Bucking or frigging, take your frigging pick. (You can guess which is MY fave?!!)
Yes, 'scuse the language, but you'll understand why I'm just a bit tetchy when you learn that Geoffrey and I have been busy trying to make another coracle, ours having been torn to pieces by the propellor of a Calmac ferry last week, somewhere in the Minch - as readers will of course remember.
It isn't easy, finding willow wands, never mind weaving them into a coracle. We managed it, but I'm still picking out splinters.
"Why do you need a coracle, uncle Tuppy? why not have a modern boat - something made out of plastic, or fibre glass?" Tuppence sneered.
"If you have to ask, there's no point explaining," said Geoffrey.
"Don't get priggish with ME, Geoffrey," Tuppence retorted. Else I'll tell Erchie McPheasant-Blaster ALL about your exploits at the Fulmars' BBQ at the weekend."
"Since when did you get so uppity, calling Geoffrey Geoffrey, and not UNCLE Geoffrey?" I said, springing to Geoffrey's defence.
"Ever since I got THIS," said Tuppence, waving a digital camera in a horribly triumphant fashion. "And anyway - he's not my uncle. I've known that for YEARS."
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