we receive an offer of help from an unexpected visitor

"But why on earth did you sign the papers?" Geoffrey keeps asking me. He can't seem to move on, at all, and I think it's terribly unhealthy. I know that I made a dreadful mistake, signing his incarceration papers, but can't he put the past behind him? after all, it was last week.

"Perhaps you should go to Specsavers, Tuppy," suggested the T-G, who had stopped by for a chat on his daily patrol of the cliffs. Yes, he's still keeping a weather eye on things - when he feels like it. "Whatever THAT might be."

"Never mind that. I'll buy a pair of reading glasses for three pounds, from the mobile shop. It's due round any minute."

Sure enough, we heard the clippetty clop of hooves on the path and the Speedispend "Direct" van drew up, crammed to the gunnels with all sorts of essential supplies/staff of life-style goods. Clippetty clop, you muse? and well you might, because clippetty cloppetting along, drawing the van AND making a healthy profit selling stuff "off the back", was none other than Titus (the horse who bucked Dr "ghastly" Wilson right off in the summer of 2008 - see posts for details as to how and why).

Once we'd informed Titus of Wilson's latest atrocity, we purchased some ointment for Geoffrey's baldness (never mind Granny Sooker - I've the very dab, said Titus, when he caught sight of him) and stocked up on supplies, viz., one jar Chivers Thick Cut orange marmalade, one Mother's Pride loaf, half a pound of butter, three tins korn bif, two tins spam, half a pound of streaky bacon, porridge oats, potatoes, three packets Dream Topping, two tins froot koktale, one pack butterscotch flavour Angel Delight, half a pound of kola drops, half a pound of soor plooms, one box firelighters and a box of Bluebell matches. Not to mention a complete restock of the medical chest - but I won't go into that now. Other essentials such as tobacco and madeira are still...er...procured... via the Tunnels. And just as well too, as the only alcoholic beverage stocked by Titus is a rather attractively-coloured alcopop (bright pink, bubblegum flavour). Geoffrey was tempted, and I must admit that so was I, but as I reached for a bottle, Titus slammed a hoof down on the counter. "No, Tuppy! you'll regret it."

"But why, Titus? I'm sure..."

"Very low alcohol content, combined with dangerously high levels of sugar. If you switch to bubblegum alcopops now, you'll hit withdrawals within the hour, and probably develop type 2 diabetes. Mark my words. Stick to meths 'n' madeira. After all, it's not as if you pay for it. If you're REALLY looking for something different, though, I've some white cider due to fall off the back of the van before the raised minimum price per unit kicks in."

"N-no thanks, Titus."

"Wise decision. Now what's all this about "ghastly" Wilson? what on earth's he been up to, and how can I help?"

I DO rescue Geoffrey from The Old Asylum

Well, Geoffrey's home. But he's in a terrible state - and so am I! the trauma! I've had to step up my intake of sal volatile and madeira, and supplies are running low...but more of that later. I suppose readers will be eager to know how we rescued Geoffrey from the insane asylum. What happened is this.
After filling his pipe with a potent mixture of Old Fogey and gripping it between his teeth, the Tupfinder strapped on a brace of pistols and said, "Rightoh! off we jolly well pop!"
"Er...are you quite sure that you don't want to change into something more...suitable?" I postulated, concerned that the T-G was stiil wearing his dressing gown and slippers.
"I could say the same about YOU, Tuppy! but of course you're quite right."
I blushed, and looked at my reflection in the silver tea pot. Not an attractive sight. While the T-G stepped into his dressing room to change into his tweeds, I decided to rid myself of the satin loons once and for all. I seized the butter knife, jabbed it into a side seam and ripped the stitching down the left leg - one down, one to go...
"Come on Tuppy! no time to waste!" The Tupfinder appeared, dressed head to toe in tweed and carrying a sword stick and a bag of tools. I could see the pistols bulging under his jacket.
"But I..."
"Come ON!"
So off we set, me now wearing half the pair of tight satin loons and barely able to walk due to a terrible attack of pins and needles as the returning blood surged into my appendage.
We rattled along in the Tupfinder's hansom cab and before long we found ourselves at the ivy-covered gates of The Old Asylum. There was an awful creaking sound as the gates swung open and a raven croaked alarmingly from the depths of an old oak as we cantered up the neglected driveway.
As we drew up, a forlorn face peered wanly from an upper window - it was Geoffrey!
The Tupfinder shinned up the ivy in a trice and jemmied the window open.
"Out you pop old son. Can you fly?"
"N-no." Of course he couldn't...poor Geoffrey had had all his feathers shorn off by the asylum attendants...for his own good, they said.
So the T-G carried him back down to the carriage on his shoulder, and we had an emotional reunion.
"Oh Geoffrey, Geoffrey!" I sobbed, "Whatever have they done to you?"
Now we're safely back at the Outcrop, and Geoffrey is in his usual place toasting his toes by the fire enjoying a plateful of "tangy Cheese" Doritos and a hot mug of madeira. I'm sure he'll be back to his usual self in no time.
We're going to have to find some way of making his feathers grow back quick-style, though. It's getting a bit parky of an evening.
Perhaps we might have to consult...Granny Sooker (gulp)....

