Hamster Droppings

We're still on the boat.  IN the boat, rather, what with it being a coracle.  And all.

It's still in a mood.  It skirted the Corryfreckle whirlpool, lacking the courage, thankfully, to plunge right in, and took us instead round the Paps of Jura and out into the wild Atlantic.  Where we remain.  Waving forlornly to passing trawlers and such-like.

Not to mention whales.  More of those later.

Two rather pressing issues.  One, we forgot to bring the Travel Scrabble (always a godsend on a long trip).
Two, we're STARVING!!!!!!

Goji berry flapjacks, UHT almond milk smoothies and all that other vegan food is no substitute for flesh.  To make matters worse, Geoffrey informs me that the flapjacks that we so blithely consumed, were made from the sweepings from Val Nark's horrible child's horrible hamster's cage.

"Those chewy bits weren't goji berries Tuppy.  They were hamster droppings."

"Hamster droppings?"

"Yes.  From the Nark child's hamster's cage."

"I didn't know that there was a Nark child."

"Oh yes.  I think it's a boy child,  called Bucket or something.  Something that's not a proper name, anyway.  I can't remember.  Oh Tuppy!  I'm too hungry to think!  What are we going to do?"

"I haven't the foggiest.  Only I'm thinking, you DO look rather like chicken Geoffrey.  Quite appetising,  if you were trussed up with a couple of rashers of bacon on your back and half a dozen chipolatas sizzling on the side. I might even manage a sprout or two, if they were going begging.  Just for the aesthetic appeal."

"Charming!  I thought that sheep were herbivores!"

"Not in a tight spot, Geoffrey."  I edged towards him, hands outstretched.  Was I really going to eat my best friend?

more later

The Self-Destructing Coracle

Well here we are, still stuck on this sodding boat.  Yes I know that's a horrible way to describe our beloved coracle 'Fancy', which has served us so well etc. etc. and been our friend yawn yawn through many dangers - enough already.
If YOU had been crammed into a coracle, especially ours, which is spherical, and has a mind of its own in terms of whether the 'fancy' takes it to actually go where we want it to,  i.e. in terms of NAVIGATION, which is kind of an essential aspect of a 'craft', you'd be calling it a 'sodding boat' too, or perhaps a lot worse.
Besides, it leaks.
It doesn't have to leak.  It just does, because it's in that kind of mood.
A leaky mood.  You could say it was crying I suppose, if you were feeling sympathetic.
Nobody here felt sympathetic.
And nobody was talking to it.
No.  We were all talking ABOUT it.
"It's all an act.  It's all put on.  Ignore it, that's the best way.  Anyone got any fags left?  I'm gasping."
"I'll sink myself!" shrieked Fancy. "I'll self-destruct!  I'll remove my bungs!  Don't think I won't!"
"Why though?" Geoffrey was using his most soothing tone.  I've no idea if it was deliberate. "Why self-destruct?"
"Well, I'm not sure.  But I just feel in that kind of mood.  I know what.  I'm not going to remove my bungs.  I'm going to circumvent the co-ordinates you put in and I'm going to head straight for the Corryfreckle whirlpool INSTEAD, where Death surely awaits.  Put that in your pipes and smoke it."
"If only we could,"  I murmured.

Next time - Cannibalism - the pros and cons when in a tight spot.

Does Chewing One's Own Toenails Mean You're a Cannibal?

"Of course you can't turn cannibal, Tuppy," scolded Geoffrey. "It would be absolutely appalling."

He was reading my mind again.  Where was the Mind-Reading-Prevention-Device when I needed it? (as mentioned back in 2011 or 12 or thereabouts, and possibly in an e-book only don't ask me which one)
Back at the Outcrop, somewhere in the cupboard under the stairs, probably.  Or down the back of the settee, possibly.  Or propping up the end of the sideboard where the woodworm had eaten through.  At any rate, it was somewhere well out of reach.  I made a mental note to always carry it with me, in future. It's an unattractive but impressively functional device, with an effect similar to throwing a blanket over a garrulous budgie's cage.  Only in reverse, as it's me that has to wear it.

"What do you mean, cannibal?" snapped the sheep with the greenest, most piercing and most disturbingly gyroscopic eyes.  He was definitely the leader.  Far too full of the big 'I am' for my liking.

"You're feeling threatened by him, aren't you Tuppy?  I'm sure there's no need." Geoffrey again.  How tiresome, not to mention intrusive, this mind-reading is!  Mind you - when he manages to read minds other than mine, it can prove quite interesting AND useful.  Depending on whose, of course.

"I'm quite sure there will be a need, if he turns cannibal," said the sheep leader, folding his front legs in a truculent manner.  All the other sheep huddled behind him, bleating their support in a rather half-hearted fashion.

"Is it cannibalism when you chew your own toenails?" asked Geoffrey.  "I've always wondered. Same with nose dirt consumption."

"Nose dirt consumption is definitely not cannibalism, because nose dirt is an exudate - a bodily excretion.  It isn't part of the fleshy corporeum, or whatever," said the sheep leader.  "Toenails are a moot point.  Especially if they're someone else's."

"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" I said.  "What's your name, anyway?"

"It's Wool I Am," sniggered Geoffrey.

"Don't be stupid Geoffrey," I snapped.  It annoys me when he pretends to be "current".

And he knows it.

"No really it is,"  he protested.  "Ouch!  Don't pinch me.  It is, isn't it,  Wool?"

"Yes," muttered Wool,  blushing. "But how did you know?"

"Geoffrey can read minds,"  I said proudly.  "And he's my best friend in all the world."

Geoffrey beamed with pleasure.

more later

The Dark Crossing

"Tuppy?"

"At your service, as ever.  In a manner of speaking.  Terms and conditions apply."

