Tailgating sketch - Mercorabilia

Lack of internet after moving house and a short month have meant February's posts have all got bunched up at the end.
Oh well, here's a sketch I've been saving - hope you feel it was worth the wait.



Mr Gold: Come in HQ. Golf Tango calling HQ. (speaking in muffled voice) HQ here – over. (in normal voice) I’ve got a bogey on my tail. It’s a grey Vauxhall Astra – could be trouble, over. (speaking in muffled voice) Roger Golf Tango, can you shake him? Over. (in normal voice) Hold on, HQ – approaching a bend. *sound of screeching* (muffled voice) Golf Tango report – over. (in normal voice) Negative HQ – he’s still with me. Please advise…
Mrs Gold: What are you doing?
Mr Gold: What?
Mrs Gold: I said what are you doing?
Mr Gold: Well, I was just pretending, you know.
Mrs Gold: Pretending what?
Mr Gold: *clears throat* Well, there’s… there’s a car behind us and I, uh, I thought it could be cool if he was following us and we had to evade him – (sounding excited) as if we were on some top secret spy mission.
Mrs Gold: John, we are in a Ford Fiesta. I hardly think top secret spies go on missions or attempt to evade possible tails in a K reg hatchback!
Mr Gold: Well…
Mrs Gold: What’s more you are not a child – you are my husband and you are 35/41 years old. Don’t you think the time for pretending might be over by now?
Mr Gold: Yes, dear.
Mrs Gold: Right. Now let’s have no more of this.
<pause>
Mr Gold: *humming mission impossible theme under his breath*
Mrs Gold: John!
Mr Gold: What?
Mrs Gold: Will, you stop looking at your wing mirror!
Mr Gold: Well, I have to check my mirror, dear – it’s the law.
Mrs Gold: Yes, but that means checking it once or twice when making a manoeuvre - not every 5 seconds while driving along a straight road.
Mr Gold: Ok… But he is still behind us, dear.
Mrs Gold: I don’t care if he’s behind us, beside us or on top of us. He is not going to be interested in what we’re doing and his every move does not need to remarked upon in a running commentary. Understood?
Mr Gold: Yes, dear.
*binging sound*
Mr Gold: Oh – we’re almost out of petrol. I’ll just pull in here, dear, and get some more. (pulls into petrol station and gets out humming)
(As the sound fades the wife speaks hurriedly under her breath.)
Mrs Gold: Come in, Alpha Wolf, over.
Alpha Wolf: Alpha Wolf here, over.
Mrs Gold: Pull back – you’re getting to close to the target and we don’t want to make him nervous.
Alpha Wolf: Roger. Do you think he’s on to us?
Mrs Gold: No, don’t worry – I don’t think he suspects a thing.