I plan to rescue geoffrey from the old asylum

Well, things have gone from bad to worse over the past week, and who's responsible? Wilson. Yes, the ghastly Wilson has been indulging in a bit of medical control freakery AGAIN.
This time, he's gone too far. Geoffrey was detained, don't ask me why, because I haven't time to explain at the moment, by said ghastly Wilson, under the Mental Health (Scotland) Act, 1960, section 31, without so much as a by your leave. Well, it did require my signature on the papers...but honestly, my eyesight isn't what it was and I simply didn't know what it was that I was signing. I assumed that I was receiving something pleasant like a parcel via Razor Bill (postman) when Wilson thrust the paper under my nose. Little did I know that I was sending Geoffrey to the padded cell, major tranquillisers and a straitjacket.
Wilson said that Geoffrey was suffering from prolonged and repeated bouts of melancholia, not to mention incipient psychosis, and declared him completely and irrevocably insane. And all because Geoffrey insists on having some "down time" once in a while! My usual "treatment" is to leave him be, wrapped in his favourite tartan knee rug and nursing a large mug of hot madeira. If he doesn't seem to be snapping out of it after a bit, I open a packet of Chili Heatwave Doritos and waft it under his nose - that usually does the trick. If not, I take my socks off - but that's a last resort as the fumes affect my sinuses really badly.
But none of these tried and tested home remedies washed with Wilson, who barged into the Outcrop waving a syringe and insisting that Geoffrey required to be taken away from his familiar home environment and locked up in an out of the way cell in a rundown building that could be perfect as a set for a Hammer horror film with total strangers and force fed massive doses of major tranquillisers, for his own good.
Once Geoffrey was whisked away in the horse drawn white van (at first light might I add), I rushed over to Tupfinder Towers to seek counsel from the T-G. I was in a terrible state.
"Help! help!" was all I could manage, waving the carbon copy of Geoffrey's detention certificate.
"Don't worry, Tuppy. I've already seen the van. And I'll think you'll find that Wilson has acted quite illegally. He's living in the past." The Tupfinder General, sporting zip up slippers and a snazzy woollen dressing gown of Tupwatch Tartan, calmly sipped a mug of tea as he spoke, and brushed some toast crumbs from his lap.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for one thing he's used the wrong Mental Health Act. 1960? It no longer applies."
"So we'll have him out of there - wherever "there" is - in no time?"
"Yes, of course we will. Now sit down and have some breakfast before we set off."
A large plateful of bacon, eggs, kidneys, fried bread, sausages, black pudding, mushrooms and tomato appeared as if by magic via "dumb waiter", and I tucked in. I'd need a decent lining on my stomach if I was off to rescue Geoffrey...

drat! locked out of the lock in!!

Well! I'm black affronted! I made my way down to the Puff Inn (Geoffrey is indisposed at present - he takes these "turns" occasionally, and it's best to leave him alone to recover his, well, how can I put it? scattered senses) and was rudely dismissed.
Okay, I admit I'd indulged in a glass or two of Somerfield's version of Duke of Malmsey's finest, but to be refused admittance to my own local hostelry? What happened is this.
I ambled across the clifftops, admiring the view of the moonlight shining on the calm waters of the Minch and observing Baby Orca slowly circling in the bay below me, Spockfingers back legs still sticking out of his mouth and kicking wildly. I was still sporting my fancy dress outfit (Billy Ocean - see previous posts) from the party the other week, simply because I could not get the trousers off (satin loons). They're far too close a fit. I could cut them off, I suppose, but I don't want to ruin them...anyway I'll deal with that later...
Anyway, I arrived eventually at the Puff Inn, and tapped on the window as is my wont, only to be met with horrified stares from those within, and the curtains whisked across.
"It's me, Tuppy," I cried wistfully, thinking that perhaps they didn't know me due to my outfit.
"We know perfectly well who you are. Sod off," a sinister voice growled.
The curtains were still open just a tiny bit, and I could see the flickering of a cosy fire and hear the clinking of pewter mugs and the crunching of salty snax as the chosen few laughed and chatted together in the companionable warmth.
A thick drizzle began to fall, and I turned for home...I can only hope that dear old Geoffrey is recovering swiftly from his "turn". I don't cope well when he's not available to help me with these type of distressing-style upsets. Plus, I need him to help me cut the loons off toot sweet before they saw me in two - they've shrunk a bit due to being out in the rain...
But who was the owner of the sinister voice? I've a fair idea.

spockfingers plunges off the cliff....