"I think we're going to need a bigger boat.  In fact,  I know we are."

"I could have told you that before we set off.  Now shut up and keep rowing."

The moon was up and lighting our path homewards across the Clinch, and a following breeze was proving helpful, especially with Geoffrey being terrible at rowing;  so far so good.  However, a vast, expanding, black cloud was obscuring the stars on the far horizon, and it was moving our way.

Rapidly.

And we were towing a trailerful of terrified, orange, wooden-toothed sheep.

"Tuppy."

"What is it now?"

"I'm scared.  I'm scared of the big black cloud.  Pretty soon the moon will be covered and we won't be able to see a thing. And the waves are getting bigger.  We've the tidal race and the whirlpool to get through, and they're bad enough in daylight."

"I know."

"Maybe if you rowed as well..."

"I can't!  Not with my back.  Just do your best and we'll deal with whatever happens somehow.  Something always turns up when we least expect it.  And I'm sure that for once it'll be a good something."  I filled my pipe and stared out at the oily swell.  "Karma, Geoffrey.  We've done the right thing by rescuing those poor sheep.  Nothing can possibly go wrong.  The fates are with us."

"It would make a change.  What did we rescue them from, exactly?"

"I'm not sure..."

more later

The Orange Cannibal Sheep of Frockall

"How dare you steal our treasure!" shrieked the sheep.  He was the biggest of a very big...well, I would normally say "flock", but this lot were more like a gang.  There were at least ten of them, all sporting varying shades of orange wool, with enormous, garish yellow teeth and green staring eyes with pupils that moved constantly, as if controlled by an internal gyroscope.

"We hadn't got that far," quavered Geoffrey.

"That's right," I said quickly," We were only looking."

"Admiring its wondrousness," added Geoffrey.

"Why were you loading it into your boat then?"

"Only to look at it more closely! Listen, you've got it all back now haven't you, anyway, so could you ask your friend here to remove his teeth from my backside?  It's not like I'm going anywhere and he must be getting tired."

"I think he might be stuck," said Geoffrey.  "Perhaps I could attempt to prise the teeth apart using my zircon encrusted tweezers..."

"NO!  Don't touch the teeth!" said the biggest sheep.  All the other sheep murmured in an alarmed fashion, and huddled together.  I began to wonder if they were really as terrifying as their reputation and appearance would have it.

"Go ahead Geoffrey," I said. "Prise away."

"Do you think - "

"YES!  Just do it.  Else I won't be able to sit down for a fortnight. Oh!"

The sheep had let go of its own accord, and was rapidly backing away towards the others with its mouth firmly shut.

"Phew," I sighed. "What a relief.  Ouch!  Oh no.  It feels like they're still there.  This must be what it's like when you have a leg amputated.  Something like that anyway.  I must ask the T-G when we get back - IF we get back...Geoffrey, Geoffrey - is my bottom still there?  Has it been bitten off?  Has it been amputated like the T-G's leg?  Where is it?  How will I sit down? Sitting down's my favourite thing - what if I can never do it ever again?  Oh my GOOOODDDDD!!  Help me help me!"

"They ARE still there Tuppy.  The teeth.  AND your bottom.  Stop babbling.   Just stand still till I remove them.  Tuppy, I think that poor sheep was wearing false teeth.  Look!"  And he held a vast set of dentures aloft. "They appear to be made of wood.  I can see the grain beneath the yellow paint."

"I think they've ALL got false wooden teeth Geoffrey. Which implies that they aren't half as scary as they look.  Thank goodness.  In fact, they look like a bunch of wimps."

"Wimps like us Tuppy!  How marvellous!  I'm sure we'll all get along famously!"

"I wouldn't go that far myself, but I suppose some impoverished, half-witted souls -"

"Oh!  You're on about me again aren't you.  How cruel.  And to think I loaded all that treasure while you sat on your fat backside being the so-called look-out.  And look where that got us!  I'm upset now.  Especially since I removed the teeth and was sympathetic and everything."

" - might call it marvellous to have  few moments respite from worrying about ending up being simmered in a cooking pot with a couple of onions, a carrot, a squeeze of tomato puree and a bouquet garni.   The eyes are still pretty strange mind.  For my liking.  Did you say "fat backside?", you peevish creature?"

"I know!  Mine too!  I can't look at them for more than a second without feeling like I'm getting sucked into a vortex.  Yes I did and I'm not sorry.  You're an ungrateful sod and I wish I'd left those teeth where they were.  You'd have looked a right twit back at the Outcrop, with a set of teeth sticking out of your backside - which, by the way, is expanding by the second."

"Well!" I spluttered.  I hate spluttering, but sometimes I just can't help myself.  Although,  now I came to think of it,  I could feel something distinctly odd going on, behind...I tried to glance over my shoulder,  but I knew it was futile to try to see my own backside without the aid of two mirrors.  Which I didn't happen to have, on my person at the time.  Or indeed at any other time.  What kind of maniac goes around with two mirrors?  They just don't, do they?  And who can blame them?  They'd have to be unhinged.

"Please don't tell anyone," interrupted the biggest sheep,"We're supposed to terrorise anyone who comes looking for the treasure with our huge carnivore-style teeth, and if people think we've only got wooden ones they won't be frightened any more."

"What do you mean, you're 'supposed to'?  That implies that there's someone in charge - someone who's telling you what to do."

The sheep huddled together even more closely, and exchanged anxious glances.

"We need to get away from Frockall," bleated one of the smallest ones, "We're frightened.  Can you help us to escape please?"

"I'm sure you can," said another, whose eyes were twirling even more hypnotically than the others,"You're using words like "implied",  which implies that you must be clever enough to think of a way to help us..."

more later