summer visitors

Now it's summer we're getting lots of visitors, and we're so flattered because they do like to leave stuff behind, perhaps as a little keepsake/thankyou gift? Very generous of them whatever the reason. The socks are particularly brilliant, just the very dab once we'd brushed the earth and crustiness off them. Even the lavvy paper can be "re-used" once it's dried out a bit! it's so expensive, lavvy paper, nowadays - and I think this is the soft kind! (what a treat - we usually buy Izal!!) We've got it hanging on the line as I speak and I'm sure the brown stains will fade in the sun. We're keeping the lager cans and used BBQ tray in case Tuppence wants to make another heatshield for his new time travelling device (see last summer's posts for diagram of previous TTD, and details of its destruction). And as for the sauce bottle - well! we were ecstatic when we saw there was actually some left in it - and it's barbeque flavour! our fave - plus, it's a "brand name", not the Somerfield value kind which we usually buy - so we can take it along to Apsley and Cherry's next BBQ party and not feel ashamed! Thanks, whoever you were!!

midsummer on the outcrop

solstice balls

Well it's almost summer solstice, though you'd never know it. It's been freezing cold, wet and windy. Geoffrey and me have been huddled up by the fire, tartan knee rugs and slippers on, with only a guttering candle to illuminate the gloom of the evenings, reminding ourselves that next thing, the nights'll be drawing in again. Blimey.
The only cheery thing I can think of to keep my spirits up is that at LEAST I haven't been voted "most unpopular" in the bi-annual solstice poll - readers will recall that I WAS the winner of this dubious honour, on the occasion of last winter solstice. And I barely escaped with my life. "Winners" are chucked "over the top" - (see gazetteer, re. "over the Top".)
Goeffrey and I haven't demeaned ourselves by taking part in this summer's ballot, not really because we've any moral objection, it's just that we can't be bothered - though apparently lots of other people Hereabouts HAVE been bothered and we'll find out this year's winner tomorrow when the sun is at its zenith...

phew - a near death experience

Well, here I am, back at the outcrop - and I couldn't be more relieved. There was I, breathing my last, the strength draining out of my exhausted limbs, when Geoffrey appeared as I knew he would - sculling along in the coracle. I was alarmed to see that Tuppence was with him - as readers will know, Tuppence went right off the rails after his ghastly prog rock phase. But I needn't have worried.

"Grab an oar uncle Tuppy," he piped, and in a trice I was hauled on board and a flask of brandy was at my lips - but it was too late for brandy - I fell into a deep swoon - the last words I heard were,"Oh-oh - we're losing him - fetch the medical case, Geoffrey," as Tuppence snapped into his "officer in charge" mode.

I awoke to find Tuppence's concerned eyes peering anxiously into mine. "I think the adrenalin's working, Geoffrey. You can stop pumping now. Fetch the sal volatile, will you?"

Pumping? Indeed, I could feel the steady rhythm of Geoffrey's webbed feet beating out a one-two-one-two directly over my heart. Next, he snapped open a vial of sal volatile and waved it under my nose. I felt like my old self in no time at all, after that.

Later on, we sat by a roaring driftwood fire at the Outcrop, slippers on, enjoying a glass or two of madeira, a pipeful of Black Bogey and a bowl of savoury bacon flavour snax, and I was so glad to be home once more and among friends. Tuppence apologised for his past - quite frankly vile - behaviour, and I agreed to let bygones be bygones - for now anyway...

Word had also arrived, while I was "away", from Mr Spockfingers - he sent a photo of himself enjoying life on his health farm.

tossing about in the swell

Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!! double aaaaaaaaargh!!!! You'll never guess where I ended up!! I was washed south, flushed down with another mouthful of mackerel, through the orca's gullet and into the stomach, where I sloshed about for ages, waist deep in a stew of god knows what - old bones, fish guts, and general debris (see photo for example) A few mackerel survived and I had a bit of conversation with them about this and that. "What do you make of this?" I asked. "Well, we don't think much of THAT" they replied. Fans of Chic Murray will know that this is a very badly told version of one of his excellent jokes - and it turns out that the orca is also a fan of Chic Murray, because he was so nauseated by our despicable rendition that he roared a terrible, terrible roar and promptly threw us all up.

I'm now tossing about in the swell, somewhere between Hereabouts and ...Overthere. I'm not a good swimmer, the water's awfully cold and my wool is getting terribly heavy...where oh where is Geoffrey??

STILL in the belly of the beast

Hello..lo...lo..Is anybody there...there...there...? Yah-HOO!!! OOH!!!!OOOOHHHH!!!!!!!!!
(there's one heck of an echo in here.)
Good grief, I'm bored. I'm completely alone, as Geoffrey flew out yesterday when the orca burped after a good lunch (viz. a large shoal of mackerel, washed down with copious amounts of seawater; we had to hide behind the molars and cling on for dear life as they flooded past) I've kept myself entertained by picking all the orca's teeth, scraping his tongue, and now I'm bo..........aaaargh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

return of B.O.

You won't believe the week I've had. Or where I am. I'm back in the belly of the frigging beast! What happened is this. In my last post I described how Nippy Grimshaw floated off the cliff edge and over the sea, due to his sandwich boards being caught by a gust of wind.
We thought little of it until Geoffrey pointed out that there was an orca in the bay - none other than B.O. - Baby Orca - readers will recall - see previous posts if not - that B.O. arrived here some months back seeking revenge for the death of his mother, which he blamed on ME. Wrongly! (okay, I lit the match, but, as readers may also recall, it was really none other than mr spockfingers who caused the explosion inside the orca's cavernous belly - in which I was incarcerated - ergo, spockfingers is the true culprit.)
Anyway, I tried to press the point with B.O. - Spockfingers is presently in a clinic, recovering from the stresses of performing in BGT, and is not due back till tomorrow, so I didn't feel in the least bad about putting all the blame on him - via a megaphone, but with no effect - if anything he become more enraged and began breaching and snapping his massive jaws and blowing spouts of water up in the air in a most aggressive and alarming fashion.
Meanwhile poor Nippy was slowly heading downwards, the sandwich boards having lost their "lift". Geoffrey decided that we had to help him. Naturally I was horrified, but he said that he'd never speak to me again unless I helped too. So, I'd no choice but to get the old coracle out of the attic and drag it down to the shore, and sail off, taking the Tupfinder's brace of pistols with us, to fend off the orca.
Need I say more? We were swallowed up in a trice, and here we frigging are, sitting on his back molars and bored out of our skulls. Do we have a plan? of course! it is this: next time the orca opens his gob - which shouldn't be long - Geoffrey will fly out and get help. I trust Geoffrey implicitly - I know he won't let me down...