return of B.O.

You won't believe the week I've had. Or where I am. I'm back in the belly of the frigging beast! What happened is this. In my last post I described how Nippy Grimshaw floated off the cliff edge and over the sea, due to his sandwich boards being caught by a gust of wind.
We thought little of it until Geoffrey pointed out that there was an orca in the bay - none other than B.O. - Baby Orca - readers will recall - see previous posts if not - that B.O. arrived here some months back seeking revenge for the death of his mother, which he blamed on ME. Wrongly! (okay, I lit the match, but, as readers may also recall, it was really none other than mr spockfingers who caused the explosion inside the orca's cavernous belly - in which I was incarcerated - ergo, spockfingers is the true culprit.)
Anyway, I tried to press the point with B.O. - Spockfingers is presently in a clinic, recovering from the stresses of performing in BGT, and is not due back till tomorrow, so I didn't feel in the least bad about putting all the blame on him - via a megaphone, but with no effect - if anything he become more enraged and began breaching and snapping his massive jaws and blowing spouts of water up in the air in a most aggressive and alarming fashion.
Meanwhile poor Nippy was slowly heading downwards, the sandwich boards having lost their "lift". Geoffrey decided that we had to help him. Naturally I was horrified, but he said that he'd never speak to me again unless I helped too. So, I'd no choice but to get the old coracle out of the attic and drag it down to the shore, and sail off, taking the Tupfinder's brace of pistols with us, to fend off the orca.
Need I say more? We were swallowed up in a trice, and here we frigging are, sitting on his back molars and bored out of our skulls. Do we have a plan? of course! it is this: next time the orca opens his gob - which shouldn't be long - Geoffrey will fly out and get help. I trust Geoffrey implicitly - I know he won't let me down...

newsflash

A bit of good news - B.O. has left the bay, thus relieving me of the dreadful worry of having to go about with a bounty on my head. According to the latest newsflash from the Puff Inn, Tuppence played "The Tull"'s Aqualung album at full volume, down one of the tunnels (see gazetteer). He was merely attempting to maximise the rather tinny sound of his antiquated stereo system, but the rather fortuitous side effect was that as said tunnel ended in one of the massive caves in the cliffs, causing an ear-shattering echo/reverb effect, the Baby Orca was driven from the bay by the appalling din.

B.O. becomes less of a threat, and Tuppence sends us a note

No go with Tuppence and the TTD blueprints. We managed to get a message to him via Razor Bill the postman, and we got one back quick as you like, with just the two words written on a piece of torn lavatory paper. Not surprisingly one of them was "off". It was actually quite hard to read, due to it having been written in felt pen and the paper being the posh quilted variety. But we got his drift. Quilted bog roll! Tuppence is clearly doing quite well for himself! whereas Geoffrey and I are enduring the rigours of whatever cheap "value" range we can find. Geoffrey does favour Izal, but honestly, at my age that's not on at all.
So, back to square one with the reaper. We've decided to consult the Tupfinder general about it all. He's bound to have encountered this problem before. We also need his advice about Baby Orca - Tuppence has been revelling in it all and egging him on to ever greater heights of slavering revenge - it's pathetic really. Why can't he let bygones be bygones. Anyway, apparently I was mistaken about the bounty on my head being a real bounty as in bar. However, word from the Puff Inn is that nobody's interested in capturing me and flinging me into the sea to be consumed by B.O., as it's well-known that he - Baby Orca - hasn't got any cash and wouldn't be able to pay out. His mum died broke (in more ways than one - see previous posts), and he just lives from one meal to the next. A bit like me and Geoffrey at the moment, so I've no sympathy.
Obviously, he was counting on yours truly being on the menu before too long, but although I'm "most unpopular" Hereabouts ( see previous posts) it looks like there's not enough money on the table, so nobody can be "arsed" to use one of Tuppence's favourite words, getting mixed up in it all. Specially at this time of year - the weather isn't half "parky" and nobody wants to be scuttling around kidnapping folk unless it's absolutely unavoidable. So, that's one less thing to worry about.
Tonight we've invited the Tupfinder round for madeira and crisps - Geoffrey's scouring the bins as I write - and we hope to come up with a solution re. the Reaper.

happy new year (for some)

I believe it's customary to wish everyone a Happy New Year around this time - that's all very well for you lot, and everyone else Hereabouts - going round slapping each other on the back and shaking hands without a care in the world - if only I could wish myself one. I'm currently - as Mr Spockfingers puts it with his usual appalling lack of taste - "keeching myself". (Not literally, but even so, not a good start to the year by any stretch). The reasons were outlined in the previous post, viz. Tuppence amok again, and son of orca's current revenge expedition. The baby orca has been "breaching" in the bay - sticking its head up out of the water, in case you don't know - seeking me out with a very determined and unnerving gleam in its beady little eye. Naturally I've been keeping my head down and staying well away from anything watery.
Apparently, in case he can't catch me himself, baby orca has put a bounty on my head. It's just a matter of time.
Oh - and I should point out that Hereabouts, the new Year starts on December 21st. The calendar year is completely irrelevant, except for keeping up with telly listings etc.