"GAUDETE GAUDETE KRISTOOS IST NAH-TOOS...."
As we approached the blazing inferno that was Tupfnder Towers, we could see a circle of people dressed in white, wearing crowns of mistletoe and ivy, all swinging their arms and singing at the tops of their voices.
"Tuppy, who ARE these people?" said Geoffrey anxiously, fumbling in his new khaki, combat-style bumbag (an early Yuletide gift from his distant aunt Jemima) for his brass telescope.
"They're Strangers Geoffrey."
"Yes they are Tuppy," said Geoffrey, screwing up one eye and peering through his telescope, "They look like they're from Overthere. I remember the fat one with the ring in her nose from the check-out when we were Overthere three years ago (see e-books for MUCH more detail), on our epic search for the oracle in the coracle. And I'm sure that one with the pink hair and the tattoo on her neck is the nurse from the compulsory health screening centre."
"That's called body art," I corrected absently, "A completely different thing to the tattoos of whales and sailing ships and "MOTHER" to which we're accustomed. I read about it in Bad Trip Advisor." I was appalled. We don't like Strangers round here, with their fancy different ways. We're inbred, and we like to keep it that way.
"Will we have to - " Geoffrey hesitated.
"I'm afraid so, Geoffrey," I said shortly, "We've little option. We'll have to send them Over the Top, just like we did the last lot. Come on. Let's get back to the Outcrop and think of a plan."
Meanwhile, as the jets of water from the Bay did their work, clouds of steam rose high above the dully-glowing embers of Tupfinder Towers, and the muffled voices of helpers running to and fro with buckets of this and that faded behind us in the mid-winter twilight.
"Shouldn't we stay and help, Tuppy? It seems wrong not to. After all, the T-G and Mrs T-G are our dearest friends."
"No Geoffrey. Lots of things seem wrong, but they aren't really when you sit down and think about it. It's all under control now. No point in wasting our energies."
And I hastened along the homeward track, trying to blot out the mental image of the contents of my pipe smouldering away in the waste paper basket in the library of Tupfinnder Towers....
AMAZON PAGE
As we approached the blazing inferno that was Tupfnder Towers, we could see a circle of people dressed in white, wearing crowns of mistletoe and ivy, all swinging their arms and singing at the tops of their voices.
"Tuppy, who ARE these people?" said Geoffrey anxiously, fumbling in his new khaki, combat-style bumbag (an early Yuletide gift from his distant aunt Jemima) for his brass telescope.
"They're Strangers Geoffrey."
"Yes they are Tuppy," said Geoffrey, screwing up one eye and peering through his telescope, "They look like they're from Overthere. I remember the fat one with the ring in her nose from the check-out when we were Overthere three years ago (see e-books for MUCH more detail), on our epic search for the oracle in the coracle. And I'm sure that one with the pink hair and the tattoo on her neck is the nurse from the compulsory health screening centre."
"That's called body art," I corrected absently, "A completely different thing to the tattoos of whales and sailing ships and "MOTHER" to which we're accustomed. I read about it in Bad Trip Advisor." I was appalled. We don't like Strangers round here, with their fancy different ways. We're inbred, and we like to keep it that way.
"Will we have to - " Geoffrey hesitated.
"I'm afraid so, Geoffrey," I said shortly, "We've little option. We'll have to send them Over the Top, just like we did the last lot. Come on. Let's get back to the Outcrop and think of a plan."
Meanwhile, as the jets of water from the Bay did their work, clouds of steam rose high above the dully-glowing embers of Tupfinder Towers, and the muffled voices of helpers running to and fro with buckets of this and that faded behind us in the mid-winter twilight.
"Shouldn't we stay and help, Tuppy? It seems wrong not to. After all, the T-G and Mrs T-G are our dearest friends."
"No Geoffrey. Lots of things seem wrong, but they aren't really when you sit down and think about it. It's all under control now. No point in wasting our energies."
And I hastened along the homeward track, trying to blot out the mental image of the contents of my pipe smouldering away in the waste paper basket in the library of Tupfinnder Towers....
AMAZON PAGE
