Well, we tried to tunnel out as best we could but we only made it as far as the deadfall (which we had prepared a few days ago in case Tuppence arrived to collect the dead pig from behind our oven. The pig's still there by the way, but we've kind of got used to the smell - strange to say, it seems almost pleasant now... that can't be normal, can it?) Geoffrey managed to fly out of course, being a gull, and he managed to drop a length of rope down for me to shin up. I got out eventually sans dignity but it was far from easy - never mind - at least it was a tad less traumatic than being blasted out of the belly of the beast by one of Spockfingers' anal emissions (see previous posts, if you're curious).
We spent the evening at the Tupfinders' - Mrs T-G had made some cucumber sandwiches - NOT my favourite, as regular readers will know, but managed to polish them off anyway - with the aim of hatching a plan to get rid of the Narks. But the Tupfinder already had it all in hand! he was absolutely livid.
"We can't have this kind of carry on round here. Leaflets thrust through letterboxes willy nilly. Quarantined without a by your leave. Cavity wall insulations if you please. Pipe lagging experts springing up like a bad rash. Ghastly lectures about living without cars and LCD tellys - we don't HAVE cars and tellys Hereabouts...never mind cavity walls...most of us don't even have leccy...but they don't care about that..."
The Tupfinder was in full flow. "It simply won't do. I've contacted the Heavy Mob."
"Not Bonkers McGee?" Geoffrey and I were aghast.
"We've no option. Serious times need serious people. And there's no-one more serious than Bonkers McGee."
"But..who's going to control him?"
"Who said anything about controlling him? I intend to let him rip...as far as I'm concerned he can do his worst."
Bonkers arrives on Monday, and is sure to be tooled up. We've all battened down our hatches. Bonkers' worst is sure to wreak absolute havoc Hereabouts...
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