Well, the weather's calmed down a bit and so have I, now that the immediate threat to my person has passed. This is because I managed to survive Solstice night. According to custom Hereabouts, if a person gets through the night without being seized, then the sentence is null and void, and life goes on as normal. Normal! how can I live a normal life, knowing that the entire community has voted me least popular person? I suppose I just have to count my blessings, and appreciate good friends like Geoffrey. Nevertheless, I shall always be wondering what is really going on behind the mask of civility.
Geoffrey and I have sent off our letters to Sanity Claws. He usually pays us a visit Christmas Eve, but he's a strange character and one can never be sure quite what to expect. He doesn't bother trying to squeeze himself down chimneys these days, and just thumps on the door shouting "I'm gagging on a madeira" or some such, then barges in and flings himself on the settee in a melodramatic fashion. I wouldn't mind, but more often than not he gets all the presents mixed up, or fails to bring anything at all - we're last on his list, Hereabouts, so we often end up receiving the oddest conglomeration of items. Sanity says the rest of the leftover stuff goes on Ebay.
Anyway, we'll see what this evening brings. Geoffrey and I will be relaxing by the fire before the rigours of the forthcoming social whirl - Fulmars tomorrow, Tupfinders on Boxing Day.

draft letter to sanity claws

Dear Sanity,
Please may I have the following or as much of the following as you can manage.
Twelve crates Duke of Clarence style madeira, industrial strength - or equiv. in butts. (year's supply)
7 x 52 Fisher and Donaldson steak pies to be delivered on daily basis so as to avoid staleness
7 x 52 Fisher and Donaldson fudge dough nuts - to be delivered as above
12 crates of korn bif
12 crates luncheon meat
12 boxes "Black Bogey" pipe tobacco
replacement Meerschaum pipe
12 boxes ammunition for muskets - you never know
new set of muskets - again, you never know
2 prs. wooly socks
2 prs slippers - non-slip soles
If you bring me the food part, I won't have to stoop to using supplies stolen from the smuggler's tunnels. Which can only be of benefit to the wholoe community and reduce risk of me being voted "most unpopular" again next year.
Much obliged! Will leave usual sustenance by the grate.

solstice seige

Help! it's the solstice, and I've been under seige! All the strange looks I've been getting, the cold-shouldering, the pervasive feeling of paranoia, the odd scratching sounds coming from round the skirting board - NOT my imagination. What happened is this. I sat up all night last night - the longest night of the year - while "others" attempted to enter my house, seize me, and then throw me "Over the Top" without so much as a by your leave. Yes, I have been voted least popular member of this community, and have been condemned to a watery grave. (see previous posts re. customs hereabouts). How have I survived? well, luckily I still have the muskets, lent me by the Tupfinder general, and I certainly put them to good use. Most of the trouble came from the rats, trying to scrabble in through the loose skirting boards, and a couple of blasts soon put them off. Faces, wearing white masks, appeared at the windows, and pale hands thumped on the glass. I could see ropes and a net - clearly meant for me. I knew I could not hold them off forever. I was beginning to panic when there came an enormous wind sweeping down from the north. The roof began to rattle and the Willesden canvas was flapping and cracking like mad. A bell began to toll, somewhere far along th cliffs. The noise was incredible.
The masked faces at the windows disappeared as they all scurried to find shelter from the worst storm I can remember.
Now that it's daylight, I think I can relax. Geoffrey's coming for lunch, so I'd better get the FF's on.
But what haunts me is this. The masks. Who - or what - were they hiding?

spockfingers enigma

"O-o-o-o-o-h holey na-a-aaa-a-aaaa-ah-h-h-ht, the stars aa-ahrr sweetleee-e shi-i-inin'..tis the na-a-a-a-a-ah-h-h-h-ht uv wur deer sayvyur's burf...."

Or something like that. Anyway Spockfingers is giving it - as they say - laldy. Again. He will be joining us for the festivities, along with his alter ego, Burnsey. Perhaps we'll finally discover the truth - are Burnsey and Mr Spockfingers one and the same?

I'd intended buying Geoffrey's stocking fillers today, but the weather is atrocious - high winds and sleety rain. I won't venture out in that, and might have to resort to making something for him from bits and pieces. I can't rely on the monkey nuts this year - he'd never forgive me. I suppose I'd better get something for the Tupfinder generals, and the Fulmars, but can't for the life of me think what. I've also still to write my own letter to Sanity Claws, and it's getting awfully late. I must say things won't be the same without Tuppence being here. No doubt he'll be celebrating in the moral cess-pool of the Infra Inn, along with the rats. I just hope that he doesn't turn up here in a bad mood...