Quick summary of weekend before last's final hours, before moving on to THIS weekend's. Suffice to say, Spockfingers arrived, and joined in with the rousing finale to Sweet Child in Time, ignoring the clouds of thick smoke billowing from the leccy socket.
"That wiz grate, Tuppmeister", opined Spockfingers, stamping his feet/hooves enthusiastically (Tuppence is sometimes referred to as The Tuppmeister. Of course, that should be MY nickname...but I'll deal with that later...) "Noo let's hae a go at Fanfare for the Common M-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-...................................." and his voice faded into a ghastly fading scream type thing, as he plunged of the cliff - yes, the blaze - the second in the space of two weeks, bear in mind - had weakened the cliff edge, leading it to crumble and collapse under Spockfingers' stamping feet and massive bulk.
On his way down, he let rip with a humungous anal emission - for which he is renowned - please see previous posts for an account of me lighting one and blasting my way forth from the belly of the beast - this propelled him earthwards, or should I say, BAY wards - at an even faster rate and he landed headfirst, smack in the jaws of Baby Orca, who as usual was lurking in the bay waiting for passing victims.
Methinks Spockfingers will prove too strong a meat for even Baby Orca, and I'm sure he will be belched forth before too long....
Off to the Puff Inn for the Friday lock in now...

slaughterhouse fifty five

Party party party! those were the words which greeted us as we arrived at the newly refurbished Old Rectory last weekend. No, not that weekend just gone past - the one BEFORE.
Yes, it's taken us that long to recover. Apsley and Cherry had really gone to town with a BBQ, patio heaters, outdoor jacuzzi, Dansette record player plugged in to an extension cable, mirror ball and flashing disco lights. Ranald and Sandy (Wand'ring Albatrosse) were guests of honour, as they redesigned the place of course. They've gone for a "retro" 70s look, very rustic, with dried flowers and gourds everywhere, and really uncomfortable orange moquette furniture. The wallpaper was the same as Jack Regan's in The Sweeney - sort of large, intersecting greenish and cream squares, specially chosen to clash horribly with the orange moquette.
The drinks (purple peril, natch) were served in olde style pint mugs, the ones you don't get any more in pubs (except in the Puff Inn, of course).
The food was to die for (more of that later!) Cherry had excelled herself as usual. Not only did we have our fave korn bif and pineapple chunk kebabs, there were weird things on sticks, jammed into upside down oranges covered with foil, such as sausages (my fave!!) cheese kubes (Hmmm....) pickled onions (better) and maraschino cherries (take them or leave them, personally).
And the guests!! first, the more savoury ones. Me and Geoffrey, of course, The Tupfinder General (Mrs T-G did not appear, as per), Stormy (appeared after closing time with a welcome couple of crates of meths), Razor Bill, and of course Ranald and Sandy. We all wore fancy dress by the way - the theme was 70s, to match the decor. Ranald and Sandy rather boringly wore denims and long wigs, and came as "The Sutherland Brothers" - very disappointing and out of character. Razor Bill wore moon boots (goodness knows where he dug them up from - but more of that later!) and came as David Cassidy - Stormy came as Robert Plant, which we thought doesn't really count as apart from wrinkles he looks pretty much the same regardless of decade - the T-G came as Sherlock Holmes, and nobody had the nerve to tell him he'd got it badly wrong (he thought theme was the 1870s).
I got my wool tightly permed and dyed black, wore blue satin flares, platform soles and a sequinned jacket and came as Billy Ocean. Geoffrey was mortified and almost refused to go to the party at all. In the end, he wore a long white cape and a blond wig, and went as Rick Wakeman.
Now for the UNsavoury guests. True to form, Tuppence arrived mob-handed with his gang of rats, and proceeded to "diss" the entire party, saying the music was "crap" (Apsley's Top of the Pops album 1972 with not the right singers on it, was playing at the time, so maybe he had a point...)and the food inedible (well, I suppose he had a point there too - some of it definitely was...and coming from me, that's saying a lot...) He then plugged in his moog, to Apsley and Cherry's generator, shouting "I'LL give you 70s" and started blasting out the opening bit from Deep Purple's Sweet Child in Time.
As the song progressed, and Tuppence's screeching and screaming reached a ghastly crescendo, the generator began to overheat and smoke began to pour from the electric socket.
Before we knew it, a raging fire had started - AGAIN!!!!
more later....

the Fulmars invite us to a party/do

Great news! Ranald and Sandy (Wand'ring Albatrosse) have finished remodelling the Old Rectory (which people are rather churlishly blaming ME for burning down! see previous posts as to why this ridiculous accusation was made - as if it was MY fault the meths got spilt over the BBQ) and Apsley and Cherry are all set to move back in. They're fed up living in the caravan - it would do Geoffrey and me quite nicely as a holiday home/weekend retreat-style dwelling, but Cherry does like her comforts.
A large Speedispend van arrived at the Old Rectory this afternoon, stuffed full of every electrical appliance and mod con under the sun. (Cherry says the stuff's not costing her a penny, as she's put it on plastic and in any case will be getting a load of Speedispend kloobkahd money-back-style vouchers just in time for Christmas - personally I'm not quite sure she's got that right but time will tell) Chief item of interest alongside the foot spas, plug in back massagers etc. was a replacement 62 inch telly, and an invite arrived via Razor Bill this morning to an X Factor/housewarming-style party/do, this Saturday evening!
Let's just hope the house doesn't get TOO warm - like it did last time when it burnt down!