slaughterhouse fifty five

Party party party! those were the words which greeted us as we arrived at the newly refurbished Old Rectory last weekend. No, not that weekend just gone past - the one BEFORE.
Yes, it's taken us that long to recover. Apsley and Cherry had really gone to town with a BBQ, patio heaters, outdoor jacuzzi, Dansette record player plugged in to an extension cable, mirror ball and flashing disco lights. Ranald and Sandy (Wand'ring Albatrosse) were guests of honour, as they redesigned the place of course. They've gone for a "retro" 70s look, very rustic, with dried flowers and gourds everywhere, and really uncomfortable orange moquette furniture. The wallpaper was the same as Jack Regan's in The Sweeney - sort of large, intersecting greenish and cream squares, specially chosen to clash horribly with the orange moquette.
The drinks (purple peril, natch) were served in olde style pint mugs, the ones you don't get any more in pubs (except in the Puff Inn, of course).
The food was to die for (more of that later!) Cherry had excelled herself as usual. Not only did we have our fave korn bif and pineapple chunk kebabs, there were weird things on sticks, jammed into upside down oranges covered with foil, such as sausages (my fave!!) cheese kubes (Hmmm....) pickled onions (better) and maraschino cherries (take them or leave them, personally).
And the guests!! first, the more savoury ones. Me and Geoffrey, of course, The Tupfinder General (Mrs T-G did not appear, as per), Stormy (appeared after closing time with a welcome couple of crates of meths), Razor Bill, and of course Ranald and Sandy. We all wore fancy dress by the way - the theme was 70s, to match the decor. Ranald and Sandy rather boringly wore denims and long wigs, and came as "The Sutherland Brothers" - very disappointing and out of character. Razor Bill wore moon boots (goodness knows where he dug them up from - but more of that later!) and came as David Cassidy - Stormy came as Robert Plant, which we thought doesn't really count as apart from wrinkles he looks pretty much the same regardless of decade - the T-G came as Sherlock Holmes, and nobody had the nerve to tell him he'd got it badly wrong (he thought theme was the 1870s).
I got my wool tightly permed and dyed black, wore blue satin flares, platform soles and a sequinned jacket and came as Billy Ocean. Geoffrey was mortified and almost refused to go to the party at all. In the end, he wore a long white cape and a blond wig, and went as Rick Wakeman.
Now for the UNsavoury guests. True to form, Tuppence arrived mob-handed with his gang of rats, and proceeded to "diss" the entire party, saying the music was "crap" (Apsley's Top of the Pops album 1972 with not the right singers on it, was playing at the time, so maybe he had a point...)and the food inedible (well, I suppose he had a point there too - some of it definitely was...and coming from me, that's saying a lot...) He then plugged in his moog, to Apsley and Cherry's generator, shouting "I'LL give you 70s" and started blasting out the opening bit from Deep Purple's Sweet Child in Time.
As the song progressed, and Tuppence's screeching and screaming reached a ghastly crescendo, the generator began to overheat and smoke began to pour from the electric socket.
Before we knew it, a raging fire had started - AGAIN!!!!
more later....

the Fulmars invite us to a party/do

Great news! Ranald and Sandy (Wand'ring Albatrosse) have finished remodelling the Old Rectory (which people are rather churlishly blaming ME for burning down! see previous posts as to why this ridiculous accusation was made - as if it was MY fault the meths got spilt over the BBQ) and Apsley and Cherry are all set to move back in. They're fed up living in the caravan - it would do Geoffrey and me quite nicely as a holiday home/weekend retreat-style dwelling, but Cherry does like her comforts.
A large Speedispend van arrived at the Old Rectory this afternoon, stuffed full of every electrical appliance and mod con under the sun. (Cherry says the stuff's not costing her a penny, as she's put it on plastic and in any case will be getting a load of Speedispend kloobkahd money-back-style vouchers just in time for Christmas - personally I'm not quite sure she's got that right but time will tell) Chief item of interest alongside the foot spas, plug in back massagers etc. was a replacement 62 inch telly, and an invite arrived via Razor Bill this morning to an X Factor/housewarming-style party/do, this Saturday evening!
Let's just hope the house doesn't get TOO warm - like it did last time when it burnt down!

