Coming soon.

The story continues - how did the Idiot Son make it to the Dordogne, what did the Mayor think of him, how is that dog bite, where are his shoes?

All will be revealed.

Update.
Despite his trials and tribulations at St Pancras the idiot son did make his later train.
He arrived in Paris where he was astonished to discover that the city has more than one train station.

He has to cross Paris, he does not speak French, he has no shoes.

He messaged me:

"Paris has so many stations and the taxi drivers all refuse to speak English. I know they are doing it on purpose. Also no proper London black cabs here, only Citroen cars, not sure I trust them"

Curious message from his boss when I told him about the tramp incident.

"Yes, tramps. They've always been a problem for him"

When I mentioned losing the shoes,

"Yes well that happens a lot. He struggles with laces"

Seems there was some soft of problem at the Gare Du Nore. He correctly asked to be taken to Montparnasse (I had texted him the name) but it turns out he had got into a private car mistaking it for a taxi but in the end he found a taxi and arrived at the correct station.

He made it onto the train.

As agreed I messaged his father to let him know. Ominous response,
"Was it the right train?"

Miracles upon miracles - he did get on the right train.

While he was on the train I had yet another email from the father. He again was asking (demanding) compensation but seems unable to say who should pay it. I referred him to Nigel Farage for help.

About an hour into the journey I messaged idiot son to ask about the shoes, he said,

"It's ok I did a deal with a bloke here on the train"

He bought a pair of shoes from another passenger on the train. Who sells their shoes ?

I updated his boss because I had told him about the shoes loss and he said it was the second pair he had lost that month.

Later that night he did eventually make it to his parents house. He had got lost on the drive from the station ("bloody French GPS!") and woke us at 2am to drop of the HP sauce, my wife said it could have waited until morning.

Early next morning he was again back at my house and in preparation for the meeting he asked if the Mayor was a "good sort". I said he was a popular Mayor.

"No, will he do a deal on this Brexit stuff, I'm not here to waste time"

I sat him down and made it very clear that if he attempted a bribe he would be arrested. I said he had wasted his time.

He was really shocked and it was only then it all sunk in.

"This Brexit thing has screwed us hasn't it ?" I agreed it had.

"What will I tell Mum?"

He was clearly upset and he went for a small walk in our garden.

He fell in the pool.

He did not go all the way in, our pool had a sloping edge on one side and he slipped in up to his knees.

My wife had to walk away.

We helped him to dry off and indeed later that morning we all met at the office of the Mayor. It was noticeable that the small building was full, I saw the lady who had changed he day off, she had bought a new dress for the occasion. He greeted the Mayor,

"Buenos días"

Our wonderful Mayor took this in his stride.

"Bonjour Monsieur" The lady in the new dress collapsed with laughter and had to be helped to a chair and given a glass of water.

I explained to idiot son that the Mayor does not speak English, he rolled his eyes at me and said,

"Typical French"

Our Mayor displaying heroic levels of self control ignored this insult to the glory of France and smiled at idiot son,

"Parlez-vous français?"

"He wants to know if you speak French" I said
"Of course I bloody don't. That's what Brexit was all about"

I explained to the Mayor what he wanted. An exemption for his family from Brexit.

"Why does he think I can do this"
"Beats me"
"Tell him I can't
"I have, many times"
"I do not have such powers, Is he dangerous?"
"Possibly"
"Is he stupid?"
"Almost certainly"

"What's he saying, what's he saying" said idiot son while a crowd of Mayor office employees by now in some cases standing on chairs looked in over the door.

"It's what I told you, he has no power to do this"

There was a crash outside and I later found out one of the staff had fallen off a chair while trying to listen. Idiot son lent forward, the Mayor lent back,

"What will it take to change your mind?"

I grabbed idiot son's arm,

" Do not say another word of you will be going to jail" I jerked my thumb toward the door and there was the formidable sight of a very large Gendarme from the local station.

"Does he want a drink as well?"

"STOP TALKING !"

I apologised to the Mayor who continued to pretend he spoke no English. I suggested we left but that was not good enough for the idiot son,

"Tell him we can all do well out of this, we will all be winners at the end"

The patience of our Mayor finally broke, he spoke in English,

"It is you and those who voted for Brexit who wanted this"

At this point I happened to glance down and realised he was wearing two odd shoes and only one sock.

He had on one of his own shoes and one of mine.

This it transpired was a result of the earlier 'falling in the pool' incident. So now his shoes are all I can look at

One dirty white Adidas trainer (his)
One brown Berlutti Enzo Scritto loafer (mine)

At this moment a WhatsApp message from his father arrives,

"All sorted out and ok now ?"

By this stage the Mayor and idiot son are shouting at each other and the Gendarme is edging into the room, I am trying to edge out.

"You are punishing us for Brexit being a success"

"Success ? Success ? What is a success with Brexit"

"Because we are not pushed around now"

"You voted to leave and now you still want to stay with us"

"I'm not leaving until you agree to let my family stay"
Gendarme puts hand on pepper spray

I continue to ease toward the door (still looking at his shoes)

At this moment the Mayor delivers his finest line ( I assume he had prepared it in advance).

<small cough>

"If you wish to stay, you must become French"

I'm off for a swim. Rest of the story tomorrow.

Good evening.

To continue:

It is important to understand the cataclysmic effect those words had on the idiot son, "You must become French"

He stopped breathing, his hand gripped the arm of the chair, he looked at me, he looked at our Mayor, he looked at the Gendarme. The Gendarme smiled.

I should say at this point that the National Gendarmerie are not known for their sense of humour. They take their role seriously and have little time for 'difficult' Brits so the idiot son's next words were not well chosen.

"Who the fuck are you smiling at"

The lady in the new dress heard this, her hand went to her mouth, her eyes opened wide, she said one word,

"Merde"

The Gendarmes carry a variety of weapons. Pepper spray, baton, gun. The pepper spray was chosen, idiot son got the lot straight in the face. I got some, so did our Mayor.

Idiot son fell off his chair and shouted,

"I'm British, you can't do that"

My phone rang, my eyes are streaming from the pepper spray. It's the idiot son's boss on the phone. He can't reach him so he called me.

"Can you ask him where the new Universal Weight Pliers are ?"

By now the Mayor is shouting, idiot son is rolling on the floor rubbing his eyes the lady in the new dress is laughing her head off and I am trying to explain to idiot son's boss that this is not the right time.

Small side comment here. Try to avoid being pepper sprayed if you can, it's really unpleasant.

Now at this point the day really began to get complicated.

My wife arrived and was outside demanding to be let in, the idiot son was arrested and the Mayor was pouring glasses of water over his face to wash away the spray, he had lost my shoe so I was kneeling on the ground ..

... trying to recover it from under the Mayor's desk.

The Gendarme was dragging idiot son away. My phone rang again. It was the father,

"So, how's it all going there?"