Once upon a time there was a fish called Bob. Bob lived under the sea with his best friend Colin the Crab and other assorted underwater creatures. One day Bob was at Colin's house, watching TV. They were watching Titanic, the story of a huge ship that hit an iceberg and sank on its maiden voyage. At the end, Bob shook his head as many hundreds of passengers drowned in the freezing cold water of the Atlantic.
'What's up with those people?' he said, without a hint of sympathy. 'Can't they swim?'
'They're only humans, remember,' said Colin.
'Humans can swim, can't they?'
'Not with frozen arms.'
Bob frowned. 'Why don't they just sink to the bottom and walk back to shore? Don't tell me humans can't walk, because I've seen them do it.'
'They can walk, but they do have a problem breathing underwater.'
'Crazy,' said Bob, shaking his head. 'I don't think I'll ever understand them. No wonder they need my help all the time.'
At that moment the film was interrupted by a newsflash. The scene of blue humans gasping their last ghostly breaths was replaced by the face of a sombre newsreader.
'Oh, great,' said Bob, 'I was enjoying that!'
The newsreader took a deep breath and, as if someone had barked "not serious enough!" into his earpiece, approximately doubled the number of wrinkles that made up his frown.
'We have as yet unconfirmed reports coming in from Buckingham Palace,' he started, 'which state that Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second has ...'
At this point the newsreader took an emotional gulp to compose himself. Bob and Colin leant forward on their chairs as he finished his sentence.
'... lost her head.'
Bob and Colin exchanged confused glances. 'What does that mean,' said Bob. 'Has she gone loopy?'
'Ssshhh!' hissed Colin.
'We go straight over to Adrian Betamax, who is live outside the Palace. Adrian, can you give us any more details regarding the latest situation there?'
Outside Buckingham Palace stood a reporter clutching a microphone. His frown was even more impressive than his colleague's back in the studio, so much so that it looked as if one of his eyebrows was about to ping off. Standing next to him was a tall, gangling policeman, his arms folded behind his back in true stereotypical policeman fashion.
'Thank you Susan,' replied Adrian. 'As you can imagine, it's absolute pandemonium here. There are police officers swarming all over the palace, trying to find the Queen's head. With me is Chief Inspector Spiggott of Scotland Yard. Chief Inspector, what can you tell us about the events that have unfolded over the past few hours?'
Chief Inspector Spiggot spoke. 'Well, Adrian, as you can see, it's absolute pandemonium here. As the Queen cannot speak to us, we can't be sure whether her head has been deliberately stolen, or whether she has simply misplaced it. We're in the process of searching down the side of each and every one of the Queen's sofas, and we've been told there are half a million of them in the palace, so as you can imagine this is going to take some time.'
Back in the studio, the newsreader continued. 'We have our Royal Correspondent, Nigel Brick, here in the studio. Nigel, if the Queen could speak right now, what do you think she would say?'
'This is only speculation, obviously. The Queen is a brave, courageous woman who has faced adversity before. If she could speak, I'd imagine she'd be telling everyone not to lose their heads! She has a great sense of humour too, of course. On a more serious note, I'd imagine she'd be saying something like, "Please find my head as soon as possible, so I can continue with my state visits and eat some food, and do all those things that you need a head to do."'
'Thank you Nigel,' said the newsreader, turning to the camera. 'We will, of course, be keeping you updated as events unfold. In the meantime, here is a picture of some flowers and some classical music.'
Colin tutted. 'No more TV for us then,' he said. 'Typical. And just because the - '
'Never mind the TV!' Bob declared, swimming out of his chair.
'What do you mean?' said Colin.
'We're not going to just sit here, the humans need Bob the Fish again! We're going to find the Queen's head!'
Soon Bob and Colin were outside Chief Inspector Spiggott's office at Scotland Yard. Bob rapped hard on the door with his fin.
'Enter!' came a voice from inside.
