Memory Lane

One British summer afternoon, whilst our great country celebrated the announcement of a royal baby, I, investigative journalist Gabriel Rathbone, and Robin Greenhouse, my assistant, sat in our office over looking the busy streets of our home city.
"I'm bored." She announced.
"I've taken you down to the café and bought you an ice cream and you still complain of being bored! Really can't get the staff these days." I retorted sarcasticly.
"Stop being so patronizing!"
"Do you want me to go over why we aren't reporting?"
"Yes."
"Britain is a country that just loves good news and when you get good news such as a royal baby, nobody wants to hear about grisly murders. Last year I was working on a particularly grisly triple murder set in an ancient castle which I really needed to write up. However the case occured as the olympics were in progress and so I was forced not to report. Another time during the jubilee I worked on a case in which-"
"Ok I get it. No investigation because of the royal baby.  Surely you must have something to do though?"
"In the third drawer down at the cupboard over there you will find a drawer entitled 'when the British
get patriotic'. Open it and get something fun out."
She walked over to the drawer and opened it. Firstly she pulled out a Scrabble board.
"Yes." Cried I. "Lets play that!"
"No way." She replied.
"Why not?"
"Because Jazzier isn't a word!"
I pulled out my Scrabble dictionary and read from page three hundred and thirty six, " Jazzier adjective meaning jazzy."
"Only you would have one of those in your drawer."
"What else is in there?"
"We can play cards! Defintley. Oh how I love cards!"
"No way."
"Why not?"
"Because on the way back to here after our first case together you won twenty four games of Blackjack in a row."
"So?"
"You must have been cheating."
"Ok."
"How about you try to solve a Rubiks Cube quicker than I can?"
"Alright." She passed me the cube and I mixed it up for her. Five and a half minutes later she passed it back to me finished. "Beat that!"
I took the cube, after she had mixed it up, and one minute twenty four later I gave it back to her finished.
"Well that took up all of six minuets and fifty four seconds."
Half an hour of silence later I spoke, "Have I ever told you how I became the Great Gabriel Rathbone, Detective Extrodinare?"
"No."
"Allow me to tell you."
"Here we go!"

"Ten years ago, I was a waiter in the Lime Sweet restaurant in the Westend. The restaurant was well known for having alot of polaticians coming to it for lunch and stuff. I once met Boris Johnson!"
"Boring."
"Let me continue."
"Ok."
"Well one day Lisa Wlliams, a local MP, came for her dinner and to have a chat with another MP from another party. Many people didn't like her because she'd brought in a tax on cheese but she had worst plans to come. Her idea was that Tabloid reporters could be arrested for printing untrue stories."
"But doesn't that destroy the whole of the space time continum. Tabloid reporters being made to tell the truth?"
"Exactly. Can I continue now?"
"Sure."
"Thank you. Now then, the Tabloid reporters were so angry about this that they were doing all sorts of deoggatary things to her. So they booked a table next to hers and and payed one of the younger waiters about fifty quid to put a romantic candle, that they provided, on the table. The boy did so and spent his money on something or another. That night, the other politician didn't show and Lisa ate on her own. All of a sudden there was a blackout and a flare near the table where Lisa was eating."
"Where this going?"
"And when the lights turned back on her, she was dead by cyanide!"