Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone, but Ned’s off on a secret mission to the Northern Hemisphere.
For long periods I will be deep under cover as just another bumbling middle-aged kiwi bloke on the lam. This has necessitated taking along MrsDavy and the LittleDavys to perfect my cover. It also means I quadruple the amount of pies I can carry.
I have re-watched all the Bond movies as part of my training. (Actually, that’s all of my training.) MrsDavy of course will be M, LittleDavyTwo is Q, and LittleDavyOne is the local station chief who passes on key plot updates at critical moments. (She is resisting this role on the basis that it could be confused with the person wearing the red shirt in Star Trek: they never have a name, only have one line, and get killed thereafter.)
I have also been trained in the art of resisting interrogation. If anyone of a EuroOrc persuasion asks me how to beat the All Blacks, I will eventually tell them after a lot of ale-boarding to kick the ball long all afternoon because Israel and Ben and Julian are scared of running it back.
While I’m undercover I may not be able to pass on daily progress updates, so I have instructed Fat Fingers Friday to re-post some highlights from Ned’s original Road To Redemption. When I get to a safe house I shall pass on coded messages about my progress, and sort out Fingers’ inevitable messes. The work of a master spy is never done.
In the meantime, I’m relying on you to keep up the counter-intelligence effort. If an Irishman, a Scotsman, an Englishman, a Welshman and a Frenchman walk in to a bar … talk loudly about how we’re worried that Richie is past it.