More arrant nonsense

"All right Geoffrey, you can let go of the strings now. The cape's in position, the laser's fired up and I'm all set to go."
"Hurry, Tuppy. You'll have to turn round so's the dying rays of the sun...oh - it's disappeared..."
"What do we do now? the laser gun won't operate if there's no sun."
"SHHHHHHH! not so loud..."
What the heck is this all about you ask (if you haven't read the blog for a few days)? Well, we were up on the clifftops last Friday evening, trying to harvest the final rays of the sun so that I could laser the skin off a rice pudding (while pretending to blow it off. Difficult. DO keep up.)
Fortunately, at the very moment the sun sank behind a cloud, and then behind the horizon,, Apsley Fulmar lit his gas BBQ and de luxe patio heater combo, and like greased lightning I spun round, caught the glow from the BBQ in the mirror/magnifying glass attachment, and fired up the laser. It was all over in seconds - I blasted the skin right off the pudding in a oner, and it sailed out over the cliffs and into the Bay - where it landed full-square on the coupon of none other than...but you'll have to wait till next blog post to find out. Bet you can't wait?
Meantime - all those who bet on me made loads of money, and those of little or no faith, lost their shirts.

False Frigging Alarm

What a frigging liberty. For frig's sake. As the photo below shows only too well, the craft spotted by Ranald and Sandy was defo. NOT the frigging coracle. As if! no - what they spotted is a rusting old hulk, whereas our coracle was beautifully woven out of willow wands, following the traditional method used by monks.
We'll just have to make another one. Sigh. That's if we can find any frigging willow trees.
BTW - we're off round the Fulmars' shortly, for one of Apsley and Cherry's famous BBQs. The medical chest is well-stocked-up with Bisodal etc., just in case - they do say that charcoal is very good for the digestion but there are limits...and I do hope that Apsley won't be parading around starkers beneath that horrible plastic apron with the hilarious (not) naked fulmar on the front, waving his fish slice before all and sundry.

Our cooking implement

A reader wonders how Geoffrey and I manage to cook, as we don't have "leccy" or "gas", or indeed an electrical gas-fired BBQ, like Apsley and Cherry.

Well we sometimes managed to boil up a can of beans on the fire - see header photo - and that is what we generally use for boiling the kettle, also. But we have another implement - the spirit stove - please see photo. As you can see, there are holes for fitting the outer pot, on to the stove, and within the outer pot, we fit an inner pot, which contains the vittles. Geoffrey works the "poo foo valve", which can be seen to the right of the photo, in order to fire the thing up, while I do the stirring.

Geoffrey tells me I'm a born stirrer. I'll take it as a compliment as I cannot be arsed having an argument with him - but I know full well what he's getting at, and what's more he knows that I know.

Chic and Phemie return from Africa

By the way - Geoffrey informed me on a recent fly past that the Swallows are back - it's always good to see Chic and Phemie. Unfortunately nobody remembered to air their chalet before their arrival so they're a bit upset/in a huff.
Geoffrey also informs me that to try and make it up to them the Fulmars are hosting a BBQ in honour of their return, this weekend, weather permitting - not that the weather matters much at the Fulmars, what with their patio heaters, decking etc. Here's hoping I drop a few pounds before....
Oh! a solution has just presented itself, in the form of Spockfingers. Readers will recall how he helped me escape from the belly of the beast last summer, by allowing me to set light to one of his incredibly powerful anal emissions. I can see him at the centre of the crowd on the cliff top. he's turning round. Oh dear. I'd better brace my-S-E-E-E-E-E-E-L-L-........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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 old rectory burns to the ground, and I get the blame