Bob pushed the door open. It required some force, and as he managed to get it wide enough to squeeze in, an avalanche of paper slid out into the corridor. Inside, only the top half of the Chief Inspector was visible under a sea of letters and postcards.
'Bob the Fish! Am I glad to see you,' he said.
'What's going on?' Colin asked.
'Everyone has gone crazy!' said Spiggot. 'We're getting sightings of the Queen's head from all over the country. It's impossible, her head is everywhere! In newspapers, magazines, on stamps, money, tacky postcards. You name it!'
Somewhere in the pile of mail a telephone rang.
'This is getting out of control!' he shouted.
'I'm here to help,' Bob declared. 'Tell me what you want me to do Chief!'
The Chief Inspector stood up with considerable difficulty and shot a finger towards the door.
'Find the Queen's head, and find it fast!' he panted. 'There's not a moment to lose!'
Bob's investigation started in London's East End. He and Colin made their way around dingy cobblestoned streets, where gas lamps and fog from the late nineteenth century were still very much in abundance.
'Bob, what are we doing here?' said Colin. 'I don't like this one bit.'
'You watch EastEnders don't you?' Bob replied. 'There's always something dodgy going on in the East End, we're bound to find something out here.'
From somewhere up ahead came the sound of hard soled shoes clip-clopping on the pavement, growing louder. Soon a shadow emerged from the fog. It was a tall man, wearing a top hat and a long black cloak.
'Good evening,' said Bob. 'I am Bob the Fish, and this is my friend Colin the Crab.'
The stranger pulled his hat down a little further down over his eyes.
'I was wondering if you could tell me where the Queen's head is?' Bob continued.
The man took a bony hand out of his pocket, which he gesticulated with while he gave directions. Colin let out in an involuntary shriek and tugged Bob's fin.
'You go to the end of this street, turn left, then take the second left after that.'
'Really?' said Bob. 'Well thank you very much, Mr, er ...'
'Call me Jack,' said the man as he walked off.
'What a nice man,' said Bob, as the man disappeared into an alleyway.
'Don't you know who that was?' said Colin, as they continued along a street. From somewhere behind them an anguished scream echoed in the darkness.
'Never mind who he was,' said Bob. 'He's told us where the Queen's head is! Another mystery solved. That was easy wasn't it?'
But after following the directions, Bob's optimism was short-lived.
'The Queen's Head is a pub!' said Bob. 'I should have known it was too good to be true.'
'Well,' said Colin. 'We found it. Can we go home now?'
'No, we're going in,' said Bob. 'Pubs are great places to get the word on the street. Leave the talking to me, I do a good East End accent.'
Inside, the pub was jam packed. Cigarette smoke made it just as foggy as outside. At a piano a fat man with a big purple nose banged away with his chubby fists, while people standing around sang 'Roll Out The Barrel'. Bob sidled up to the bar with Colin and spoke to the landlord.
'Two pintsa diesel please, me owld mucker,' he said.
'We don't serve Lillian Gish in 'ere, get aat a my rub-a-dub-dub,' said the man.
'No?' said Bob, nodding to a man ploughing into a plate of fish and chips in one corner. 'What's 'at then?'
'Awright, y'can 'ave one, but the crab waits outside.'
Bob gestured to Colin to leave, which he did with some relief. At the bar Bob supped his pint and listened in to a conversation between a drunk couple standing next to him.
'D'y 'ear about the Queen then?' said the man, with dribble running down his chin.
'Yeah, cor lummy, Gawd bless 'er, she'll come froo, naa waaries,' said the woman. She was wearing a straw bonnet decorated with bits of dog hair and her face was liberally spattered with weeping sores. 'Charlie, I got somefink to tell ya,' she said. 'I wants ya ta know before I die o' the plague, like.'
'Whats 'at Elsie?'
'It's my bruvva, Charlie, 'es got inta some baaad company, init? I wants ya to look aat for 'im when I'm gone, get 'im back on the straight an' narra, like.'
'What's 'arry up to naa then, Else?'
