spockfingers returns

Well! you'll never guess what happened just before the poker dice game got underway. Just as Tuppence and Wilson were getting down to serious business, I offered to crack open another bottle of Duke of Malmsey's finest in order to oil the wheels of...the game, or whatever. This was declined by Wilson, who of course is - or claims to be - a very strict teetotaller. I then - out of sheer politeness - offered to make an innocent pot of tea, which he accepted, with the rather churlish caveat "make sure you give the cup a good wash, Tuppy, I don't want swine flu". Unfortunately, I failed to secure the cover of the spout (it's a whistling kettle, of course) and when the kettle reached boiling point, said cover blew off making a noise like a pistol shot and whacked Wilson square in the temple.
He then crashed to the floor like a felled tree, and in a trice Geoffrey flew to the sideboard and retrieved the sal volatile from the medicine chest. After waving it beneath Wilson's nose for a few seconds, he opened his eyes, sat up, and regaled us with several verses of "Spaceman" by well-known pop combo, the Killers.
"Oh oh oh oh, Oh oh oh ohoh..."
"Where did you learn that song?" asked Tuppence.
"I've no earthly clue," replied Wilson, rubbing his temple. "The song which came into my head when I came round, was Chris de Burgh's "A Spaceman Came Travelling", but somehow this other one came out when I started singing."
"FA-A-A-A-B-ulous choice!" a familiar voice bellowed from the doorway. It was none other than Mr Spockfingers, who had stopped off to sing backing with the Killers at T in the Park on his way home from the health farm he was sent to after failing to win Britain's Got Talent (see previous posts please, if you'd like more details....)

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...

nippy grimshaw

Razor Bill told me this morning that a new person has moved in - someone called Nippy Grimshaw, and he's living in the flat above the Puff Inn. (no, Stormy doesn't live there - he lives in the old broch). A lot of people seem to be coming and going at the moment. The Narks are still at the North Pole, and obviously we're hoping they decide to stay there.
Spockfingers has gone to London for the finals of Britain's Got Talent. The Swallows are around, but we don't see them much as they're very busy due to impending arrival of youngsters. The Tupfinder general is recovering from a touch of swine flu, so has obviously been staying in. The only person we've seen this week is Razor Bill when he delivers the post.
I suppose we did have quite a weekend of it though, so can't complain.
Wilson's still working on a "cure" for swine flu, and as the dead pig behind our oven had rotted sufficiently to allow it to be unwedged, we managed to heave it over the cliffs, where it landed just above the tide line, and Wilson is presently performing a dissection.
We hope to make Nippy's acquaintance later at the Puff Inn.