Geoffrey and I are having a quiet day today, huddled by the fireside with our kneerugs and steaming mugs of hot madeira as the rain pours down outside. Mind you, even if the rain wasn't pouring down, we'd both be pretty incapable of movement.
"Great to be back home again, Geoffrey."
"Indeed, Tuppy. Just wish we hadn't overindulged at the Fulmars' on Friday. Have you got any more Bisodal by the way?"
We were all invited to BBQ at the Fulmars' on Friday night, in honour of Ranald and Sandy's forthcoming re-modelling of the Old Rectory. Cherry had made up some of her famous korn bif and pineapple kebabs, and I'm sorry to say it and risk seeming ungrateful, but Apsley undercooked them. Geoffrey spotted that the gas jets on the barbeque were burning with a sinister yellow, not blue, flame, and pointed this out to Apsley, emphasizing the risk to us all of carbon monoxide poisoning, not to mention some sort of ghastly improperly-heated-through-food-style poisoning, as well.
"Rubbish! relax and have another drink, Geoff!" said Apsley in his fulsome way, slapping Geoffrey on the shoulder and pouring him another brimming glass of purple peril (meths based drink - see previous posts for recipe). Geoffrey hates being slapped on the shoulder, and he hates being called "Geoff" as well, but he was much too polite to say so. I therefore felt obliged to step in and say something.
Unfortunately, as I stepped forwards, my foot caught in the trailing string of Apsley's special plastic BBQ apron (ghastly - female Fulmar in black underwear on front), and I tripped, banging in to Geoffrey, and knocking his glassful of Purple Peril all over the BBQ, which consequently was set ablaze in no uncertain manner.
Some fool attempted to stem the flames by pouring more meths over, and you can imagine the result.
The Old Rectory was burnt to the ground, jacuzzi, 62" telly, Cherry's Burt Bacharach albums, decking, the lot. We all had to run for our lives!!!
We offered the Fulmars the sanctuary of our settee here at the Outcrop, which they declined rather sniffily, partly because they blame ME for the fire!! and partly because the Outcrop falls a tad short of their usual requirements viz a viz accommodation i.e. we have no "mod cons".
So they are now ensconced in the East Wing of Tupfinder Towers, which has ensuite facilities and gives a lovely view of the sea, so they imagine. (I think the ensuite facilities likely consist of a hole in the floor of the bedroom, with a "drop" on to the seaweed covered rocks below (East Wing is on the fourth floor) - not sure how Cherry will cope with that, but I'm sure we'll hear all about it - I'll bet there is no soft bog roll, either)
No sign of Tuppence yet - Geoffrey flew a mile or two out for a recce but saw nothing.
We can only hope that the Orca is still away visiting his family in the Southern Ocean...

new neighbours are utter swine

We've got new neighbours. Two eco-style warriors have set up home in a yurt in the tourist car park. They're called Dave and Valerie Nark, and they want all of us to get our roofs and pipes lagged, and cavity walls insulated, or they'll do something terrible. They announced through a loudhailer that we're destroying our environment, and if we don't do as they say, they will spray the area with the deadly pig plague virus. That way, the environment will be free from our contamination and abuse.
Obviously this is a bit worrying, but we think if worst comes to worst, we can ask the dreaded Wilson to manufacture "vaccine" from the dead pig behind oven - yes, it's still there - we can't move it, it weighs a ton. We'll just have to leave it till it rots away completely.
We can't possibly get our walls etc. insulated - the Outcrop is "traditional-build" i.e. draughty and full of holes - it would be a case of rebuilding the entire place, and that is utterly unthinkable.
We're going to try and get Dave and Valerie along to a BBQ at the Fulmars, this weekend weather permitting - although they do have supercharged patio heaters, so weather doesn't really matter - to see if we can get them to mellow out a bit.

minstrel not in the gallery

Well, no joy at the bins. I was forgetting myself - I got carried away with it being so mild for a day or two, but really it's a bit early in the season for visitors and the camper vans haven't arrived as yet. Rich pickings when they do - they seem to chuck all sorts of things away. Not that we want their old bras and "snuff movies " - even if someone was glad of them last year and auctioned them off on "an internet auction site" with great success. Goodness only knows what kind of customer feedback rating they got for that lot but I suppose it takes all sorts. Manners prevent me saying who it was who sold them but they live just along the cliffs, wear matching fleece robes, and are upwardly mobile - how do you imagine they pay for all these home improvements? latest acquisition - purchased from said auction site, presumably - is a set of industrial power tools - the chain saw is going like the clappers night and day just now and my head is splitting - mind you, it does drown out Tuppence's moog. But more of that later.
Despite the cold snap Spring is in the air and word from the Puff Inn tells me that Cherry Fulmar is expecting. Apsley has been busy refurbishing the Old Rectory AGAIN - hence chainsaw racket problem - what he's doing to it I really don't know, after all they've got every possible mod con, stone cladding, decking, gas fired BBQ, summer house, mini-greenhouse (empty - just for show), water butt, faux rose arbour, not to mention the security lights - but I suppose they're redecorating a spare room as a nursery or something.
re. Tuppence's on-going moog drama - word from the Puff Inn tells me that he isn't actually playing it in person - he's set up a loop tape or some modern equivalent, which plays incessantly while he's off enjoying himself somewhere else. We were wondering when he'd wear his fingers out playing the keyboard solo from Tull's Minstrel in the Gallery. It should be a fairly simple matter to disconnect the moog from the Fulmar's generator - all we have to do is find the right cable...

