After a change of clothes, a thorough interrogation and some much-needed tea and biscuits, members of the SECRET INTELLIGENCE SERVICE (MI6) swooped into the police station. Although the whole idea of the SECRET INTELLIGENCE SERVICE was that they were secret, the fact that they all wore trilby hats and mackintosh coats with the collars turned up made them a dead giveaway.

“We are taking over from now on,” barked one, holding up an official-looking identity card.

There were more questions, more tea and more biscuits. Then, the next thing the three knew, they were in the back of a wide black car being driven through the streets of London in a convoy at dawn. Low winter light was streaming between the buildings. The city was only just waking up, and Londoners would have had no clue about the incredible drama of last night. Most would have been asleep when a Nazi U-boat very nearly killed the prime minister and ended up exploding in the depths of the Thames.

“Where are we going, please?” asked Eric, who was squashed between Gertrude and a still legless Sid on the bank of back seats.

But the secret servicemen said nothing, and just kept staring forward as if they hadn’t even heard the question. Even a version of the popular hit “We’ll Meet Again”, played purely by Gertrude, Eric and Sid blowing raspberries, failed to bring a smile to their faces.

“PFFT! PFFT! PFFT! PFFT!”

Eventually, Eric realised that the convoy was speeding through Whitehall. They passed the Cenotaph, the war memorial to those who had died in the First World War. Then the car took a sharp turn and came to a stop outside the most famous address in the world.

10 Downing Street.

It had been home to British prime ministers for more than two hundred years. The door of the car was opened, a wheelchair was trundled into place for Sid and the three were ushered inside by a butler.

This was by far the most magnificent home in which Eric had ever set foot: the sweeping wooden staircase, the scarlet rugs, the marble floor. They were taken into an office with a huge fireplace and an imposing wooden desk.

The butler asked them to, “Please take a seat.”

“I already have!” chirped Sid as he was, indeed, sitting in his wheelchair. Just as with the security servicemen, this failed to amuse the butler, who left the room. They waited in silence for a few moments, trying to stop Gertrude from eating the telephone that was crouching on the desk. After a short while, the door opened, and one of the most famous people in the world stood in the doorway. A short, round man in his sixties, wearing a charcoal three-piece suit with a white shirt and a spotty bow tie, shuffled in.

“Your Majesty!” said Eric, instantly realising he’d got it wrong.

“Not quite yet!” chuckled Churchill.