Geoffrey has his soul partially extracted.

Blimey. What a week it's been. It all started with the planned meeting at Tupfinder Towers, to discuss ways of sabotaging the new road which is being built across the moors, to transport the wind farm turbines to goodness only knows where along the cliffs. The Tupfinder side-tracked things by insisting we first have a shot of his new soul extractor machine, and once he got the thing fired up there was no stopping him.
Luckily one of the poo foo valves over-heated and only a partial extraction/capturing of the essence was possible. And at first, there seemed no way of telling who it was that had been affected.
However, once the machine had cooled down and the meeting was convened, all became clear.
Mrs T-G came in with a platter of sausage rolls, and I'm sorry to say Geoffrey devoured the lot willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave. Due to the machine going off "half cock", his face had not been turned to stone, as such, but his expression definitely was "stoney". Not to mention his personality. He actually became quite aggressive if anyone (i.e. me) so much as sniffed a sausage roll. He even told me to "bog off", which I will not forget in a hurry I can tell you.
Currently the soul extractor does not have a reverse gear, but the Tupfinder feels confident he will remedy that soon.
I hope so. This carry on is doing my nerves no good at all. Geoffrey's snapping at me for the least thing - slippers not warm enough, tea not brewed to his liking, knee rug not positioned in exactly the right way. He's driving me up the flaming wall.
re. new road prevention solutions by the way - only idea that emerged from what - apart from Geoffrey's antics - was a VERY dull meeting was from the Tupfinder - he suggested digging a very large trench along the boundary of "Hereabouts", into which any alien/unwanted machinery would topple. I think that's a very poor idea. For one thing, who's to do the digging of this massive hole? I've got a dicky knee, and Geoffrey's got a "glass back". No, we'll have to think "outside the box"...

our breakfast

Geoffrey's sandwich is the top one, garnished with red sauce (he's still on the healthy eating thing), and mine is the lower one, garnished with brown. Either is good, to be honest, and just the very dab after a night at Stormy's lock-in. More of that later, plus more on the wind farm/soul extractor meeting.

we have our stomachs turned on the way to the wind farm meeting

We all made our way along to Tupfinder Towers, as arranged, on Wednesday at the witching hour. Some people didn't know when that was, or were too scared to go out at that time, but at any rate Geoffrey and I were not deterred and bolstered by a flask of madeira and the prospect of Mrs T-G's sausage rolls we staggered up the ivy-covered steps, past the rows of grotesque, leering gargoyles, and hammered on the iron-clad door with a convenient rock.
"What on earth is THAT supposed to be?" gasped Geoffrey, staring in horror at one of the gargoyles.
"Don't you mean WHO?" piped a familiar voice. It was none other than Tuppence. We haven't seen him in AGES. He had crept up behind us in a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and was armed to the teeth, as usual, with a hunting knife stuck in his belt, knuckle dusters, and sporting his customary brace of pistols.
"Well, WHO, then? and for goodness sake keep those pistols pointing the other way. The OTHER way, if you please! the OTHER...oh for HEAVEN'S sake!"
"Look closely, uncle Tuppy and uncle Geoffrey."
"Blimey! it's enough to turn your stomach."
"Yes. That's the whole point, I think.

dreadful wind farm shock

What a terrible, terrible shock. Just as Geoffrey and I were tucking into our second round of double sausage and brown sauce sandwiches, and pouring ourselves another mugful of hot madeira, Razor Bill arrived with the day's post.
"Bad news, Tuppy old son," said Bill, sitting down heavily in our spare armchair, which promptly collapsed underneath him (and he's not even slightly obese - never mind morbidly, unlike myself - but that's another story). "Everyone's getting one of these." And he handed me a long brown envelope.
Inside, there was a letter, informing me that a "road" is to be built across the moors, in order to "service" the building of a "wind farm" on the cliffs.
"Well, there's plenty of wind round here. In more ways than one," I mused. "But I don't like the sound of this, at all."
"It's to do with green energy targets, Tuppy. You know the obesity targets Wilson keeps banging on about?"
"Don't remind me. We're all much too fat and lazy, and we've all to eat five veg. a day, not including red sauce, or we get sent to the hulks?"
"Yes. But this is much, much worse. It could mean the end of the Outcrop, as we know it."
"Oh no! Something must be done!"
"Yes. The Tupfinder's arranged a top-level meeting at the Towers, tonight, at the witching hour. Be there. Mrs T-G is doing sausage rolls."