solstice slump

Geoffrey and I are feeling under the weather at the moment. We think it's probably the annual "solstice slump", so are administering the usual remedies to each other i.e. Fisher and Donaldson steak pies and regular ingestion of Duke of Clarence-style madeira, industrial strength.
The Tupfinder generals are having open house on Boxing Day, so goodness knows who might turn up. Geoffrey and I are going of course - wouldn't miss out on free grub, despite Mrs T-G's sausage rolls leaving a lot to be desired. I think I'll take the muskets the Tupfinder lent me, just in case Tuppence arrives mob-handed. Always best to prepare for the worst.
On Christmas Day we've been invited to a slap up lunch/BBQ at the Fulmars. Again, we won't turn down free food, but we do have doubts as to how our digestions will cope, and are stocking up on bisodal. Menu is to include deep fried turkey and chipolatas with BBQ sos, and Xmas pud. flambeed in meths.
On Christmas Eve, Geoffrey and I plan to have the evening entirely to ourselves, sitting in our customary and beloved shabby armchairs at either side of the fire, at the rocky outcrop. We'll be preparing stockings for each other. Last year, Geoffrey was disgusted with me because I'd bulked out his stocking with some stale monkey nuts and a dried up satsuma - I did get him a Cliff Richard CD as well, and a pair of bed socks - but the monkey nuts and satsuma have rankled and he's not properly forgiven me. So, I have to think of something better this year. It's easy for him - my stocking is for some reason, half the size of his. So, a packet of wotsits and a handful of Quality Street and it's practically full up.
But before then, there is the main event of the year, which is the winter solstice, at which time fires are lit all along the cliffs and everyone makes merry. It's also the time when, traditionally Hereabouts, we throw people we don't like "over the top" (see previous posts). It goes like this. There is a secret ballot, and everyone votes for the person they like least. The Tupfinder general collates the votes. No-one knows who the most disliked person Hereabouts is - sometimes Stormy Petrel opens a book on it, and last year, Dr Wilson was favourite to go, and go he did, though not quite as or when expected - (see previous posts) ANYWAY - the Tupfinder hog-ties whoever the unfortunate person is, and does the deed - i.e. chucks them over the cliffs.
I'm not sure if that is going to happen this year. No-one has mentioned it - at least, not in my presence...I tried to discuss the subject when we were at the Puff Inn recently, but everyone avoided my eye and began talking about something else...what can it mean?

sa-a-a-aa-yah-ah-lint na-a-a-aht, ho-o-o-o-ley na-aa-a-ht

"slee-ee-e-e-e-e-ee-e-e--epin' in he-ee-vvinleeeeee-e-ee-e- pe-e-e-ee-e-e-YEEEECE...sle-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-pin' in hevvinleee peeeeeeeeece.."
So sings Mr Spockfingers, unfortunately. He's as tuneless as ever. How did I cope, when we were trapped in the belly of the whale together, for a fortnight? I can only imagine that it's because I'm such a tolerant and resourceful person - easy going, and modest with it...but oh dear! what am I saying? Geoffrey insists I've not to boast. I must say however that Spockfingers' wind problem has settled down a bit - so I'm thankful for small mercies. Mind you, he did create my escape route from belly of said whale - albeit unwittingly....(see previous posts - sorry about this).. by letting rip an almighty - but I'm forgetting myself again.
We had a "lovely" evening at the Fulmars last night, watching the X factor final. Spockfingers got very emotional. He went through two rolls of Apsley and Cherry's "Bounty" thirst pockets kitchen roll. Geoffrey kindly contributed several packets of doritos he'd picked up at the tourist car park - not too soft, either, although most had been opened. The Tupfinder brought some sausage rolls, charcoal flavour, baked by Mrs T-G - Mrs T-G never leaves Tupfinder Towers, so obviously did not accompany him, and we appreciated her gesture. I brought a cherry madeira - well, what was left of it.
We thought we would be spared a BarBQ due to time of year - but no, Apsley had a massive gas burning stove all set up on the decking outside the conservatory right next to an enormous Christmas tree - see photo - so once again we had to endure the korn bif and pineapple kebabs with a salad cream coulis.
After the show was over we all headed for the Puff Inn. Stormy had a new batch of madeira just delivered. Apparently, the tunnels are back in use. Word is, that Tuppence is now head honcho of the Other End of the smuggling operation - he's taken over from the rats. The Tupfinder is worried about what he might get up to next.
"Smuggling madeira is one thing, Tuppy, " he confided," but cold blooded murder...that's quite another!"
I gulped. Murder? Whatever next?