embattled

My goodness, we're really getting them "Hereabouts". Fanatics, extreme sports enthusiasts, or "strangers" as we like to refer to them. They're either whizzing down the hillside on bikes, or kayaking across the bay clad in startlingly coloured lycra - which I have to say, does nobody any favours.
As readers will know, we prefer to keep ourselves to ourselves "Hereabouts", and don't particularly welcome visitors with their demands for mod cons and muesli-style breakfast cereals.
We had an emergency top level meeting at Tupfinder Towers, in which we discussed a strategy, viz., setting up a lengthy trip wire to run along the hillside, parallel with the cliffs, and similar in style and effect to the one which so effectively despatched the "stranger in our midst" just a few days ago. If we can manage to connect it up to the old generator over at the Old Rectory, and electrify it, better still. (by the way - renovations at the Old Rectory are continuing apace and it should be ready for habitation very soon. Apsley and Cherry have been forced to move out of Tupfinder Towers due to Mrs T-G having "one of her turns" and brandishing a carving knife at them over the dinner table, while screaming "are you NEVER going to leave?", and are living in a caravan next to the Old Rectory)
Not that we mean any harm to anyone, of course. Once they've tumbled off their bikes it's hardly our fault if they end up in the bay, a thousand feet below. And hardly our fault if they can't swim fast enough to avoid the snapping jaws of Baby Orca. Mind you, he's quite likely to be full up after bingeing on kayakers.
So, we feel satisfied with our plan to keep Ourselves to Ourselves and fight off the encroachment of the modern world. So far, so good.

oh dear oh dear

Oh dear oh dear. I'm afraid we've had a bit of a week. On Monday last, Ranald and Sandy took a break from their labours trying to rebuild the Old Rectory, and went for a stretch of the wings. They headed north west, where Baby Orca (BO) was spotted patrolling the outer reaches of The Minch. He seemed to be building himself up into a frenzy, swimming round in tighter and tighter circles, while moving south east, i.e. towards US.
Bad enough - but directly in his path, they spotted Tuppence, sculling away for dear life.
Fortunately, the two of them managed to heave the coracle into the air, Tuppence safely on board but screaming the most foul abuse imaginable.
He likes to think he can handle any situation, hence his wrath. Hurt pride, plain and simple. But Ranald and Sandy were having none of it.
"Out you go, ungrateful brat!" they said, and tipped the coracle over. Tuppence hurtled to the ground - well, sea - where he had to swim like billy be jiggered while the orca powered his way towards him with a very determined look on his face. He made it to land, give him his due, but we're not sure where he is at the moment. Possibly hiding out in one of the tunnels, plotting his next exploit...
Meanwhile, the Fulmars are getting short shrift at Tupfinder Towers. Mrs T-G says they are eating her out of house and home, and using up all the hot water. The Tupfinder general is spending all his spare time here at the Outcrop, puffing away on his pipe in a very agitated manner and drinking all our madeira, saying he's desperate for some peace and quiet...
The sooner Ranald and Sandy get the Old Rectory up and running, the better.

the old rectory burns to the ground, and I get the blame

Geoffrey and I are having a quiet day today, huddled by the fireside with our kneerugs and steaming mugs of hot madeira as the rain pours down outside. Mind you, even if the rain wasn't pouring down, we'd both be pretty incapable of movement.
"Great to be back home again, Geoffrey."
"Indeed, Tuppy. Just wish we hadn't overindulged at the Fulmars' on Friday. Have you got any more Bisodal by the way?"
We were all invited to BBQ at the Fulmars' on Friday night, in honour of Ranald and Sandy's forthcoming re-modelling of the Old Rectory. Cherry had made up some of her famous korn bif and pineapple kebabs, and I'm sorry to say it and risk seeming ungrateful, but Apsley undercooked them. Geoffrey spotted that the gas jets on the barbeque were burning with a sinister yellow, not blue, flame, and pointed this out to Apsley, emphasizing the risk to us all of carbon monoxide poisoning, not to mention some sort of ghastly improperly-heated-through-food-style poisoning, as well.
"Rubbish! relax and have another drink, Geoff!" said Apsley in his fulsome way, slapping Geoffrey on the shoulder and pouring him another brimming glass of purple peril (meths based drink - see previous posts for recipe). Geoffrey hates being slapped on the shoulder, and he hates being called "Geoff" as well, but he was much too polite to say so. I therefore felt obliged to step in and say something.
Unfortunately, as I stepped forwards, my foot caught in the trailing string of Apsley's special plastic BBQ apron (ghastly - female Fulmar in black underwear on front), and I tripped, banging in to Geoffrey, and knocking his glassful of Purple Peril all over the BBQ, which consequently was set ablaze in no uncertain manner.
Some fool attempted to stem the flames by pouring more meths over, and you can imagine the result.
The Old Rectory was burnt to the ground, jacuzzi, 62" telly, Cherry's Burt Bacharach albums, decking, the lot. We all had to run for our lives!!!
We offered the Fulmars the sanctuary of our settee here at the Outcrop, which they declined rather sniffily, partly because they blame ME for the fire!! and partly because the Outcrop falls a tad short of their usual requirements viz a viz accommodation i.e. we have no "mod cons".
So they are now ensconced in the East Wing of Tupfinder Towers, which has ensuite facilities and gives a lovely view of the sea, so they imagine. (I think the ensuite facilities likely consist of a hole in the floor of the bedroom, with a "drop" on to the seaweed covered rocks below (East Wing is on the fourth floor) - not sure how Cherry will cope with that, but I'm sure we'll hear all about it - I'll bet there is no soft bog roll, either)
No sign of Tuppence yet - Geoffrey flew a mile or two out for a recce but saw nothing.
We can only hope that the Orca is still away visiting his family in the Southern Ocean...