solstice slump

Geoffrey and I are feeling under the weather at the moment. We think it's probably the annual "solstice slump", so are administering the usual remedies to each other i.e. Fisher and Donaldson steak pies and regular ingestion of Duke of Clarence-style madeira, industrial strength.
The Tupfinder generals are having open house on Boxing Day, so goodness knows who might turn up. Geoffrey and I are going of course - wouldn't miss out on free grub, despite Mrs T-G's sausage rolls leaving a lot to be desired. I think I'll take the muskets the Tupfinder lent me, just in case Tuppence arrives mob-handed. Always best to prepare for the worst.
On Christmas Day we've been invited to a slap up lunch/BBQ at the Fulmars. Again, we won't turn down free food, but we do have doubts as to how our digestions will cope, and are stocking up on bisodal. Menu is to include deep fried turkey and chipolatas with BBQ sos, and Xmas pud. flambeed in meths.
On Christmas Eve, Geoffrey and I plan to have the evening entirely to ourselves, sitting in our customary and beloved shabby armchairs at either side of the fire, at the rocky outcrop. We'll be preparing stockings for each other. Last year, Geoffrey was disgusted with me because I'd bulked out his stocking with some stale monkey nuts and a dried up satsuma - I did get him a Cliff Richard CD as well, and a pair of bed socks - but the monkey nuts and satsuma have rankled and he's not properly forgiven me. So, I have to think of something better this year. It's easy for him - my stocking is for some reason, half the size of his. So, a packet of wotsits and a handful of Quality Street and it's practically full up.
But before then, there is the main event of the year, which is the winter solstice, at which time fires are lit all along the cliffs and everyone makes merry. It's also the time when, traditionally Hereabouts, we throw people we don't like "over the top" (see previous posts). It goes like this. There is a secret ballot, and everyone votes for the person they like least. The Tupfinder general collates the votes. No-one knows who the most disliked person Hereabouts is - sometimes Stormy Petrel opens a book on it, and last year, Dr Wilson was favourite to go, and go he did, though not quite as or when expected - (see previous posts) ANYWAY - the Tupfinder hog-ties whoever the unfortunate person is, and does the deed - i.e. chucks them over the cliffs.
I'm not sure if that is going to happen this year. No-one has mentioned it - at least, not in my presence...I tried to discuss the subject when we were at the Puff Inn recently, but everyone avoided my eye and began talking about something else...what can it mean?

sa-a-a-aa-yah-ah-lint na-a-a-aht, ho-o-o-o-ley na-aa-a-ht

"slee-ee-e-e-e-e-ee-e-e--epin' in he-ee-vvinleeeeee-e-ee-e- pe-e-e-ee-e-e-YEEEECE...sle-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-pin' in hevvinleee peeeeeeeeece.."
So sings Mr Spockfingers, unfortunately. He's as tuneless as ever. How did I cope, when we were trapped in the belly of the whale together, for a fortnight? I can only imagine that it's because I'm such a tolerant and resourceful person - easy going, and modest with it...but oh dear! what am I saying? Geoffrey insists I've not to boast. I must say however that Spockfingers' wind problem has settled down a bit - so I'm thankful for small mercies. Mind you, he did create my escape route from belly of said whale - albeit unwittingly....(see previous posts - sorry about this).. by letting rip an almighty - but I'm forgetting myself again.
We had a "lovely" evening at the Fulmars last night, watching the X factor final. Spockfingers got very emotional. He went through two rolls of Apsley and Cherry's "Bounty" thirst pockets kitchen roll. Geoffrey kindly contributed several packets of doritos he'd picked up at the tourist car park - not too soft, either, although most had been opened. The Tupfinder brought some sausage rolls, charcoal flavour, baked by Mrs T-G - Mrs T-G never leaves Tupfinder Towers, so obviously did not accompany him, and we appreciated her gesture. I brought a cherry madeira - well, what was left of it.
We thought we would be spared a BarBQ due to time of year - but no, Apsley had a massive gas burning stove all set up on the decking outside the conservatory right next to an enormous Christmas tree - see photo - so once again we had to endure the korn bif and pineapple kebabs with a salad cream coulis.
After the show was over we all headed for the Puff Inn. Stormy had a new batch of madeira just delivered. Apparently, the tunnels are back in use. Word is, that Tuppence is now head honcho of the Other End of the smuggling operation - he's taken over from the rats. The Tupfinder is worried about what he might get up to next.
"Smuggling madeira is one thing, Tuppy, " he confided," but cold blooded murder...that's quite another!"
I gulped. Murder? Whatever next?

geoffrey saves my bacon, and a party is on the cards

You'll never guess - Geoffrey's back! I can barely contain my emotion - and why bother? I'm not ashamed! Geoffrey's been my closest friend for many years, and our recent falling-out distressed me terribly. I'm more than relieved that he has managed to put the episode of Captain Scott' s last biscuit well and truly behind him.
He arrived at the rocky outcrop last evening, at a very opportune moment might I add - just as the Tupfinder was getting a bit over-heated about the Meerschaum pipe, and I could practically smell the lighter fuel. Next thing he'd have been tying me to one of the kitchen chairs and dipping me in the nearest pond - not that we've got a pond hereabouts - it would need to be the sea - and I've been dipped in there more than enough, in recent weeks (see previous posts ad infinitum) - ANYWAY - just as he was fingering his lighter and casting an eye around for brushwood, there was a tippity-tap at the window, and there was Geoffrey, my old mate!
He really saved my bacon - or should that be, mutton? because he immediately explained to the Tupfinder that the person responsible for raiding the secret room (see previous posts again I'm afraid - far too complicated as usual) and removing the service revolver, the skeleton keys, AND the Meerschaum pipe, was Tuppence, not me. The Tupfinder was happy to accept this explanation and we all sat together round the fire, relieved, and enjoyed another glass or two of madeira.
Since I last saw him, Geoffrey has been in between Hereabouts and...Over there, keeping a weather eye on Tuppence. Tuppence has apparently got in with a bad lot and has been hanging about the Infra Inn, which as readers will know (if not, see previous posts and gazetteer on right) is half way between Hereabouts and... Over there. Right slap bang in the middle of the dodgy time zone, in fact. He's been indulging in the Purple Peril, a notorious beverage which is now banned from our local hostelry the Puff Inn for health and safety reasons- or so mine host Stormy Petrel maintains - mind you that kind of thing doesn't usually trouble him, and some say they just ran out of meths - ANYWAY, word about Tuppence is that he's generally going to the dogs. Which is not a good thing, for a lamb.

Our next task is to rescue Tuppence from himself. Meanwhile, we've been invited to yet another soiree at the Fulmars - it's the X factor final tonight, and we've all been invited along to watch it on their 62 inch telly - I might have to find some sunglasses not to mention earplugs, but I'm sure a glass or two of madeira will blur the edges nicely.