For those of you who don't remember or care, NB's Evil island is a Jame Bond villain style lair in the Pacific run by JeniB and myself with help from other NB contributers. Feel free to chip in.
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All was quiet when I landed my jetpack on Evil island. When last we left it was overrun with bankers and UK MPs who had raided their expenses claims. Now it is strangely quiet.
It would seem that the bankers and MPs made a brief attempt to establish a functioning society here, trading coconut futures and even having an election. Alas, most of them starved to death as nobody was actually hunting, growing or making anything. The few survivors either moved to Switzerland, set up a political consultancy, or joined our evil henchmen.
I needed to ensure that all the essentials were in place; The henchmen have kept the 'herb' garden well pruned (nothing going to seed there). Tesco have dropped off the internet shopping, and the late night petrol station is well stocked with booze and fags. The new killer whale has arived from Seaworld and is happy in it's pool under the boardroom table. Humming an old Desk Pilot number, I oil the trapdoors under the chairs round the table.
Inside the NB Volcano lair there is evidence that we did indeed leave our brave submarine captain Writer Ken behind when we left. All the condoms are gone and a magazine lies open on the coffee table at the "Sailors Blokes" section. Next to it is a hastily scribbled note:
"Help, I have been taken roughly from behind and tied up by several oiled and burly young men. On second thoughts, I'm OK."
Suddenly from the jungle came a terrifying roar and a sound of trees being uprooted and sent flying, as if some big beast were throwing a hissy fit. As the sound died away I thought I heard the word "Prudence" echo through the tropical night. What can it mean?