heading for home

What luck! turns out Ranald and Sandy had stopped off at Flannan Isle for a breather on their way to "Hereabouts..." ( see gazetteer for info.) , where they've been invited to give Apsley and Cherry's abode, The Old Rectory, a makeover.
"But WHY? Only last year they got it stonecladded and decked and goodness knows what all else." we asked.
"That's precisely why," replied Ranald. "They want all that stripped down now. They're sick of it. They want a different look for the autumn. More rustic, I think, wasn't it Sandy? Log fires and sheaves of dried this and that? Gourds and twig-type stuff, in earthenware pots? Textured fabrics, in natural tones?"
Sandy shrugged. "No earthly idea and frankly I could not care one jot. They're SO tacky, and they won't listen to advice. It's their way, or no way. Frankly I'd rather it was no way, as I've NO interest in working for them, but what with the recession we need the money. Anyway - can we offer the two of you a lift back to the Outcrop?"
"Yes!!" we chorused, clambering on to their enormous backs.
"Hang on!" they shouted, as they unfurled their beautiful white wings, took off into the westering wind and soared homewards.
As we soared skywards, we glimpsed some wreckage. It looked very much like a pile of rusting tin cans - rusting korn bif tins, to be precise. In fact, we deduced that it was Tuppence's latest TTD (time travelling device - see previous posts), which must have crash-landed on Flannan Isle, hence his mysterious presence on the island. As we flew over the Minch, we glimpsed a tiny white woolly figure clad in yellow oilskins, sculling valiantly away, heading for...well, hard to tell really. But I'm sure it was Tuppence.

minstrel not in the gallery

Well, no joy at the bins. I was forgetting myself - I got carried away with it being so mild for a day or two, but really it's a bit early in the season for visitors and the camper vans haven't arrived as yet. Rich pickings when they do - they seem to chuck all sorts of things away. Not that we want their old bras and "snuff movies " - even if someone was glad of them last year and auctioned them off on "an internet auction site" with great success. Goodness only knows what kind of customer feedback rating they got for that lot but I suppose it takes all sorts. Manners prevent me saying who it was who sold them but they live just along the cliffs, wear matching fleece robes, and are upwardly mobile - how do you imagine they pay for all these home improvements? latest acquisition - purchased from said auction site, presumably - is a set of industrial power tools - the chain saw is going like the clappers night and day just now and my head is splitting - mind you, it does drown out Tuppence's moog. But more of that later.
Despite the cold snap Spring is in the air and word from the Puff Inn tells me that Cherry Fulmar is expecting. Apsley has been busy refurbishing the Old Rectory AGAIN - hence chainsaw racket problem - what he's doing to it I really don't know, after all they've got every possible mod con, stone cladding, decking, gas fired BBQ, summer house, mini-greenhouse (empty - just for show), water butt, faux rose arbour, not to mention the security lights - but I suppose they're redecorating a spare room as a nursery or something.
re. Tuppence's on-going moog drama - word from the Puff Inn tells me that he isn't actually playing it in person - he's set up a loop tape or some modern equivalent, which plays incessantly while he's off enjoying himself somewhere else. We were wondering when he'd wear his fingers out playing the keyboard solo from Tull's Minstrel in the Gallery. It should be a fairly simple matter to disconnect the moog from the Fulmar's generator - all we have to do is find the right cable...

trendy

Readers will be anxious to know how Geoffrey is getting on with defeating his terrible crisp addiction. At New Year, he resolved to lay off crisps due to concerns re. his rising blood pressure, but his willpower is awfully weak. He still can't pass a layby without having a good rake in the bins. Now as well as sky high BP, he's worried about rampant middle aged spread.
"I'm turning into a gutbucket, Tuppy", he wailed. "I can't get into my white lycra bell bottoms any more - without looking grotesque."
"Just get a bigger size," I said absently - I'm bored with his constant whingeing about his age and appearance.
Obviously this didn't satisfy his need for sympathy and he blurted out his pathetic concerns to Cherry Fulmar when we went along to the Old Rectory to discuss the sewage-flooding-the-tunnels plan. "Wear a kaftan like I do. Paisley pattern. A nice big design, in towelling or chenille. Great for the chilly evenings, and so versatile," she said, yawning and passing him a sack of chilli heatwave doritos.
"But I want to look TRENDY!" he wailed.
"Your trendy days are over, Geoff," said Apsley, patting him on the shoulder. "You might as well accept it."
I had to agree with him. But Geoffrey clearly didn't. I detected a distinct glint in his eye, as he stared disdainfully at Cherry and Apsley's matching fleece housecoats.