Special Tea

A reader reminds me that Geoffrey and I were supposed to be hosting one of our "special teas" this week, for Dave and Valerie Nark. Sadly, I've been held up as I'm still wedged in the crack.

"You'll just have to "wait" till some of the "weight" drops off," shrilled Tuppence, who had travelled out to see me in a new motorised raft he had constructed.

"Bog off," I muttered, flailing my legs about in a vain attempt to loosen myself. Meanwhile, Geoffrey flew anxiously round and round.

"But what if the Narks turn up? I don't know how to make a special tea," he said as he wheeled past.

"No more do I," I said.

"Why did you say that then? Special tea?"

"Don't start on me now, Geoffrey, for heaven's sake. Just get me the frig out of here, and we'll think of something. And chuck us a packet of Doritos or something, will you? I'm starving."

"Can't be done, Tuppy," said Apsley Fulmar, who had flown out, along with most of the population of "Hereabouts", to view "the spectacle" i.e. me. "Tuppence is right. You're wedged in too tight for us to pull you out. You'll have to drop a bit of weight and starve yourself out - it's the only way, Tuppy."

"Can't I even have a sip of madeira, to strengthen myself? Get me the hip flask, Geoffrey, and a straw, for pity's sake."

"PUT THAT HIP FLASK DOWN!!" commanded a familiar voice.

"God almighty." It was none other than the ghastly Wilson, pushing his way through the crowds on the cliff top.

"Very Doctor Finlay. Just ignore him, Geoffrey. He's all mouth and no trousers. Tell him to eff off and get me a drink, for god's sake. And I wouldn't mind a puff of Black Bogey while you're at it."

"Righty oh Tuppy."