Not content with Whingers Anonymous, Geoffrey's joined the local Debating Society, or DebSoc.. 'Any excuse for a gossip and a cuppy, Tuppy!' he enthused. I was forced to tread heavily on his foot in order to relieve the pressure of my feelings, viz. an intolerably horrible melange of revulsion, frustration and disgust.
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Tonite's topic is, apparently, 'Softly softly catchee monkee. WTF does it mean, and is it not a bit racist?'
'What do you think, Tuppy?' shouted Geoffrey, as he smashed up some bourbon biscuits with a rolling pin for the base of a no-bake tiramisu.
'I don't know, and yes, probably,' I replied, placing today's free 'Rocky Outcrop' newsletter over my face as I prepared for a snooze. 'I hope those bourbons aren't the stale ones that you left out overnight by the way.'
'They are Tuppy, but you'll never notice due to them being soaked in a hundred and fifty per cent alcohol.'
'Really? Where did you get that?' I said, opening one eye and wondering whether it might be worth not having a snooze after all. Perhaps there might be something more interesting to do, although past experience made me doubt it.
'The rats have started a new Still up on the moors. At the Old Quarry. They're giving away free samples. Free samples Tuppy!'
'Right Geoffrey. Put that rolling pin down, and fetch your coat. The one with the huge pockets.'
'Can we come too?' begged the underpants. 'We don't like to be on our own. We might Do Something to Ourselves...and it would be All Your Fault....'
'No! get back in the woodshed please.' Geoffrey and I exchanged glances in our usual covert manner. We'd have to get a bigger padlock...and perhaps a flamethrower...
next time....the underpants effect an escape, and we decide to raid the illicit Still...
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