One of the Fag Hag’s most fabulous female friends, Miss Natural Blonde, called up the Fag Hag Investigation Bureau this weekend. Think of the FHIB as a sort of Hetty Wainthropp – except the sort of crimes I solve are to do with men that disappear with still-wet dicks, rather than organist corpses in the hydrangea bush.
‘Okay, gimme all you got on this,’ I said once I’d pulled up with a screech to the crime scene and started swigging coffee. ‘I need descriptions, I need times, I need motives’.
The natural blonde sung like a canary – it turned out her disappearing man had met her at a bar a week ago – he’d wined her, dined, 69’d her, promised to call and then vanished quicker than a lap dancer’s thong. I loosened up my Columbo style Zara mac in butterscotch. ‘Hmmn. Any unusual behaviour to report on the night?’ The natural blonde thought about this for a while. ‘Well, there was one thing… his house that he took me back to. It was a 2 million pound family home in Muswell Hill. And the guy was only about 25’.
Suddenly, it all seemed so simple. ‘Okay. I think I’ve solved this. Are we talking Aga?’ ‘Yes’. ‘Family photos?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Any other residents?’ ‘A teenager… he said he was staying there’. I chewed on my pencil thoughtfully like a model in a Cosmo feature called ‘Workplace bullying’. ‘Okay. I have it. He’s a 19-year-old boy still living at home with his brother and his folks were away for the weekend. You my dear have been a victim of Home Alone syndrome. Next time, for god’s sake, check their wallet for a Young Person’s Railcard. Case closed.’