They’d definitely go for a Cheeky Nando’s, for one.
The Seven were on the trail of a pair of rotten thieves, who had been stealing horses from the local gentry.
"There they are," said Peter, pointing directly at one of the very dangerous men, while standing only feet away. "Foreigners probably. First they take our jobs, then our horses!"
"Oh no, that's Tony," Barbara cried, pointing at the pony. "They can't get away with this."
"Quick," Jack shouted, whipping out his iPhone, "take a picture."
The gang all pulled out their phones and began snapping. Meanwhile the horse thieves made a hasty exit from the field.
"What filter are you going to use? I'm thinking Mayfair," George said, fiddling with the contrast.
Hodder
"Come back here!" cried Peter, following up with a selection of xenophobic expletives he'd heard his father shout while driving.
"He'll never catch them," Janet admitted. Colin was playing with his phone. "Colin this is not the time for Snapchat, we're on a case!"
"I just ordered an Uber," Colin replied, snarkily. "Typical though, there's bloody surge pricing."
"Must be a lot of people trying to catch horse thieves today," Pam offered, and Janet audibly groaned. Fucking Pam.
Hodder
"What is this even for?" Janet asked, ducking the frigid water.
"Charity," Susie replied. "All the money goes JLS, the boyband."
"Aston is so dreamy," swooned Pam, allowing herself to be drenched head to toe.
Hodder
The Secret Seven were minding their own business enjoying the endless privilege afforded them by their middle class lives, when Pam noticed a man at the window.
"The jolly awful paedo is here again," she told the others.
"Has he got his cock out again?" Colin asked, most astonished.
"No, he's just fiddling away in his corduroys."
Janet picked up the tea pot, freshly brewed and piping hot, and walked toward the window.
"Shall we pour him some tea?" She looked at Peter, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Well he does look thirsty," Peter replied, opening the window as Janet threw boiling water all over the incessant masturbator outside.
Hodder
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If Enid Blyton's "Secret Seven" Books Were Set In Modern Britain