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-........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

nippy grimshaw

Razor Bill told me this morning that a new person has moved in - someone called Nippy Grimshaw, and he's living in the flat above the Puff Inn. (no, Stormy doesn't live there - he lives in the old broch). A lot of people seem to be coming and going at the moment. The Narks are still at the North Pole, and obviously we're hoping they decide to stay there.
Spockfingers has gone to London for the finals of Britain's Got Talent. The Swallows are around, but we don't see them much as they're very busy due to impending arrival of youngsters. The Tupfinder general is recovering from a touch of swine flu, so has obviously been staying in. The only person we've seen this week is Razor Bill when he delivers the post.
I suppose we did have quite a weekend of it though, so can't complain.
Wilson's still working on a "cure" for swine flu, and as the dead pig behind our oven had rotted sufficiently to allow it to be unwedged, we managed to heave it over the cliffs, where it landed just above the tide line, and Wilson is presently performing a dissection.
We hope to make Nippy's acquaintance later at the Puff Inn.

spockfingers goes for bgt

What a weekend we've had. We all made a bit of a night of it on Friday, down at the Puff Inn. Stormy had a lock in, broke open some doritos and made up a vat of Purple Peril in honour of the return of Chic and Phemie Swallow - all courtesy of their second home allowance of course. The revelry continued until well into Saturday, when we all went round to Apsley and Cherry Fulmar's to watch the Eurovision Song Contest on their 62 inch LCD telly. As readers will know, and despite what Dave and Valerie Nark might think, the Fulmars are the only folks Hereabouts who have leccy and a telly - however, Chic and Phemie are now planning to claim for an £8000 home cinema system, again courtesy of their seemingly very elastic second home expenses. They plan to generate the leccy for it by paying (or threatening) the rats to get on their bikes again and power it up - as they did for Tuppence when he went through his prog rock phase (see previous posts) and performed a gig with his moog at the Puff Inn.
Anyway - I conked out soon after the start of Eurovision (thankful for small mercies) but woke up for the voting. Geoffrey was glued throughout - his fave was Ukraine (something to do with the outfits, I gather), followed by Malta. Manners prevented him from commenting on the UK entry, or the winner, so I'm none the wiser.
More news - mr spockfingers has entered Britain's Got Talent, but is unsure which talent to display to the public. Readers will know he's got two. His singing voice is certainly unmistakeable, but a little voice in my head and a flutter of apprehension in my bowels tends to make me think that he will lean towards the appalling anal emissions department - he watched the chap who was on last week giving a very feeble account of himself and declared that he could do MUCH better - as if we didn't already know that. Oh dear - it's all terribly vulgar - mind you, if he makes it to the final, Geoffrey and I will be loyally feeding him cabbage and cheering him on, and if the Swallows get the home cinema system installed in time, I will personally offer to get on a bike and cycle like "Billy-be-jiggered" in order to power it up. (er...maybe not that last part...)

summer approaches

Chic and Phemie Swallow are well and truly back and ensconced in their "second home", designated as such for tax purposes and expenses claims. Some are whispering that it's their "primary residence", given that they raise at least one family here every summer and travel to warmer climes merely to escape the weather, but who knows. No-one else bothers paying tax Hereabouts anyway - we don't hold with such draconian goings on. Incomers have made attempts to drag us into that horrible system, but so far we've always managed to see them off.

Speaking of which, the Narks seem to have abandoned their yurt, hopefully for good, but people say they have gone on an eco-holiday to some boiling hot godforsaken hellhole, so we sense they may return and Bonkers McGee is standing by just in case.

Oh - Razor Bill has just delivered the mail, and he tells me the Narks have not gone to a boiling hot godforsaken hellhole, they've gone to the Arctic Circle and are planning to swim to the North Pole.

We can only hope that they will be suitably refreshed by their holiday and that afterwards they will have the strength to target their eco-rage on some of the massive multinationals who are belching out immeasurable amounts of carbon into the atmosphere instead of ranting on to us miserable individuals about our lack of cavity wall insulation.