a fishing rod in, gardens churned to mud by thousands of gnomey feet, endless arguments about decking versus hard landscaping. It would be like Groundforce for all eternity; but without the witty banter or Charlie Dimmock's magnificent chest.”

Tenji cautiously eased himself from behind the fishing rod and slowly sat up. “I can’t find you a spare country just like that. You will have to be reasonable.”
The gnome began to pace up and down, his reedy voice rising as he warmed to his theme; the frustration of centuries spilling from his quivering lip. “It is not any country we want—it is our ancient homeland of Elsass Lothringen for which we pine. The rolling hills, the towering peaks, the mines where an honest gnome can toil all day. These were once all ours and will be again. No longer will the French and Germans take it in turns to oppress us in our own grottoes, no more will our flowerbeds be trampled by the marching boots of soldiers uncounted. No I say! Enough! There is nothing which can stop the million feet of a gnomish army, marching south through the channel tunnel, stopping only to fish the lakes of the Pas de Calais and perhaps tidy the odd window box, we shall sweep east like an unstoppable tide until the...hang on a minute—can you smell shrimps?”

Tenji sniffed; his human nose could detect nothing but the stale smell of damp newspaper coming from the cat box on the table, but it was clear that the gnome had detected something on the breeze. The gnome ran to the window and what he saw made him exclaim.
“You bastard Tenji, you bloody bastard! I had no idea you would stoop so low.”

Tenji rose to his feet and smoothed his immaculate, black jodhpurs, “Oh, believe me I would stoop a lot lower than this.” Walking to the window he looked out and saw Tree driving an ice-cream van filled to the gunnels with potted shrimp. Beside him in the cab, Professor Matthews was holding an open jar and wafting the unmistakable aroma over the gnomes that had surrounded the Satirist's headquarters. Gnomes were now leaping over walls and throwing themselves from window boxes in their eagerness to reach the shrimps. Thousands of gnomes followed the van as it slowly rolled along the road. As he passed, Tree gave the satirist’s one fingered salute to his leader.

Tenji responded in kind with a sardonic laugh.
“Well let’s have a little fresh air,” he said cheerfully, throwing open the window.
“You utter shit,” cried the gnome, beginning to salivate as the strong odour of potted shrimp flooded the room. The gnome leaped through the window and was gone.

Tenji turned triumphantly to his caged hostage. “Not you, you’ve caused enough trouble, it’s the post for you tomorrow.”
For the first time in a week the captive gnome spoke. “Where will you take them all?” he asked weakly.
“What, the other gnomes?” replied Tenji, “Northern Ireland. The bloody leprechauns are pushing for a united leprechaun republic; a few million implacable gnomists should redress the balance nicely.”
“You are an inscrutable bugger,” said the gnome. “But don’t think you’ve heard the last of me.”
“I don’t want to worry you, Gerald,” replied Tenji smoothly. “But Tree is winning the auction at the moment. You may not be travelling much further than the back garden tomorrow. Have you seen this picture of his 12lb hammer? And who sewed Teddy's head back on? I thought Tree had decapitated the little bastard.”
As Tenji picked up the tea tray and headed for the kitchen, the frightened gnome huddled in the corner and wept.

Read the previous articles:
Teens in Gnome Lust Orgy!
The Evil which is International Gnomery!

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