Kwak meets a rather nasty end

Well, how would YOU feel, strapped to a trolley with a bright light shining right in your coupon and a masked figure "bearing down on you" clutching a loaded glass syringe? 'specially if you knew full well that the masked figure was a stark staring maniac, backed up by his best pal and so-called medical colleague, another even more stark-staring maniac, clutching a smoking test-tube filled with a noxious potion which stank of over-cooked sprouts.
Blimey. Anyway - just as Kwak was saying "Let's commence the experiment, Heston", and depressing the plunger (not to mention me), I heard an enormous roaring and splashing sound from the Bay. (readers will recall that we are presently in a CAVE, overlooking the bay, following my header over the cliffs - do keep up!) It was none other than my nemesis, Baby Orca - only on this occasion, due to his antics in the Bay, he turned out to be my salvation.
Kwak jumped in fright in response to the noise, caught his sleeve on the edge of the trolley and sent me hurtling out of the cave and towards the bay. Still strapped to the trolley, of course. As I made my rapid exit, one of my feet caught the lip of the caudron and sent its contents a-spillin' and a-swillin' on to the floor of the cave.
I flew Bay-wards, accompanied by the sound of shrieks and screams
"Aaaaagh!! Heston - the potion - it's acid, and it's eating away at my...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrggghh!!!!!!!!"
As for me, I'm bobbing about in the bay on the trolley. I do hope to be "off my trolley" very shortly, and high-tailing it for shore, as it can't be long before Baby Orca notices me.
I'm still reeling from the revelation that the Ghastly Wilson has a first name, and that it's Heston. Ooo-er.

A pretty bad end to a night out

Well, I'm afraid I disgraced myself on Friday night and went a bit over the top at Stormy's usual lock-in. As a rule, as readers will know, Geoffrey and I go along together. But as Geoffrey is "away", I ventured along by myself. Oh dear. After a vat-load of the Purple Peril I became loud and over-familiar with other customers, not to mention sickening everyone with repeated renditions of The Raspberries "Overnite Sensation", and had to be forcibly "ejected".
I then ended up going "over the top" in a way that regular readers will know only too well. I took a massive header over the cliffs as I staggered blindly along the path homewards towards the Rocky Outcrop. I was knocked out cold, and when I came to my senses I realised to my horror that I was in a cave, with the contents of a bucket of icy water dripping down my face in a most unpleasant manner. Above me, a dentist's-style lamp shone relentlessly into my eyes, and I became aware that all four of my legs were strapped down to a hospital-style trolley.
As I squinted into the gloom, I discerned two white-coated figures stirring a cauldron of a noxious-smelling liquid.
"Ah! he's awake!" remarked the ghastly Wilson (who else?).
"How marvellous. Now we can get started on him," replied the other. Yes, it was his partner in criminal medicine, Dr Kwak.
"Aaaargh!" I spluttered, as Kwak aproached, holding a large wad of cottonwool and an enormous glass syringe.

Letters from a Lost Gull

Yes, and I MEAN lost. His final words to me were "I'll text" - but I think he must have realised that as I don't have a mobile, it would be pointless.

Today a letter arrived via Razor Bill, scrawled in Geoffrey's unmistakable "hand" (or "webbed foot").

Dere Tupie,

As u allreddy no, I floo north with sum gese recntly, but thay floo so kwik I koodint kepe up, so I stoppt and had a wee rest - here (se foto) I met up with sum nu frends and am having a luvly tyme.

hopping this finds u well, as I am

luv your good frend alwayz,

Geoffrey.

The T-G - who has been visiting a lot more often since Geoffrey's departure - glanced over my shoulder as I read.

"Hmmm. Is Geoffrey's second name Chaucer by any chance?" then guffawed so loudly I thought he'd burst a blood vessel.

"Not to my knowledge," I snapped, glaring at him. How dare he be snide about my best friend's spelling idiosinkrassies? "And by the way - how's Mrs T-G these days?"

That hit the mark, and he slunk off, mortified.

an old mind-number

"God almighty! if I have another game of cribbage I'm going to top meself," whinged the T-G.
"I know the feeling. So why the friggity frig are we playing it for the umpteenth time?"
"I'm trying to keep you from drowning your sorrows with too much madeira. Not to mention the Other Thing."
"You can't mean the Purple Peril? I'd forgotten about that! Thanks for reminding me, T-G! Think I'll shake myself up a koktale right this very second!"

Geoffrey leaves us

Spring's in the air - today two skeins of geese flew past, heading northwards, and I'm sad to say that Geoffrey went with them.

"Wanderlust. Overheating of the blood," said the T-G. "Happens at this time of year. He'll be back."
"I'll text!" shouted Geoffrey over his shoulder, as he soared skywards.
I look forward to hearing how he fares in the icy realms...bet it isn't long before he hankers for our cosy fire and a steaming mug of madeira - speaking of which...

wilson hits the skids and is replaced by kwak

"Ring out the old, ring in the new!"
"For pity's sake, Geoffrey! We've been and done the New Year. It's the first of frigging February!" I snapped.
"Soz, Tuppy."
Soz? what the heck does THAT mean? I can probably guess, but blimey - what's the world coming to? answers on a...oh, never mind.
Regular readers will sense that there is something amiss with dear old Geoffrey. He's pretty darn far from his usual sanguine self. The T-G suspects that trying to work out how to play two-handed cribbage might have over-taxed his (soz to say it, but rather small) brain. Geoffrey received a cribbage set from Sanity Claws at Yule, and spent hours obsessively poring over the rules. I hate to even allow this thought loose, but things are so bad that he MIGHT have to (gulp) arrange a so-called consultation with our new so-called medic, Dr Kwak.
Yes, the ghastly Wilson has a rival. A quack called Kwak is in our midst, doing his worst to test and screen us for every ailment known to man, just so's he can keep himself in luxury on a six figure salary. Not that we're jealous! no! not a bit of envy here - it's way beneath folk like us, with impeccable moral fibre/hygiene. Geoffrey and I are absolutely incapable of feeling anything so crass. No, we're quite content to live in our rundown hovel with its quaint leaks and draughts, which are SO character...oh, forget it.
Anyway - re. Wilson - turns out he has a terrible morphine habit (no surprise to US Hereabouts, but "the authorities" were quite unaware, till "someone" (no, not us - again, we're FAR too morally hygienic) grassed him up. Question is - who was it? do we care? not particularly, but it does give us something to mull over while we try to figure out the cribbage thing...