drat! locked out of the lock in!!

Well! I'm black affronted! I made my way down to the Puff Inn (Geoffrey is indisposed at present - he takes these "turns" occasionally, and it's best to leave him alone to recover his, well, how can I put it? scattered senses) and was rudely dismissed.
Okay, I admit I'd indulged in a glass or two of Somerfield's version of Duke of Malmsey's finest, but to be refused admittance to my own local hostelry? What happened is this.
I ambled across the clifftops, admiring the view of the moonlight shining on the calm waters of the Minch and observing Baby Orca slowly circling in the bay below me, Spockfingers back legs still sticking out of his mouth and kicking wildly. I was still sporting my fancy dress outfit (Billy Ocean - see previous posts) from the party the other week, simply because I could not get the trousers off (satin loons). They're far too close a fit. I could cut them off, I suppose, but I don't want to ruin them...anyway I'll deal with that later...
Anyway, I arrived eventually at the Puff Inn, and tapped on the window as is my wont, only to be met with horrified stares from those within, and the curtains whisked across.
"It's me, Tuppy," I cried wistfully, thinking that perhaps they didn't know me due to my outfit.
"We know perfectly well who you are. Sod off," a sinister voice growled.
The curtains were still open just a tiny bit, and I could see the flickering of a cosy fire and hear the clinking of pewter mugs and the crunching of salty snax as the chosen few laughed and chatted together in the companionable warmth.
A thick drizzle began to fall, and I turned for home...I can only hope that dear old Geoffrey is recovering swiftly from his "turn". I don't cope well when he's not available to help me with these type of distressing-style upsets. Plus, I need him to help me cut the loons off toot sweet before they saw me in two - they've shrunk a bit due to being out in the rain...
But who was the owner of the sinister voice? I've a fair idea.

spockfingers returns

Well! you'll never guess what happened just before the poker dice game got underway. Just as Tuppence and Wilson were getting down to serious business, I offered to crack open another bottle of Duke of Malmsey's finest in order to oil the wheels of...the game, or whatever. This was declined by Wilson, who of course is - or claims to be - a very strict teetotaller. I then - out of sheer politeness - offered to make an innocent pot of tea, which he accepted, with the rather churlish caveat "make sure you give the cup a good wash, Tuppy, I don't want swine flu". Unfortunately, I failed to secure the cover of the spout (it's a whistling kettle, of course) and when the kettle reached boiling point, said cover blew off making a noise like a pistol shot and whacked Wilson square in the temple.
He then crashed to the floor like a felled tree, and in a trice Geoffrey flew to the sideboard and retrieved the sal volatile from the medicine chest. After waving it beneath Wilson's nose for a few seconds, he opened his eyes, sat up, and regaled us with several verses of "Spaceman" by well-known pop combo, the Killers.
"Oh oh oh oh, Oh oh oh ohoh..."
"Where did you learn that song?" asked Tuppence.
"I've no earthly clue," replied Wilson, rubbing his temple. "The song which came into my head when I came round, was Chris de Burgh's "A Spaceman Came Travelling", but somehow this other one came out when I started singing."
"FA-A-A-A-B-ulous choice!" a familiar voice bellowed from the doorway. It was none other than Mr Spockfingers, who had stopped off to sing backing with the Killers at T in the Park on his way home from the health farm he was sent to after failing to win Britain's Got Talent (see previous posts please, if you'd like more details....)