Nanny Piggins and the Daring Rescue 7 by R. A. Spratt

strike?’ asked Nanny Piggins shrewdly.
    â€˜You know writers, all they ever want is more money,’ said the television executive shiftily.
    â€˜Boris, hold my handbag. I think I am going to have to bite this man. I can tell he isn’t telling the truth by the way his eyes dart around furtively, just like Vincent in the episode where he was caught putting a bomb in Manuella’s sewing machine,’ said Nanny Piggins.
    â€˜All right, all right,’ said the television executive who was, like all bullies, a terrible coward. ‘Maybe they went on strike because we needed money for the executive polo luncheon, so we sold all their desks and chairs and made them work on the floor of a disused shipping container in the car park.’
    â€˜That sounds tremendously uncomfortable,’ said Nanny Piggins.
    â€˜Yes, in hindsight, we probably should have had a window put in and air conditioning installed,’ admitted the television executive. ‘I think it was the lack of natural light and the 45 degree-plus temperatures, as well as being crowded in a tiny space with 20 other writers that finally made them crack.’
    â€˜You must get them back,’ cried Nanny Piggins.
    â€˜We tried to. But they’ve been snapped up,’ said the executive producer.
    â€˜By another television show?’ asked Nanny Piggins.
    â€˜No, by a cleaning company that specialises in public toilets. Apparently the hours and working conditions are much better,’ said the executive glumly, ‘and it requires much the same skill set.’
    â€˜Then hire new writers,’ demanded Nanny Piggins.
    â€˜The problem with that idea is that we can’t find any writers who have ever watched the show. And the plots are so complicated, it would take them weeks to catch up on the backstory,’ said the executive producer.
    â€˜Nanny Piggins knows all the backstory,’ said Michael.
    â€˜You do?’ asked the executive.
    â€˜Oh yes, I’ve watched every episode since I was a newborn piglet,’ informed Nanny Piggins. ‘And mother always made us watch the re-runs of the early episodes because she said it was important to study the classics.’
    â€˜Do you want a job writing for the show?’ asked the executive.
    â€˜Surely you need someone with professional experience?’ said Samantha.
    â€˜Nah,’ said the executive producer. ‘Writing a script is just like talking, except that instead of saying the words you write them down.’
    â€˜There must be more to it than that?’ said Derrick.
    â€˜Have you ever watched the show?’ asked the executive producer.
    â€˜Well, I don’t know, we do have plans for this afternoon,’ said Nanny Piggins.
    â€˜We can dress up as pirates and ransack Mrs Simpson’s mulberry tree tomorrow,’ suggested Derrick.
    â€˜All right, I’ll do it. I do have a few ideas,’ admitted Nanny Piggins.
    And so Nanny Piggins set to work. The executive tried ushering her into the writing room (the shipping container in the car park), but Nanny Piggins convinced him it would be a better idea if he gave up his palatial corner office and let her work there (there was a certain amount of foot stomping involved in the convincing).
    She was soon tapping away at a typewriter. Nanny Piggins did not use a computer. She did not think it made a loud enough noise. With a typewriter you really get a sense you are making progress because of the ding it makes at the end of each line.
    Boris and the children were busy too. It was their job to fetch cake – and act out scenes when Nanny Piggins was trying to work out who should be staring meaningfully off camera with a hurt expression on their face and who should be grinning wickedly and twirling his moustache. This was almost always Vincent, although occasionally Sabrina as well.
    There was a knock at the door.
    â€˜How are you going with the script, Nanny