Charles Tremayne is a spy out of his time.
After a long career spent rescuing prisoners from the KGB or helping defectors across the Berlin Wall the world has changed. The Wall has gone and no longer is there a need for a Russian speaking, ice-cold killer. The bad guys now all speak Arabic and state secrets are transmitted via satellite using blowfish algorithms impenetrable to anybody over the age of twelve. Counting down the days to his retirement by babysitting drunken visiting politicos he is seconded by MI6 for one last case. £250,000,000 of government money destined as a payoff for the dictator of a strategic African nation goes missing on its way to a remote Cornish airfield.
Tremayne is dispatched to retrieve the money and nothing is going to stand in his way. Armed with an IQ of 165 and a bewildering array of weaponry and gadgets he is not about to be outmanoeuvred by the inhabitants of a small Cornish fishing village. Or is he?
The Money That Never Was is a hilarious new novel by the author of the best-selling "Bank of Goodliness".
Combining the innocent humour of the old Ealing Comedies with themes of alienation and belonging, David Luddington manages to weave an engaging tale of one man's personal struggle with a world gone mad. It just happens that the man who is struggling is a trained MI6 agent, ruthless and efficient and the world with which is struggling consists of fish & chips, cider and fudge. Not to mention the bungling Barry Penwrith desperate to hang on to his windfall.
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In case you don't know, I write comedy. Gentle British comedy. Having grown up with P.G. Wodehouse, the Ealing Comedies and the Carry On movies I like to think I've captured the tone of traditional British Humour but brought it firmly into the... where are we now? No... not going to think about that. I also write to a theme. I believe many of us have lost sight of who we are in our rush to ride the next big wave. But when that wave dumps us on the shores of 'Couldn't Care Less' then carries on without us, who are we then? Can I stand up on the beach in nothing but my... nothing and tell the world who I am, or do I need to preface it with "Well, I used to be..." I used to be something big in the place where they needed people who were something big... for a while. Then they decided they didn't need people who were something big anymore and I become a nobody in a place where nobody cared anyway. My stories deal with identity and the bewilderment we face when that identity is taken from us by a world that has suddenly decided it can cope perfectly well without bubble lamp repairmen or human telephone receptionists. My stories concern real people who feel the world has become a slightly difficult place. A place where one used to know how to programme the video recorder or remove a roll of film from a camera without it exploding like a rasta's head in a hairdryer but now have to deal with isometric bandwidth widgity watsits on a daily basis before we can even put our MP3 in the toaster. I am a believer in hope and second chances. I believe we all have a soulmate and that some lucky few are destined to find them. I believe that the truth is out there, in the number 42 and that HAL was just having a bad day. And I believe in butterscotch Angel Delight. Most of all I believe in butterscotch Angel Delight. So, if you want a slice of old fashioned humour (Note to the colonists, humour has a letter U so please stop criticising my spelling) ... erm ... (that's criticising with an S not a Z by the way) oh (and it's a zed not a zee!) Anyway, good old fashioned humour with a heart and an understanding that our time here is precious. However, if you're looking for cruel, biting satire then please buy my books anyway. You'll be terribly disappointed but I need the money.
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