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.