"I need you to unleash the Twirly Wirly thing, and I need you to do it now T-G." I had managed to scramble up the ivy, after glimpsing the Dark Thing in my bag and remembering, despite the lingering haze of mutant wasp venom, why I was there, three hundred feet up a wall, in the first frigging place.
"Yes get a move on Uncle Tuppy. Do stop making like a woolly spider and get into the secret room before we all die of boredom."
I could scarcely believe it! My nephew Tuppence was already there, leaning out of the mullioned window alongside the Tupfinder General!
I decided to leave the whys and what fors till I was safely off the ivy with both hands free and a clear head; I had a distinct feeling that I might need to have my wits about me. I grabbed hold of the end of the shepherd's crook which the Tupfinder was helpfully pointing in my direction, and heaved myself up and over the window ledge.
Unfortunately my hoof caught on a strand of ivy, and as I kicked it free, I knocked out one of the leaded panes of glass in the T-G's mullioned windows.
"Ooops! Sorry T-G," I gasped, as the shards tinkled and clattered to the ground.
"Tuppy! Have a care, for pity's sake! That glass is original 12th century Venetian, lifted from the Doge's Palace by my ancestor Mad Finlay. Besides, it's draughty enough in here. Mrs T-G will have a fit - especially when she finds out it's you that did it. She's still fuming about the French Diary episode (see previous posts)"
"Sorry T-G. I can plug the hole with my old hanky. That'll stop the draught at any rate." As I stuffed my large pocket handkerchief (embroidered with the letter "T") into the broken pane, I glanced downwards and saw the ghastly Kiltie Twins staring up at me and pointing. Another figure, bulky, and wearing a rough Harris tweed two-piece, was heading towards them, carrying what looked like a shotgun slung across her ample shoulders, and a tray of black sausage rolls.
It was Mrs T-G.
more later
"Yes get a move on Uncle Tuppy. Do stop making like a woolly spider and get into the secret room before we all die of boredom."
I could scarcely believe it! My nephew Tuppence was already there, leaning out of the mullioned window alongside the Tupfinder General!
I decided to leave the whys and what fors till I was safely off the ivy with both hands free and a clear head; I had a distinct feeling that I might need to have my wits about me. I grabbed hold of the end of the shepherd's crook which the Tupfinder was helpfully pointing in my direction, and heaved myself up and over the window ledge.
Unfortunately my hoof caught on a strand of ivy, and as I kicked it free, I knocked out one of the leaded panes of glass in the T-G's mullioned windows.
"Ooops! Sorry T-G," I gasped, as the shards tinkled and clattered to the ground.
"Tuppy! Have a care, for pity's sake! That glass is original 12th century Venetian, lifted from the Doge's Palace by my ancestor Mad Finlay. Besides, it's draughty enough in here. Mrs T-G will have a fit - especially when she finds out it's you that did it. She's still fuming about the French Diary episode (see previous posts)"
"Sorry T-G. I can plug the hole with my old hanky. That'll stop the draught at any rate." As I stuffed my large pocket handkerchief (embroidered with the letter "T") into the broken pane, I glanced downwards and saw the ghastly Kiltie Twins staring up at me and pointing. Another figure, bulky, and wearing a rough Harris tweed two-piece, was heading towards them, carrying what looked like a shotgun slung across her ample shoulders, and a tray of black sausage rolls.
It was Mrs T-G.
more later