''es been makin' dodgy stamps, in an old abandoned warehouse daan at the docks. Sellin' 'em at a penny each to the posh nobs up the West End, like. If 'e get's caught they'll 'ang him, Charlie. They can't 'ang 'arry, 'e's my bruvva, init?'
'Don't be soft Elsie, the death penalty was abolished fifty years ago. They'll probably just bang 'im up for a bit, send 'im daan.'
'Oh Charlie, just promise me you'll 'elp 'im. Promise me, 'fore I, 'fore I ...'
Elsie fell backwards off of her stool and crashed onto the floor, stone cold dead.
'I promise, Elsie, I promise,' sniffed Charlie. 'Landlord! I need a stiff one, me old china.'
Back outside the pub, Bob found Colin looking a little worse for wear.
'What happened to you,' he said. 'You look terrible!'
'I got into a bit of a fight with a cat,' said Colin. 'It chewed off one of my claws, look!'
'Never mind that, I've got a lead. We're going to the docks!'
At the docks the fog was thicker than ever. The distant sound of bells could be heard, coming from boats out on the water. Chains creaked and water slopped beneath Bob and Colin as they looked about.
'This is impossible,' said Colin. 'There are abandoned warehouses everywhere!'
'But only one with a light on inside,' said Bob. 'Look!'
Inside, there were two men working busily at a huge printing press. The machine made a loud thud every half second or so. A huge roll of white paper was being fed into it, and when it came out at the other end it had stamps printed on it. One of the men was boxing up the stamps and throwing them out of the door onto a boat. The other man was pouring ink into the machine.
'I knew it!' whispered Bob. 'They're using the Queen's head to make fake stamps! Not very good ones, but good enough to fool your average postman.'
'What are we going to do?' said Colin.
'We need to get her head out of that machine. You create a diversion, and I'll go in. Set fire to whatever's in those barrels in the corner, okay?'
Colin sidled into the corner and struck a match on his shell, then threw it into the barrel, shouting 'Fire! Fire!' The men ran over to see what had happened while Bob moved swiftly to the machine and jumped onto the line of paper as it was sucked into one end.
'There's no fire here 'arry,' said one of the men, who was called George. 'Just some crab sittin' next to a barrel of water wiv a box a matches, init.'
'Oh yeah George,' said the other man, Harry, picking up Colin and giving him a good shake. 'Wot's your game then my son, gertcha!' He drop-kicked Colin to George, who punched him back mid-air.
'He he, crab football,' said Harry, 'a new sport, init!'
Meanwhile Bob, considerably flatter than he had been two seconds before, was inside the machine unhooking the Queen's ink-stained head from the printing press. 'Don't worry, your majesty, I'm here to save you!' He smashed his way out of the machine then threw her head onto the boat outside.
Harry booted Colin into the corner. 'What's goin' on!' he said, spotting Bob. 'George, 'e's nicked the Queen's 'ead, init! Get 'im'
But Harry and George were no match for Bob the Fish. He jumped into the air, in between the two men as they approached and fish-slapped them into unconsciousness. Once they were tied up, he tended to Colin in the corner.
'Bob,' said Colin, 'I'm done for. Did you save the Queen's Head?'
'Yes Colin,' said Bob, picking up his various bits of claw and shell from the floor. 'And hang in there, we'll fix you up in no time.'
Back at Buckingham Palace the Queen, now with her head clean and intact, thanked Bob and Colin. Colin stood as proudly as he could, his body liberally patched with Shellotape, while Bob just flapped around on the floor in delight as the Queen tickled his belly.
'Now then,' she said, taking a long leather case from one of her numerous mantelpieces. 'It's normally against the rules to honour fish Bob, but on this occasion I'm prepared to make an exception.' She took a shiny sword from the case and tapped Bob where she thought his shoulders would most likely be if he had any. She wiped a few fish scales off the end of the sword and returned it to its case.
'Rise Sir Bob!' she said.